Tales From Brightburn City... Hawke: Eternal Rain.

Chapter 5-Money for love.

Hawke lay in his bed,  still staring up at the ceiling, trying to put together the mind-bending experience he endured last night. Bags were formed under his eyes, as that must of been the worst night’s sleep in existence.)

337 days since the incident, I lay in my bed completely exhausted from last night’s occurrence. The whole night didn’t make sense; it felt so real.

(Hawke reaches over to his pack of cigarettes that had been placed on his bedside table. He then pulls out a much-needed smoke, and lights it off the match that was lying next to the pack.) 

Jay wasn’t messing around despite all her playful gestures. What was she getting at?
Well, at least I know who murdered the Hernandez family, but why was she targeting just them? I mean, come on, people get killed every day in Brightburn, it’s just everyday life in this shithole.
There’s got to be more.
If only that beast didn’t catch my scent. Even Jay was surprised, what did she say? His majesty? Was that the fucking devil? I need to get more from her. Maybe I can see if there’s anything from what I experienced last night down at the fence. Some sort of magical book or anything that could at least answer a simple question; like what the hell have I just experienced? The fence is run by an old man called Selrahc Reznob, he has a whole catalogue of all things weird and unexplained. Sel is a collector of many things. just a Glorified hoarder if you ask me.

After that, I’ll give Books a call. It looks like we have got some questions to ask that fat bald prick, El Gordo.

(Hawke stands up and makes his way over to his bathroom whilst still puffing on his cigarette… He reaches his toilet, places his cigarette in his mouth, holding it there whilst he unzips his fly, and proceeds to take a piss…)

I need to find out who that man was in the church. If I find him, I can solve that case. First, I’m gonna take a shower…
I fucking stink.

(Hawke finishes his piss and removes his clothes, tossing them to the side. The clothes get comfortable in their newly claimed home; as they probably will be left until the panic for pants and socks emerges. Hawke puts out his cigarette on the corner of his sink and places it on the basin for later.
He then pulls back the shower curtain and climbs into the bath. When turning the switch to the shower, the head was spitting, struggling to build up pressure. Hawke bangs the pipes, and just like that, the shower rewards him with a constant flow.)
“Fucking thing.”
(He says as the shower spews out ice-cold water, bringing down the built-up pressure of this worn-out aggressive man. A boiler of rage and frustration in a case of flesh and skin.)

I put my life on the line every day, and I just about get enough to buy this shithole. There are beggars shaking paper cups in the street all day and then driving home in their new German sports cars.

(Hawke continues to wash his scarred-up withered body, the suds turning black, forming a whirlpool as they drain away.
Five minutes pass...
Hawke is finished, he turns off the shower and draws back the curtain. Hawke then steps out of the bath. Unable to find a towel, he sighs and continues to his bedroom.

Hawke looks for a towel, dripping wet, forming puddles around his apartment, as   He then finds one rolled up at the foot of his bed, he grabs it and starts to dry himself.
Then the door knocks.)

“Not this shit again, fuck off!!”

(Hawke wraps the towel around his body and makes his way over to his apartment door. He then opens it just ajar to see what mind-bending demon it would be this time. But no. No mind-altering demon.  Stood there was a young lady, a bruise protruding from her what would be a beautiful face, long blond hair reaching down her back, a slim figure silhouetted with a tight spandex boob tube, and fishnet stockings; torn all down the one thigh.)

“I’m not interested.”

(Hawke says as he goes to slam the door shut in her face.)

“No, please, Detective Hawke, right?

I need your help. I was told you could help me. I have nothing, and I just need you, please.”

(The young woman blusters as eyeliner runs down her face begging Hawke for his assistance. Hawke slams the door shut, leaving the assumed prostitute to her own miserable ongoing…)

“Fucking hookers.”

(Hawke continues to dry himself off and find a fresh set of garments to wear; he then hears the mumble whimpering through the paper-thin walls of his apartment.)

“Please, Davis said you’d help; now he’s gone. I have nothing.”

(Hawke perks up as the sound of his former partners' name sparks his interest.  He then scrambles around to find a shirt and a pair of pants. He quickly finds some that had been crumpled up; in the mounds of washing that had been dumped on the floor.
He quickly dresses himself and rushes back to the door.

He swiftly opens the door; then pauses for a moment, but the woman was gone. Eager to know what she meant. Hawke shouts down the hallway.)

“Hey, come back here!”

(At first, Hawke sees nothing. Then a slight peak of sorry, slightly puffed-up eyes; due to the vast amount of crying, comes from around the corner. It was the woman, cowering down like a wounded puppy, as she timidly started to approach Him.)

“What’s up, kid?” You don’t look too good. Come on in; I’ll get you some water.”

(The woman sheepishly walks past him and through into his apartment. Hawke follows her In and closes the door behind him. Hawke points over to the office chair which was just under the desk by the window.)
“Just take a seat over there. I’ll get you a glass, just hang on a minute.”

