Intoccabile
Another day, another chance to get something done. Leon was chewing down his breakfast while casting casual and half interested glances at the morning news on the TV. Today he was determined to get some straight answers regarding this Dante character. He didn't know much at this point, but the few pieces he had, only served as fuel for his curiosity.
The first subject he'd interview was a Japanese woman named Asuka and a last name Leon had given up trying to read, let alone pronounce. She had a rather flashy looking house down at Newport on Staunton Island. Officially speaking she was the co-owner of a casino along with her brother Kenji, though on the unofficial side they both were the leaders of the local Yakuza.
Although Mafia is not a perfect match to describe what the Yakuza is, it's the closest thing western culture has that fits the bill. At any rate, they weren't people you'd slap in the face for no reason, since they had a nasty habit of taking it out on your family, friends, dear ones and pets before they even started on you.
The siblings Asuka and Kenji were however masters in keeping their hands clean. This was much due to the strict sense of loyalty that hung over the Yakuza thugs like a thick pulp. They'd lie their asses off in court, taking bullets, 25 years to lifetime and death sentence without a moments hesitation. All for their senpai's.
With this in mind it was strange that Asuka had paid over 1.5 million US dollar to keep Dante away from the claws of the court. Lawyers, bail and even bribes all piled up. Some squealers that the police had on record claimed that Asuka recently paid $ 250.000 for Dante's «services», straight from her own pockets.
These squealers however were never heard of since they leaked that info to the police. That didn't stop Leon from going straight to the core of things, more on the contrary. Of course he'd to step lightly or he'd be fished out of the river at best, though the most likely outcome would be that he'd end up as another missing person case, unsolved.
Since his Jeep was in for repairs, Leon had to take a patrol car to Newport, which again could scare Asuka off. Not in a manner that she'd run and hide, but more like putting up her guard and keeping her mouth shut on «certain topics.» Having the right to remain silent could really be stretched into abuse sometimes.
Strangely enough Leon was given a warm welcome at Asuka's residence. Although there were a couple of guys glaring at him from behind their shades, he wasn't shown the door the moment he presented himself. «Good morning detective.» A woman's voice came from the pool. «Good morning Asuka-san.» Leon nodded.
Floating on an air bed in the pool, Asuka glanced over her sunglasses. «You're familiar with Japanese honorifics?» She asked him, actually sounding a little impressed. «I used to watch Ghost In The Shell – Stand Alone Complex when I was a kid.» Leon explained. «Perhaps it even helped you choose your profession.» Asuka-san smiled faintly. Leon wasn't quite sure how to reply, so he just smiled back.
«What do you want, detective?» She asked, turning her attention back to her sunbathing. «Information.» Leon said bluntly. Asuka-san chuckled at his response. «I'm no oracle detective.» She pointed out. «I don't think you need to be an oracle to know one or two things about Dante.» Leon said, monitoring her reaction.
Asuka-san remained calm, but her smile faded away. «Yes, rumours had it that there was a detective asking around Dante-sama.» She said with a sigh. «Why does a honest woman like you listen to rumours only whispered in the criminal underworld?» Leon asked. «It comes with the job. It's not just honest tourists that comes to my brother's casino you know.» She replied.
Leon's mind was working overtime. He'd heard the honorific -sama before, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it meant. «Me and my brother has known Dante-sama for a long time. Almost 10 years.» Asuka-san said, while she was reflecting over memories of the past. «How did you meet?» Leon asked.
«At a china-town restaurant.» Asuka-san grunted. «He saved our lives.» She added. «What did he do? Kept the water from boiling over?» Leon asked, only to bite his tongue. He was pushing his luck, so he better be sure to mind his steps from now on. «No, he sawed our killer in half with a chainsaw.» Asuka-san replied, not affected by Leon's little sarcastic remark.
Leon's eyes widened with disbelief. «Quite a feat for an 11 year old, no?» She smiled. «And before you ask; no, I will not say those words in court under oath.» Asuka-san added. «So you feel that you owe him your life?» Leon asked. «Yes, when I was 18 I even walked down to his office to offer him my virginity as a token of my gratitude.» Asuka-san smirked.
