Feathered Friend

Chapter 12

~ Can't You Trip Like I Do - Filter feat. The Crystal Method

"This angry ghost worries me, Arkadi." The woman who held his hand said softly.

"Is it possible the coroner got it wrong?" He asked her with a frown. "I was sure they were dead. But is it possible I was mistaken?"

"No Malchik (†)" she said affectionately. "This is something else." Her face turned from pleasant elderly lady face to something from a traditional Grimm's Fairy Tale. Something much darker and much less sweet. She patted her grandson's knee and then grabbed his chin and brought his attention to her gaze. "There is nothing you can do to stop this Evil Spirit from being in this world. But you can return him to whatever Hell he left." He nodded and she smiled again. "Send him back 'Bystro' (‡) Malchik." She demanded. "No good can come of this evil spirit."

"So you believe he is an evil spirit?" Arkadi asked with some surprise.

"Nyet." She said and shook her head. "He is merely an inconvenience to you my boy." She added with a smile. "You will kill him again and return him to where he came from, and then you will make sure everyone knows you are unbeatable."

He smiled at her assertion and considered his next move.

Hours later my police file was delivered to him. He finally had something to use against me. And she was still in town.

........

Water dripped off my nose and struck the pavement as I huddled against the wall of the alley, waiting for the liquor store to open. You'd think I would have been wet through, but fortunately for me some of the bird's weatherproof aspects had translated over and I felt dry and comfortable even though my outward appearance belied that fact.

When the stubborn shop owner turned the closed sign over I stalked toward the door and answers of my own.

"Eh, Govnjuk *, it's you again." He said with a derisive head shrug when I walked up to the counter. "What's with the clown face?" He asked as the rain dripped down my pancaked face. I stood silent pondering what I could say, as my Guardian waited outside on the window ledge, before it tapped on the glass bringing me back to reality.

"I'm in mourning." I said tipping my face to the side as he shrugged, not really caring anyway.

"You want this Huh?" He asked, setting a six pack of the Baltika on the counter. But I shook my head. "What you want then?" He asked his expression turning even more sour at the lack of a sale.

"Shank."

He laughed without humour. "You don't find Shank, Man. He find you." He assured me, "And you don't wanna be round when he comes a callin'." I nodded in contradiction to his words, and he asked, "You owe him Yank?"

I nodded. I owed him a life. His own.

"OK, you go to titty bar," He laughed, "Clown Room, you fit right in."

Not my ideal place for a meet up, I certainly had no interest in that kind of entertainment. But I nodded and left. He wasn't my concern anymore. My next mark was.

My feathered friend flew on ahead. And I found myself running through streets and alleys throwing myself over cars, fences and obstructions as if they were mere hurdles. It was as if I had wings of my own, or the bird had imbued me with its energy as well as bringing me back from the dead. My heart raced as I threw myself down the next tarmacked link in the chain leading to my prey.

We arrived at the club and it was less dingy than I had imagined. Actually the clientele appeared slightly more upper class than your average leering half-cut scumbag. But not by much. My friend settled down on my shoulder and squawked.

I didn't want to walk into the cesspool of sweaty humanity. Even less did I want to observe the practically naked women as they did whatever they could to encourage the men to give them all their singles. A place like this they'd be lucky to get a fiver.

The rain had stopped for the time being. So I picked a spot on a nearby fire escape, settled in against the wall and waited for my prey to appear. He couldn't stay inside forever. I'd seen the brown tar stains on his fingers and I knew he'd be outside sooner or later for a smoke. Of course the venue might just be one of those dives that let their patrons smoke inside. But I was willing to bet he'd need air at some point. Even just to take a phone call out of earshot of the thumping music coming from inside.

Perched upon my nest up high above the dingy alley, my thoughts returned to happier times and our last dinner before I'd made Scott sleep at his Best Man's house so he wouldn't see me before the wedding. It seemed like stupid superstition looking back. But his expression as his face lit up when I walked down the aisle towards him had made that little demand so worthwhile. And I closed my eyes as I remembered how I'd felt. My memories took over until my friend cawed and I opened my eyes to see my prey coming out the side door into the alley across the way.

Alone at last.

(†) Roughly translates to Gayboy.

(‡) Quickly

Nyet = No

* Roughly translates as asshole in Russian