(Hawke walks into his kitchen. Piles of unwashed plates and cups that had been forgotten about, with some growth forming an ecosystem, probably inhabiting a colony uprising of bacteria. Hawke checks in his cupboard, and like destiny one plastic cup was clean and ready to use. He quickly swills it out to remove any dust build-up, that may have been there.

Hawke fills the cup with the Luke warn, almost syrup-like water, and returns to the woman.)

“So, what’s your name kid?”

(Hawke passes her the cup of water. The woman takes a sip from the cup and then pulls it away from her face as she could not quite put a finger on the taste. She responds to Hawke timidly.)

“It’s Grace…”

“My mother was a drug addict; I didn’t know my father; He was probably a drunk. So, I kind of raise myself until Davis.  He was like a father figure to me, kind of took me under his wing, after a slip-up one night. Now he’s gone I’ve got nobody and shits hit the fan this time.”

(Hawke sits down on the edge of his bed, just opposite the chair where Grace was sitting, he then leans over placing his hand upon her shoulder.)

“What’s up? What do u mean shits hit the fan?”

(Grace looks at Hawke as she bursts into tears, blubbering at his poised gaze.)

“The girls, one by one he’s taking us. He got me last night but I managed to escape.”

“He started as a nice man. He used to bring us food whilst we worked the corners. Judy, Roxy and I Had that corner by joy’s diner. It’s just been me there these last few nights, the girls are missing and he took me last night. Thank god Davis taught me a thing or two about sticking up for myself or god knows what could’ve happened.”

(Hawke grabs Grace resting her head on his shoulder, she cries into his t-shirt as it soaks up her tears. Hawke remains uncomfortable with the situation but then he was saved by the ringing of his cell phone.)

“One sec Grace, let me just get this”

(Hawke pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the caller id.

It was Sinclair.)

“Hey Books, what’s the story?”

(Sinclair responds)

“Hey Hawke, I’ve been putting in some hours this morning, we’ve got some news on the church and it is pretty fucked up.”

“The M.E. gave me a report on some of the fingertips that were found with the mounds of flesh. Some of the results came back from 13 different women. All are sex workers associated with Madame Veronica. It looks like whoever has done this has been targeting night-time street workers”

(Hawke looks at Grace with concern, then responds to Sinclair with a plan.)

“Right Books, come to my apartment ASAP.”

“I’ll tell you the details when you get here, if anyone asks, say nothing.”

(Sinclair responds seriously; also catching on to his slight change in voice, she of all people would know that something sparked his interest.)

“Yeah sure, what’s up Hawke?”

(Hawke responds inconspicuously, eager to tell, but not trusting the possible leak of information.)

“I’ll explain when you get here”

(Hawke hangs up the call and draws for his cigarettes.
10 minutes pass.
Hawke sat comforting grace, sharing some funny memories with her of his time with Davis. He was telling about his time back in the day when he and Davis used to box in Jones’s gym. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Through the paper-thin walls, he hears a soft female voice.)

“Hey it’s Jackie, let me in.”

(Hawke walks over to the door and opens it. He then pops his head out looking left to right, just checking if there was anybody loitering. The coast was clear, so he lets Sinclair in. She winces at the foul smell of old greasy takeaway boxes and stale cigarette smoke.)

“Jeez Hawke, how do you live like this? It’s nasty.”

(Hawke shuts down the comment and sharply over-talks her; completely fixated on the task at hand.)

“Right Sinclair, I need you to watch her for a few hours, there’s someone I need to go visit.  Grace, tell her everything, you can trust her, she’s my partner.”

(Grace looks at him with a concerned expression, still blubbering from the torment of her evening, feeling needy and anxious she reacts.)

“But Detective Hawke, where are you going? you can’t just leave me.”

(Hawke, with a rare calming expression, grants her assurance.)

“Look kid, Sinclair is a good person. I’ll be back. I just need to pay someone a visit”

(Hawke pulls Sinclair into the kitchen and whispers under his breath, just enough so Grace could not hear.)

“Books, I’m gonna visit Madam Veronica. Something has been going on and it’s linked to the church. The M.E. report has just confirmed what grace has just told me. There’s a sick fucker luring in hookers, he’s probably targeting homeless people as well. I just need to speak to Veronica. See what she can tell me.”

“Get all the info you can off grace, she’s pretty torn up. She was heavily linked to Davis, she said he took her in after a slip-up, and made out he was some sort of father figure. Find out more on that slip-up, and find out exactly what she knows about Davis.”

(Sinclair swipes her fringe back and replies, still whispering under her breath.)

“OK Hawke, I’ll see what I can do. She probably needs to have a bit of girl time anyway.”

(Hawke walks back into the room where Grace was sitting. He rushes around for his boots, slips them on. He then grabs his holster from his headboard, quickly straps it around his body, and then grabs his jacket.)

“Grace, I won’t be long, just stay with Sinclair, she’ll look after you. Give me 3 hours and I’ll be back.”

