On the Trail...

Chapter 2: A Bill for a Bull

Mr. Willows stood outside the shabby apartment of Bill, and let out a low sigh when he had finished reading the eviction notice pinned to the door. The sheet of paper had been affixed to the door by a crude knife someone had embedded into the feeble wood, and Mr. Willows had lit a match to read the thing in the dark. I'd reckon Mr. Willows didn't think that to be such a good sign, mind you. Trying the handle, he noticed the door was locked, and seeing as there were no windows to glance into, the inquisitor looked around at the other apartments lining the same wall, and slightly smiled when he saw an elderly fella peering at him from behind a slightly opened door, two apartments down. The man-in-black stepped that way, and chuckled when the door, predictably, slammed shut.

But if a door could ever have stopped Mr. Jack Willows, then I wouldn't bother telling this old tale of mine. As expected, a few moments later, Jack was softly knocking on the door.

Almost immediately, the door opened, if but only a few inches. The man behind the door was holding a candle, and the flickering aura of light barely illuminated the two through the slightly cracked door.

"Excuse me, sir," Jack said. "Do you know a dwarf who stays in these parts? Name's Bill."

"Aye, we're all fer knowin' that one," the old man said from behind the door. Jack could see one eye, gray like his own, staring up at him in the candlelight. Spittle speckled Jack through the opening as the man growled out his next words, "Scum o' the earth, if'n'yer askin'. Ain't none 'bout worse than him."

Mr. Willows sighed, raised his hands up as if in defense, and patted the air to help calm the man. "I only need to know if you've any idea where he is?"

That gray eye, dull with age, but not with any lack of acuity, narrowed at the question. "Who's wantin' to know? Ain't one to rat, no I ain't, even if Bill ain't but scum!"

"Name's Mr. Willows," Jack answered with a tip of his large hat. "There's no need to worry- I'm a friend of Bill's. An associate."

Jack watched as the old man's eye appraised him, real quick-like.

Now, so as not to repeat myself with unnecessary redundancies, I'll just explain to you now that Jack wore only black; indeed, his boots, pants, belt, shirt, cloak, and hat were all one and the same color. Now, since you're for knowing that, we can move on with the more interesting aspects of the story.

That one eye darted down to notice, no doubt, the fine slacks tucked into shiny, leather boots, then upward to the equally glossy leather belt, and Jack closed his cloak more tightly about him when the old fella's eye had caught sight of a mighty exquisite holster upon the inquisitor's upper-thigh. That caused the elder's eye to widen in surprise, before roaming up, past Jack's tucked-in dress shirt, to assess Mr. Willows's face.

Now, I mentioned before that Jack was a handsome fella, but I didn't explain much in the way of how he was actually looking. He had a refined face, with a sharp chin and high cheekbones, and he wore a thin gentleman's mustache above a trimmed goatee that ended in a classy point beneath his chin - accentuating them angular features of his, even more, see - with no hair connecting the two, or rising up to his cheeks; certainly, Mr. Jack Willows enjoyed maintaining a polished, elegant, and precise visage. All of this rested beneath a large - some would say obnoxiously so! - wide-brimmed hat that covered half the man's face in shadow. And it was there, within the shadow, where rested the eyes of the man: bright gray orbs swirled by a darker shade of gray, seeming as rain clouds drifting above and within a wintry landscape, bringing to bear a feeling of frigid trepidation. For, as the tale is told, them eyes caught the breath of any who dared to look into their icy depths, and in that moment, the old man's eye did indeed freeze, transfixed, as it stared into Jack's cold, sharp eyes.