The Wicked Ones

7. A silhouette counts as a suspect, right ?

Loud music blasted through the small loft, resonating against each wall right into his ears. Freddie Mercury's voice boomed so powerfully that the very vigilant, oh so dangerous ex-gang leader fell right off the couch he'd fallen asleep on. Once his brain cells shifted to accommodate to their surroundings he realised that, no, his elderly eighty-something, very kind neighbours hadn't decided to throw a party, it was his phone that was ringing as loud as a hellhound could howl. But it wasn't just any ringtone. No, Killer Queen had been set on his phone for one very particular person and it only took him a full minute to be awake enough to realise that.

"Shiiiiiiit!"

He stumbled halfway across the room, knocking down empty ramen boxes and Pepsi cans he'd finished drinking three days ago and made a leap, throwing his body across the floor to catch the phone right before it stopped ringing.

"Morning Lizzy B."

"James it's half past two in the afternoon, there's hardly a reason to say good morning."

His head snapped back up in frustration. She was right, it was half past two, but he'd fallen asleep at five in the morning and lost track of time. It seemed to happen to him quite often lately. He silently cursed himself.

"Right. Yes. Totally. You're absolutely correct, I shouldn't be the one to mess up time, after all you're the one that was wasted yesterday evening."

"I wasn't wasted! I was... Mildly intoxicated. And this has nothing to do with why I'm calling you, why would you bring it up ?"

He lay down on his old battered carpet and stared at the ceiling, a smirk spread all over his face. God it was so easy to annoy her. He could picture her, two heads smaller than him and filled with righteous fury. She was like a small ginger kitten acting like a menacing predator. And, if looks could kill, her green eyes would have committed homicide five times a day. Still, somehow, he couldn't help drowning into them.

"I remember everything."

He'd spoken in a slow murmur that made the sentence drawl, the kind he knew she hated. He would've paid good money to see her face at this very specific moment.

"Go feed on the corpses of your ancestors in Hell until your soul is as rotten as theirs Morningstar."

"Yes Lizzy, I too think that you are an amazing human being and I would willingly spend the rest of eternity with you, no matter what torture that meant I had to go through."

She sighed on the other end of the phone. It wasn't exactly that he liked to piss her off, but when he teased her the conversation always seemed to last longer. Which meant he could listen to her voice a few precious seconds more.

"Look Mister Pretty Face, I'm a very busy woman and I need to know what Ash told you."

"Awwww, you think I have a pretty face."

"James !"

"Yes m'dear ?"

"Intel."

He held back a sigh, play time was over. Back to being professional.

"You know, if I didn't know better I'd start thinking you only talk to me for the intel. Anyways, Ash looked around - without attracting attention don't worry, he knows what he's doing - the motto, sentence, trademark, whatever, isn't linked to any gang. Not even a small one. It's understandable because it's bloody ridiculous, no self-respecting gang would use that. Then again nowadays people have no standards... But I digress. Ash being the most amazing bro I could ever wish for and also a very loyal right hand man didn't stop there, he kept digging for a while. He found nothing."