Don't Investigate Things That Go Bump In The Night

It happened when he was working late one night. He hadn't intended to be in his office. He had a dinner date with some collegues from Oxford he'd met at the last convention he'd gone to. They were going to discuss his seminar at the upcomming conference in London.

He hadn't intended to run so late, but a last minute personal problem arose, and he'd spent the entire afternoon and evening sorting it out.

So needless to say, when he'd walked into the wrong place at the wrong time, it wasn't a lie.

He'd been walking to his car when he'd come across them. Talking on his cellphone, he hadn't noticed them at first. It was dark, and rather cold. He'd been in a hurry, and hadn't thought to take his keys out of his bag before he'd left his office.

He was standing at his car, fumbling for his keys when he heard it.

The resounding clang of lead hitting steel. The echo of an empty bin beaten with enough force to crack a skull.

"Tomas," he said quietly, flinching when he heard another hit. It didn't sound like that one was much of a miss. "I'm really sorry, but something's come up and I won't be able to make it tonight."

"Alice-"

"I know, I know. Please tell Nigel that I'm deeply sorry for the inconvenience. It's already late. Why don't I call you tomorrow morning, and we can reschedule, alright? Again, I am really sorry."

"Alice, you-"

The man wasn't allowed to finish as Al snapped his phone shut, tucking it into his purse as he carefully unlocked his car and set it inside on the seat. Gingerly, he closed the door, trying not to make a sound.

Again. Again he heard it. No longer the hollow clang of metal against metal, but a dull thud of metal meeting solid mass. The occasional ding of concrete contacting lead.

Closer he crept, tucking his hair behind his ear a he made his way towards the dumpster. The closer he got, the darker it became until eventually, he was no longer protected by the lights of the parking lot. Now, he was wrapped in the danger of the shadows.

"For the last fuckin time, where's my money!"

He tip-toed to the end of the dumpster, listening. Cautious as he stole a quick glance around the corner.

"Pick him up," the same voice snapped.

As Al's eyes adjusted, he could vaguely make out the shapes of bodies. His sight wasn't what it had used to be, a fact that became all to obvious to him now as his once predatory eyes were not struggling to make out more than just four bodies.

He shook his head and blinked, trying to focus as he pricked up his ears to listen. He was grateful that at least his hearing wasn't trying to fail him after all these years.

He heard the slice as the pipe, he assumed it was a pipe, swing through the air again. The crack as it once more met a human body. The cries the boy strung up between two larger men gave when he was hit.

"I'll ask you nicely one more time, where's my money?"

He couldn't let this go on. He knew he should walk away. He knew this wasn't his deal anymore. He couldn't risk blowing his cover, on campus no less. His common sense told him to walk away. To call Tomas back and tell him and Nigel to stay at the restaurant. He'd be there shortly.

"Ramone, bro, I told you, I don't have it. I don't know nothing. Bobby split town."

But he didn't much listen to his common sense lately.

Al took a deep breath and straightened up, stepping out from his hiding place and clearing his throat. "Excuse me boys," he said as sweetly as he could. "Y'all don't know where a gal can score a decent blunt do ya?"

"Dude, I know that bitch," one of the men holding up their victim said. "Bitch failed my sister."

"Drop him," the one with the pipe, Al had guessed correctly, snapped. The boy was dropped, and Al came just a little closer, reaching for his purse where he kept his mase, then remembered he'd left it in his car.

His eyes were nearly there. Not quite fully adjusted, but well enough he knew his faux pas had been noticed. "Bitch thinks she's gonna play hero," the third, up until now silent man had said as they crept closer to him. He stopped in his tracks, re-evaluating his situation.

It had been a long time since he'd gotten into a decent scuffle. He wasn't sure of himself. Wasn't as confident as he had felt before he'd walked into this mess.

He recoiled when he felt a rough hand grab his arm, trying to pull him. He remembered, then, what he must look like to them. Panic raced through his mind as he took a step back, trying to pull his arm free.

"You know what we do to pretty bitches like you," the man with the pipe, Ramone, had said. Al didn't need to see him clearly. He knew the look that must be on his face.

