"Captain Simon Banks. Cascade P.D. Contents: Further Proof."
That must mean it's REAL important. They could probably call the cops to come get it themselves, and they probably would - but the guy insisted it be delivered - or there'd be Hell to pay. Oh well...
Jim found himself in the jungle, and feeling somewhat detached from himself... The last thing he remembered was being bushwhacked by that psychopath, and now he found himself in the jungle in front of the Temple. Incacha strode up, and regarded Jim coolly before starting to turn away - almost in disgust. "Hold it!" Jim shouted anxiously. "What the hell happened...?"
Incacha turned and spoke offhandedly, "You were defeated. We warned you that the Lizard that Walks as a Man was an enemy like no other, but you paid no heed. You went blindly against an unknown foe. You deserved what happened to you..."
"No!" shouted Jim, suddenly VERY worried about what happened. "I can do better! Give me another chance!"
"Hmmm..." Incacha pondered. "For too long you have had the advantage against your foes... This has made you confident in yourself - as it should, but now it seems far too much so. You know very well that without humility, a warrior cannot succeed. Or at least, you did ONCE..."
"Incacha, please...," begged Jim. "How can I stop this? How can I save Blair?"
"Seek out the Knowledge," repeated Incacha. "It's your only chance... And his."
"What do you mean?" cried Jim. "The more I know about that monster, the more afraid I get that I can't stop it."
"Fear is good. It shows you DO have SOME humility... However, you must know this... You seek to defeat an enemy to ALL, yet do so alone. This is foolishness... Seek out those that can help you, before they are dead. They, too, hunt the Lizard That Walks as a Man, but they will fare far worse than you. Unless you help them, they cannot help you."
"Who do you mean?"
"When you fight the devil, seek out those that know it. Or others LIKE it. Hurry, even now an army of lost souls gather in its name to oppose you... Time grows short. Before long there will be no stopping it..."
Bobo strode through the darkness easily, and radiated a level of self-satisfaction that made Blair's hair stand on end... Fiendish sat down on a metal bench in the flickering light and sighed in contentment. Blair's curiosity took control...
"What are you so SMUG about?"
"Well, if you must know, we stumbled across an interesting person while we were planting evidence in Kelso's office... Said he was a 'Shaman' or somesuch nonsense."
Blair's heart skipped a beat. "A Shaman?" he coughed nervously.
"Yes. Fairly rude individual, let us tell you. Saw fit to try and FIGHT us. Bah. Simpleton. Such a small personage in the grand scheme, that we probably would have let him go if we hadn't given our word..."
"Your word? What word did you give?" said Blair, growing more anxious by the second.
"We said... Actually, we GUARANTEED that any cop that tried to come after us would be sent back to the station house in a box..."
Blair grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself. "A box? By a box, you mean..."
"A box," said Bobo flatly. "We even looked through his wallet to see what his name was..."
"Was?" squeaked Blair. "Was?"
"Yes. It said it was..," Bobo took out the wallet and checked it again to be sure. "Ellison... James J. Ellison," said Bobo as he stretched languidly. "He even said he knew you... Come to think of it, we THOUGHT that that address looked familiar... Oh well."
Blair reacted on instinct, and somehow - almost as if he was watching someone that looked like him do it - he swung the chair straight at Fiendish's head as he screamed, "You BASTARD!" The chair shattered into component staves of wood, and Bobo quizzically cocked his head, as if he was digesting Blair's attack. He stood and turned slowly to face Blair, and shook a finger in admonishment. Blair closed his eyes, knowing he was about to join Jim as the monster spoke...
"Sheesh. We wonder what you would have done if we had actually KILLED him...?"
Blair fainted.
"Well," sighed Bobo as he regarded Blair's unconscious form with a wry smile, "we were CLOSE... Heh."
------
The delivery wagon pulled up in front of the precinct house and the driver climbed out... He sighed as he made sure his back supporter was snug, and opened the back door of the truck. All he had to do was handtruck it to the edge, and the power-lift would make sure he could still walk at the end of the day. He sighed again and started the arduous process...
Simon drove up to the precinct and got out of his car overcome with a sense of dread. Something about today just didn't feel right, and as he watched Daryl get out of the car, he knew his son felt the same. Daryl's face changed as he looked at his father, and he said, "Dad, I know I shouldn't complain when you take me outta school for the day, but there's something you're not telling me... What's wrong? Did that bastard escape again?"
"No, son... It's worse," admitted Simon morosely as he nursed his coffee. "There's something out there that makes Kincaid look like a puppy, and it's locked onto us..."
"What? You're not talking about the Dark Angel, are you?"
Simon sprayed a mouthful of coffee at that. "Where the hell did you hear that?" he demanded as he tried to blot the coffee from his jacket with a handkerchief.
"Well, there's been a lot of almost random killing lately, right? Almost as in not really random at all, except at first glance."
"Who leaked that story to the flippin' media?" Simon gasped. "I'll have his badge for an ashtray!"
