Tuesday, 17 December 2013

Silenced night, Unholy night

The weather was moist and cold, a flowing, living mean sheet of ice that has something personal against you.
And everyone else in Chicago.
Neda sat on a bed in the safehouse fieldstripping the Beretta. The guy between the sheets snored a bit. He hadn't been bad. Well, he had been bad, but the good kinda bad.
She'd  have to save that alias and burner phone.
For now.

She assembled and loaded PX Storm and grabbed lighter and smokes. She opened the window and checked the surroundings while planning. She had a job to do, but it wasn't easy. Nothing ever was.
Nothing good anyways.
She didn't like the choices, but she picked the best one. There was still time.
She tossed the butt out and closed the window. Shivers ran in her nude body.
Neda hid the gun again, no need to scare the man. Yet.
She was cold. And knew how to fix that too.
"Wake up sleepyhead"
Time to check if it was worth keeping the burner.

Donaghue sat in the SUV eating his chicken nuggets at arraigned spot in the morning when passenger side door opened.
"Hello Neda, what gives me the pleasure this time?"
"You still trying to be funny? That is so sweet"
Donaghue lifted a folder and kept holding it even as Neda tried to grab it.
"It has a price"
"Really? Widows and orphans fund? Or cash?"
"a favor. And no, not in the way like my wife thinks"
"Donaghue, you are divorced. Twice. You are the saddest cop stereotype there is"
"Four times"
"Really? Sorry, haven't been keeping up. You just don't learn do you?"
"Vegas. I was drunk. She worked at Hooters and  I wasn't really married with the fourth one"
"And the favor was...."
"You heard about Krampus?"
"The name press gave to the dude that's been slaying Santa's left and right past few weeks, sure. I think half of US has heard of serial killer targeting Santa Claus by now, maybe some folks in Europe too"
"Kill him"
"Donaghue, I am a shadow, I'm outside the law and you are a police. Are you wearing a wire and trying to entrap me or some shit because you just asked me hunt a serial killer and kill him?"
He put the rest of his nuggets down
"No wire. Listen, the department's been looking for weeks, everyone has. Four Santa's dead in less than two weeks. He needs to go. I think it's fair trade for witness protection files I am not supposed to have, copy or deliver to anyone."
He let go and Neda started to go.
"You don't want to know why?"
"I really don't care. Maybe you just love Christmas?"
"Nope, fucking hate it. Fake smiles, ugly glittery tinsel and cheesy music, religious crap, gifts and commercial shit and all the domestics, homicides, suicides, rapes and drunken brawls. Worse than a heatwave."
"Right mr cheery, then why? Promotion?"
"nope. Sheila, my ex, she has kids. Girl and boy.From before. Their excuse of a dad is worse than me, not violent just useless. I never wanted kids, had myself fixed too. I left that bit out on my second wife for four years, but...shit yeah, but I loved that bitch and I care for her kids. Way I never thought. Even though she broke my heart. I'm still their "uncle". And they love Christmas. All innocent and all.. hopeful. And they are scared witless.And  I told them that the bad man is gonna go away. I promised."
Neda shook her head
"Oh I know. I know. Laugh all you want. You get the file, the fucker dies, happy ending for all"
"Donaghue, it's a deal." Naeda opened her door to leave "And for a scottish amoral cop you are one big softie"

She went to another safehouse, rented under false name, to check the goods. It had just gone from hard to walk in a park: aliases, floorprints, guard rotations, call signs, frequencies, planned escape routes, the requisition forms for unmarked vehicles...Donaghue had to know both Marshall service's and Fed's to get these.
There were at least two good windows for her op.
All she now had to do was to find a serial killer.

The law enforcement works like cleaning services. They take out the trash and keep everything more or less in working order for the common people.
The Krampus had rattled the cage.
People were scared so police had hit the streets and put pressure on everyone. It worked because as one crime lord had put it quaintly: If you toss a frog in boiling water the frog will jump the hell out, if you put the frog in warm water it will stay there even when heat is turned on and it just boils to death.
Maintaining pressure.
Neda had for that, and a few other things, put five bullets in him. But despite it's inhumanity it worked as a method.

That meant that the killer had been found by someone and either was dead already or paid to be protected. First choice would make her job ever easier, second meant that she had to make a better offer.
Just business.

It took her two whole days, negotiations and endless phone calls. Through bribes and threats and half heard rumors she knew she had him.
The address and name of Krampus.
And he was protected by Aryans. Of course.
As a black woman there was no way Neda could or would want to contact the bigots but she didn't need to.
Jimmy the Butler was old, white, mean and ex-con and he could get the info for her.

