Of Lights and Shadows (Book 4)

4) Home is Where the Drugs Are

Late the following morning Dastardious called Commissioner Gallapolo. He had decided that before ringing he would let them all stew in their pathetic state for a while first, especially Mulligan.

Now actually faced with the prospect of being free and back in New York City, he was quite looking forward to it. It had been a while since he had seen the lights, sights, noise, smell, and a real home cooked meal. He caught himself in the middle of dreaming about roast chicken with a start. It was something he had never done before and never thought he would have missed anything at all, especially the company he had found before ending up in the clink.

They all wondered how Susan Mourner knew so much about them but it was quite simple, she talked to the only cop willing to ruin the name of the police. In exchange, he would receive the latest news from her, the paper would arrive with breakfast and he would go through all the facts of the case that he could see and send a letter telling her exactly what he thought about it. He had to admit, it really was a tough case.

The main reason he was this friendly with a reporter, a reporter being a type of person that he despised because of their constant nosy state, was because he was friends with her husband Silence Mourner. Silence was a strange man who had once helped put to rest two cases. The end result of the two cases was that Dastardious was promoted for his services; his new power didn't last long though.

Silence Mourner couldn't talk; he could make sounds but lacked the tongue to be able to create the words. Because of his strange state Dastardious had taken a shine to him, something he never did to anyone. After the closing of the cases they both kept in touch, despite the fact that Silence wasn't very fond of Dastardious after he had arrested him for a murder which he had committed. He was found innocent in the end, and gradually become willing to put it all behind him and see Dastardious occasionally for drinks and a chat.

Even though he couldn't speak, he could write very well. He was probably the fastest writer Dastardious had ever seen; the man could write on paper faster than anyone he had ever seen before in his life. This was a result of years and years of practice. He also knew his stuff because his uncle had paid for him to have the best education he could afford. It hadn't been much at the time, but Silence liked to learn and continued to after leaving school even though he never went to university.

Yes, thought Dastardious, I'm really looking forward to a chat and drink with Silence Mourner.

An hour after his phone call found Dastardious in the waiting room waiting to be called forth to collect his personal belongings that had been taken from him after his arrest.

'Hollow, Dastardious,' the name came through the speaker hanging on the wall. There were only ten seats in the room, and he was the only one there. It wasn't a very large room either. From where Dastardious sat in the front row he could see the man behind the desk speaking into the microphone. Was following this whole procedure worth it? He could have collected his gear ten minutes ago in. Rising to his feet, he took the four steps forward which placed him in front of the desk.

The man looked up at him through his half-moon spectacles and asked, 'Dastardious Hollow?'

Dastardious sighed and rolled his eyes, but didn't do anything as a guard was watching through the two-way mirror set up in the wall. 'Yes,' he said instead in a bored tone.

'Okay,' the man ducked down out of sight for a moment to retrieve Dastardious's belongings from the box that sat underneath the desk. His things were what he had been carrying when he was arrested. He had already changed back into his clothes, a pair of dark blue trousers, much the same colour as the ones he had to wear inside the prison, a tattered black belt to keep them up and a stained white, long sleeved shirt, rolled up past his elbows because of the heat inside the place. His arms were muscular and tanned from the sun, and strange scars covered his entire left arm from the wrist up to his shoulder. No one knew where they had come from, or even dared ask. He wouldn't have told them anyone.