Graham stood on the rooftop and peered over the edge. It was a dark night. One that seemed to stretch far into the vastness of space. The night was a dark foreboding emptiness that surrounded him and one that made him feel nervous, but at the same time nostalgic. It was as if the night was the blank canvas of his mind. His memories were like clouds that drifted in and out filling the emptiness with memories, of times where he truly felt alive and invincible. He could still feel his hands touching that fragile thing with little blue eyes. Oh how it looked at him even after the blood ran down and closed it shut for good.

Graham shook off the feelings, tightened his coat, and waited in the darkness. No time to be getting sentimental. Had work to do. Had places to go. And in this city where the lights never go out, vermin skittered about unseen, committing foul acts that required his attention. He looked from the rooftop and watched as the men passed by. Gunshots like poxes ran along the walls of laundry mat The women by the stoplight looked scared, but they still stood flashing their scantily dressed bodies for the nearest taker. 

Pimps were in the alleyway between Jackson and Fairfield. Unarmed goons were poised in the Blue Lagoon, Shimmering Hotel, and the Midnight Ramble. All bars. Had a few drinks went out and then came back in for quick entertainment. Dogs that would follow their master to the deepest pits of hell. There was no plan tonight. Huge firefight yesterday. Rival gangs, a few got killed. Had to see what was going on in case, but it looked like all was quiet.

A hand reached out from behind him and patted him on the shoulder. A man stood there with blank mask with a wolf fur jacket. The Laughing Man. 

“Out late, I see.”

“Usual. Thought there might be more fun, but looks like the rats are scared stiff. Probably the city’s doing. Can’t have people getting butchered in plain sight.”

“That so. Too bad, the 10 o’clock news had made it look like a real massacre. Blood everywhere. I came here during the morning, but the whole place was clean. They got some good cleaners.”

“Not good enough,” murmured Graham, pointing at the bullet holes.

“Ah, well, they probably left it for decoration. A little holes to put in the new streetlights.” 

“Maybe so, you have time right now for some action?” Graham says, nodding to the thugs in the bars. “Thought they might be a little bored seeing they’ve been watching TV all night long.”

“I would, but I have an appointment on 55th and S. Main St. A bagger wants out before his bosses out him on keeping some of the cash from a drug transaction. Just dropped by to say hello before I left.”

“How about a quick warm-up then? Been a while since we sparred. Thought you might be getting rusty.”

“Heh,” said The Laughing Man, looking at his watch. “Well, thirty seconds then. I will show you who is rusty.” 
“Heh.”

Graham does not wait for a signal and immediately begins his attack. A diagonal hook comes from below. It is an odd angle meant to be difficult to see. The Laughing Man does not notice the punch, but knows Graham’s personality for acting impulsively. He is already leaning backwards before the punch arrives and slips outside its range. However, Graham is like a chaotic torrent of wind and does not let The Laughing Man escape. A hook targets the left cheek. A straight punch goes to the solar plexus. And an uppercut disguised as a straight right follows a disorienting jab. 

Blows come from the top and bottom; angles that the average man is not used to seeing. The Laughing Man, is not the average man and follows them meticulously, parrying them to the side. He uses his fleet footwork to keep an amicable space between him and Graham, but that is not enough to stop the man as he presses deep into his defenses. 

Graham moves to grapple with The Laughing Man to stop him from dodging. His hands reach for the sleeves on his jacket, but his hands are met with a peculiar circular parry. It traps his hand, catches him off balances, and redirects the momentum of his attack back on himself. This must be Ba Gua Zhang “Eight Trigram Palm”. Graham has experience with this type of move and counters it by relaxing his arms, making it difficult to push him away. 

As the two struggle with one another, Graham manages to grab a hold of the The Laughing Man’s left sleeve and works to flip the man over on his heel. The Laughing Man counters by leaning back and stepping on Graham’s forward foot. He pushes Graham. It is an innocuous move that kids learn on the playground, but with his foot trapped even the strongest man will loses his balance. Graham seems to realize this from the embarrassment of on his face as he falls backwards, but his pride does not let him fall without a last ditch attack. 

He twists his upper body into a swing and delivers an uppercut before falling to the ground. This takes The Laughing Man by complete surprise and lands squarely on his chin, sending him reeling backwards into a wall. Graham quickly gets back up on his feet, but The Laughing Man is slower to recover. It was a good punch. He could feel his legs wobbling from the impact.

“I got you.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one on the floor.”

“If I wasn’t off balanced that would have knocked you clean into the air.”

“Except you were.”

“You want to fi-”

The Laughing Man raises a finger as his cell phone rings in his pocket. He flips on the phone and checks the message. His body language changes instantly. 

“Got to go. See you tomorrow.”

Graham shakes his head in disappointment. 

“Meh. Alright. Don’t get yourself killed. Only two of us here.”

“Will do and by the way. Next job I need a pair of eyes and hands. Already contacted an agency for additional help. I’ll give you the information after my work is done.”

“Sure, gives me something else to do,” says Graham, referring to the gangbangers and scumbags on the streets below. The Laughing Man nods and waves him off as he walks down the stairway to the floors below. He sends an automated text to an unknown number and then disappears into the night.