DNR (Do Not Reanimate)

Chapter 4 - A Man of Many Faces

I'd known Fetch for about two years before I knew how to recognize him. Regardless of what form he took, one thing remained constant, an iron cross tattooed on the inner portion of his wrist.

That's why I was staring awkwardly at people's wrists at the intersection of 7th, Virginia, and Westlake at 9 P.M. Fetch likes to do his pick pocketing at night, he says it relaxes him.

Watching the heads down mentality of anyone foolish enough to be out walking this late, I understood the allure. It was like I was hiding in plain sight. I still hadn't had time to wash off the filth that was Jeff Bracken, may he Rest In Peace, but none of that mattered to these people. I looked like a shambling corpse out for a night on the town, and I was still just one of the gang, the nameless masses that traverse the streets when the light fades.

Once you knew him, Fetch wasn't too hard to spot. I just looked for the guy (or girl, if that's the form he chose) who was talking someone's ear off.

I had to admit the whole guy/girl thing threw me for a loop at first, but Fetch tried to explain that gender was something mortals cared more about than necessary, but if I needed to assign a pronoun, "him" would do just fine, because my country "tends to favor the males."

Tonight, Fetch had chosen the form of a hulking biker covered head to toe in leather and tattoos. The perfect way for Fetch's one constant tattoo to remain unnoticed. He was chatting up a woman with a crimson leather purse and diamond earrings. She reeked of the finer things. Another high society gal looking to get her thrills by slumming it in the streets, choosing to buy their cocaine in dark alleyways instead of opulent parties.

I strode up to the man who had six inches of height and 100 pounds of muscle on me, and said, "Hey! Aren't you the guy who had to go around my neighborhood and tell everyone you're a sexual offender? Small world! Don't worry buddy this one looks legal," I said winking at my friend.

The woman he was talking to wrinkled her nose in distaste, and speed walked away as fast as her stiletto heels would carry her.

"Why is it never just a hello with you, and how many times have I told you not to disturb me when I'm working?" asked the doppelgänger, in a whiny voice that belied his tremendous girth.

"How many times have I told you that I don't have a cellphone, and this is the only reliable place to find you. If you would just pick a family you like the best and stay with them, I wouldn't have to interrupt like this," I replied with a grin.

"Do you think I enjoy the lying and sneaking around? It's not my fault I love them all equally. I'm not having this discussion again," Fetch said crossing his arms and sticking out his lower lip in a pouty expression.

"Hey it looks like the carousel of conversation has brought us back right where we started, which is me disturbing you at work."

"Fine," he paused, "What do you need? And I'm not going to wingman for you anymore. I'm sick of being the blind girl that you save from walking into traffic."

"Oh come on, you love that routine," I said giving him a playful punch on his rock-hard bicep, "Nothing like that tonight, I just have a few questions for you. I'm on a case."

"A case? Last time I checked, that's not really how doctoring works, but then again it has been a couple of decades since my last checkup."

"It's a long story, so here's the short version. I need to find out what happened to a half-fairy, so her full fairy aunt doesn't cook up a creative fate worse than death for yours truly."

"Why would a fairy come to you? No offense, but you're not known for your reliability, or your likability, or competency, and the Pantheon hates your guts."