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Drain Brameged Inc. Proudly Presents

A Mad-Hamlet Production

Noir

      The rain came down in sheets. Endless waves of droplets flowing from the sky, cold and heavy. Every one a physical blow that stung the skin. The buildings, large hulking shadows silhouetted against the gray hued sky, withstood the assaults easily enough; I was convinced the next wave falling from the tidal skies, like the flood of old, would knock em' all down.

      The side street ran behind those same buildings, perpendicular to the main road five blocks and a couple of standards of living away. These sagging, sorry, complexes bore the scars of graffiti, pollution, and blood. And In this modern day when kids carried personal arsenals there were more than a few bullet holes as well.

      The street was deserted. A single street lamp glowed providing the only light for the entire block. The dark was oppressive, the rain was oppressive, the lonely streets were oppressive; added together made for a very oppressive combination. If I wasn't so sure of myself I'd have started to feel a little depressed.

      I turned up the collar of my trench coat yet again. Didn't help much save allowing some ice cold rain water to slide between my collar wriggling all the way to the base of my spine. I ignored it; I had ignored the colder touches of seduction from femme-fatales, professional whores and little, lost, not-so-innocent, lambs. Rainwater was a cakewalk.

      I ran one hand along the bridge of my fedora whipping away the water clinging to it; a hat this good didn't deserve this kind of abuse. I looked around again, peering into the darkness beyond my small pool of plague yellow light. It was the kind of light that reminds you of vomit, and broken dreams rather than progress and the advancements of mankind through the ages.

      I couldn't see anything. There was no one around.

      'Only an idiot would be out in this weather,' I thought to myself. 'So, of course here I am.'

      It was kind of nice actually. Sure the rain was cold, the wind chill biting down on my joints, making them creak with age, but beyond that it was quiet. No violence was spilling out on the streets, no shouting, or sobbing from open windows. No street vendors hawking their wares; screaming in your face that the watches they held really were gold Rolexes and not some cheap, foreign, rip off.

      Nope, any abuses going on, any pain being inflicted was now safely tucked away between closed doors and drawn curtains. A painting Norman Rockwell forgot to paint, 'Bad Alleys in the Storm'.

      Just me and the rain.

      I lit a cigarette.

      And the nicotine.

      The young blond stumbled into my circle of light, hair pasted to her head, clothing soaked through, leather jacket ruined, and her t-shirt, demonstrating through its sodden state that she liked the lacy kind of bras. Yes, a young, tight, tired wet package with bright eyes, trim body, and long hair that probably got tossed over her shoulder when she laughed on warm, spring days, out in the countryside. A real corn silk girl.

       'Jailbait', I thought to myself.

      She stopped short and looked me up and down slowly, sizing me up, maybe checking out my threat level. Had the cancer stick, second hand smoke, wow. Watch out for this serial killer. I got tired of the waiting game.

      "Take a picture," I said around the cigarette. "It'll last longer."

      She jerked back a bit, "I'm looking for my friend," she said. "We got separated after we-"

      "I ain't interested in your life story, sweetheart," I flicked the remains of my smoke into the rain, the burning red tip pinwheeling beyond my circle of light, snuffed out by the rain before it hit the ground. "What's yer friend look like."

      She blinked a few times, rainwater, surprise, I didn't know, still don't now. Didn't matter, she recovered quickly.

      "Red hair, my height, blue windbreaker, pink sweatshirt underneath with a hood, flower pattern dress. Flats," she answered calmly, crossing her arms.

      "She sounded real pretty," I said with a sigh.

      "Sounded?" the blonde asked me.

      "Oh yes, angel, past tense. These streets?" I glanced around; the sheets of rain hammering the streets and us like steel needles obscuring my vision. "Well, in this weather she might still be present tense. We better start looking."

      "I didn't ask for your help," she said back to me.

      "Didn't offer it," I shrugged. "It's blind fate that our lives are leading in the same direction. I just suddenly learned there was a redhead out and about that might be in trouble."

      She walked out of the light like she'd done it a thousand times before, her voice drifted back to me. "Fate suggests you don't call me 'angel'."

      I snickered, "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

      "This is nuts," she was muttering to herself when I caught up to her. "First I lose Willow in the heart of LA and now some complete stranger, in a trench coat has decided to help me find her."

      "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," I said.