Although he was curious, Leon didn't push the subject any further. It seemed that he made a poor performance in hiding his curiosity, since Asuka-san said: «He turned down my offer flat.» Dante seemed to be quite street-smart. After all, you don't just go ahead and have fun with the daughter of a Yakuza gang leader. Then again, a decline could be interpreted as an insult.
«Over the years we've had our fair share of troublemakers.» Asuka-san carried on. «The police are slow, sloppy and inefficient in dealing with such troublemakers, so whenever there's someone we can't handle on our own, we call Dante-sama.» She concluded.
Scratching his chin a little, Leon figured he could afford one last question before bailing out. «Where's Dante-sama's office?» He asked her carefully. «In a backyard alley in the Red-light district in Portland.» Asuka-san replied indifferently. Leon thanked her for taking her time talking to him before he left.
Peeking over her shades, Asuka-san watched as Leon's car quietly drove off. «How did I do?» She asked out of the blue. «Quite good.» Dante replied, looking down from the balcony. «Dante-sama?» Asuka-san asked him. «Yeah?» Dante mumbled as he downed his cocktail. «Isn't he dangerous?» Asuka-san sounded worried.
Gazing at his reflection in the empty glass, Dante thought for a moment. «That man is not dangerous. He's an opportunity.» He replied before putting the glass away. Asuka-san had to admit that she didn't see whatever Dante-sama saw in detective Kennedy, but she respected his decision.
Leon had arrived at the red-light district without too much trouble, though his police car did attract a little too much unwanted attention for Leon's comfort. Drug dealers, whores and low life scum drifted around in this neighbourhood. Home sweet home for a guy like Dante, Leon thought.
He looked around for a while, but didn't see any hints of which shabby building might house Dante's office. Giving up on that track for now, Leon looked down on his list again. Just one name left; El Burro, leader of the Diablos street-racing gang. If it had an engine and a set of wheels, they drove it. What connection did they have with Dante?
Knocking on what was known as their «main garage», Leon wasn't quite sure what to expect. «Yeah? Whaddya want?» A man grunted through a small sliding window on the door. «I'd like to talk to El Burro.» Leon said, showing his badge. «You with traffic?» The man demanded in the same rough tone. «No, I'm with homicide.» Leon said.
The window shut closed, some rattling with multiple locks could be heard on the other side of the garage door before it was opened. The metallic moaning of the garage door rang through the large garage.
Essentially the place looked like taken straight from MTV's «Pimp my ride», with old, new and super-styled up cars lined up along the walls. Some were all done, others were work in progress, while a selected few looked pretty much like a lost cause. However, if these boys were given some time to do their magic, it'd be hard to tell what the old heaps of car-scrap would look like.
Even though cars were the dominating type of vehicle in the garage, there were some custom made bikes too. Choppers seemed to be the new hype, Leon noted. «El Burro will be with you in a sec.» The door man replied, still without the slightest hint of manners. Leon just nodded slightly.
After a few minutes, El Burro came over to Leon. It was clear that he was upset, perhaps because some of the cars in his garage didn't really look all THAT legal by American standard. «Why you come here? There been no killing by me, by my boys or anything.» El Burro demanded. «I'm not here for some killing, I'm just here for some information.» Leon patiently explained.
That didn't seem to brighten El Burro's mood. «Me no squealer!» He shouted, waving his arms around. «You have a stiff price on the vehicle's you make, so I was wondering why you'd GIVE away your masterpiece to a man called Dante.» Leon said, cutting trough El Burro's protests.
El Burro froze solid at the mention of Dante's name. For a fraction of a second, he looked like he might actually punch Leon straight in the face, though thankfully Leon was saved by El Burro's cellphone.
Answering the phone in a harsh voice, El Burro's face turned pale as newly washed towels when he heard who was on the other end of the line. «It's me. By now you probably have a cop in your garage called Leon S. Kennedy.» El Burro just nodded weakly. «Answer his questions honestly, just skip the details.» Again, El Burro nodded. «Be good, donkey.» Then the conversation ended.
El Burro put away his cellphone and looked nervously at Leon. «Let us go to my office.» He said finally. The office laid in the back of the garage. Once inside, El Burro took a seat behind his desk and offered Leon a seat as well.
