Angel - City of Fear

Two sides of a coin.

A shadow is casted on the city street, tagging behind good ‘Ol Jefferson. Jeffferson is on his nightly walk. He walks past several stores.  But the fact that his friend Doyle had gotten into deep trouble with a killanobi didn’t sit well with him. It made Jefferson burn more cigarettes in a day. San Francisco, Jefferson flicks a cigarette to the side, the city that shines.

    He takes out his cigarette pack, opens it only to find there isn’t any cigarettes left.   Just my luck, Jefferson says words to himself that usually a child should not hear, three days in this city. He tosses the empty pack into a nearby trash can. And I am already out!  At night a person would expect cars to be out zipping and zooming on the road; but there is only few cars doing that.

 A street punk gets in Jefferson’s way.

 “Hey,” The Street Punk said. A street light shows he has barely any hair on his head. He seems genuinely concerned. “Is your stalker instinct expired or something? ‘Cause you are being followed.”

A street light shows Jefferson grimace.

“No.” Jefferson said. “But if you know what’s a killanobi is, then you would know what’s best for yourself.”

Jefferson takes a turn around the Street Punk but the Street Punk grabs his shoulder.

 “I’m part of the Street Watchers, and the way you said Killa Hobie makes me worried.” The Street Punk tells him.  His forehead becomes wrinkly.  He has a strange tattoo on his neck. “I don’t like it when that happens.”

  A streetlight shows The Street Punk is wearing a sleeveless hoody with a long sweater underneath it, he wore baggy jeans that have some rips in the seams at the knee’s, he wore ear piercings that somewhat glit. Anyone in daylight could tell this streetpunk didn’t have a care in the world to get a new pair of pants. He has an odd tattoo on the side of his neck.

   Jefferson couldn’t tell The Street Punk exactly why he is being followed out here. So the Street Punk invited him to do the explaining at his house; which is rent-controlled. The Street Punk made sure that they lost Dean on their tracks by doing something unconventional; getting into a large crowd.  Dean did not expect that coming. Jefferson made it to The Street Punk’s house without getting seen.

“What kind of spirits have you been angering?” The Street Punk opens a beer bottle as he sat in his seat. “By the way, Bridget, it’s just an average man.”  He takes a sip from his beer. “Bridget’s my girlfriend.”

 Jefferson is sitting in a red, old styled couch.

 “Bobby, put your beer away!” Bridget came in; she has wild dirty blonde wild hair with a headband that didn’t work. She slaps the Street Punk’s hand and takes the beer bottle away. She marches to another room.

“Now, that is a strong woman.”  Jefferson said.  

The Street Punk rubs his forehead.

 “A couple of my friends have told me that a strange, demon-like sick dude has been stalking you…” The hair on Jefferson’s neck rose up.   “What kind of spirits have you been angering?” The Street Punk asks, putting his hands together.

   Jefferson taps on the arm of the couch; as Bridget came back holding a coke.

 “One; this doesn’t involve spirits, Two; It’s not me, and third; it’s my friend who did it.” Jefferson  leans back into the couch.  “I have this friend of mine; who is half demon.”   He is rubbing his hands together.

The Street Punk and his girlfriend are frightened.

 “You are angering the spirits!” Bridget jumps to conclusions.  “You should be ashamed of yourself; people get killed for doing dirty things like that.”