A Tour Down New York (Adam X Jill)

An Ace of Cards But Not Just Cards

Jensen smoothed his way through tongues into the bar. He had just received a pleasurable wad of cash into his wallet. He pressed it into his coat. Flipping his phone he made a few dials. Some crony back at base had just received a call from the most decadent man on base. More money went into his funds about 25 big ones. He vacated the premises, five men followed, five never came back. A broken sink, broken stall, shattered glass, and a half hung light. He recognizes the need to draw himself gone the right way. A once occupied bathroom of six, now mysteriously harbored five dead men.

He never tired of that. A gun shot is heard in the distance. A nuisance to him at worst. He slinks through an alley, steam arises from a grate. Turning past a dumpster to more bodies with no sign of a killer. He had forgotten how clumsy some people were. Tons of bodies no bullets. All the same gun. What sort of foolery was this? Clumsy fools. He bides into a crowd holding his figurative vomit guessing he'd never be one of them even though he mixed well visually.

He remembers his objective. All that was needed was his cash. Now that the topic at hand was in his wallet he could decisively move to the next point. Let the words do the walking, not the body.

"Yes ahem. I'm looking to see the man upstairs." Jensen begins his talk with leniency.

"What makes you a man of money huh?" The Italian guy waves his hands as the words leave his mouth.

Remember. Persuasion. It's been a long time since he bothered with phonies like this. Difficulty in remembering how to converse with dirt of the shoe like this. 

"I often hear myself in the news." Jensen starts.

Horrible. He won't buy it if he checks his phone. Then again...

"Who are you man?" The man asks.

"Someone who can remove heat off and onto others. Parkin Lonner." Jensen says.

The man checks his phone and gets chopped in the throat. His neck no longer belongs to him in Jensen's hand after he stumbles a foot or two back. He's thrown onto a puddle, and his face stomped.

Jensen easily snaps his neck leaving him to gargle in the puddle. He hesitates before entering the building. Grabbing the man's phone he sees his name 'De Anthony'. Sliding it in his pocket he sees. A man runs through the door with a gun to Jensen's head. How the never ending hell will he get out of this. His right arm is faulty from the shanking of the bathroom.

"Relax... The cops are coming. This guy's a friend.  De Anthony." Jensen says as he pulls out his own phone making up for the phone he slided in.

"How you know him?" The man dropping his gun.

"He plays pool." Jensen remembering his wallpaper on the phone. Narcissistic and regrettable.

"You sure you knew him?" The man asks.

People here are like flies to excrement. They cling to garbage and get swatted all the time in front of one another. No use in wasting time shedding sympathy. After assuring the man with one word "Yes."  He affirms his point that he's needed upstairs and the cops are coming. The second point hit close to home and he's risen upstairs. Two men are on the coach. Jensen walks around the coffee glass. He sees his reflection. He really has turned into something. Worse than he was. Not a liar as he was one. Nor a manipulator. No not a mechanical wreck. He's a man of small time. Why waist time on these men.

A man arrived and his face is tossed. Glass shatters. He swings a cord a fan smacking into another head, a concussion at best. And his boot kicking a man out the window through glass. His boot glides across glass and then plants itself against the head of the first. He crumbled the glass with his foot, and the head bled further.

"There's a man going around killing people. His name is Johnson Cree?" Jensen giving a weathered grin as the glass crinkled.

"I don't know nobody!" The man says through the pain.

"Tell me something or I'll break your arm. Several times of course. You get to talk, only after it's broken several times if you make me ask again." Jensen picking him up, by the hair and neck, then bashing him into the other half of non broken glass.

"AUGH! FUCK! There's a cop named Jill Valentine. She knows people. In a crack den." The man cries.

"Did you hurt her? I'll come back here and torture you the best way I know how for someone like you. Slowly." Jensen asks.

"A lil bit I tried getting answers. She aint answer ever." The man said.

Jensen clapped his hands. A job well done. Once he had broken the mans arm several times of course. A twist, snap, and dislocation from the shoulder never hurt anybody besides those classified as nobodies in Jensen's vengeful eyes. He of course killed him. In the slowest way possible.

Time is a valuable recollection that things go by slowly. This was no different. What friends were there when you lose them daily. Jill knew this. Surrounded by swine and vermin, men of pestilence. She is smacked across the head with a pistol. She pants as blood drips from the lip. She looks at him with a single eye, the other too busted to make use of. She is beat countless times. An eyeball once mostly white is now painted vividly red. She grins.

"You bozo's don't know how to get answers... Do you?" She asks through a series of pants and sloshing of jaw seriously degraded.

Just then arms form from nowhere hug the man's neck in a lock. He's quick. Suddenly appears. Has the ability to sneak past several heavily armed men. And knows how to make and entrance. She laughs. Blood is splashing on the ground. She still laughs. All as his eyes fade away and his neck is snapped in a way where he's still choking.

"Jill Valentine? I'll make this quick......... I need information on crime do you have any?" Jensen pausing to untie her.

"Fella. My whole life is about crime." Jill answers.