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[b]Lynwood
Midnight[/b]


John could feel the corruption in the air. Even from behind the glass partition of the squad car, the two LA sheriff’s deputies reeked of elemental magic. They had no idea they gave off the scent. To anyone else it wouldn’t matter. But John Constantine wasn’t like anyone else. 

There was a pale blue corona around their bodies, akin to an aura. John knew the aura meant that these two cops were under the control of someone else. They had no idea of course. They hadn’t entered into the bargain willingly like a familiar might do with a mage. Instead, like a parasite, something was tapping into them for its own uses.

“Where we going, lads?” John asked. “The old drunk tank?”

His question was met with stony silence. John shifted in his seat and looked behind him. Another police car was following closely. This one was driven by the third officer he had encountered. That one didn’t have the same aura as the other two. Whatever it was feeding off of his friends, it hadn’t gotten its hooks into him.

John noticed that they were heading south out of Lynwood to Long Beach and the ocean. John chuckled to himself and looked up front. The deputy in the passenger seat was staring at him intently. John flashed a grin and put his hands against his temples.

“Brian, your mum misses you.”

The cop’s eyes went wide in surprise before they suddenly narrowed.
“Who the fuck told you about my mom, shitbird?! HUH?!”

John could see the blue aura pulsing faster and faster as the deputies face turned redder and redder.

“I’m magic,” John said with a laugh. “Didn’t you fucking hear me a little bit ago?”

“Settle down,” the deputy behind the wheel said. Of the three of them, he was certainly the one in charge. “Whoever he is, we’re going to find out soon enough.”

John flashed the angry cop a wink even as he continued to seeth. His aura continued to throb at a steady, but slower pace as their car made its way through Long Beach. The squadcar slowed and pulled into what looked like an autoshop. The sign by the road was in all Spanish. A latino gangbanger was waiting for them in front of a roll-up door. He waved them forward as the door began to slowly rise. The squadcar pulled through, followed by the second car.

A small group of men were waiting inside the garage. They were all dressed in the cholo chic attire of low-riding khaki pants, wifebeaters, and lots of ink on their arms. The other two men stood out like sore thumbs. One was a swarthy man in an all black suit and tie.The other man looked like a bloody sitcom dad. He even wore a sweater vest and reading glasses. But all around him was the same blue aura as the cops, only his was far darker and far larger. Like the officers, this man was tied to something… but he was higher on the food chain than they were.

“Who the fuck is this?” Raul Garcia asked when he saw John being pulled out the back of the car.

“You tell us,” said Milford. “He seems to know an awful lot about us.”

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” said Garcia.

“C’mon, Raul,” said John. “You having a laugh? It’s me, your old mate.”

“I don’t know this piece of shit,” Raul said, louder this time.

John noticed the auras around the two patrol officers began to pulse, which in turn made their boss’s aura grow and pulse as well. Akerman, the one not connected, seemed to just look around nervously with a hand close to his hip holster. The muscle bound deputy with the sergeant stripes cracked his neck and scowled at Garcia.

“You telling me he’s full of shit?”

“If I’m full of shite,” said John. “How come I know about Angel?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the sergeant said, pushing John to the ground.
“What the fuck about Angel?” asked Garcia. 

“Don’t you say a fucking word,” Milford hissed. His genial demeanor was gone and another man all together seemed to have taken his place.

“What about Angel?” Garcia repeated. The cholos all started to step forward to surround the cops. “Angel, my best dealer? Angel, my wife’s cousin? Angel, the one who was always ride or die with me? You mean that Angel? What about him?”

“LA County--” John started before Michaels kicked him in the face.

“Touch him again and you die!” Garcia roared. “WHAT ABOUT ANGEL?”

“LA County’s finest beat him into a coma,” John said, spitting blood on Michaels’ shoes. “All to test if Deputy Seward had it in him to be a real white man.”

“Raul,” said Milford, a hand out. “Just calm down.”

But from the ground, John could see Milford starting to go for his gun with the hand not raised. Likewise the other three deputies were doing the same. One of Raul’s gangbangers noticed and started to yell, raising his own gun to fire back at the cops. John put his fingers in his ears and prepared for what was about to follow.