[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/Y3vxI4m.jpg[/img][/center]
Rain.

I disliked rainy days. Damn stuff got into my wounds. Made 'em squishy 'n hard to clean.

Not like I had much fluids in me to begin with. Being dead did that to you.

Today wasn't like any other day. The riots were center stage on the Somabra City news. All over the place. Someone had made a bold move, hitting the Downtown area like that, and specifically several places known to be fronts for organised crime. Mob-level shit. Whoever it was either didn't have a brain, or they had something to prove. I was leaning towards the former.

As the undead girl in my bed zipped up what passed for jeans these days and took her leave, I stood and ambled to the window. The rain pattered gently against the glass, calming in a way. Hard to tell that there was a shithole outside these four walls, but there was, and I was living smack dab in the center of it.

Now, in my line of work, you don't go around askin' for shit you not supposed to have your nose in, but the guys that had hit downtown...well let's just say everyone got really riled up about that. Fingers were bein' pointed everywhere and no one trusted no one. That was the down low. Undercity was a flurry of activity.

Technically I wasn't on a job, but a friend of mine, his place had been one of those hit. I didn't know what for, but I wanted to find out why. Maybe it was someone I knew.

Keep yer friends close, keep yer enemies closer, that sorta thing.

I dressed in my usual, taking along my trenchcoat and umbrella, and my pistol for good measure, and left my dingy apartment. I had places to be and people to talk to.
[hr]
Downtown could wait. I had to visit the Undercity first. Consult a friend of mine. I knocked on his door and waited. The guy was old, and who could blame him. I heard the door unlock and that same old man ushered me inside with a smile and a wave of his wrinkled hat. I returned the smile as I doffed my hat and entered.

"Andy. Been a while. You never stop by with coffee no more."

[i]"Charlie, you know that coffee shop's changed owners. They don't serve the espresso there as well as they used to no more."[/i]

"Ah, yeah, silly me. Gettin' too old for this shit, heh heh."

I took a seat on the sofa as Charlie plonked his old wrinkly ass into his favorite armchair. Guy was pushing ninety, but damn if he wasn't one of my first and closest friends.

Short story on Charlie: we used to work for the Santonis all those years ago. He got off scot free though; wasn't with me on that mansion raid. He disappeared into the dark after the whole shebang went down, and I never heard from him until two years after the incident. We rolled together for a long while, until he retired when his back gave out on him.

Nowadays I spent time with Charlie when I wasn't doing a job; drinking coffee, ogling broads, that sorta thing. Hanging out. 

That's the problem of being immortal. Your friends pass of age. You don't.

I digress.

[i]"You seen the news today, Charlie?"[/i]

"I saw. Riots downtown. Folks tearing a whole bunch of shit up. Hehe, like we used to, eh? Remember those times, eh, we used to go and write an obituary for someone."

[i]"Fun times, Charlie, but listen, I need a favour."[/i]

At that his eyes lit up. He still had that firecracker in his head, he did.

"Oh, do tell, Andy."

[i]"I need to get to Paulie's. You know his place got hit, right?"[/i]

His smile fell almost instantly.

"Paulie? That kid? Aw man I sorta feel sorry for him now."

[i]"Yeah, I need you to phone ahead for me. He and I, we never saw eye ta eye, y'know? Just give him a ring, tell him to expect me in, what, fifteen minutes? I would do it myself but I lost his number a while back."[/i]

I didn't have the heart to tell him that Paulie's number was stashed away in my cellphone's memory. A part of me got all warm and fuzzy seeing Charlie's eyes light up like he used to. Reminded me of the old days.

I watched him get up and shuffle over to his telephone and smiled. Can't believe the guy was so old. Felt like yesterday that the man was just as young as I was before I kicked it.

A minute or so later he hung up and returned to me with an eager smile on his face.

"He says alright, Andy. He'll expect ya. Oh, but I got something for him, wouldja mind taking it to him?"

[i]"Oh gee Charlie you shoulda told me, like, yesterday or somethin'. I woulda brought a bag."[/i]

He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and a chuckle as he reached into a cupboard and retrieved a bottle of a dark red liquid. Inside, I could see the vague silhouette of several small chili peppers. He caught my curious look and grinned.

"Sixty seven Brazilian Fire Brandy. They make this stuff by distilling it with jalapenos, y'know that? Burns all the way down. Paulie loves this shit. It's like Dust to him."

He chuckled again as he handed the bottle to me. I held it up to the light and watched it bounce and travel through the brandy. Positively dangerous stuff.

"He's been askin' me for a bottle for years! I only managed to get this just recently. Y'think it might make a good gift, eh, now that his shit's been trashed?"

[i]"Yeah, it would. Thanks Charlie. I'll send your regards as well."[/i]

"Oh yeah, you can tell him that if he wants another bottle of this stuff he can fuck off and get it himself, heh. That shit's fuckin' rare as actual drugs these days."

I smiled and shook my head in exasperation. Good ol' Charlie.