The office was messy to say the least. Paper work was flowing all over the place and old McDonald's, Burger King and other fast food containers spread around just to add flavour and colour to the scene. Charming indeed, Leon thought.
«I gave Dante that bike because... well, let's face it, the man's worth it.» El Burro didn't beat around the bush any more. Leon wondered if it somehow was related to the phone he'd just taken. «The Yakuza is also paying him top dollar for his services, though as far as I can tell he's doing the same job as any other thug.» Leon said.
El Burro shook his head and folded his hands on top of his messy desk. «Dante isn't just any man. Those who think that are already dead.» He said seriously. «So he's good at what he does?» Leon asked. «Si.» El Burro agreed eagerly. «What does he do?» Leon asked.
Sinking back in his chair, El Burro looked like he was thinking hard over how to formulate his reply. «He solves «special problems».» He said after a while. «Define «Special problems».» Leon shot back. «They're... too big... or... too dangerous... or too... scary for others to do.» El Burro replied, gesturing with his hands as he spoke.
A man without fear. Granted they're rare, but still... these were the towns top criminal masterminds. Surely they knew how to get some skilled dude from L.A. or New York to come over and do some contracted work for them.
Meanwhile at Francis International Airport, a young guy arrived by plane. He'd come over for a change of graze. Being a small time crook, he figured he'd be luckier here than in his home-town. Scott Stapp was a standard teenager gone bad through being neglected by his parents, early introduction to drugs, guns, women and rock 'n' roll.
Car-jacking was his speciality, but his skilled fingers also drifted off into peoples wallets whenever the chance presented itself. Feeling a bit lucky, he figured he'd scope around in the more shadowy places of town for some sort of «employment».
He took the subway all the way to Portland where he quickly pointed out the direction to the local red-light district. It was like a sixth sense for him, he could sniff out other men and women like him just about anywhere. Of course this was his first trip out of his own town, so his sixth sense might not be all that special at the end of the day after all.
Putting up a bad-ass attitude, making sure he got his pocket-knife ready inside his pocket, Scott decided to look up a bar of some sort where he could get the foot in the door. Sexclub 7 looked promising, but they demanded a paying fee for entry so that was out of the question.
Loafing around some more, Scott found a shabby looking joint in a backyard alley. The red neon sign hissed a little angry electrical sparkling. The joint was so hidden and looked so shabby that Scott figured he'd hit the jackpot.
Walking in under the red neon sign that read: Devil May Cry, Scott wasn't really expecting it to be buzzing with life, but at least there would be someone there. However, once inside, Scott was proven wrong. The place was nothing less but deserted. More over it didn't really look like a bar or something like that.
Sure, there was a set of drums in one corner, a pool table in another, stereo speakers nailed to the walls close under the ceiling and some of the freakiest décor Scott'd ever seen. Masks, or whatever they were, of all sorts of weird movie monsters hung on one wall. Each and every one of them was incredibly detailed and well made. They even looked real to Scott.
All of the heads were attached to the wall by having a large sword, spear or something of a similar fashion stabbed straight through it. «Great, a goth joint.» Scott grunted. Maybe there was something around here worth stealing? Something small that could easily be sold on for a fistful of dollars.
Looking around the desk, Scott fumbled around in the various drawers. He found a lot of weird stuff, but nothing that struck him as valuable. He noticed that there was a single picture standing on the desk. Looking at it, he gave a whistle. «Wow, what a babe.» A blonde lady, with a warm smile on her nearly perfect lips and the prettiest pair of blue eyes a mortal man could ask for was on the photograph.
Putting the picture aside, Scott heard a car coming up. Being smart enough not to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he dashed into the back and hid. A couple of men entered, calling for someone. «Dante-sama?» After a few tries they left something behind and split.
Crawling out from his hiding place, Scott concluded with himself that this was a worthless joint. Besides, the back-room gave him the creeps with all the gunpowder and a well used reloading tool along with bullets and shotgun shells lying about.
He was just about to leave when the new item on the desk caught his attention. It was a brand new Boom Blaster. A baby like that was worth a couple of hundred bucks easily and it'd be easy to take with him too.