      The light from the lone streetlamp faded as we walked away; soon the only way to see was from the dull, yellow glow of the cities lights reflected off the bloated, low hanging clouds.

      "Have you ever actually thought what that means?" she said suddenly. "Gifts in a horse's mouth?"

      I shrugged again, "The actual idea is a bit odd; I don't think em' up, I just use em'.. You're friends name is Willow. Pretty name."

      "She's a pretty girl," the blonde answered, but then her jaw snapped shut. She stared at me, daring me to say anything. That grim dangerous look people get. Usually it's like a cat arching its back, pretending to look more dangerous than it really is. No real danger to back it. She wasn't like that. Trust me; I could tell.

      We came to the entrance of a dingy alley barely wide enough for a car. No lights were back there, nothing broke the deep black. A hole in the face of no where, that went somewhere. Somewhere real bad.

      "Let's check down there," the blonde pointed to the maw.

      "No," I said. "There's nothing down there."

      She studied me for a moment, "Riiigght," she drawled. "You're just able to see in the dark." With a toss of her head she turned for the entrance to the alley. A lazy hand on her shoulder, slight tug spun her around so she was facing me.

      "Listen to me, sweetheart," I pointed at the entrance. "There's nothin' and nobody down at the end of those alleys. Nothing that's salvageable. Where do you think all those five dollar hookers go to die? The ones that got the track marks goin' wrist to shoulder? They don't disappear by themselves-- no, like wasted beasts they tuck themselves in a corner and rot."

      She twisted slightly so I let her arm go but didn't stop talking. "Only there's still a lot life left between rotten living and rotten dead and it's never a very nice kind of life. Your friend go down there, she's gone. If she's lucky."

      I stepped back a bit to give her room to breath, to think. Also to get out swinging range. Still not sure how, but I knew that she was a closed fist kind of hitter. No open slaps from her. She didn't swing though, just glared at me, dunno what for. Grabbing her maybe, or lecturing her about city living. Who knew? Who even cared.

      She, wasn't happy at all I guess. "I lost track of Willow two blocks down," she said tossing her head in the direction. "You really insist on sticking around, that's where we're headed."

      Above us the fat clouds flashed, flexed a little muscle; a thundering boom and a bolt leaping from cloud to the roof of a building. Something exploded, a transformer maybe, showering the street with sparks. What few building signs glumly lighting the street flickered and died. Instantly, the street was black for the moment. My eyes adjusted quickly and I could make out areas of greater and lesser dark.

      "Huh," I chuckled, fishing in my jacket for my lighter. I grabbed it, "LA through a glass darkly, eh sweetheart?"

      She stood in the middle of the dark, a black shadow soaking up the void around her like she belonged there. "Feelin' right at home myself," she replied. I shrugged, tapped out a cigarette, lit it, enjoyed the smoky flavor, and exhaled. She walked away, on down the street.

      Her friend wasn't around the mall where they got split up. She wasn't in any of the restaurants still open. She even asked a few people at bus stops or taxi stands if they had seen her chum. After the fifth person in a row shook their head and walked away quickly she gave up.

      I grinned at her, "They don't like strangers around here," I said.

      She snorted in disgust, trying to look in charge, on top of things; but the worry was beginning to get to her.

      "They don't like anybody around here."

      Had to agree with that. Phone booths on the corners had a few street kids hiding out from the rain in them, but no sign of her friend. We passed a phone booth where a drunk crouched in the corner. The blonde stared at him for a moment, "Least he's not in this rain," she grumbled.

      "Oh, rain's not his problem anymore," I said walking beside her. "He's been there since Tuesday."

      "Today is Tuesday," she replied, a puzzled frown on her face.

      "Last Tuesday," I clarified.

      "What?" she gasped. "No one's, maybe, called the cops or anything?"

      I glanced at her before staring ahead, looking for shadows in the dark, "Nobody cares," I said.

      "Why are you helping me then?" She wasn't stupid this one, I liked her. I grinned at her, wide, open, friendly. Or so I liked to think. Hadn't seen my own grin in a long while. "I'm not nobody."

      I must have smiled okay, or said something okay because she smiled back; a little. I almost got a little upset at that. She was starting to trust me, me, a guy who grew up, lived and survived in a scuttling, rotten corner of the world. If she had been with anyone else she'd wound up a snack on the six o'clock news, if that.

