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“Well, ain’t this fuckin’ grand.” John Constantine grumbled, flicking the smoldering remains of his cigarette butt over the side of the balcony. 


John had spent the past few days staking out Boss Zucco’s place, carefully planning out how he was going to slip inside the mobster’s apartment with the subtle excellence of an international superspy, but then the whole city had spontaneously decided to set itself on fire, and the streets had fallen into chaos. 


Constantine peered through the discount store binoculars he’d brought himself a few nights ago, fixing his gaze on Zucco’s apartment. 


He could see the mob boss through the window; fat and bald with a bare chest of thick black hair, plopped down on an expensive-looking sofa, with two suit-clad henchmen no more than a few paces away. His forehead was thick with sweat, and he was barking something at the men, but whatever it was John was too far away to make it out. 


His best guess was that Zucco had shat himself when all hell broke loose, and started calling some of his goons over for extra protection. 


“Looks like you’re gonna have to take the ‘guns blazing’ approach, Johnny boy.” He said with a flat laugh. 


[hr] 


Anthony Zucco took a long drag from his joint, trying desperately to draw some kind of reassurance from each puff of cannabis. He was dressed in a wife beater and black pants, but even still he was sweating buckets. 


“The fuck am I paying the pigs for if I don’t get the heads up on this kind’ve shit?” He hissed, speaking to himself as much as he was his two guards. 


“Pompous fuckin’ feds think they’re betta’ then me, think they can just leave me outta the loop?! Well, fuck ‘em. We’ll see how fuckin’ powerful they feel when they end up at the bottom of Gotham River.” 


Just then, one of Zucco’s thugs came wandering into the room. 


“Ey, Boss, there’s a limey at the door. Says ‘e wants to talk to you.” 


“Tell ‘im to fuck off!” Zucco barked “what are you, fuckin’ retarded?! The cities gone to shit, and you’re openin’ the door to strangers?! Christ, I’m surrounded by morons!” 


The thug vanished. 


He reappeared a few seconds later, flying back through the doorway and landing face-first on the coffee table. He came crashing down on it -hard-, spraying glass shards across the carpet. 


“Jesus FUCK!” 


The joint fell from his hand.  


Zucco was on his feet in a flash, and his bodyguards had their weapons drawn and pointed at the doorway. 


Shortly after, a blonde man in a grimey trench coat came wandering inside. 


“Don’t suppose any of you lads have got a lighter? Mines out of gas.” 


“The fuck do you think ya doin’?!” Zucco barked, his mouth bobbing open and closed like a goldfish gasping for air. 


“Stay back, asshole!” Bellowed one of Zucco’s guards, pointing his gun squarely at Constantine’s forehead.


“I’m only here to have a little chat with ya boss, geezer,” Constantine smirked “let's put the peashooters away.” 


He raised both hands, extending his fingers. 


[i] “hAjIZemPOdOoDeONoZ”  [/i]


The air seemed to ripple, as a potent blast of sheer unadulterated force pushed itself forwards, sending the henchmen hurtling back across the room, their weapons falling from their hands. 


“What in the-” 


“Never seen magic before, mate?” Constantine grinned. 


One hand slipped into his coat pocket, and when it reemerged he was clutching a Webley Revolver. 


Constantine squeezed the trigger, firing off two shots, and burying a round in each of the fallen henchmen. Bits of brain splattered against the white wallpaper, spraying Zucco with thick droplets of carmine. 


“Fuckin’ hell!” He yelped, raising his arms above his head in surrender “look, whatever you’re aftah, just take it, man. I don’t want no trouble!” 


Constantine cocked back the revolver’s hammer, aiming it at Zucco. 


“I know you’ve had dealings with Mister Haly and his circus,” Constantine said firmly “I also know that they once worked with a gypsy woman; Rosa Quatuor. I need to know where to find her.” 


“Yer doin’ all this for some gypsy slut?!” Zucco blurted out. 


Constantine pulled the trigger, firing a shot mere inches above Zucco’s bald head.


“We’ve got a pretty simple system in place here, which I’d really like you to respect. Goes a little somethin’ like this; I’ve got the gun, I ask the questions, dickhead.” Constantine snapped. 


“Alright, fuck! Yeah, I remember Rosa. Not the sort of face your forget. She did some mystic bullcrap for Haly for a little while, then something went sour, I dunno what. Last I heard she’d fallen in with the Religion of crime.” 


“Cheers.” 


Constantine fired a shot Zucco’s clean through Zucco’s shoulder. 


“GAY! The fuck was that for?!” The mobster screeched, grabbing at the bloody hole. 


“Got some issues I need to work out, like.” 


“You’re a fuckin’ monster!” 


“I’m on the side of the angels, mate.” Constantine said dryly.