Not giving it a second thought, Scott grabbed the stereo system and split. It was a little funny, since the Boom Blaster was a little lighter than he'd thought. Was some parts missing? Perhaps it was broken and those bozo's wanted to have whomever owned Devil May Cry to fix it?
Rounding another corner, Scott sat down and looked at the stereo system from various angles. It looked okay enough. Shaking it a little to hear if there were any loose parts inside, Scott didn't hear the standard clapping sound of mechanical parts being shaken around. He heard a small fluffing sound, as if it was paper or cloth inside.
Curious, Scott looked closer at the Boom Blaster. Quite by chance he notices that the one end of the stereo system could be turned off, like the screw cap on a bottle. Screwing it open, Scott took a peek inside and almost crapped his pants.
Dead presidents, loads of them, every single one of them were inside the Boom Blaster. Thousands of dollars, Scott couldn't believe his luck. Although there should be all sorts of warning bells going off inside his head, he didn't care. Even if there were warning bells going off at red alert, he'd ignore them. You only live once, right?
Since he was now stinking rich, Scott decided to celebrate by buying himself a nice set of wheels. He'd seen a set of wheels ordered from the Diablos gang here in Portland in his own home town. With money apparently not an issue, Scott wanted that kind of wheels.
Parading up to the Diablos garage, Scott knocked on the door and stated his business. «You've got money for that, kid?» The guy asked once Scott pointed out the car he'd like to buy. He couldn't blame them for being sceptical, but that made it all the more sweeter. He'd make them gape at his money.
«Sure thing pops, I've got the dollars for it, right here.» He said and flipped open the Boom Blaster. The whole garage staff gasped at the sight as if they'd seen a ghost. Then without a word they grabbed Scott and threw him out. «What the fuck!» He demanded at the shut garage door.
This time warning bells were ringing in his head, but Scott decided to ignore them. «Fine, if I can't get myself some wheels, I'll get myself some pussy.» He sulked before he headed over to Sexclub 7 just a little up and across the street.
Scott was smart enough not to flash around with his Boom Blaster money bag at the entrance. Instead he took out a few hundred dollar bills and stuffed them in his pocket. That seemed to do the trick as he was given access without any fuzz.
Over at the Diablos garage, El Burro was sweating like a pig as he was nervously waiting for his phone call to come through. «Heee-ey, Dante! It's El Burro.» He tried his best to sound cheerful, though it was no use. «What is it?» Dante grunted at the other end. «Some kid came in here a few minutes to buy some wheels.» El Burro began, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Silence at the other end of the line. «I don't see how that has anything to do with me.» Dante mumbled back. «My boys told me that he'd...» El Burro took a breath. «He'd what?» Dante asked, sounding only remotely interested. «He'd taken your payment.» El Burro said, bracing himself as if Dante was in the same room.
Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. «I swear to you Dante, we threw him out the second we knew. We wouldn't...» El Burro began explaining, but Dante just hung up. An unknown kid had the nerve to walk into his place, take what Dante had earned fair and square through blood and sweat, and now he was going to waste it on whores and booze.
Dante slammed the phone down so hard it crushed under his hand. Stomping off, he grabbed his coat and sword before he entered his garage. Strapping the sword to his back, Dante mounted his bike and drove off.
Asuka-san was always punctual with her payments, so Dante figured that her boys had gotten stuck in traffic or something since the payment wasn't there when he finally had come home. True that he didn't really care all that much about money, but bills did need to be paid every now and then, not to mention that bullets aren't free either.
Every now and then he accepted to charge his clients, for the most part crime lords that wouldn't mind paying up $ 100.000. With that kind of money at hand, Dante could keep his little business going a few months more.
Flipping on his cellphone, Dante decided to raise a little hell and make sure that this new punk learned once and for all that no soul, dead or alive, slaps Dante in the face. Kids these days were easy to predict. They wanted whatever was cool, flashy, sexy or all in one. This kid had already tired cool and flashy, so that left sexy.
Speed-dialling a number, Dante patiently for a reply. «Sex Club 7, Sarah speaking.» A woman's voice came through the phone speaker. «Get me Luigi sweetheart.» Dante said quickly. «May I ask who's calling?» Sarah asked. «D.» Dante replied, parking his bike across the club.