"Nobody, pop. Word's on the street that Cascade got some kind of 'Protector', and the hoods're shook. I heard it's eight feet tall and worse than all the devils in Hell if you deserve it. School's DOUBLED attendance since this Angel hit town, and at night I hear you couldn't get robbed in the Badlands if you were wearing a suit made out of fifties. One guy in Mrs. Branaugh's class is like eighteen, and just started ninth grade... But he said he SAW it, and it TALKED to him..."
"He did, huh?" said Simon, figuring it for adolescent bullshit. "What's his name?"
"I think he said it was... Alfred Smith, why?"
Simon stopped in his tracks, cleared his throat and said, "Get in the car, son... You're going to school after all." Daryl sighed as he got back into the car, and Simon did the same... He adjusted his rear-view, and caught sight of a Fed-Ex truck in the parking lot with a guy unloading a BIG box onto a pallet-jack... "Oh, no..," Simon gulped - immediately remembering what he was told the night before - and jumped out of the car.
"Dad?" said Daryl, suddenly concerned.
"Stay in the car, son..." Simon said hoarsely. "I have to see something..."
"Dad, what's wrong...? What is it?"
"STAY IN THE GOD DAMNED CAR," he shouted. "YOU! Delivery Man!"
"Me?"
"Who's that box for?"
"What's it to you?"
"I'm the CAPTAIN of this precinct, buddy."
"Captain?" said the driver. "Captain Banks?"
Simon felt his heart drop to his shoes. "How do you know that?" he demanded, reflexively drawing his pistol.
The driver quickly raised his hands. "Don't SHOOT," he cried. "I GUESSED... Captain Banks is who the box is FOR..."
"What's in it?"
"I don't know..."
"I _SAID_, WHAT'S IN IT!?" screamed Simon as he released the safety.
"I SAID I DON'T KNOW! Whatever it is, it's heavy as shit... But since the dogs didn't notice it was coke or dynamite or anything, we went ahead and delivered it. That's all I know, man... I swear to GOD!"
"Open it."
"You'll have to sign..."
"DAMN IT TO HELL! I TOLD YOU TO OPEN IT."
"Sure, why not?" shrugged the driver. He pulled at the lid, and the sides fell away in an avalanche of styrofoam peanuts to reveal the semi-conscious form of James J. Ellison - tightly bound in duct-tape - who had a newspaper clipping taped to his forehead as part of his blindfold and gag... Simon ran to help and as he pulled Jim onto his shoulders, he noticed what the clipping was, and that there was a scribbled message beneath it:
"Detective James Ellison Named Cop of the Year." -Must have been a SLOW YEAR. Heh-
"Let's get some help here!" Simon shouted as the other cops came out to see the commotion. "Officer down! OFFICER DOWN!"
------
Alfred Smith sat in study hall, and his mind kept going back to that terrible night that he was reborn. The night that the Angel of Death Most Exalted crushed the force that stood against it, and in doing so saved him. One man, he thought, could do all that. ONE. It still amazed him. He had chosen the Street Life because he felt that alone he couldn't accomplish anything. But he had seen firsthand exactly what someone COULD do all alone, and against worse odds than he ever faced, himself. It was awesome. ONE man had done what all the gangs and cops in the world hadn't been able to...
He had taken FULL control. He had shaped the Badlands into what he WANTED them to be, and HELD it there by force of WILL. Everybody was always talkin' about how something should be done... The cops talked. The old folks talked. Even the GANGS talked. But that was ALL they did, and he saw it now with astonishing clarity. He had said himself how things would go down when the 357s took control... How they would drive out everyone else, and make things better. But he saw now that it was just bullshit. Big talk from a youngbuck that don't even know how MUCH he don't know... Things were like they were then, because nobody WANTED it any better. Not the cops, cause without hoods they didn't have no job. Not the old folks, 'cause they needed something to holler about so people would know they were alive. And not the gangs, either, 'cause they made MONEY with shit exactly like it was... Now, like it or not, it WAS better. Sure, some folks got fucked up or killed, but nowhere NEAR as many as they'd been doing to each other BEFORE. Somehow, this Angel has shown everyone the simple truth, and it's blowin' their minds.
The simple truth was: Things CAN be better if you MAKE them better.
Now the old folks can sit on the porch at night like they used to... Kids can play without worrying about some kinda shit jumpin' off that they could catch a piece of by accident. And if there IS some drama, cops show up three minutes after you call - just to try to beat the Angel to the action... Used to be you could call a cop, and then go to sleep... He'd show up sometime after breakfast, maybe. NOW, they think anything that happens might be a chance to nab the Angel, and that's REALLY why they hurry up. But he TOLD them they couldn't stop it, and if they tried they'd get tore up... He had heard on the news that someone sent a cop back to the station in a box - FED EX, yet. He knew it was the Angel. Showing the cops that he meant business and they should get with the program, he figured. That'll just make 'em MORE anxious to catch him... Make an example of him... But they're too late. He already _IS_ an example... To EVERYONE.
