"Show me a friend in need and I'll show you a pest."

― Joe E. Lewis

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October 24, 2014 - Detroit, Michigan

The EX-Detective wakes up.

He groans to himself as he looks to his right and sees a blinking alarm clock a few inches from his face. The time said 1:47 AM, but who knew what time it was. The power must have went out the night before, or whenever it was. The blinds were closed by sunlight beamed out through the cracks into the trashed hotel room.

The EX-Detective rises from the bed and walks across the room. He bends the blinds and peers through to the outside. Mid-day Detroit traffic.

Bustling bullshit.

He woke up fully clothed, so he just grabbd a quick drink and was out the door. It was actually dusk and the last hour of sunlight was gleaming across the sky. He hurried down a couple of blocks to the Joe Louis Arena.

As he approaches the arena, he flicks the cigarette from his mouth onto the street.

By the back exit.

The following day.

Don't forget, my boy.

The Doctor's words remained in the EX-Detective's head even though his dilluted dreams. He shakes the voice from his head and feels the familiar chill shoot up his spine.

He lights up a cigarette and paces around the back exit. What seems like hours goes by and still no sign of the Doctor. The EX-Detective stands impatiently against the building, he reaches into his inside pocket and pulls a flask from it. He removes the lid and holds it above his head.

Nothing.

He shakes the bottle and nothing but a small drip of scotch drops from it.

The EX-Detective sighs, replaces the cap, and puts the flask back into his pocket. He begins walking around the building when he sees someone throw something into a dumpster and walk away. He watches the figure for a moment, then creeps up to the dumpster and lifts himself up. He sees nothing of interest. He thought maybe the guy was wasting a drink or something and the EX-Detective would have something to hold himself over. But nothing. He steps forward to jump out when he notices a small rolled up notebook under his foot. He picks it up and begins leafing through it, reading to himself...

"... He who has been cast into the pits of Hell shall........."

The EX-Detective continues to read through bits a pieces of the notebook under his breath. He then rolls it up and stuffs it into his pocket and jumps out of the dumpster.

"Well, Doc... Fuck ya then."

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I must be dreaming...

"Lou... I think I'm dying..."

The EX-Detective kneels down and clenches his stomach for a moment. He looks around at the empty street. For days he just hasn't felt right. He hasn't felt normal.

What is normal?

Normal is the feeling of inebriation after consuming several bottles of liquor a day.

Normal is the feeling of fullness after eating a meal.

Normal is sleeping.

The EX-Detective rises back up and focuses ahead of him. It's well after midnight, but even so, the streets should remain with a bit of traffic. Walking for hours, he's gone without seeing a single soul. It's nothing he isn't used to. What he isn't used to is the feeling of his insides being turned inside out.

"Maybe I just need a drink."

In that very instance, a light in a window lights up beside him. He glances over and sees the bright neon-blue sign. He takes a few steps back and looks at the building.

It's old.

The building should be condemned.

All of the windows and doors in every other section of the building are boarded up, broken, and falling apart. All but this one small section of it. He walks up to the door and pushes it open. As he walks in an old jukebox is playing. Some old tune... Really old. The quality of the track wasn't of the the greatest quality either. An old radio could have played better static.

The EX-Detective looks across the bar and sees the place is about half full. A few folks sit at the bar and a small group are sitting in a booth in the far corner. A thick layer of smoke covers the ceiling like a blanket and clings to the dense air. He walks across the floor towards the bar and sits down. A small bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face and falls onto the bar. Upon contact it hisses and floats away.

The bar maid approaches the EX-Detective and stands in front of him.

"You lost?"

The EX-Detective looks back at her.

She's certainly dressed for the part. Tight, torn-up jeans. A long sleeved shirt, but the chest was ripped out and you could see more cleavage than you couldn't. Very attractive.

"Double-scotch."

The EX-Detective stares into the bar maid's gray, lifeless eyes. They meet for a moment until she grabs a glass and a bottle from under the bar. On top of her head he could see two little red horns poking out through her hair. After two quick swings of the bottle, she slides the glass across the bar. The EX-Detective reaches in his inside pocket and pulls out a few dollars.

"First ones on the house, babe."

The bar maid sighs at the EX-Detective then walks away. Two tiny leathery looking wings stick out of the back of her shirt. As she walks they occasionally flap inadvertently. Kinda cute the EX-Detective thought. He wonders if they flap while getting her from behind.

He sips more at his scotch and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket. He lights one and goes to place them back when someone speaks up beside him.

"Mind if I bum one of those, pal?"

The EX-Detective looks over. The man sitting three seats down from him is looking over at him. He looks like he's been sitting there for a while. His red eyes are a bit dim as they peer over to the EX-Detective. Two large horns coming out of each side of his head spiral around like a ram's and come to a point down just above his chin.