Inside the club Scott had been granted VIP treatment. The best suite of the second floor, a harem of 5 beautiful girls, excellent booze and tasty food to boot. In here only two questions were asked: you've got the money and will you behave? If you could answer yes to both, just about any desire you'd have would be met in the VIP lounge.
Downstairs, Luigi was having a very unpleasant phone call. He'd seen first hand what Dante did when he was «mildly annoyed», so Luigi's tough front evaporated like steam on glowing rocks whenever Dante was unhappy. «Just stay clear of him, Luigi.» Dante told him sharply before hanging up.
Nodding at the bartender, Luigi got a drink, the strongest in the house. Downing it, coughing from the burning sensation of the liquid sliding down his gullet and taking a few deep breaths, Luigi was calm again. His hard front resurfaced as he walked over to some of his boys before he'd to deal with the troublemaker at the 2nd floor.
Scott was having the time of his life; giggling, drinking, eating, groping in questionable places and being a total asshole of a leech. It was over so fast, Scott hardly knew it had happened until he was sitting in the backyard. The doors had been opened with a loud bang, club bouncers stomped inside, girls running for cover, Luigi standing in the back barking orders like a dog in heat and then there was just asphalt and concrete.
Strangely enough they hadn't taken his money. Figuring that his money might be marked, Scott decided to ditch the money, after just one last try. The garage and the club were both connected to the organized crime syndicates in town, that much was obvious even to a guy like Scott. However, there were those who were on the outside of this crime grid.
Coming out around the Sex Club 7, Scott figured that he'd be able to scout out at least one independent whore that would give him a good time. Hell, that one whore might just be how he could start his own little empire. Everyone starts low down in the dirt anyway, so why not him?
Feeling a pair of piercing eyes on him, Scott looked across the street and his eyes met with a tall man dressed in dark red leather sitting on a bike, just waiting. There was something in those eyes, an anger, a hatred, an evil that made Scott want to look away, but his fear kept his eyes firmly in place.
Finally being able to break free, Scott dashed down the street, hugging the stereo system close and tightly to his chest. The man made no effort in following, which scared Scott even more. If he didn't bother chasing Scott, could it mean that there was no escape in the first place?
«Hey watch it fool!» An African-American woman bitched as they collided head on after Scott had rounded a corner. Eyeing her from head to toe for a brief second, Scott figured she'd do as well as any. «Are you on the clock?» He asked her. «Huh? I ain't dressed for church, boy.» She bitched back. Scott ignored her bitching for now and took her reply for an yes.
He's getting desperate, Dante mused to himself as he chewed down some sweets. 3 times the fool, he'd his chance and now it's payback time. With a deep roar, Dante's bike burst into life and he quickly turned around 180 degrees, leaving a black track of burned rubber as he swung around.
Scott had taken the whore to her place and was nervous as hell. It was not his first time with a woman, but to anyone that knew the full extent of his situation would fully understand his nervousness. «Put on some rubber stud.» The whore said, getting undressed. «Fuck that, I don't have time for shit like that.» Scott nervously yelped.
The whore stopped undressing. «My body, my rules fool.» She told him. «I don't want to argue with you bitch, I want to fuck you.» Scott rambled on. Their heated debate was interrupted by the whore's cellphone.
«What's up? Hum? Yeah, I'm with a customer right now, why? Yeah...» The conversation seemed to drag on. Scott did consider jumping her, but that could rise trouble, and that was something he'd rather avoid right now.
Looking at him with fear in her eyes, the whore put her hand in front of her mouth and gasped. «Oh my god! Of course I didn't know! Alright, alright, I'll just...» She quickly threw away her cellphone and practically threw herself towards the door. «Hey, hey, hey... what up bitch?» Scott asked, half angry, half scared out of his wits.
Whimpering could be heard near the door. The whore was actually crying as she struggled with the door locks. She couldn't get it open fast enough, since her hands were visibly trembling. «Shit, fuck!» She cried, sniffing in deep breaths of air. Finally the last lock opened and she flung the door open, stumbling and half running down the hallway.
