Blade And Saffron

The Dead Man and The Assassin

David went through the dead man's pockets swiftly but thoroughly. He found only a handful of change coins inside the right trousers pocket, nothing in the left. He was about to throw it away carelessly but thought better and slid them back into their place. There was a bunch of ordinary looking set of keys inside his front jacket pocket. Cautiously, steering clear from the dark blood drenching the shirt where the man had been stabbed to death repeatedly, judging by the many large, deep wounds like blooming, twisted roses through his torso and chest, he lifted the jacket to check the inner pockets.

"Ugh, what an unnecessary overkill, crazy psychopath." David muttered, disgruntled by the mess, his gloved fingers searching for anything of value. "How could there is nothing?" Maybe some street rats had gone through here before him. No, the blood was too fresh. Which left the killer.

"Is that why you were dead, Mr. Politician?" David asked the middle aged, formal looking man with stern bearded jawline and hollow eyes staring emptily at him. "Rich man stabbed like a rag doll by some drunk, dirty back-alley mugger, makes one wonder what's the point of all those mount of money we love so much, and reputation and the fame, don't you, or didn't you, in your case?" The man didn't answer, merely leaning on the wall, staring at him in rigid disapproval.

David shuddered, using his thumb and middle finger to pull down the eyelids over those accusing eyes. Studying the expensive tailored suits with silver buttons and monogrammed cuff links, the polished leather shoes, the elegant set of three smokey topaz cradled in a gold nest, pinned on his lapel, which apparently the robber/killer didn't take, he tilted his head to the side, tapping on his lips.

He shrugged, removing the pin deftly, wiping as much blood as possible from it, grumbling about inconvenient, blood thirsty psychopath with no style and no taste, slipped it inside his waistcoat, already knowing that he would get blood on it, just like his new black wool overcoat that was probably soiled in grimy water, foul mixture of God knew what bred in this dark, disgusting alley by now. He didn't even dare to check. Suddenly, he was struck by an inspiration. Quickly, he took off one of his glove, he ran his hand along the inner side of the dead man's jacket, sensing with his finger pads, and aha, a line of carefully sewed threads where there was no opening. He took out his pocket knife, and sliced through the material deftly, sliding his hand inside the hidden pocket, wrapped it around a hard, square object. Pulling his hand out, he slipped his pocket knife back inside his jacket, frowning at the thin, square wooden box between his fingers. By the dim illumination from the street light ahead, he tried to find any opening or a keyhole, the small box was covered with intricate pattern of circles and silver vine-liked curves on all sides, seemingly a seamless unit. Closing his eyes, he brought it close to his ear and felt with his hand along the surfaces, applying pressure onto small crevices, nothing happened, no sound.

"Interesting." David uttered softly, feeling beyond intrigued. It could be what the killer was looking for, no wonder the raging overkill. "Perhaps the night isn't a complete waste after all."

His hand moved to his waistcoat, then he froze. A quiet steps fell behind him. He moved to the side, there was a sound of displaced air right where his head was a moment ago, he dropped low, swiping his foot behind him but hit only empty air. He rolled away to the side, and got to his feet quickly. A flash of blade, he bent his torso to avoid the slash, turning sideways.

"Wait!" He exclaimed.

"Need to catch your breath already?" A male's calm, cool voice answered him with another slash that he barely evaded. How many psychopaths does this charming town has?!

"I didn't kill him! He's dead when I found him!"

The psycho's leg shot out, he caught and gripped the boot, trying to unbalance him by pushing him backward, but the man pulled his leg back swiftly with a hard twist, pulling his body forward with him. He felt a punch landed on his jaw, whipping his face to the side, his mouth filled with salty iron. He used the momentum to get behind the man, and kicked as hard as he could on the back of his knee. The man grunted. He kicked on the other knee, ducked the incoming elbow and fist. Then, rising back up, he punched in an uppercut to his chin.