(Hawke quickly slips his jacket on, opens the door and leaves. He makes his way down to the entrance of the apartment complex and then steps out onto the street. Hawke walks down the street towards his car which was parked outside the wishing well. Rain is still pouring down, so by the time he gets to his car, he is completely drenched. he rummages around in his pockets eager to get out of the rain. Eventually, he pulls his key out and unlocks the vehicle. Hawke then climbs in, wiping the rain from his forehead, as he starts the motor.
Hawke reaches over to his back seat and grabs his hat, his hat being the only dry garment to his whole attire. He then places it on his head. Hawke then leans over to the glove box, grabbing his badge and gun. He then holsters his piece and clips his badge to his waist. Like a religion He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, selects drive and pulls away on-route to Madame Veronica’s main brothel.)

(Hawke drove for about 5 miles, reaching the upper-class parts of the city and going through all the checkpoints.)

The city was sectioned off due to the corporate fat cats buying all the land. As well as that god ugly wall they built to divide them from the poverty-stricken slums.

After buying all the land, they employed their private army to patrol the surrounding area. They also occupy all the checkpoints. The Corrupt sons of bitches wouldn’t think twice about mowing down any intruders breaking in. They’ve done it more times than one; they’ll even mow down kids trying to retrieve a football. we the police, have to just sit by and watch.
Fucking animals.

(Hawke proceeds through the high-class streets, each garden looking like it was tended to on a daily basis, not a blade of grass looked out of place, it was if Hawke was in a different country, compared to the rest of the city he had to live in. approaching a solid white marble mansion, he pulls into the drive and is approached by the valet. Hawke opens his car door and sternly bellows.)

“Fuck off!  I’m detective Hawke, I’m with the police.”

(Hawke barges past them and forcefully makes his way into the mansion, unclipping his badge and waving it at the security. The security allowed him to pass.

He then entered into what looked to be a grand hallway; it was like entering a high-class five-star hotel, they even had bellboys tending to customers. Looking at the place you wouldn’t think it was a brothel. Out of nowhere, Hawke is then approached by a young woman looking to be in her mid-twenties, dressed in what looked to be uniform. Not every day you see a brothel with their own attire.)

“Detective Hawke, why, it’s been some time since you were last in this neck of the woods.”

(Hawke shuts her down immediately.)

“Listen kid I’m here to speak to Veronica, point me in the right direction and fuck off.”

(The young woman points over to the red velvet Cushioned door, which was to the north of the hallway.)

“Go through that door and proceed to the end of the corridor.”

“Madame V is currently tending to her guests. We are currently housing the mayor and his cabinet today. They will be entertaining the couloir de séduction and they seem to be enjoying themselves quite lavishly. Enjoy detective Hawke.”

(Hawke makes his way over to the grand double doors, a red glow was creeping through the crack, like an illuminous draft from underneath. He approaches, the doors open automatically. Suddenly a waft of sweat and desperation creeps towards Hawke’s nostrils.  Hawke hears the moans and groans from all the sexual endeavours. The moans were so loud, they could even be heard over the shitty European dance music; that was blasting out random noises with the same old base looping over and over. Hawke walks on through; as the doors close behind him.)

I’ve heard a lot about this place, look at these pests.

(Hawke continues to walk down the corridor. On either side of the walkway on both walls were women’s rear ends, and men’s penises standing to attention. They were sticking out of their glory holes; like some human coat hangers. It was as if they were drip-fed Viagra to keep them standing to attention.

Hawke sees the entire mayor’s cabinet enjoy themselves a bit too much.

He then sees the rear of a very familiar head. It was the mayor himself; turning his head towards Hawke, as he just pulled it out of some poor woman’s bum; a brown substance remained on his nose, as he nodded towards Hawke and smiled as if he was hypnotised or on some sort of Spanish fly.

Hawke walks on past.)

Look at these pigs.
These sons of bitches run the fucking city; probably blowing the budget on their lavish bonding sessions.
That fuckin mayor Johnson has a family at home, while he’s neck deep in some poor woman’s arse hole. He’ll probably have a go on that fuckin flesh lollypop next.

(Hawke reaches the end of the corridor, opens the crushed velvet door, and then walks on through.

Sitting opposite him, in a room covered in red and black velvet with tacky highlights of gold art sculptures, was Madame Veronica herself. Sitting on her soft-looking, heart-shaped throne. Her chocolate brown skin glistened from the tacky chandelier above. Her nipples were like bullets as there was a slight draft coming from where Hawke passed through. The curvature of her naked body was an hourglass, perfectly on time for any occasion. The throne was raised on a stage, behind the throne was a wall looking like an armoury of sex toys. Veronica was just sitting there like the queen of Sheba, naked wearing nothing more than a poor-skinned polar bear as a coat.)

“Mr Hawke, why it’s been a minute since we last spoke, what brings you to my presents, in my Palace of love.”

(Hawke was in disgust, as the smell of seamen and sex wafted from the corridor he passed through, he replies.)

“You call this love? This isn’t anything but your little games, obviously to get one over on the mayor. I know what you’re like, you aren’t fooling me. But I ain’t here for that, we need to talk.”