He was like a force of nature... It was fearless. Fast. Strong. Smart. Invincible. All that Power it had, and all it wanted was people to NOT do evil to each other. He knew if HE had that kind of Power - in his old life - he probably would've wanted more. Most people with that kind of power would probably just bully the hell out of whomever - just 'cause they COULD - but not the Angel. Sure, some folks was talking on the news that the Angel was making the people of the neighborhood live in fear, but they was mostly folks that weren't even IN the hood. If they DID live in the hood, then they'd know that the good folks ALREADY lived in fear, and now the BAD folks did. Turnabout's fair play. He was a walking, talking, fighting Prophet from the Badass Book of the Bible who showed people the REAL power of belief.
Not that bullshit belief like the preachers talk about, neither. Hell, they just want some money in the plate... What did THEY ever DO? Stand around talkin' like everyone else, but instead of talkin' about how bad things were they'd be selling some line about how good things were gonna be... Just had to wait till after you died.
"Man, I can't WAIT that long..," Al grimaced.
"Four years isn't so very long," said someone behind him. "And think of all you'll KNOW when you get out... Heh."
"It's YOU!" gasped Al. "How'd you get IN here?"
"Shhh... This is a library, you know... Show some decorum."
"How'd you get in here?" whispered Al.
"We've been trained to get past better security than your NTs, boy. But I digress... We see that you are making good use of our gift. This pleases me..."
Al smiled. He felt _proud_ that the Angel was pleased with him. "Thanks, man... I owe you more than I can say."
"That is not so. You are the product of the decisions you make, as are we all. Now to business... They will come to see you about us. Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow... But they WILL come."
Al suddenly felt very small. "You mean they'll wanna lean on me to give you up? Even if I could, I'd never tell them ANYTHING."
"We know. That is why we've decided to beat them to the punch, as it were..."
Now, Al felt himself start worrying, "You're not going to kill me, are you?" he whispered fretfully.
"No, clearly not. What we WILL do is have a little chat..."
------
Blair came to in the darkness, and noticed he wasn't chained to the bed like before. He groggily sat up, and felt something tug on his left hand. He pulled reflexively to free himself, and heard a click. "Oh, shit!" he gasped, thinking the worst... Suddenly the dark was illuminated with the soft glow of a television, and Blair watched intently as Bobo walked onto the screen.
"Hello, my intended...
"As you know, we have seen fit to educate you... Now, with this education - as with most - comes testing. This is the first test - The Test of Trust. On the dresser by your bed you'll see a cellular phone. You are free to use that phone however you please... You are presently located in the boiler room of the abandoned Kingsessing Warehouse on 35th and Aberdeen..."
Blair hurriedly dialed '911'...
"HOWEVER. Know this: Should you call the police to 'rescue' you, we will have no choice but to put those that appear for that purpose to as violent a death as possible. Who knows? Perhaps they'll send enough men to 'save' you that they'll be able to stop us - perhaps even slay us. That is a chance - and thus a decision - we leave SOLELY in YOUR hands. We, personally, don't believe you can callously sentence others to death simply for your own benefit... This is the chance WE take, as thirty six hours is hardly enough time to truly divulge the content of your character... Mayhap we have misjudged your worth? We know not. We DO know that we'll be able to FIND you should you betray us, which we feel sweetens the pot. Heh."
"Emergency Dispatch," said the operator. "How may I assist you?"
"Uh, wrong number," said Blair numbly as he sank to the ground and shut off the phone.
"You're welcome. See you SOON..." said Bobo.
Blair wept bitterly as the tape cut off.
------
The phone rang on Don Haas's desk in the news office, and he grumbled as he answered it. "Haas here, what's your story?"
"Hello. You're that guy on TV right? The Investigator?"
"Yeah, that's me, kid. You makin' some bullshit crank call or what?"
"Nope. Remember how two days ago thirty-four gangsters got wiped out?"
Haas perked up immediately, "What makes you so sure it was thirty-four? The cops never released how MANY..."
"I _know_ because I would've been thirty-FIVE, man. You sure you're The Investigator?"
"You SAW it? You were THERE?"
"I was PART of it, man..."
"Then you know whether there really is an Angel of the Streets?"
"HE's the one that gave me this number..."
"Where ARE you?" coughed Haas as he threw on his jacket.
"School, man... But I can TEACH, too... The Angel said the world has a lot to learn, and you got picked to help get the message out... You in, or should we try one of the BIG Networks?"
"Oh, I'm in... All the way," agreed Haas as visions of Pulitzer's and Emmy's danced in his head.
"Cool. Be at the high school at three fifteen sharp, and I'll meet you there..."
"Why so late?"
"The Angel told me I couldn't cut class..."
"If this is bullshit...," began Haas.
"No. No bullshit. You've never heard anything more real in your life... But you will."
"I will, huh? What could me more real than this, since you brought it up..."
"The Angel will tell you the rest. In person."
Haas grabbed the edge of his desk to steady himself. "He's there? With you? NOW? Can you put him on?"
"No. He says there must be a herald first, to prepare people for the message - and that's me, and YOU if you want it..."
"I've never wanted anything as much in my life," whispered Haas.
"Good. You, a driver to run the camera, and that's it. Live Feed. No cops, or the next guy you interview is Saint Peter, dig?"
"I dig."
"Cool. You're welcome... See you soon."