"Up there, fifth floor. Porterson, Ian Porterson"
"you are sure?"
"Dollie sugarcane, those boys wasn't smart enough to lie. They were planning to squeeze him out of money and get free work out of him"
"Is he in security or something?"
"Nah. If wasn't serial killer he'd be going to hell anyways.He's a business lawyer. They caught him in the act with second one and now he's paying them. And they try to get him to ice the black Santa's"
Neda glanced over her glasses raising her plucked eyebrows.
"Their thing, as racists you should know that Little mama"
"Jimmy I appriciate your help but you do know I am going to beat the crap out of your old honky ass next time"
"The lip on you black girls, priceless. But I don't hit women so it's not fair"
"And as you don't have a left arm you won't hit with that either"
"I done told you girly, it's martial arts, not partial arts. You can come and try to kick my ass sweetbuns, anytime." he cackled.
"My lip? My lip? really? Just fuck off old man, I have some work to do.
And Jimmy...thanks"

Picking the lock on backdoor was relatively fast and simple. The building was in a better neighborhood and there were no security cameras nor ATMs near by. It took her a while to navigate to the correct corridor.
She had double-checked the apartment number. It was something you did, every professional has a tale of a SNAFU over mixed addresses or numbers. And that's pro's.
Neda wore real UPS brown uniform, tab and a parsel and started to ring the doorbell.
She heard movement from the inside and rang again. There was a sound and flicker at peephole.
"Hello. Anyone home?"
Ratch of a security chain and door opened. Fit, middelaged cleancut man, medium build, mr Joe Average stood there.
"What is this? I havent ordered anything."
"I'm sorry but are you mr Ian Porterson?"
"Well I have a paid express package here for you and I would need a signature" She showed the pad at him.
"Fine" he sighed and shut the door and worked the door chain in order to open it again.
He step out sighing
"now where do sign..?"
The silenced .22 S&W auto sent pair of subsonic hollowpoints: first one on the bridge of nose between the eyes, second one half an inch higher center brow.
Neda spun on her place to gather force and struck elbow first on his throat. The man's limp body staggered in to the apartment and Neda followed.
She closed the door and put few more rounds on his chest.
She did a fast recon checking on the twitching body every now and then.
 Kitchen clear, living room clear, bedroom clear, bathroom clear, one locked door. Right.
She leaned over, there was really no point in checking pulse so she pressed suppressors end to his temple and fired once more.
 The next round went into the lock of the locked room shattering it.
As soon as she saw the trophy room, with it's clipbook and brownish bloodspattered pieces taken from victims  among some seriously disturbed drawings and photos she felt a heavy burden fall.
Killing is easy, living with killing some one undeserving it? Much harder.

She made a clean getaway and slept well.
There was work to be done.

Four days later:

She steadied her breathing and walked at a brisk walk. Her right earplug had something wrong in it, the ear shrieked a bit from the flashbangs that took out the guards. The job was done, evil men were dead and now for the magic trick without mirrors.
She had timed the jog and made the trip in about two minutes to the dumpsters on sidestreet. She stripped off the kevlar vest, black neoprene body suit, balaclava and smart combat boots. She tossed those and the MP in the rucksack holding four flasks of sulphuric acid and timed block of semtex to ruin any evidence, into the dumpster.
Neda took out her preparedness pack from behind the dumpster, pulled on fishnet stockings and short red piece with quite giving cleavage. Finish with wide belt, grab purse and stiletto pumps and she climbed onto the cover of dumpster and wrenched pre-opened wire bars off the window.
She manouvered in and set the bars back in place

The toilet stall was empty so fixed her make-up and clothes a bit, slipped pumps on, flushed the toilet for show and stepped out.
The guys in the bar's mens room stared her like deers in headlights so Neda let out an appreciative trained giggle,wide smile, fluttered her eyes-lashes and kissed two of them on cheek leaving crisp, clear imprints of her lipstick and stepped out.
She walked to the bar knowing she had at least two cast iron tight alibi's for anything tonight come hell or high water.

She took a cab to her real apartment. Well,a  favorite one. Almost home.
But something was wrong. Someone had been here. She had only keys and a punch dagger in purse. That would have to do till she got inside and her hands on some of her proper hardware.
She opened the door,in a relaxed stance but ready to assault attackers any minute.
The room was dark and there was something on the floor.
A big wrapped present  with red bow and a card.
And someone had stapled old broken, unwashed sock inside her door.
She checked the flat fast but nothing was amiss or touched otherwise.

Neda lifted the present carefully, it was hefty and had no apparent wires. The card attached had clumsy ballpen scribbling on it:

"because You Have a Good Girl this yer. Merry Xmas!"

She tore the wrappings and opened the box. A Gold plated Desert Eagle . 50 pistol and a card saying  "it's clean" with same sorry handwriting.
"Awwws, Donoghue you are a softie you. For a bastard" And laughed happily.