The EX-Detective tosses the man in red a cigarette and he grabs it. Upon lighting it, he looks back over to the EX-Detective.

"Never seen ya here."

The EX-Detective remains looking down at his drink.

"Nope."

"Got a name?"

The man in red sounds like he's smoked a cigarette every single day of his life. The EX-Detective could barely make out what he said.

"Yep."

The man in red chuckled at the comment.

"Wise-guy, eh?"

The EX-Detective smokes his cigarette.

"Ya know, you can't just come in here and act like you fuckin' own the place. Like your shit, don't stink."

"I'm just after a drink. Relax. I'll be outta here--"

That gut-wrenching pain returns to the EX-Detective's gut. He clenches it with both hands and nearly falls off of the bar stool.

"You got a problem, pal?! What the fuck's wrong with ya?"

The man in red is on his feet now coming after the EX-Detective. He looks a lot bigger not sitting behind the other side of the bar. His arms are massive and it looks like he could crush a man's skull by squeezing it in one hand.

The pain is getting worse as he tries to stand up as well. He falls forward into the man in red who catches him and throws him backwards. The EX-Detective sails for a moment and knocks over three other bar stools.

"Jimmy!!"

The man in red turns around.

"Sit your big ass back in that bar stool or I'm shutting you the fuck off."

The sweet bar maid. Her voice could have set the air on fire as it echoed in the room. He stops dead in his tracks and follows where she's pointing back to his seat.

"Here, let me help ya pal."

A man looks down at the EX-Detective with his hand extended out. He reaches up to grab the man's hand and pulls himself up. The strength of his pull ripped the man's arm off up to his elbow. The EX-Detective falls on his back again still holding onto the man's hand and forearm.

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!!"

Nearly the entire bar lights up with laughter as the man reaches down and grabs his arm from the EX-Detective. He tries just sticking it back together and it isn't working. He looks at the bar maid.

"I'll be back!"

He runs out of the bar.

The EX-Detective stands up on his own power and begins walking back over to the bar. The bar maid meets him at his seat.

"You got a phone call."

Her dead eyes...

The EX-Detective stares at her for a minute, she gives him a scowl and points off to the side of bar. And old phone is hung up in the corner by the restrooms. The receiver is sitting on top of the phone itself. The EX-Detective walks over and picks it up.

"Hello?"

Hello, Trevor, my friend! How are you?

The EX-Detective looks at his surroundings.

"Enjoying a drink."

Splendid. Finish up then, I'm waiting outside.

The EX-Detective recognizes the click from the other side and hangs up the phone. He walks back over to bar to finish his drink, but it's already gone. The bar maid looks over to the EX-Detective as she's cleaning a few glasses.

"He doesn't like waiting, you better get goin'. I owe you another one on the house."

He sighs and stares one last time into the bar maid's cloudy eyes. She stares back for a moment, then pulls her sleeves down over the red bandages taped around both of her wrists. He turns around and walks out of the bar.

Out front, a car is parked perfectly parallel to the side of the street. The bright sun nearly blinds the EX-Detective and he throws his forearm up to shield it. Looking under his arm he sees no one in the car. The city is as busy as ever. Traffic in every direction, people walking. He looks behind him at the torn up building and sees a several large department stores off behind him.

As if a zipper zipped up and sealed up sound into a vacuum, everything was quiet.

Hello, Trevor.

The EX-Detective looks behind him. The Doctor is standing a few feet away from him. Smiling.

"Doc."

Shall we?

The Doctor waves his hand over to the black car still parked in front of them.

"Why not?"

The two of them walk towards the black vehicle and climb aboard. The EX-Detective fires up the engine and they drive away.

"Y'know things are going to shit, right?"

The Doctor looks over at the EX-Detective.

"Right?"

Trevor, you've read our agreement?

"Of course, I've read it."

Well?

"Well?! Well. It's only been about twelve years."

Correct.

"I feel like I'm shutting down man. Like I felt before."

You feel this way because believe it or not Trevor, you're time will eventually run out. What are you asking me here? Are you asking for another chance?

"Another chance? Another chance for what? Redemption?"

The Doctor laughs aloud.

It's a bit late for that, Trevor. Let's just focus on matters at hand, just like we always have.

"What's going to happen to me, Doc?"

There's a storm coming, Mister Dedntik... A storm that's going to take over everything.. They're so blind, it's right in front of their faces, but they cannot see it.

The EX-Detective senses the Doctor's perfidy. The years that he spent away from the Doctor mean nothing to him now. Wasted. Every second wasted. The Doctor is just going to use him up and throw him away.

What was my purpose?

"Why me?"

The Doctor smiles after he lights up a cigar.

Even I can't control destiny, my friend. I can only influence it.

"So you didn't choose me? Fate did?"

As I just said, I can only influence the outcome. You didn't have to agree to come with me, Trevor. You chose me.

"But you were saving my life. You saved my life."

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