...was what I needed. A time to leave the chaos, productive suffering of this world, armed in it's feathery failures turned to stone by it's completely disgusting state. And in that state, I'm nothing. In that state, Jess was a foreign word, he who kills for money and his own life, he who finds himself in his collapsing empire of a lifetime, and now it was crumbling away.
After treating to the wounds on my arm, which weren't nearly as bad as I thought they were, I left to get lunch and go to the police station. My shoulder had to be bandaged up, and I put a sweatshirt on so as to hide the wound.
At the police station, there was a girl sitting outside of the room I was supposed to be going towards, on a wooden chair. She had a small body frame, and looked like she was only about 5 feet tall. She also had long, brown hair, a tank top, and short-cut shorts on.
I walked past her, and when an officer whom I don't know the name of saw me, he told me to follow him. I did so. When we reached a door, he told me to open it.
Inside this room, it was completely dark except for a light bulb on it's last leg of usage. There, sitting in a chair and handcuffed to it, was the person who I had a run it with today. There was also a pair of police officers.
"Jess, how's your arm?" One of the officers in the room asked.
"It'll be fine," I answered. "So, is this an interrogation or what?"
"Yeah, we wanted you here for this," one asked.
"So, what exactly is happening here?"
"He admitted to killing that woman."
"The one from this morning?"
I turned to him, "And just what did you gain now?"
"I gained a kill."
"Maybe I should gain one, too."
An officer stepped in, "Jess, calm down. We need to find out, and when he's convicted, you can kill him."
"Fine," I answered. What I thought was, "He's too calm, something's wrong here. He's got to be lying, or not telling us everything, and if he's telling the whole truth, he's too fucked up to be left in the public world."
"Tell me, because clearly, I don't understand, what made you want to kill that woman?"
At this time, the officer got me a file. I read it. It told me about their reason to believe he killed her. He was dealing drugs to her son, and when she stepped in to stop her son, he murdered her.
"So, that's it, then? You wanted money and you wanted to look hard."
"And you don't?"
"Don't ever try to tell me how to live my life, when all you do is break the law." He had ME on the defensive in this argument.
"And what you do should be against the law. You tore up a warehouse to get me, put 4 lives in danger, and then threatened me with death."
That was the lowest of a low blow he could say.
I slapped him across the face. "Listen, jerk, you're not in charge here. Neither of us are. Now shut up and answer my questions so that I don't have to hold you for more charges."
"Alright, I'll make this easy for you, I killed that woman because of her getting in the way."
That was our proof. He was going to be sent to court, but I knew there had to be something more.
I turned to the officer. "Can you get me some info on murders not yet solved that are linked to the Saints?"
...and yet you wonder how a killing machine could bring life to something instead of out of it. Out of life, death, is considered an evil thing, and yet I was going to kill at least 3 men in 3 shots each, but still life would result from their death, like a phoenix made completely of water and steel and iron, their copper-colored water would be spilt and their blue-toned bodies would fall, and the two opposites of red and blue would reflect life and death, and now I would use the life-bringer of water to kill.
That gunshot that opened the pipe was beyond deafening to me this time. The pipe opened went from calm and solitary to an erupting water spout. The steam from the pipe clouded the warehouse until I could barely see myself, and I screamed, "Get down!" over the flowing water, but to the avail of nothing as far as I could see, and still I'd think that it helped at least one in here.
In here, in Hell incarnate, the heat rose extensively. The next shot I made was to the rafters above me, now that the steam gave me cover and the water a driving force to help weaken it.
The third gunshot was never fired by me, but instead by the gangster to my opposition, and the third gunshot was fired to me instead of by me. I felt a sharp pain in my left arm, but I never saw the bullet through the mist and my excitement to end this before more lives had to be lost or threatened.
Of course, we were all threatened in this line of work. Sometimes, that's why I liked it. Sometimes, I liked the possibility that I wouldn't make it home one day.
Now, back into my threatening instead of my enjoyment of so, I had to get back to the gangster and put him into custody, so as to make sure we could get whatever he's hiding about this case.
The rafters above me were ready to come down, and the gunmen knew it. I shot a support beam that would bring a section of the rafters down. As soon as that fell, they would collapse. Now, I was on my last shot on this round, so I was going to make sure it counted.
Now, the steam was starting to clear. And remember that gun? The really big one? It was in my face. The stakes were, "Move, and you're shot. Hold onto your gun, and you get shot. Hold your badge up like it means something now, and get shot."