This soft and gentle tale is dedicated:
To all of your good and bad, naughty or nice, have a merry pagan festival of giving and enjoy life.

Your pal, Curt

Thursday, 7 November 2013

And the skies gunmetal grey....

The young man who had just entered the coffee shop had tried to conceal that he was carrying a piece under the red varsity jacket. To all but one in the clientele of this mom and pop place, he had succeeded.
The man had textbook fierce and hawkish latin good looks, easy on any girls eyes and it was fairly easy to say from his smooth, light movements that he knew exactly this and that he had worked for it. A gym surely, maybe some ballroom or dance to add fluid grace to his manliness.

He tried to scan the cafe with his eyes as coolly as he had hid the gun on his waistband. Neda raised the Chicago Tribune from her table in exaggerated manner and waited him to approach the sidetable in the booth.
"You are ...her?"
"The last time I checked, sit down, please"
Young man followed suit with a brash smirk on his face.
"Look lady, I'm here cause Ramon asked me to but I don't think we need to waste each others time anymore"
"Is that a fact?"
His eyes ran the typical course: cleavage, lift to face, at lips, down to waist, back to cleavage and then to her face.
"Really now I mean no offense but I am here only cause he was adamant. And from what he told I expected a six foot seven amazon, not a petite black woman. And now I can say that I came to meet you and I've done it"
He kept smiling as he rose up.
"Sit back down and quit being a jerk"
"'scuse me?" the smile widened
"Put your booty down or I put you down."
Her voice was flat and clear.
"listen now, this was a mistake and.."
"And your were told to come unarmed and I only came here as a favor to Horns. Sit your pretty ass down or I'll cap it"

He sat , trying to do it dominantly, but his face squirmed.
Neda took a sip from her black coffee.
"Now, you put your machismo back into a deep dark hole it usually hides and you tell me word to word the trouble your family has or I have to go and explain to my old buddy why I had to waste his punk-ass little brother. Not something I'd like to do as I really like Horns"
"Ramon, his name is Ramon"
"In your family,maybe. In mine: he is Horns. And you are Jorge. The lil´one. It's about Ezzie, right? now talk, no BS"
He sighed and compressed as much as pride gave away.
"Ramon wanted me to tell you that he wants your help in rescuing Esmeralda. She's basicly being held hostage by that fucking maricón Oscar. But he's the second-hand lieutenant in Latin Dukes so I really don't know why I'm telling this to you. There's one of you and tens of them, so.. "
"Sorry sir , can I get you anything?"
The blonde waitress managed to startle Jorge but Neda already replied "He'll have a coffee and we'll both have one of  those great cinnamon rolls of yours"
As she departed Neda pushed  a napkin across the table.
"Write his address down in something that can be read and your own phone number also"
"Didn't you hear me? That Oscar´s running a gang?"
"Sure. And some weightlifting moron from another gang that  you know from your school or gym or whatever gave you that gun you are wearing and told how they'll help you fix it alright."
"How did..."
"God damn, did I say I finished? Unh huh.  Your pretty, but clearly not the sharpest pencil in the bunch. You got a delicate face and soft hands and no doubt your good for pulling chicks for at least a few years still.
And that's awfully cute. That's mainly why they´d want you in their crew."
"But they are about as bright as you, hiding glocks up your pants. You'd probably shoot yourself in leg or blow off your cojones before you ever got the piece out. And your new little gangland buddies at their very best would off only Ezzie by accident while spraying the place in a drive-by. "
She pushed the napkin.
"I don't have a pen"
Neda flicked her purse open and reached for a pen, that was wedged between lipstick, mascara, gravity knife, S&W M&P, spare clips, wallet, another pair of sunglasses and lipbalm.
Jorge obediently wrote the address down and Neda grasped it over the table as the waitress returned.
Neda drank her coffee and grabbed one of cinnamon buns rising up.
"He's paying. I'll call ya" and walked out.

As much as she loved GTO and Olds 442 Neda knew driving them down to Auburn Gresham would be less discreet if she had installed flashing neon lights on them  and towed trailer behind filled with a live mariachi band.  The ironically named  Plymouth Reliant looked like it had gone a few rounds against Ali in his prime. Even so the beaten up heap of junk ran and kept her warm enough.
People who didn't get why it was called the windy city had never strolled down chitown streets in mid-winter or when fall rains and bursts of gale decided to shear down  to your spinal cord.
She wore her version of city camouflage: from the  worn leather gloves to long off-grey wool cardigan over navy blue cowl neck top and down to her dark denim leggings and stripy legwarmers over Converse high tops everything proclaimed her belonging to lower middle class .
Someone proud but buying secondhand and the less accurately witnesses could describe her, the better.