      I looked away, "There's a train trestle about three blocks away, gathering place for roaches and predators most nights. Could be quite a crowd tonight. Follow me." She nodded silently.

      Didn't take us too long and it was kinda nice to have company. She didn't know me but I knew her; knew I could trust her, that she wouldn’t rip me off or try and stab me in the back. A decent person, morals an' everything. Didn't even mind the rain much. We really had to find her friend fast.

      We did.

      She had her back to a wall, under the bridge. Surrounding her were three young guys. Well, two teens and a twelve year old, I think. Dark remember? She stood out, under storm clouds, shadows, rain, and the almost supernatural pall of this filth, she was recognizable as something special. White skin, almost marble from the cold, red hair, stuck to her head, sweater and dress clinging to her body getting into all sorts of trouble and worst of all, an innocent, almost hopeful, optimistic air about her that those from around here loved to devour.

      She wasn't saying anything, just looking for a way out; eyes flickering from one, to the other, to the third. There wasn't an escape and she was afraid, panic response, looking always looking even though the mind knew it was trapped. The punks around her knew it too, were soaking in her fears, enjoying the power it gave them, let them forget this life for a second.

      Two of the teens were leaning against the wall, casual, not looking really threatening but totally barring her way either right or left. The youngest was scary though. A good four inches shorter than the redhead he was staring at her like bloody meat. He'd done this before, he'd liked it too.

      "Chick, chikie," he was purring. "Fun, fun, fun." He was fondling a straight razor, sliding its sides over his palm, back and forth, back and forth. I dunno, these street punks are always doing that stuff. Mantras or rituals of some sort. No idea how long he'd been muttering like that.

      "Heya kids," I said. "Shouldn't you be home with your family's not-" I had planned on trying to talk them down, resorting to violence only if I had too. Didn't have a problem with violence really; except bruised knuckles annoyed me. That's not what happened though.

      The blonde, my 'sweetheart' cannonballed past me like a torpedo and demolished the gang-bangers. Real quick, real efficient, lots of cracks, and pops. Joints being introduced to geometry; right angles, forty five degree angles all of them in the directions opposite what nature intended. Teeth met the ground and their former owners met the pavement short moments later. Even shorty got busted up.

      Blondie went for the two big ones first, took them out no sweat, she had her back turned when he made his move. She was spinning through some martial arts kick,a real Bruce Lee move when he jumped for her back, his blade in his hand. She knew.

      She tucked her leg, accelerated the spin, switched, and her other leg came rocketing out behind her where she wasn't even looking, to slam into him. Maybe she misjudged his height, maybe she was a little bit too slow or maybe she aimed, either way she caught short, mean and twisted right in the crotch with a kick that must have pulped his pride and joys like grapes in a stone crusher.

      I winced in sympathy. Lit another cigarette. 

      The redhead, Willow, threw herself at the blonde, they embraced, she was crying or babbling. It was fast, real fast kind of talk. I couldn't make out most of it. Something about being scared and feeling stupid about wandering off, apologies, lots of apologies, she finished with, "I knew you'd save me, Buffy."

      That got my attention, "Hold it a second ladies," I turned toward Blondie. "Your name is Buffy?"

      They eyed me, the redhead leaning her shoulder against the blonde, her arms holding Buffy tight. Buffy had a challenging look on her face, "Yeah, that's me," she said. "Buffy Summers. You got a problem with that?"

      Against my will my eyes flickered to the punk, curled fetal on the street. He was still trying to cough up what Ms Summer had obviously kicked into the back of his throat. "Not at all," I replied.

      Buffy nodded, satisfied I suppose. She turned into Willow's embrace and they just held each other for a moment. I enjoyed a last drag and flicked yet another dead smoke into the rain. "Love conquers all," I sighed.

      They leaped apart as if boiling. I didn't chuckle, "We're, um, we're not like that," Willow, the redhead, stammered.

      Buffy agreed vehemently; nodding almost crazily. She was no longer dangerous, or even grown up looking. Face flushed, eyes downcast, hands behind her back, kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Nope, not at all. Boys town all the way."

      "Whoohoo boys-town," the redhead false cheered, even pumped her fist in the air. I stared at her and she slowed, stopped, and then let her arm fall.

      "Oh," I smiled. Grabbed the last cigarette in the pack. "My mistake."

      The hell it was.

