Chapter 10
Behind a fancy diner in western Demont a middle aged, very badly kempt man rummaged through a poorly locked dumpster. The man wore a loosely fitted army jacket and black sunglasses, a white tipped cane hung from his right wrist. "Lessee," the man spoke only to himself. "Tonight, we gots a half eaten steak sammich, with a side of discarded riblets... and do my eyes deceive me? A quarter clice of death by choclit cake?" the man smacked his lips almost comically as he gathered the scraps of food up.
"Enough for three, Bob?" a low, grating voice called out behind him. The man whirled around to find a familiar, black masked face glaring into his own visage.
"RAM!" Bob exclaimed, stumbling back into the dumpster’s metal rim. "Shiite! Why the fuck you always do that t’ me, huh?"
"Because it’s funny," Ram grimaced at Bob beneath his mask. As Ram stepped out of the shadows, Bob noticed that his costume was now draped and covered by a long, leather looking cape.
"G- going for a new look?" Bob tried to jest, though his stutter gave away his fear. "Hey- why did you say "three?"
"I brought company," Ram told him, gesturing behind him at a bulky silhouette still standing in shadows. Bob could only make out a pair of pointed ears and the glimmer metal before nodding nervously.
"Ho-okay," Bob wrung his hands around his cane. "Look- I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you clean the clocks of three goons at once."
"Clean the clocks of three goons at once." the shadowed figure repeated jest fully. "Wow, this guy is like a bad Dick Tracy character."
"Hey, I’m just saying-no run around this time," Bob told them. "Whatever you need, just ask and I’ll tell you. For... you know... the usual price."
Rick, cocked his head to one side, the let his left hand slip out from beneath his cape, holding a hot sandwich in a plastic box.
"Arby’s roast beef?" Bob asked hopefully.
"Jumbo size," Ram confirmed.
"With cheese?"
"Yes,"
Bob eagerly took the sandwich. "Okay, shoot."
"Some children went missing this week, Bob, kids who lived on the streets in Shinbone." Ram told him. "I need to know who these kids are, or who has them, or- what the hell- both."
Bob stuffed the sandwich into his coat, suddenly looking very sullen. "Look, I’ve got no love for any costumes, especially YOU, but I say this outta what little professional courtesy I have- stay outta this one."
"And why would you want me to do that, Bob?" Ram narrowed his blank eyes into thin slits.
"You and I both know Demont can be a dark place to live if you don’t have the money to stay in one o’ the ivory towers," Bob told Ram, tapping his cane against the dumpster. "You and I also know that in this city, there ARE real monsters, and not monsters like guys like Jonah Cash- naw, I mean of the boogeyman variety. The kinn’a horrors parents used to use to keep their kids in line."
"I’ve already met my share of those," Ram said, recalling with no pleasure his run ins with the all too real Grim Reaper.
"But you haven’t met THIS monster," Bob told him, getting out a cigarette and a lighter. "Look, you paid the fee, so I at least owe you a story. It’s a story the homeless bums from Shinbone to the Blitz Bridge know from experience."
Bob lit his cigarette and took a long, deliberate puff from it. "It’s the story of Dr. Chimera."
"Enough for three, Bob?" a low, grating voice called out behind him. The man whirled around to find a familiar, black masked face glaring into his own visage.
"RAM!" Bob exclaimed, stumbling back into the dumpster’s metal rim. "Shiite! Why the fuck you always do that t’ me, huh?"
"Because it’s funny," Ram grimaced at Bob beneath his mask. As Ram stepped out of the shadows, Bob noticed that his costume was now draped and covered by a long, leather looking cape.
"G- going for a new look?" Bob tried to jest, though his stutter gave away his fear. "Hey- why did you say "three?"
"I brought company," Ram told him, gesturing behind him at a bulky silhouette still standing in shadows. Bob could only make out a pair of pointed ears and the glimmer metal before nodding nervously.
"Ho-okay," Bob wrung his hands around his cane. "Look- I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you clean the clocks of three goons at once."
"Clean the clocks of three goons at once." the shadowed figure repeated jest fully. "Wow, this guy is like a bad Dick Tracy character."
"Hey, I’m just saying-no run around this time," Bob told them. "Whatever you need, just ask and I’ll tell you. For... you know... the usual price."
Rick, cocked his head to one side, the let his left hand slip out from beneath his cape, holding a hot sandwich in a plastic box.
"Arby’s roast beef?" Bob asked hopefully.
"Jumbo size," Ram confirmed.
"With cheese?"
"Yes,"
Bob eagerly took the sandwich. "Okay, shoot."
"Some children went missing this week, Bob, kids who lived on the streets in Shinbone." Ram told him. "I need to know who these kids are, or who has them, or- what the hell- both."
Bob stuffed the sandwich into his coat, suddenly looking very sullen. "Look, I’ve got no love for any costumes, especially YOU, but I say this outta what little professional courtesy I have- stay outta this one."
"And why would you want me to do that, Bob?" Ram narrowed his blank eyes into thin slits.
"You and I both know Demont can be a dark place to live if you don’t have the money to stay in one o’ the ivory towers," Bob told Ram, tapping his cane against the dumpster. "You and I also know that in this city, there ARE real monsters, and not monsters like guys like Jonah Cash- naw, I mean of the boogeyman variety. The kinn’a horrors parents used to use to keep their kids in line."
"I’ve already met my share of those," Ram said, recalling with no pleasure his run ins with the all too real Grim Reaper.
"But you haven’t met THIS monster," Bob told him, getting out a cigarette and a lighter. "Look, you paid the fee, so I at least owe you a story. It’s a story the homeless bums from Shinbone to the Blitz Bridge know from experience."
Bob lit his cigarette and took a long, deliberate puff from it. "It’s the story of Dr. Chimera."
posted by Brian at 3:50 PM
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