I dropped my gun and dropped my badge onto the ground. He wasn't paying attention, though, and both landed on my feet. Then, I whistled.
A snarling dog behind you while you hold a gun to his master is not a nice thing. He wasn't happy, and that was for sure. He tackled him from the side and put him on the ground.
Only seconds later I held the gun and the badge again. Seconds more, and I had kicked his gun from his reach. And By 10 seconds going by, I was reading him his rights for his arrest.
Now, it was in the hands of the CAPD. The officers took him after we arrested him, and told me to go get some lunch. Then, they bade me a farewell and took him to the station because of his supposed partaking in this case and his violent resisting of his arrest. Even if he was innocent, he was awfully stupid for resisting that much.
The men who fell from the rafters were all taken to the hospital, alongside the injured officer. I learned later that day that the gangsters lived, but the officer died from his gunshot wounds. So much for protecting the law for him.
Now, my job was to help the police find out if this was their man. "Jess, come to the station in an hour or so after you get some lunch, okay?"
I nodded in agreement. Our next job was to confirm the enemy's identity.
...I would have taken it already, and I would have taken it again after it to make sure the holder heard me. And when I took that name, there would be so many times it would come back to avenge the misuse of His name, and His existence would prove me evil for saying such a name in such a way, but instead I'm here without that luxury and without the ability to be so tame.
In my head, I was down to 10 seconds before I was 4 minutes away from the timer going off.
Now that my eyes were getting more adjusted to the dark, I could see that there were rafters that circled around the heights of the square warehouse. About 1,000 feet by 1,000 feet and at least 40 feet tall, this place was huge.
"I know that look, Jess," he said. "It means you know that you're in a pinch that you're about to fix, and time was the only thing you needed to think about."
"And if it was, how would you know for sure?" I said back.
"Because you're counting seconds off until backup gets here."
I tried to keep my cool. "I need backup to deal with you and your pistol-armed guards in the rafters?"
"You are so funny. If you weren't the holder of such a lovely badge, I would kill you out of respect for the Saints."
Before I could react, I heard a gunshot. I jumped back to get out of the way, but that was just what they wanted. My knee was hit, and they knew it.
I winced and cursed under my breath, and tried to lean off my fucked leg. I had to shoot something now. Since I had no real idea of who to shoot, and I lost count of time, I shot an exposed dead pipe and ducked out of the way of retaliation behind a crate.
The pipe, positioned in the rafters, came crashing down on one of the gunman, and made his section of the rafters fall. Underneath the other wing, I was safe from those gunmen, too.
Now, though, I was faced with the fact that the man on the floor had me cornered with a gun big enough to make Rambo shit his pants. My phone buzzed to tell me that I had backup on it's way.
"Now, now, Jess, I know you're too smart for traps."
He knew he didn't really have me cornered yet. About 2 minutes have passed since the call for backup was made, and I knew I could smile because I felt the buzz to tell me the call has been answered.
And behind him were 4 state officers, uniform-clad and handcuffing him, but then I realized something was wrong. There was another pair of gunmen aiming at them. I yelled "Get down!" But I was too late. The gunshots were heard, and one of the officers fell.
"Shoot me, Jess, and the rest get shot, too." Said the now handcuffed gangster in front of me. Then, he turned to one of the officers still standing behind him and said, "Now, take off these handcuffs, or Jess gets shot and you get shot and the guys back home at the CAPD don't hear of this."
I lowered my gun to aim at the ground.
I started looking at the path the bullet would follow, looked at the pipes it COULD hit, and a fast one is always nice. These pipes still had high-pressures of water running through them, unlike the last ones that were dead.
As soon as this pipe was hit, 50 or so gallons of water would come out in roughly 15 seconds, provided the hit was in the right place. If that right place was hit, the water would go spurting up into the rafters and drench the gunmen, but I would have to make sure I was okay to reload and shoot the guy on the ground floor with me and then I'd have to shoot down the rafters after that. Decisions, decisions.
...he hit the ground. I saw him, dead as a dead man could ever be. I cried a tear, let a shiver fall down my spine, but he was completely gone. Why me? A scream was imprinted upon his face, the sound of it still stuck on his mouth. The scene was bloody and terrible, and I ask, "Why would anyone do this?"
But it was still real. The bullet shells, the destroyed corpse of the man, the crying family, the kids hiding their eyes, it was all real. I couldn't bring myself to say words to console them, so I merely said, "Saints of LA, right?" To which they nodded, and I told them that I was going to make the killer sorry, and to which I was going to go past lengths, and instead go to great heights to hold myself faithful to that word.
