I've decided to experiment with something new, so I'm working on a somewhat longer story than usual which will be delivered in parts. Mostly its pulp detective, but I always have a tendency to include supernatural or surrealism whether I want to or not so I decided I'd just go all out on this one.
Michael Gabby Hellsing, for obvious reasons usually I go by my profession, Detective Hacker. Tonight though I wasn't meant to be working. Tonight was my night off. The office was locked up, and I'd spent the last four hours in the bar. This made the light shining out from my office window on the third floor somewhat concerning as I walked past. I had my head tilted back at the time, checking if the clouds were clearing and the rain might stop, otherwise I might not have noticed. This could be a problem. My partner wouldn't be in the office after hours, which only left a few options. It could be a very enthusiastic client, the police, or the mob. Either way with the state my head was in right then, none of the three would be good.
I muttered a few choice curses about the rain, pulled my hat lower over my eyes for what little protection it was offered, took out my cigarette case and tapped it on my hand a few times while I waited for thoughts to adventure across the drunken haze that filled my head. I was paid up with the pigs, so they should've at least done me the decency of a phone call or something first. Sure I hadn't been in the office for four hours but they all knew my favourite haunt, and Detective Gregori had a list of all the places I could be found on any day. The list wasn't very long, consisting of the bar which went by the label of Sanctuary, my office, or my bed. That ruled out the legal option. I hadn't done anything to annoy the mob recently, not taken out any of their boys or anything, in fact all I'd done recently was sit for the last two months glaring at the phone, commanding it to ring. I had almost considered going back to my old agency and asking for a job, but that was never gonna happen.
That left a client, a very enthusiastic client. Somehow that didn't seem particularly likely. I grunted and lit a cigarette, crossing the street and leaning back against a wall so I could watch the office from the shadows. I don't know how long it took, I usually don't wear a watch and the clouds were hiding any daylight, but after I'd nearly finished what was left of my cigarettes I got bored and started walking towards the office again. As I walked I reached under my coat, lovely thing it was, long ankle-length leather lined with supple, light chain-mail, and pulled free Bertha. I didn't usually wear Bertha but whenever business gets quiet I get paranoid, so Betsy, my usual gun, was locked up in the office safe and Bertha was keeping me company.
I held the heavy revolver left handed as I tried the building door. Unlocked. Great. Maybe it was just some crook ransacking my offices along with everyone else's. Somehow I didn't think it was likely. I stepped inside, hit the call button for the elevator as I headed to the stairs and started to climb them. By the time I reached the third floor I was out of breath and ready to just let whoever it was have whatever they wanted. I checked Bertha was loaded, all eight chambers filled with a nasty suprise for whoever was in my office, and slipped quietly along the corridor. I could see the light glowing through the glass in my door, and the door slightly ajar. Inside I could hear the noise of someone moving around, a smashing sound as they knocked something over and a very gentlemanly 'Bother this'.
I stepped to the door and pushed it slowly open, my lovely lady Bertha ready for almost anything.
Apparently though, not for absolutely anything. I blasphemed quietly to myself as the tall, white-winged, haloed figure turned around and smiled a beatific smile upon me. "Mr Hellsing, I do believe we may have a case for you."
I lowered my gun, walked over to my desk and grabbed the whiskey sitting there. It was going to be a long night.
Michael Gabby Hellsing, for obvious reasons usually I go by my profession, Detective Hacker. Tonight though I wasn't meant to be working. Tonight was my night off. The office was locked up, and I'd spent the last four hours in the bar. This made the light shining out from my office window on the third floor somewhat concerning as I walked past. I had my head tilted back at the time, checking if the clouds were clearing and the rain might stop, otherwise I might not have noticed. This could be a problem. My partner wouldn't be in the office after hours, which only left a few options. It could be a very enthusiastic client, the police, or the mob. Either way with the state my head was in right then, none of the three would be good.
I muttered a few choice curses about the rain, pulled my hat lower over my eyes for what little protection it was offered, took out my cigarette case and tapped it on my hand a few times while I waited for thoughts to adventure across the drunken haze that filled my head. I was paid up with the pigs, so they should've at least done me the decency of a phone call or something first. Sure I hadn't been in the office for four hours but they all knew my favourite haunt, and Detective Gregori had a list of all the places I could be found on any day. The list wasn't very long, consisting of the bar which went by the label of Sanctuary, my office, or my bed. That ruled out the legal option. I hadn't done anything to annoy the mob recently, not taken out any of their boys or anything, in fact all I'd done recently was sit for the last two months glaring at the phone, commanding it to ring. I had almost considered going back to my old agency and asking for a job, but that was never gonna happen.
That left a client, a very enthusiastic client. Somehow that didn't seem particularly likely. I grunted and lit a cigarette, crossing the street and leaning back against a wall so I could watch the office from the shadows. I don't know how long it took, I usually don't wear a watch and the clouds were hiding any daylight, but after I'd nearly finished what was left of my cigarettes I got bored and started walking towards the office again. As I walked I reached under my coat, lovely thing it was, long ankle-length leather lined with supple, light chain-mail, and pulled free Bertha. I didn't usually wear Bertha but whenever business gets quiet I get paranoid, so Betsy, my usual gun, was locked up in the office safe and Bertha was keeping me company.
I held the heavy revolver left handed as I tried the building door. Unlocked. Great. Maybe it was just some crook ransacking my offices along with everyone else's. Somehow I didn't think it was likely. I stepped inside, hit the call button for the elevator as I headed to the stairs and started to climb them. By the time I reached the third floor I was out of breath and ready to just let whoever it was have whatever they wanted. I checked Bertha was loaded, all eight chambers filled with a nasty suprise for whoever was in my office, and slipped quietly along the corridor. I could see the light glowing through the glass in my door, and the door slightly ajar. Inside I could hear the noise of someone moving around, a smashing sound as they knocked something over and a very gentlemanly 'Bother this'.
I stepped to the door and pushed it slowly open, my lovely lady Bertha ready for almost anything.
Apparently though, not for absolutely anything. I blasphemed quietly to myself as the tall, white-winged, haloed figure turned around and smiled a beatific smile upon me. "Mr Hellsing, I do believe we may have a case for you."
I lowered my gun, walked over to my desk and grabbed the whiskey sitting there. It was going to be a long night.
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