Honest blue collars zombied off to work passing her by as she sat in her parked beige K-car. The plywood boarded shops nearby were tagged with lazy profanities, in their usual, both verbally and artistically challenged, manner.
She had a clean view of her target down few blocks. A single story redbrick house surrounded by a wire mesh fence.
She had taken both, the common  binoculars and the russian surplus thermal imagining scope, on the job. The scope wasn't pretty or light, but it worked in all conditions and it doubled as a slightly radioactive truncheon in melee.

She had counted six people inside.
Ezzie was easy to recognize. She had lost the cherubial baby fat from those childhood photos Horns had always displayed back in the bad old days. And her eyes had dimmed.
Not like the other woman's in there. Even through binoculars you saw that while lights were on she saw all the colors in quantum rainbows the chemicals made possible.
Ezzie's eyes had a different glint. A broken hue, still beautiful but drained, void, tomorrowless gaunt setting in. Making itself home.
You could tell. She had obviously learned that while there is a river in Egypt it doesn't help or make you forget.
One of the four men was constantly by her side. Making sure.
But while others stayed close by only one showed ownership in his actions and in the way he put his hands on her.
It would be reaching to call him handsome and had Neda not heard what Horns told her about the situation, especially on what he did not say, and had she not seen already enough of his behaviour she would have have been fooled by the same mix of a bit roguish, assured looks.
His lackeys tried to emulate their boss in swagger and appearance department with less convincing results.

Neda knew she had a problem.
Four or five opponents was manageable.
But they had dogs.
Why did they always have to have dogs?
Mowing down people? Piece of cake. Especially those with morals of a slug.
But gunning animals she didn't intend to eat?

Neda started the car and drove off. There was a way. A violent one but Ezzie and the dogs would survive.

After nearly hours worth of being stuck in traffic she heaved the Plymouth into a garage yard and stepped out.
"Holy hell! almost didn't recognize you ms Ebony" Darnell's earnest husky voice rumbled. He sounded like James Earl Jones's bigger and heftier brother. And his body matched the sound.
" This here doesn't look like one of yours but I hope you came to have checked up"
"Sorry, but no. Is Towel there?"
The man-shaped whale slumped.
"Yeah. Yeah he is. He's in the back."
Neda stroked the giants cheek gently.
"No. Please don't ms Ebony. I don't want to know about it. Just...Just..He's there"

She strolled through the car body shop, passing the other employees until she came to a small caucasian man in dirty coveralls. He was short and bony, the grease spattered cloth looked it was at least four sizes too big for him, like he was an infant playing dress up in their parents clothes.
"We need to go to a ride Towel"
He looked meekly up and hunched down, nodding and started to shuffle to the door.
His silent resignation made her stomach turn.
She was no angel, well an angel of death every now and then, but with that she was ok with.
You  had to settle for the least fucked up choice of the fucked up choices in this fucked up world.
Liking it was a whole another ballgame.

The small white man passed silently Darnell and got into the Reliant.
"Dar, you know I'll bring him back"
"I know, Neda, I know."
The big man wanted to add 'alive too?' but he held his piece and watched the vehicle roll away, it's taillights disappearing from view.

 Neda explained the situation to Towel while driving.
The wiry man replied that he understood and fell back into his own world behind his sunken eyes.
Neda drove past Oscar's little base of operations  to point it out and to check the occupancy. She made Ezzie and five others.
Game time.

She dropped off Towel some blocks away with his orders.
Then she took a longer route to circle back to her observation post. Breath in, steady yourself, do checkup.
As soon as Neda had known that it would be a hard entry she had cut down all the excess bling bling. The gang members might be meth heads but they would in close range and Ithaca pump action would them cut down.
She jacked a round ready in the chamber.
P345 was in right hand jacket pocket in case finesse was required and in left hand
pocket was a snubnosed .38 revolver as a backup. P345 was disposable, but it was a modern gun and like too many modern things the Ruger was over-engineered and over-complicated.
Her plan was anything but.

Neda kept Plymouth idling waiting the hunched figure to appear.
As he waddled to view, Towel marched straight up to the house and started to bang the door.
Neda put earplugs in and then grasped the steering wheel as Towel kept on banging the door. There was movement in the house, rattling of the curtains.
Towel  banged on, thin arms flailing at the door.
He was making a heck of a commotion at a gang hideout. Neda had counted on three separate things: that while the neighbors weren't blind on the fact that hoods lived next door any disturbance gave a reason enough, a drop of fake courage,  to make a  anonymous phone call to the police.
The gang members would not call the cops themselves.
And lastly, she counted that Oscar and his crew were cowardly sadists. Only strong if in superior numbers to their opponent.