The fourth one, their victim had finally pulled himself up to his knees.

"Run!" Al shouted when another hand grabbed him and he was yanked forward. When the boy didn't get up, he growled angrily. "Fuckin run ye stupid prick!"

When the kid was finally able to climb up, he tried to bolt, but the pipe man slammed the weapon hard into his back, causing him to fall.

Crack. Crack. Thump. One of his knees, Al knew, had just been taken out. The boy screamed in agony, reaching for his leg only to be kicked in the ribs to silence him.

Where was security? Where were the police?

This part of the city, he knew he wouldn't be saved in the nick of time. Hell, he should have just pretended he hadn't heard anything. He should have...

But he couldn't. Something in him wouldn't let him.

He was snapped back into the reality of his situation when he felt a rough tug at his skirt just before being slammed up against the dumpster, his stomach pressed against the cold metal. But the cold was quickly displaced by a burning rage that was building up inside him.

"Let me go!" Al shouted, kicking his leg back, making sure to put some force behind that stilleto heel. He didn't know what part of who he'd hit, but he heard a howl behind him.

His arms were grabbed again, but this time when he was yanked back he used the momentum to his advantage. When there was enough space between him and the dumpster to raise his knee, he pressed it against the cold steel and pushed back, falling somewhat between the two men and pulling his arms inward to crash the men into each other.

When they hit, he was released, hitting the cold pavement with a thud.

They were stunned, but not for long. He rolled, but was quickly stopped by a metal pipe clanging down close to his head.

Three against one. He wasn't sure he liked those odds. Making a snap decision, he picked himself up and stepped back, towards the broken boy who'd managed to start crawling away. Behind the dumpster, he didn't have much room, and couldn't see clear enough. If he could just lure someone out...

"Come on then," he said, stealing a quick glance behind him at the boy. "Come an get me." He bent his knees a little, almost as if he might suddenly go into a crouching position.

"Ramone-"

"Kill the kid. Save the bitch for me," he said arrogantly.

Al brought up a foot, then the other, taking off his heels. He couldn't move quick enough in them without breaking his own neck. But they would be handy weapons to fend off two surly blokes.

A few more steps back. Closer to the light. Closer to clear his sight. His eyes were quickly readjusting to the difference, but it was his hearing he knew he needed to rely on.

As soon as he was sure he could hear the labored breathing of one of the men, he swung his arm wide, gripping the toe of a shoe with the heel facing away from him. He felt the force of his blow up his arm, and staggered back, barefoot in the parking lot.

The other man was comming up on him quickly. He only had seconds to react. His other shoe was brought up in the same fashion, but seeing his partner suffer the fate of the first blow, he knew to look out for it. He caught Al's arm, and pulled him closer as his partner recovered from the shock, going after the boy.

"Leave him alone!" Al roared, pulling his own arm while at the same time trying to turn his body in just the right direction to swing the man away from him.

He could do this. He knew he could. Out of practice, very much so. But he could handle it. When the man let go of his arm, his sleeve ripped at the shoulder seam, comming free with ease.

"Sumbitch!" Al snapped. "This was me favorite blouse!"

He squared his jaw and rammed bare shoulder into the man holding his sleeve in his hands. He put all that he could into that maneuver, and was quick to jump back out of the way of a swinging pipe.

He grabbed it with both hands, giving a snarl as he pulled it free. Now he had the upper hand. "Back the fuck off, an nobody gets hurt!" he shouted angrily, but to no avail.

He heard the unmistakable click of a gun, followed by a shot fired. There wasn't a scream. But he felt the blood splatter from what he knew must have been that poor boy, hardly even in his twenties.

"Drop the pipe," Ramone said coldly. "And I won't shoot you."

"Ye'll shoot anyhow," Al said, not turning around. But he did drop the pipe.

"Put your hands behind your head and kick it away," he instructed.

Al put his hands up, slowly putting them behind his head and looking down into the murky dark, feeling for the pipe with his toes before smirking.

It was a shame they hadn't seen his face just then.

They would have known that they were about to die only seconds after Ramone fired his second and final shot.