Bad Blood: A Lukewarm Adventure

Chapter Ten

The filthy-looking man with long dishevelled hair had merely been staggering across the dark, gloomy alleyway when he'd heard a loud crash ahead of him.

His rather large, elephantine ears perked up at the clamour, and he instinctively whipped a rusty blade out of his pocket.

"Wh—who's there?"

He took a step forward with great caution. These were dark times; murderers, kidnappers, and thieves roamed about the streets far too often.

It was always a good idea to keep a Plan B, especially in this city...

He gripped the knife tightly.

Another step forward, and another—until he found himself standing before a rather large dumpster against the wall of a building. But something was off—

He peered inside and found the body of a man lying inside the dumpster. He was bleeding...and were those bullet wounds?

The homeless man gasped and took a step backward. That was when he heard the man pant faintly.

He was alive.

Which meant only one thing—he could be saved.

His mind flashed back to the day he had failed to save his fiancé from certain death all those years ago, and he immediately decided that he would redeem himself tonight.

He wheezed as he dragged the man out of the dumpster and noticed three deep wounds on his torso. He tore a portion of his shirt and wrapped it around the wounds swiftly.

Without wasting even a moment, the aged man hefted him on his shoulders and began a trek to the nearest hospital.

***

"I don't fucking care!" Vanessa Lawrence cried. "It's been two days and I haven't heard from him at all."

Barry sighed. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Lukewarm has disappeared. You and I both know, Vanessa, that he can be very impulsive at times."

"I just— I have this feeling that something's wrong."

He placed his hands on her shoulder. "Vanessa, I'm sure Lukewarm is just pursuing a lead and—"

"No, you don't get it, Barry. He paid a visit to Patricia and hasn't been seen ever since..." Suddenly, her phone rang. "Hello?"

Barry perked up as she straightened herself.

"What?!" she shouted, an expression of horror gripping her face. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

Barry got to his feet when he saw her frantically grab her handbag and the keys to her condo. "What's going on?"

"It's Lukewarm." She grabbed one of her husband's spare guns and placed it in her jacket's pocket. "He was shot point-blank two nights ago, but was rescued and taken to a hospital up in Queens just in time."

"Oh, fuck!" Barry grabbed his car keys hastily. "How is he?"

"He's just regained consciousness—" she said, panting as she opened the front door. "He'd given the doctors my phone number."

"Let's go. Quick, I'll drive you there," Barry said, and the pair of them sprinted towards the elevator.

***

Owen Richardson surveyed the disgraced police officer from afar—he sat on the rickety wooden chair with a calm—yet confident—gait. Victor Lawrence ate his meals in the chow hall all alone, with trained poise.