Young Bloods

Chapter 2

\"Oh shit.\" He said as I took off my raiickeicker. \"Shitshitshitshit...\" Brooks leaned back in his swivel chair and removed his glasses, muttering obscenities as he ran a hand over his face. He was swearing which meant he was pissed.

\"Hey, take a chill.\" I kicked off my puddle boots near his bedroom door and tossed the raincoat over an empty seat. A Batman poster looked down at me from the wall over his bed, sexy skintight outfit showing the ridges of his abs. “Howdy Bruce, always a pleasure.”

\"Chill? Chill?!!\" He opened his mouth but nothing came out. For a moment I thought he was going to hyperventilate and his eyes were starting to remind me of Carl’s.

\"You killed two people.\"

I nodded and meandered around the neat stacks of comic books that littered the floor. Brooks had a mild obsessive compulsive disorder. In his apartment everything had its place, even if it was on the floor it had its own neat stack. TV remotes were always facing a certain direction, coat hangers all hung the same way, underwear folded, bed always made, the list could go on and on. And heaven forbid if I were to knock something out of place. The bowels of hell would open and swallow me up.

\"Yeah I’m pretty sure it was two.\"

\"I can\'t believe-Why did-You could\'ve...\" he took a deep breath, possibly trying to put his thoughts into one complete sentence. His cheeks were flush and a bit puffy. Slowly he swiveled in his chair to face me that was when I realized he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. I forgot to mention his lack of fashion. Setting his glasses back on his face he grabbed a piece of paper off the computer desk. \"But the contract was only for one.\" His voice cracked mid sentence and came out as a half shout. \"One, Alicia. A Mr. Carl Barts.\" he waved the paper around as if it were a flag in a hurricane. \"And yet there are two dead bodies there on North Ave.\"

Brooks liked to play things safe. If there was a contract on one body then that meant there should only be one dead person when all things were said and done. Anything else was over kill and could get us caught, so he said. Personally I thought it was that quirky disorder talking, the part that made him want to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘T’…and then maybe erase it all and rewrite the whole alphabet. The though made me want to laugh.

\"Great, you\'re laughing.” He pointed his finger at me. “Laugh away when the cops are hauling our asses away to jail and I become a bitch to a guy named Billy Bob.\"

I stifled another laugh. \"Someonestepstepping on our turf, Brooks\" I opened the top drawer of his dresser, careful not to disturb the Flash figurine on top. \"Trying to take our hits right out from under us. Before you know it wham, we\'ll be out of a job.\" I rooted through the drawer until I found a pair of boxer shorts that were too small to be his.

\"Just because some guy tried to kill him before you? You’re making it into a big conspiracy.\"

He turned away as I stripped down to my T-shirt and underwear and then put on the pair of boxers I had left here the night before. \"I know what I saw. This man, this werewolf, he knew what he was doing. Wasn\'t exactly the most cautious Hitman I\'ve ever seen, but he knew what he was doing. Trust me, he was a professional. Knew his shit. I mean I watched him track the guy for blocks. He was even there while Barts was dealing. He flat out stalked him. And for what? Barts didn’t do deals with lycanthropes. Means he was there for another reason all together.”

Brooks shook his head, scratching a 4 o’clock shadow that rivaled that of George Michaels. He just couldn\'t see things the way I could. But that was why I did the fieldwork and he stuck to pushing paper. In skill we were both equally qualified for our parts of the job thus we had different personalities.

I fell onto the bed, curly wet hair flowing around me like a lion\'s mane. I\'d argue if I weren’t so damn tired. Argue until my throat bled, but I was tired and I knew it wouldn\'t do any good. Better to change the subject. \"Was the money transferred?\"

Fingers clicked on the keyboard. \"Yeah, I checked. Contract’s been fulfilled so alls well. We move on.”

Though his words said to put everything behind us I could still tell he was agitated. I had thrown off his calculations so it would take him a while to forgive me. I stared at the ceiling but knew he was looking at me. His icy baby blues were drilling into my body. I heard the chair squeak as he leaned forward, placing a hand on my head. I shifted my gaze in his direction, resting my brown eyes on the wire frame of his glasses. He rubbed my head, maybe a way of saying he was sorry but before I could really ponder on it…

“You’re hair’s wet, let me get a towel before you soak my bed.”

…the moment was gone and he was off. Brooks came back with a yellow towel that smelled of fabric softener, the kind you’d expect a mother to buy. I sat up and he sat behind me, draping the towel over my head and ruffling it through my hair. Tucking my dainty knees against my chest I realized if I wasn’t careful I could probably fall asleep.

“Which fabric softener?”

“Snuggle.” He replied softly, sleep probably taking hold of him as well. “What else?”

I could already picture the fabric softener box sitting on top the dryer, a cute little bear smiling on the front. It was moments like these that made living each day to the next worthwhile. For these small moments I felt normal. Or at least what society had classified as normal.

“Ready to hear who’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he asked while continuing to gently rub my head.

I looked out the window, over his dresser, and watched as the rain ran down the g pan pane. Chicago always looked so quiet at night.

“Shoot.”