The door swung open and for a fraction of a second Neda was sure bullets would fly out and turn Towel into puffs of red mist. But they had played right into her hand.
Both pit bulls leaped at Towel with ferocious power, grinning wider then their owners in the doorway.
Neda stomped on the Plymouth's gas pedal.

Pit bulls have a reputation as a dangerous animal to the nth degree. They are the name and face presented when canine kingdom has to be shown as a nightmare from bowels of Hell. Strong, fast, ridiculously muscular, tremendous biter, stubborn and hard as nails are all correct descriptive adjectives and sadly one of main reasons most people get one.
They want the image, the ego-boost and the badassery as a by product.
Or in places like Chicago: if it's illegal to get a gun you can still buy a living, primal weapon.

The dogs pounced hard on Towel and he swayed. But he didn't go down. The dogs had hit their kin.

Years back when they had met the wiry white man had told with his squeaky voice what he remembered of his past. His childhood was series of same events repeating: getting beaten and then put in a pit or cage to fight.
Only thing that changed was what he was fighting against : other kids, adults, dogs, cocks, cats, pigs, snakes, gators.
And every now and then being sold to someone else in the same circuit. No schools, no friends, just endless combat.
Until his path had crossed with Neda's.
 They had buried his last owners in the hard ground of their own farmland and Towel had followed her home.

He stood holding the pit bulls against himself, seemingly oblivious to their tearing fangs as Neda plowed through the fence and swerved cross the yard, past Towel and the hounds, as close to the door as possible. Before any of the three men in the doorway had time to realize what was happening she had pulled the handbrake, opened both : the car door and deadly salvoes from the shotgun.

The hoodlums were urban guerrillas, brutal and violent criminals. Neda mowed two of them three down to mincemeat,  spending half of Ithaca's seven rounds. Third spun around for dear life but not fast enough. Her fifth rapid shot dissolved his right knee and tendons, sending him in a free fall to hallway.
Neda sprang after him spraying full force of the scattergun at the back of gangbangers head.
In Hollywood movies, starring John Wayne, rules of not shooting in the back applied.
 Neda was no pilgrim and these were no misunderstood indians on the hill.
She was a battle-forged valkyrie stomping out vermin. Storming their fort.

Stepping across their twitching bodies she entered the premises. The shotgun was purpose built to sweep closed spaces, clear rooms with it's superior stopping power. But it's strength was a downfall too. A precision weapon it was not.
Neda was there to save Ezzie, not to cut her in two also.

She had mowed down his henchmen, but Oscar and the other woman remained. She hurried after muffled clatter to semi-open area, an adjoining dining room and kitchen.
Of course he had to reach for something right next to the women. Of fucking course. Neda dropped the shotgun and went for her .45.
He turned with one those cheap knockoff machine pistols that spray half the world with lead. Ruger spewed  three successive double taps, center mass, repeat and two to the face. Down goes Oscar.
She marched at the corpse and kicked the streetgun away from him to be sure.
At that moment Neda's right arm exploded with pain.

Gun flew off her limp fingers and Neda had mere moment's to duck under the returning baseball bat. The meth-head chick. She flailed with the bat at Neda like windmill coming off rails in a hurricane.
Neda managed to sway and tumble just out of slugger´s reach and be hit merely by woman's saliva and barrage of her spanish slurs.
The stricken arm was gloriously numb piece of flesh flowing with Neda's movements. She had broken her bones in fights before and was glad that wasn't the case.
But her good arm was out of it, nerves and muscles were a mess and the gangs woman wasn't just armed. She came at her with wanton blind rage of a junkie.
Neda was a warrior, but not a ninja out of Bruce Lee's filmography.
If she tried to get the revolver with her off-hand she'd lose concentration on evading constant swings of baseball bat.
And then she'd go down. For good.

They leaped and danced in deadly spiral circling and bucking each other for anguishing long seconds until the meth heads balance faltered. She lost her footing for a fraction and Neda dove for floor. The Ruger was too far, Oscar's machine pistol even further and she had no time to scramble for the revolver.
Neda grasped the shotgun and raised it as the bewildered fury flung herself at her.
The room roared with the shot and Neda's attacker fell to floor with her weapon.
Neda walked up to her getting the snubnosed finally out of the pocket.
There was no anger, spite or revenge of her either arm, right had burning tingling sensation coming back and her left wrist hadn't enjoyed taking all the recoil from wielding a shotgun.
The junkie woman was surely dead, but by slow, agonizing, sucking chest wound. No matter what choices she had done, drowning into your own blood wasn't a way to go.
One to the head, one to sternum and it was over.