To hold a promise is what I was taught to do the best. If I can never solve a case, I shouldn't have promised I would. If I promised I would make somebody pay, I was saying I would take the case. And in taking the case, I was putting myself on the line for a promise.
I turned away, and said, "Call me if you find any reason to, but I'm going and finding this person."
And with that, I walked away, Silver following me faithfully. I knew where I was going, and I knew what the stakes were. Next stop was a Saints meeting place. The weapon was a grey Revolver hidden in my shoe, covered by my jeans, and a pocket knife hidden next to my opposite foot.
As I walked, I set a timer for 30 minutes on my phone. When that timer went off, it was going to dial the local police. Once those 30 minutes were up, I'd have backup right there on the dot of 2 minutes past.
I was in by 10 minutes. My dog stayed close behind me as though he were going to maul anything that came within 20 feet. I had my badge in my left hand, and my gun out in my right. There wasn't anybody home as far as I could see. Only a dripping in the dark warehouse, long forgotten and long before that abandoned. That dripping was getting louder as I walked in and my footsteps seemed extremely loud.
And the only thing louder than my footsteps was the dripping.
Silver started growling at something in the near proximity, but visibility was complete shit in here. "What's wrong, boy?" I asked him. He gave me a dire look that I've learned from training this pooch after my previous dog became too old to use in the work. That dog now lives with my mother, who needed a friendly dog to keep her company post father's death.
By now, I'd guess that it's been about 20 minutes since I set the timer.
A footstep could be heard and Silver snarled after it. He was gone in a flash. Even though he's still a puppy, a 40 pound dog is not something you would want pinning you down and baring his teeth at you. This man, as I could soon see, was not friendly. He pushed my dog off of him and in moments, I saw a gun and footsteps in the rafters told me that I was outnumbered.
Here, the 10 minute warning buzzed silently in my pocket. I was hoping I'd have missed it, though, and I was closer to the 5 minute mark instead, but stalling is one of my specialties.
Before I even had any idea what was going on, my pet was standing in front of me again and growling and keeping an aggressive stance.
I was counting by Mississippi seconds in my head and time was moving way to slow and my company too fast.
"Call off your dog or I'll shoot him, Jess," the one in front of me said. "You're not stupid, I know that you understand the situation."
He was right, too. I did understand the problems I was facing. 5 minute mark buzzed in my pocket quietly again, and that meant I still had to stall for at least another 5 minutes before help would be coming. I was going to have to get creative here or else I'd have to pick out my gravestone.
...with a dream. A wretched dream of chance and loss, and conflict with conflict's sake. Conflict may not last as long as some make it last, but the results of conflict are forever. Some bonds are meant to be broken, and some to be kept, and sometimes dreams just don't come true.
When I awoke from my dream, after a night of torment and aimless loss of gain itself, I found myself in my own bed. Silver, my snow-white husky, was laying at my feet and giving me a worried look as I awoke. I stroked his fur atop his head for a little while, then he licked my hand and went back to sleep.
This husky, as you could have probably guessed, was not yet full grown, or else he'd never fit upon my tiny bed. This dog was born 6 months ago on this night. This pet of mine was a friendly companion, though. He always seemed to listen to what I said, even though he clearly never understood me. As for behavior, he's a good boy. He doesn't make a mess of the house, bark loudly at night, or other things a puppy could do.
I've trained him to be able to find things by scent, as a dog of my needs should, and he's amazing at it. This dog could find anything, had he the scent and the time. But this is what I need.
You see, I'm a private investigator in Los Angeles.
It's a beautiful city, I suppose. Not to me, but to the tourists. In my eyes, this city only holds a job.
The next thing I saw was the sight of the sun coming up through my windows next to my bed. My apartment is a 2 room, a bedroom with windows that show me the city, and a kitchen across from where i was sitting now.
I got up, showered, shaved, and then got dressed. Worn down black skinny jeans, a dark grey T-shirt and a red bandana over my long, black hair. Let's take a look in the mirror.
My eyes were light grey. No color to them at all. My face was the opposite, but I live in California, what do you expect? My mouth had pale, a little chappy of lips.
After I slipped on some black socks and boots, I was out. Out of the apartment, Silver close behind me.
Outside, the sun was shining quite a bit. Silver and I did our usual daily run of the park, he did his business, I cleaned it up with a bag from a nearby park "Clean up after your pets." thing.
Then, the phone rang and buzzed in my pocket. When I answered, there was a murder done 4 blocks away. Reason: Saints of Los Angeles.