Scott just remained in the entrance hall, totally stunned, partially in disbelief and partially in fear. What... the... fuck... just happened? He asked himself. Whomever was on the other end of that phone call really had her spooked, just like that big guy on the bike had spooked... Scott...
Halfway down the hallway, the whore stopped so suddenly that she actually fell backwards and landed on her butt. The elevator doors had opened and inside the elevator waited a tall handsome devil of a man. With long and calm steps, he stepped outside the elevator and continued down the hallway.
Scrambling back on her feet, the whore tried her best to fix her looks. «I... just wanted to say... I'm...» She stopped once the man halted and casted her a mildly curious glance. The words cramped up in the middle of her throat. Who was that man, the man behind those dreadful eyes? Breaking down in tears, the whore actually dared to ask herself that question, though not aloud, never. Not even if her lips were torn open.
«I'M SO SORRY!» She cried on the top her voice, sobbing and wailing loudly. It was if the man's mere presence was like torture to the whore, since she was shielding herself with her arms and appeared to be in great pain. «He... he... gave... me... $75... Here...» She stammered, trembling like the last leaf on a dying tree she offered a fistful of dollars to the man. «That's more than... triple... just... please... PLEASE...!» She pleaded. «...don't hurt me.»
Her knees failing to carry the weight of her shaking frame, brought her down to the floor once again. The man just stood there, not saying or doing anything. Then, very carefully he took the money from her hand and counted them. Folding and arranging them carefully, the man handed the money back to the woman. «Your crying is like music.» He told her before he walked further down the hallway.
Scott did have ears on the sides of his head, and it was painfully obvious to him that trouble was coming down the hallway, the kind of trouble you don't survive. Perhaps the whore was dead? She stopped making any sounds so maybe...? FUCK! The word cracked trough Scott's mind like a whip, snapping him back to reality. He was in trouble deep, time to split. Instinct took over.
Dante walked inside the apartment, looking around. How unusual for one of Luigi's girls to bring the customer to her own place. Luigi did own a few joints around in the neighbourhood so that his girls could take their business there. Although nothing more than a squashed cockroach under a man's boot, Luigi did have some good points.
A window got smashed in the back. Shit, he's making a run for it, Dante thought. Instinct took over. Darting back in the kitchen, Dante found no one, just a few dirty footsteps on the kitchen counter, a broken window and the rattling sound of someone climbing down the fire-escape.
Dante was about to follow, but stopped just as he was halfway through the window frame. A new kid in town, he thinks the Mafia is after him, local thugs won't touch him because of that so the only logical place left to go is either run, hide or the cops. Whenever you're the hunter, think like the hunted. Whenever you're the hunted, think like the hunter. You live longer that way.
Scott was out of breath. He hadn't run like that since... kindergarten when he was being chased by a bunch of girls who wanted to dress him up as their kid and play «house». «Oh fuck me...» He breathed. He'd burned a lot of bridges on his first day. He'd even left the money behind at that whore's place. Perhaps he was off the hook?
A nervous glance over the container he was hiding behind gave Scott a new set of images to add to his nightmares. The sucker was already halfway through the window. Wait! He's climbing back inside. Giving up? No, not that kind of mother-fucker. He's the sadistic-psychopath kind that pulled the wings of the flies as a kid. He wanted Scott to die squealing like a dying goat, no doubt about it.
He'd better get clean. There was one place that kind of guy didn't go unless he absolutely had to, the cop's place. Hopefully Scott's little insult wasn't worth the trouble of gunning down a whole police station. Then again he could risk throwing napalm on the fire if this guy was just itching for an excuse to be a large-scale cop-killer. It's hard to tell when dealing with psychopaths.
Entering the police station, Scott walked straight up to the reception, looking nervously over his shoulder every five steps he took. «Sir, may I help you?» The police officer behind the counter asked. «Hell yeah, I need protection.» Scott said, still looking around nervously. «I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific, sir.» The officer said politely. «Listen bitch, I've got a goddamn psychopath hot on my ass, so unless you can get a fuckin' S.W.A.T. team down on the fuckin' double, you'll soon be talking to a stiff!» Scott was sweating, trembling and spitting as he spoke.