Ezzie cowered against kitchen wall. She trembled.
"Hello there chica. I'm sorry. Your brother, Ramon, sent me to get you. You hear?"
Neda had to repeat it three times, but she got her out of shock enough to move. Neda picked her arsenal up and tossed a crumpled note to the floor. It had a scrawled Latin Kings logo with phrase: Amor De Rey written.
It would mess up the investigation at first and spark enough of gang war to muddle the rest of it. Increasing limits of her public service to the fine city of Chicago.

The women stepped out to the yard.
The whole thing had taken few minutes, she was getting slow.
Right by the Plymouth Towel sat in the ground, drenched in his own gore, slowly and gently petting heads of two panting, deeply confused pit bulls.
He almost seemed smiling, not quite, but almost.
"I know,they'd be put down. Just pack them in, like it happened yesterday."
Neda could swear that that was a smile.
They got in the car, the three bloodied drooling beasts in the back seat, Ezzie shivering at front while Neda drove them zigzagging out of city limits to their getaway car.

They drove near to Elgin to meet a vet Neda and Towel knew. She checked her arm out, gave Esmeralda blankets, a decent meal and some sedatives, did a check up on the dogs and finally, after he had passed out couple of times,  added some more stitches to Towel.

Neda knew what to expect. Her silence at first and then bawling, tears of terror and joy. She coached her through, told  Ezzie how she had managed to escape by chance these strange attackers. And how this was finally her chance to escape captivity, slavery, awaken from nightmare.
It would take time, maybe years, and all family love and therapy she could get, but she would get there.
Finally Ezzie fell under combined power of exhaustion and meds and slept.

The morning came and Neda recapped her legend and dropped her off at a safe place, near a pay phone in vicinity of the city where Jorge was waiting. The young man hugged his sister and they wept together.
Before either could thank her Neda was gone.
She drove Towel and his slobbering all over the upholstery new friends back to Darnell's garage yard.
The flesh mountain stepped out to greet them.
"ms Ebony, Towel and... four new friends I see"
"There were just two, but we had to stop at a vet's animal shelter. They would've been put down otherwise"
The unimposing ragged man led the dogs to second fence surrounding the yard, where a huge pack of canines gathered to meet them. Towel's figure descended further and he ran with the pack, on all fours.
" I managed to talk it down to just four dogs" she said handing down a roll of bills "For dog food and..expenses"
The shovel Darnell called his hand pocketed it.
"Thank you ms Ebony for bringing him back"
"De nada. De nada"

The funeral was nearly four months later.
The gang war that had raged in the slaughters aftermath had almost cooled down and the police still  had no solid clues. Thankfully there hadn't been much collateral damage in way of bystanders getting caught in crossfire.
Neda wore crisp small black dress that hugged her form. Her eyes below the black pillbox hat sent daggers to any mourners that tried to make it look like they were just counting medals off her cleavage.
They were split on two groups in Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery: on one side was Ramon's family, his parents with Ezzie and Jorge with his obviously insecure and jealous girlfriend followed by small flock of cousins, aunts and uncles.

And on the other side: Neda, Reb, Threegun, Freaky and Josie alongside some VA personnel .
The friends of Horns. The ones who had walked into foreign lands guns blazing, under the same moon but on unknown soil. Sometimes for freedom, but mainly that meant for oil.
Few small words  said of Horns's service to his country.
The coffin looked very tiny for such a big man, even after the IED.

They walk in cozy formation to their cars, old soldiers. One more is down. And Neda knows her friends. One is down but not forgotten and tonight they will down many drinks for that one and remember and laugh.
Hell, Josie's already had a few too many and needs Threegun and her to walk him to the car. By the time they've left the gunmetal grey skies over them behind and hit the bars the balding irish will sing and prank once more.
And then comes tomorrow.

Sunday, 11 August 2013

Not Quite Dead... Yet!

A less sophisticated viewer would call our (Sari and rama) latest summer vacation -project for an excuse to draw naked men. Of course you, dearest follower, know better and understand immediately that it is a question of bringing our cultural heritage, the Nordic mythology, back to life and to readers.
Here's a little teaser. With a little bit of luck (and lots of free time in Sari's case) you might see something more substantial in a near future <3

Saturday, 1 June 2013

Not dead yet or blossoming blaxploitations of Dandire summer to come

I had no idea it is possible to get hand stuck on automated plasma cutter.
But as my career in metalworking is destined to cripple me even more it is a time to try to whip myself in some shape writing-wise while I have any appendages.

I tried drawing after a looooooooong while.

I can draw skeletons and zombies and most animals and that's about it.
Sadly especially females I draw look like either a)skeletons b)zombies or c)most animals.

Alas, there is a reason I write.

Anyhow, I plan, note plan, to return on both tales I've started. The hardboiled streets of Neda Ebony's Chicago call out to me and for some reason so does regency era bloodsucker without a cause (or clue, your pick).

And being lazy dork as I am I toss the choice on those talented ladies here.

