sadfreezingbrit_archive | one old bookshop [20/??? artefacts collected]

As the dust settled on a stack of yellowed magazines I remembered why I had learned to love the silence. Silence was all I had left now. Silence and books that were never bought, a telephone that never rang.

Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.

I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.

Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.

In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.

Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.

[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]

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It was a voice I knew, but a tone I'd never heard it use. Sounded the way a man might if you broke his fingers then had his own mother in front of him.

I didn't suspect the truth. It'd turn out that breaking his fingers would have been nicer than what this guy had done to him.

"What happened, pal?"

I started moving through the shelves, palming my Smith & Wesson in case the perp had decided to stick around. Finding LaFresque shouldn't be too hard. The air was still spicy with gunpowder, and there was something else too, something copper that put my hair on end. Didn't want it to be blood, but I knew that it was. And I knew that LaFresque would be at the centre of it. I just had to follow my nose.

I would've made sure to pack heat, but as it was I couldn't even pack my bags. Meant to see an old friend of mine, back alley doc who'd lost his license about the same time he'd lost his mind. Still good for a couple of stitches though.

That was the plan until I realised I'd barely make it past my liquor cabinet, so instead I took the trip there and back and sat against one of the few shelves that were still standing. Figured old Jack D was as good a stand-in for the blood I'd lost as any and with one eye down it couldn't hurt to see double with the other instead.

Then I finally recognised the voice and if that wasn't just the icing on the goddamn disaster cake. Square man getting robbed real bad. I could've sold that to some, but there were always those who bothered to have a closer look. And that look made me look about as square as a ripe peach in summer.

"Told you I'm closed."

I clapped eyes on the cat sitting there in his own bean juice, and realised right away that he wouldn't be doing the same to me. Poor gink wouldn't be clapping eyes on anyone any more. Good thing this city had gotten me used to the finer sights in life.

"Shit, LaFresque." I didn't say anything else, not straight away. Someone had done a number on him, but the guy didn't need telling that. Looked like I'd come here to solve my own problem and taken on someone else's.

"Shit," I said again, 'cause that's what this whole situation was: shit from wall to wall, so fragrant the angels were holding their noses. "You gotta see a croaker, and soon."

Shit wasn't the only thing smelling. There was fish too, rubbed into every detail. Plugging a guy full of lead: sure, that might happen in some dime-a-dozen robbery. But cutting out his eye? That took a real nutjob - or maybe a guy nursing a grudge.

"Nah," I said while waiting for the abstract painting of a man to come into sharper focus. "I can walk it off."

But McBlurry was taking his sweet time. I raised my bottle, but the gesture of camaraderie slipped right through my fingers and spilled on the wood.

Damn shame about the good stuff. Damn shame about all the blood too.

"Funny stuff."

Guy was taking it like all he'd lost was his dignity. If I wasn't looking right at his blood bath, he could've fooled me that he'd come off with only scratches. But I was, and he was so calm he seemed like an actor stepped into the wrong horror movie.

I'd seen guys react all kinds of ways to getting brought down. LaFresque seeming unruffled didn't meen something was up. Just meant I was on the lookout for more signs that it had risen.

"Be serious, LaFresque. You're gonna kick off if we don't get that patched up."

Who was I kidding? I couldn't feel my arms and legs anymore. I knew I was in trouble. But shaking off the stupor was one thing. Shaking off the humiliation was another.

Seems no matter what I tried, Clarence just wouldn't die. And now Philip had the scars to prove it. Seems I had to rip clean through both if I ever wanted to find my peace.

And was throwing in the towel really so bad if you just... sort of dropped it on your way out?

"Lead the way."

...Seems I'd decided to live another day to contemplate that question.

"Where's the deadbeat that did it?"

I wanted to help him walk, because a guy with a hole in his face and a bullet in his shoulder goes nowhere fast and everywhere painfully. But putting my gun away seemed like a recipe to get mugged until I knew that the magpie wasn't gonna take a fancy to my eye as well.

And I'd be lying if I said retribution was a long way from my mind.

"Long gone."

Over the hills and far away, if Dean knew what was good for him.

He didn't and that gave me just the edge I needed, put back a little spirit into me that wasn't whole-grain.

If I got out of this alive then he was looking at round three of the whole song and dance. We were square on the eyes now, but he owed me an arm and a gun. And I really loved that gun.

For now it was one step at a time and every step was an additional stumble. The floor was slick with blood like a fat cat's hair shining with grease. Even one good arm and two reluctant feet would only get me so far.

"Give me a hand?"

"Sure."

This was more than a hunch. I felt like something was telling me suspicion was the street to take, like the answer'd be down in black and white if I looked the right way. Sixth sense of a private investigator, maybe. But this cat was a pal, or so I thought, and leaving any guy on the floor wasn't a habit I wanted to get into.

I offered the guy a hand. Pulled him up so he could at least pretend that he was standing. A man with more hooch in his stomach than blood in his veins wasn't gonna drop me even if he decided to.

"You know who it was? 'Cause I got some words for him, maybe some lead too."

"Colonel Mustard with the dagger in the dining room."

Sorry, Kralie. But that leaden talk was between me and my friend.

Being on my feet wasn't all it was cracked up to be and I swayed worse than a fiery Latina on salsa night.

"...He got the drop on me. Saw the gun, then the ceiling."

"Goddamnit."

But that was the story of this town. Hop-heads and greasers running around taking what they wanted, leaving holes in anyone with the bad luck to be in the way. It was a world I knew inside and out. But that was a time in my life I was still trying to leave behind. If only I'd known it, LaFresque and I could've had a lot to talk about.

"He must've left a trail. But it'll have to stay hot while we get you alive again. Stiffs make pretty poor conversation."

I started moving him towards the door, one busted footstep at a time.

Almost let a little agreement slip too. Locked it back up at the last second and was pretty glad I didn't have the air to tempt me into a sigh of relief.

Wasn't that unusual for a bookkeeper to know things. And in a town like this even the smallest shop would get a little wind blowing in the dirt from the street. But the fine art of making a fella sing without asking him for the last dance was just a nod outside the know-how I'd given Philip on the way.

Right now I realised I couldn't trust my thoughts not to gush right out along with all the blood, so I followed along silently. If Kralie was gonna pick up a trail after this then I wanted to make damn sure that it was gonna lead away from me. Either of me.

one old bookshop [20/??? artefacts collected]

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