The officer also looked around, slightly embarrassed over the scene this young man was making for all to see. «Sir, please calm down. You're safe inside this building, so could you please just wait and I'll send an officer to talk to you.» She told him patiently. «Fuck yeah, I'll be safe right? Fuck yeah, an army of cops in da house... in your face fucker.» Scott mumbled as he nervously tripped around as if he really needed to take a piss.
It didn't take long before an officer of the law presented himself. «You're the one that's being stalked? I'm detective Leon Kennedy, nice to meet you.» Leon said, offering his hand to Scott. Scott on the other hand was too darn nervous to do anything other than suck on his cigarette. «Why don't you start form the beginning?» Leon said, taking a seat next to Scott.
After Scott had told him the story, Leon looked at him with a mixed expression. «Unless you want to be put in jail for stealing that stereo system, I don't think there's all that much we can do for you. Clearly you're exaggerating when you say there's a psychopath after your life.» Leon pointed out as gently as he could. Scott shot out of his chair. «Fuck that cop! You don't know spit! You haven't even met the mother-fucker!» Walking back and forth, Scott threw insults around him.
If someone is afraid long enough, they loose rational thinking for a limited period of time. This time period usually ends whenever the subject in question calms down and manages to drain the fear out of his or her system. This was the case with Scott Stapp. 21 years old, he was at the peek of his youth, he had a blade in his pocket and it was time to prove to the world that he was ten times more the man than they thought he was.
Going to the cops was a mistake, a mistake only pussies and bed-wetter's made. Hell this guy, this fucker that was after him... he probably bled and died just like everyone else. Fuck yeah, that made sense. Oh yeah baby! Scott was on a roll. Being on a emotional «high» Scott walked out of the police station and did the thing he would regret for the rest of his life, both seconds of it.
«OYH! MOTHER-FUCKER! It's just like this fool; you and me! One on one!» Scott shouted out in the street. A couple of people in the street stopped up and gave him looks, but for the most part people thought of him as your average junkie or nut-case, nothing new under the sun or anything worth spending time on.
Something big with large wings and arms of steel swooped down and yanked Scott away from the ground. Totally disorientated, Scott failed to get his bearings and fear flared up anew in him. His false courage that had been spawned from his first fear fled from his veins like rats on a sinking ship, leaving only the cold watery feeling of horror splashing around in his system.
The brief flight came to a halt and Scott found himself held by his shirt off the edge of a high building. Looking down on the hands that held him, they were black as a living nightmare, crude skin and fatal fangs. Following the hands were wrists and a pair of strong arms, a solid torso and a horrifying face on top. The face was a covered in the same crude skin that the hands, though caught in a strange blend of dark red, black, white and purple-pink.
Their eyes locked and if Scott thought the dude on the bike had a pair of scary eyes, this... devil was a million times worse. Although he appeared to be blind, there was no doubt that this mother-fucker stared straight down Scott's soul, making it tremble, squeal and run for cover.
His mind froze solid, he couldn't do anything but stare and gape in horror at the creature that held him over the edge. «What's your name, kid?» It asked in a voice that sounded like a thousand needles in Scott's ears. «S-s-s-s-s-Scott Stapp!» Scott managed to yelp out, gasping in fear. «You've stolen from me Mr Stapp. I've sent people to Hell for less.» The devil cleverly remarked.
Scott crapped his pants at this point, it seemed like the only thing he could to at this point. «Oh dear Jesus! Oh God, Oh My fucking God...!» Scott's eyes rolled upwards so that only the white could be seen as he collapsed in a state of shock. The devil pulled him closer and as Scott felt its hideous breath on the side of his face, it heard his last words: «God isn't here, but I am.»
A few hours from dawn, officer Marvin Branagh arrived at yet another crime scene. «What do we have here?» He asked, gulping down a mouthful of pitch black coffee. «Suicide.» Another officer replied. «Awh fuck, young or old?» Marvin asked, putting away his coffee cup. «Young.» A female officer replied from near the body. Looking around in the back alley, Marvin asked: «Jumper or hanger?» The officer replied dully as she browsed through the deceased wallet for an ID: «Jumper, Scott Stapp. Not from around here.»