The options I offer for illustration are:
 Butcher of Black city
basicly Neda vs serial killer of a different sort.
My sad attempt to cross H.H.Holmes and mob.

Fist of Chi-Town
ok, I love blaxploitation and wushu/kung fu-movies. Having seen documentary I am Bruce Lee did not help this at all.
We have all seen some of those classic grindhouse 70's movie posters. Art deco meets Peckinpah.
And I like the idea of lone fighter, Neda and the triads colliding.

There is more ideas on Neda but on to Dandire:
Enter: Imperial John
ok...I saw I am Bruce Lee... so sue me, but basicly this is Dandire's adversary. Think Manly man Mike Conley by Tom of Finland. With libido of John Barrowman, imperial values of 1800's and sarcasm of Stephen Fry(subtracting of course the warm humanism shown by messr Fry)

while the guidelines are a bit so and so they would help to get the engine running.

Yours, Curt

Monday, 22 April 2013

Dandires and regency askew pt 1

My far superior half told me about this idea prior to the challenge and I am most definately the uttermost wrong person to do anything with this as
a) vampires are fairly boring IMO and
b) as most who know me or even know me at some level realize I am de facto opposite of a dandy.
I am the guy who when (first in the 80's) he  heard that goths are "in "was overjoyed that finally being shirtless, bloody, hairy and carrying an axe with them to anywhere was fashionable.
Well... yeah.

Anyways, sorry to maim your baby Ruska.
Here goes:

Page 1

panel 1: Exterior, night-time. Hawksmoorian mansion basking in thunderous rain. Full moon shines(well one requires cliches, right?)
Teo(offcamera): "CRY! Oh let the heavens cry with me!"
panel 2: Closeup, Teo the dandire, at the window of aforementioned mansion, somewhere between distraught and bombastic in the emotional range.
Teo "That foul scoundrel has no honor...How could I ever trust the lies of his slithery tongue?"
panel 3: pair of floating gloves of ghostbutler GLOVES behind Teo
Gloves " May I assume that your noble teethness refers to mr Edgar Blaidd Blythe?"
Teo "Silence Gloves. Say that dastardly name no more under this roof."
Panel 4: Trying to look stern Teo stares at where Gloves would have a face were he not pair of white gloves.
panel 5: exactly same pose
panel 6:as previous
Gloves" oh, very well then sir."
panel 7: as before
Gloves" So henceforth we only discuss him whilst on roof or while at the balcony, sir?"
Teo: "No!"

page 2
panel 1: Teo is furious (or thereabouts)
Teo "That crooked vulture stole my mine. He stole it. And with my money!"
Gloves "Most heinous sir. Harsh even"
panel 2:Teo overtly melodramaticly grasps above
Teo " The Vrillium mines of Timbuktu are now gone...Gone. Lost for ever."
panel 3: Rambles on at the moon
Teo " That magical metal out of my grasp for all eternity. Damn him! Damn fate! The Agony!"
panel 4: dandire shakes his gangly puny fists at the heavens
Teo " Damn you all! Why dont you just smite me dead!?!!"

page 3
panel 1: Teo gets shot to the back, bullet exits throught his white shirt approximately where his heart is.
panel 2: Teo falls to floor.
panel 3: Teo lays at the floor on his back.
panel 4: While Teo still lays there gloves of Gloves holding flintlock pistols, one is smoking, hover over him
Gloves " Will this suffice sir? Or should I fetch the mallets?"

page 4
panel 1: Teo gets up holding his shirt.
Teo "Bah. Gloves you ruined this shirt. This is finest italian silk. Ruined like those mines."
Gloves " I shall fetch another for you sir"
panel 2: Teo strips (or rips) his shirt
Teo "Without vrillium I cant commission an airhulk. No other iron can break the shackles of cruel gravity and make ships fly."
panel 3: shirtless prettyboy vampire caresses the window, raindrops tilting the moon in view.
Teo "Even as we live in age of technological marvels and yet that snake at my bosom stole you from me."
Panel 4: (longingly) Teo" My lunar mistress...."
panel 5: hangs head, gloomily.