[i]"I'll make sure he gets it, Charlie. You take care now, alright?"[/i]

"I'll survive, Andy. Now go, before the rain gets heavier."
[hr]
[color=lightblue]"Charlie gave me this?"[/color]

[i]"Yeah, and he sends his regards. He also told me to tell you that if you want another bottle, you can go fuck off and get it yourself."[/i]

[color=lightblue]"Tch. Typical Charlie. I don't blame him, I suppose. Life's been tough on the geezer. Have a seat, Andy. Want a drink?"[/color]

Ah who was I kidding. I was curious about the stuff.

[i]"Just a finger. Straight up."[/i]

Paulie popped the top of the bottle and gave it a good sniff, and instantly recoiled as the spiced brandy hit his nose like a truck. He got this stupid shit-eating grin on his face as he poured a measure for each of us, then raised the glass in a toast.

[color=lightblue]"To Santa Somabra, cause seriously? Fuck this city, man."[/color]

[i]"Fuck this city, agreed."[/i]

I waited until he'd downed his measure before I drank mine. I saw his eyes widen just as the entirety of his neck and face flushed bright red. I swear the guy would've turned into a fire demon if it'd been any hotter.

Thank god my tastebuds didn't work as well any more. The fire of the spiced brandy tickled my mouth as it slid like oil down my throat. Smooth as silk, fiery bite, tangy and delicious aftertaste.

Dear god, Charlie did have a thing for booze. Fuck me dead, this shit was good.

Oh wait.

I sat my glass down on the table as Paulie poured himself another measure. The man turned fifty two this year, and looked the part. Salt and pepper hair, crow's feet round the eyes, a little rounder than normal.

Paulie, a.k.a. Paul Santos, was the owner of a particularly popular skin joint Downtown. He didn't really like the business that much; he was merely the finances behind it. He left all the...product sourcing to the rest of his managing team. His place was one of the joints hit during the riot, but then again whose wasn't?

What few people knew was that his place was financed and looked after by the Martovanni family. They paid Paulie to keep shit together, and in return Paulie brought in mucho grande dough and willing buyers for the top-grade Dust they made on the side.

I didn't really give a rat's ass who they were financed by, but with a shitstorm this big, all the really big players were out in force. I had to consolidate what little shit I had so I could at least have a semblance of a game plan.

[i]"So, Paulie, I know you know a lotta people. What I wanna know, and I'm tryna help you out here, is who fucked you and why."[/i]

He shrugged his shoulders and sat back in his chair.

[color=lightblue]"I don't know man, fuck! I just got here, Andy, to find the business the Martovannis entrusted me with in shambles! Next thing you know Ruzghul's gonna come in here 'n break my neck!"[/color]

[i]" 'Ey, settle down, Paulie. I'm trying to help you out here, before that big lug gets here."[/i]

He sighed and downed his drink.

[color=lightblue]"Look, all I know is what the security camera guy showed me. 'Fore I got in here, round about two hours ago, the staff was cleaning up and makin' the place presentable for tonight. Then along rolls this huge ass crowd of deads. No offense, but these guys were the ones without brains, Andy. They knew one thing and only one thing: Fuck. Shit. Up. They completely trashed the place and left just like that. No reason, out of nowhere!"[/color]

Hmm. Just as I thought. No provocation. Same as what I'd thought back home. Stupid, or a point to prove.

[i]"Go on."[/i]

[color=lightblue]"Well we managed to hold one of them for a while. One of our regular guards collared one of the deads in the mob before they escaped. He was ravin' on and on about this chick called the Cannoness, then he expired. Just like that."[/color]

The Cannonness? Unfamiliar. Completely new name. Paulie caught the question in my face and went on a different tack.

[color=lightblue]"Look, Andy, as much as I appreciate and like you as a friend, I don't think you can help me much here. But if you're looking for answers, I know a guy. Goes by the name of Hahn, alias Monarch. Runs a little info brokering business out of a small shop in Little Lupine. Look for a little reading cafe called Dag's Mags. Won't miss it."[/color]

Little Lupine. A small district in a corner of the Undercity, it's home to Santa Somabra's population of werewolves, hiding from the hunters that patrol the streets. Of course, no one should know about its existence because it's supposed to be kept a secret. People like us though, we're in the know. Heck, one of my partners for a while was a werewolf out of that same district.

Paulie continued.

[color=lightblue]"Anyway, I hear the guy's got his fingers in every goddamn pie this side of the Atlantic, and he knows shit even I don't know. If you wanna find out about this Cannonness broad, go find him. I can't help you no more."[/color]
[hr]
Smelled like wet dog. Then again, when did it not smell of dog around these parts?

Little Lupine was a place I wasn't exactly fond of visiting. Here people had a rep for ripping you to shreds, which was a bad thing for me.

The shop was unmistakeable, really. The huge bright red sign outside the place did make it hard to miss. As I strode inside a little bell above the door jingled.

It was quite homely, actually. A fire gently crackled in a small hearth in the center of the room. Couches and chairs were everywhere, moreso the bookshelves and magazine racks. You could throw a rock in here and hit a copy of the Somabra Daily from 1989, all without lookin'.

Guy wasn't here though. I shook the water off my shoes at the doorway and deposited my coat on a nearby rack, then stepped inside.

[i]"Yo, I'm looking for Dagmar Hahn? You the owner?"[/i]