      "Those things will kill you," the redhead said pointing at my cigarette.

      "Thank God for that," I replied but I didn't light it. "Bus stations' a block and half that way," I said pointing. "Should be a late night bus for boys-town leaving any minute."

      "Um," Buffy, Blondie, the sweetheart with a spin kick from hell, began to say.

      "Don't thank me," I replied. "Just get the hell out of here while you can."

      Not missing a beat she shrugged, reached for the redhead's hand and they turned without another word and walked away. At that second the power came back on, the city street they were heading toward, the edge of where the city's lines began, looking like an accomplishment and safety, lit up like a Christmas tree. They stepped out from under the bridge and with the lights and water splashing off of them for a moment, just a moment, I thought I saw a nimbus of light around them.

      I turned around, looked away.

      I fished my lighter out of pocket, cupped my hands around the end, flicked it with my thumb and touched the end of my cigarette into the flame. The slight crackle of paper and tobacco, the warm, wretched, craved taste of smoke, the tingle in the brain and scratchy pain in the throat wonderful and comforting. Lethal too. I welcomed it.

      "Hey pal, bum a smoke?" Someone said behind me.

      I looked over my shoulder, "Last one," I said with a shrug. "You'll just have to buy your own, Whistler."

      He was wearing that god-awful hat and jacket with the lounge shirt underneath, as always. He stepped out of some shadows on the far side of the trestle. He jogged his way to me. "You're such a liar," he said, reaching into my pocket. He snagged my backup pack, tore the top off, and grabbed a smoke for himself. Whipping out a Zippo, he lit up with the wrist snap of a seasoned professional.

      "Thanks," he said handing me the rest of the pack.

      "Don't mention it," I replied pocketing it.

      We smoked in silence for bit, out of the rain.

      "Cut it kind of close," he said finally. "Any later, I'd have had to stop them."

      I shrugged.

      He pointed at the remains of the punks on the ground, "Her work?"

      "You didn't see it?" I asked.

      "Too far away," He flicked the ash off with snap. "So they left together?"

      "I don't think those boys are going to be walking for a month, much less leaving." I replied.

      He rolled his eyes, "The girls, I meant the girls."

      "Yep," I nodded. "Real cozy. Just like you wanted."

      "Way it had to be," he said. He looked away in the direction the blonde and redhead had vanished. "Bad things are coming, real bad. Only shot we have is those two, workin' together. Best way to insure that keeps happenin' is have them mean more to each other than anythin' else."

      Whistler kept staring in their direction. "Hate this," he muttered. Was silent for a second, glanced in the ladies direction again. " They're sweet kids, what's gotta be though. This time the balance itself is threatened. Not about just good n'bad anymore. It's about keepin' the right and wrong the right way round where they're in the good n' bad."

      "I get all tingly inside when you get cryptic," I exhaled a lungful.

      He ignored me, tossed his smoke on the ground, and ground his heel on it. "Even with that much they're going to suffer, be lucky to even survive. Or maybe not. Not sure which is better; though pretty sure the rest of us will."

      I hit him; a beauty of left that got him just along the jaw line; it spun him around and he hit pavement. Didn’t knock him out though. He lay on the ground for a moment before sitting up with a groan cradling his jaw in one hand.

      "Ow," he grumbled. "Damnit, I said I hated it. Don't like the idea of those girls getting' hurt and dying, or getting' hurt and havin' to live with it anymore than you do! It's that or all the other good kids, girls, parents, whatever, the whole world goin' poof and all of humanity with it."

      "Didn't hit you cause of that," I replied. "Did it because you made me wait out in the rain for three hours."

      He didn't say anything, for a bit then a responded with a quiet, "Oh," another pause. "Right, well this whole predicting the future and manipulatin' destiny ain't exactly an exact science y'know."

      I leaned forward, offered him my hand, he took it and I pulled him to his feet. He wobbled for a bit then steadied. "Thanks," he said.

      "You're welcome," I replied. Then hit him with a right. Uppercut, perfect. Lifted him right off the ground. He landed in a puddle with a splash. "That was for Buffy and Willow," I said turning away for home.

END-Noir.

Authors Notes: Said I wasn't going to do a story for the pics I made but I got the idea and it wouldn't let me go. Consider it a bit of a prequel for 'Roman'. (See the pics in the Gallery)

I remain, as always,
Mad-Hamlet