page 5
panel 1: Gloves floats a new white silk shirt for Teo
Gloves " Now there there, dear master. Hide thine sanguine form and think happy thoughts, the game is not lost"
panel 2: Teo clothes himself with some ghostly help
Teo "Don't be a damned fool. All is lost. I am eternally imprisoned within these cold stonewalls."
Gloves " No one could've foreseen it sire.To think; Indoor plumbing and sewers to be such  a sudden hit"
panel 3: Buttoning, slowly
Teo "And as no vampire can cross running water I am doomed to live like hermit. And far too handsome."
panel 4:Gloves "Would you like me to acquire a lady of the night for you sire?  Like I used to say still alive: with a full stomach one thinks better than with hunger gnawing your innards like old Peckerton"
panel 5: Teo stares at Gloves
panel 6: Gloves " Peckerton was always peculiar man, but still finding him with those goats.."
Teo " Gloves just go get me some harlot"
Gloves "very well sir"

page 6
panel 1: later. Teo splattered  by blood with embroided white napkin folded under his collar  savoring neck of recently deceased prostitute. White gloves  hover, waiting.
Gloves " Are we feeling better sire?"
panel 2. Teo sweeps with another napkin his bloodied lips.
Teo "  Marginally. She had thick and greasy taste and something... peculiar"
panel 3: gloves picks the carcass off table
Gloves " It's imported sir. From the docks straight I am afraid. High class madames of pleasure industry are so hard to come by these days"
panel 4: Teo bangs his fist furiously to the table
Teo "This is beneath me. I shant steep any lower. Gloves!"
Gloves "Yes my master?"
Panel 5: Teo " I shall take fate in my cold dead hands. We must breach the roof of Hell. Yes."

page 7
big panel : Teo points dramatically to heavenward.
Teo " We shall break it to fuel our steampowered elevator to Moon and have our vengeance to that heinous Blythe."
panel 2: Teo bursts out of dining hall with envigorated step.
Teo "And then I shall claim my duchy of the night!"
panel 3: Gloves holding the corpse.
Gloves "....Again?"

right. so. I have far too many ideas where to go from here.
But maybe it's better to save the Clerical Order of Friends of Abstinence and Carpathia (they never, ever, drink...wine) and dashing but far more Tom of Finland-influenced adversary, Imperial John (manly muscles, walrusian moustache) to next time(in case there ever is one)


Saturday, 20 April 2013

The Dandire Challenge!

Okay okay, let's face it, we're never going to finish the kalevala super glam digipaint wonder challenge.  My computer can't even take that file anymore, no matter how much lube. Anyway, yesterday we came up with another challenge, because of an old brain fart of mine, namely the Dandire.
A Dandire is of course a Vampire in the time of Regency, more specifically one dressed as a Dandy - which means a lot of important things, for example, the ability to bathe, wear long trousers, and not be covered in makeup like that damn fop Lestat and his angsty menagerie.

Now I know it's not fair to already post shit immediately after setting up a challenge, but I just had these lying around. They are not my entry, I promise.

I regurgitated Teo Dormo Malvarmo a few years ago, a comic project that never went anywhere and that I'd love to see return to life and transform and fly away as a beautiful dusky moth of weird gay erotica full of shitty puns and kid gloves. I only need somebody to script, edit, draw, ink, color, publish, feed me, juggle and love.
P.S. Gloves is a butler ghost. Handy for a dandy. All hands though.

Sunday, 24 February 2013

The Quick. The Dirty. The Dean Winchester.

So here's my Dean for the Supernatural challenge. Yes, from the TV-Series. Fangirling the day away. I believe this falls under the quick and dirty category due to the sheer shittyness of it :D Really not happy with this one but hey, you can't win them all.

Saturday, 16 February 2013

I am the LAW

This is so not what I planned to do for the challenge. AT ALL. But just as I had taken my pencil and paper out Ruska mentioned watching Dredd in Facebook. Which somehow lead to this. I do not know how. It just did. Apparently Dredd is all powerful enough to just manifest himself out of a pen. Which kinda makes this all Supernatural, right? See what I did there, see? Anyways this is so full of flaws that it is killing me as I hardly ever really sketch by hand. Thought I'd post it never the less. Because after this I kinda feel that I either need to draw more or just go screw you pencil and go fully digital. Dunno. Maybe I'll ask Dredd, he is the law after all.

Thursday, 14 February 2013

The Quick, the Dirty, and the Fail

I tried. I really did. No I really didn't, it took me an hour and I was thinking of something far dirtier. But I can't take anything seriously anymore, I'm still sick and I want to concentrate on the bigger challenge. ;D I'm sorry. I regret everything. 

The Quick and Dirty challenge

As it will probably take us all the rest of the year to add stuff and more stuff to these Kalevala thingies I'd like to suggest an inbethweener. Yes it totally is a word. At least now it is. Due to seeing Ruska's recent doodles I suggest that the subject is SUPERNATURAL. For those of you who do not compulsively watch the series as some of us do *cough*) it can be anything from the realm of supernatural. Ghosts, angels, monsters, muscle cars. And the idea is to really keep this quick & dirty. Nothing fancy schmancy or super finished.

Also Curtvile dear get off yer ass and take part. Thank you.

End of message. Nothing to see here, move along.

And yeah, have a faaabulous Valentine's all of you Dearies.
via http://letyree.tumblr.com/image/17398352494