Michael Seebach --
"This is Michael."
"STOP SCREWING WITH ME! WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT!?"
Ow. My ear. Now I have to get out of crouching position and put my head to the floor to listen to the phone I dropped.
"What is the matter Mr. Barnheart, did you not restrain the suspect?"
"OH! I FREAKIN HAD HIM! UNTIL A CRAZY DUDE JUMPED OUTTA NOWHERE WITH A HUGE FRIGGIN SWORD!"
"A sword?"
"I SAID SWORD DIDN'T I!?"
"I suppose you did. You wouldn't happen to mean-"
"Don't you screw with me, I know very well you are keeping tabs on him for me."
"Ah. I suppose I am. What exactly happened again?"
"I had the guy pinned, gun pointed to his head, he was ready to be 'cuffed, when some guy took this huge broadsword and swung at my arm! He was yelling something like, 'scumbag, criminals never prosper' or some crazy superhero bullcrap! He was wearing a mask and a trenchcoat, I couldn't see him!"
"That is odd."
"Yuh think!?"
"I do."
"...Che, anyways the perp got away, and I barely escaped the big dude with a knight fetish...I might have scratched his hand with a bullet though."
"Hm...how odd."
"C'mon, you're supposed to be watching everyone in this friggin town right? Who was that guy?"
"There is nothing I can say with certainty Mr. Brone, unless I am given evidence."
"I don't care about that, you probably have a hunch right!? What am I supposed to do without the full payment this week?"
"I may. I did have the opportunity to search a number of apartments recently."
"...You've been breaking into people's apartments?"
"I call it investigating."
"...My alarm-"
"I have a client calling, please do not call unless you have evidence or important information."
"OY! YOU-"
BEEP.
Sigh...I will not look very far into this, I am a bit of a vigilante myself. Although his method of action without pure evidence does annoy my personal sense of justice, the man upstairs should not be punished for his actions. Of course if he continues to interfere with Mr. Barnheart's pay, I cannot garuntee his safety...
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Yo! MS WILLIAMS! FIX THIS!!! THIS IS MY 3RD BLOG!!!
Fey stood in front of the freezers in Manny's Grocery Store. She'd already gotten the dog food, carrots, apples, some beef and beans to make chili, three potatoes, and some sugar cookies. All that was left was to get the milk and tea. She reached out and grabbed the skim milk carton closest to her and placed it in her basket. Walking towards the aisle the tea was on she heard a loud crash. Upon reaching the aisle she saw a woman pushing her cart down the aisle quickly and a young clerk picking up the coffee cans that now littered the floor. She'd recognized that woman. She was the one who always got off on the 5th floor, she remembered because she'd tried to keep her eyes averted from Fey's presence nearly as much as Fey did to hers.
Fey's attention was brought back to the mess in front of her by the mutterings of the clerk.
"I can't believe she just left this for me to pick up. Bitch."
"Here let me help you," Fey said bending down.
"Thanks, they're supposed to be stacked in a pyramid." The pair was finished picking up the mess in a matter of minutes.
"Thank you again, I just don't get why some people feel that they can just leave their own messes to others to clean up."
"I'm sure she has a good reason for rushing off. Maybe she'd left something on the oven." Fey was hoping that by suggesting that she had a good reason to rush off the clerk's aura would lighten and her less than understanding words wouldn't come back to haunt her. No luck.
"Maybe, but more than likely she's just a self-centered cow." With that the clerk walked off.
On her journey home, Fey thought over the clerk and wondered why people could think such mean thoughts about others without knowing the whole story. It was one of the problems of the world. Ever since Fey had decided that most world problems were attributed to people not being understanding, or even trying to be, she had done her best to only think positively of others. Years earlier her psychiatrist had felt that this way of thinking was just a way for Fey to rationalize and excuse what had happened to her. The Dr. had said Fey was incapable of fully blaming one person completely and had therefore transferred some of the blame onto herself by convincing herself it was Karma at work. The Dr. felt her beliefs were irrational, but Fey knew then, as she did now, that there had to be a reason bad things happened, and that Karma did exist. It had to. Just like fate. It was meant to happen. She was meant to continue life and find apartment 81 in Washington Heights and Finicky. Stop it. Stop thinking of it. That part of her life was over, she'd moved on. No more unpleasant thoughts. She was living her life now.
Back at the building. Fey had deposited the groceries and gotten Finicky. She had planned to go straight to her shop to open after lunch, but decided to take a ride on the elevator first. Going up the elevator another person got on. He was thin, looked under-nourished and tired. He looked at her with such a calculating stare that Fey had to look away. Fey didn't even wait to see which floor he got out on or if he was even going up or down. The next floor that the doors opened on to admit someone into the elevator Fey got off on with Finicky. Deciding she had better go open up, Fey chose to use the stairs. Outside the building Fey turned right and walked past a small fenced in area. When she reached her shop, The Wrath, she paused, as did Finicky, and, before opening the door and going in, looked to both sides, not because she was scared.
Fey would tell her self she wasn't scared as many times as she had to to make it real.
George Jefferson - The End of the First Night
The night had gone well in the beginning. He had stopped two small time robberies and scared the living daylights out of a crack dealer. With his deep voice he would bellow something awe-inspiring, then he would leap out with his sword and whack their weapons right out of their hands. He would then proceed to work them over with his sword and his fists, and he would top it off by handcuffing them to a nearby object. There they would stay until the police came, if they were lucky. He knew he had struck a fear of the night into at least four criminals, and they would not be returning to crime anytime soon. Except, of course, for that last one.
In his wandering he had come upon what seemed like a classic crime: a man was holding a gun to another man's head in a dark alley. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but he didn't care - they were obviously criminals. Jefferson leaped from the shadows and yelled, "Criminals never prosper, motherf---er!" in his most menacing voice. He sliced the sword down on the first man's hand, sending his gun flying, and possibly breaking his wrist. Jefferson then clocked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The second man fled. Jefferson chased after him, assuming he was also involved in the crime. It was his first mistake.
Jefferson caught up to the second man and grabbed him by his collar, but he fainted in terror. Then Jefferson heard the cocking of a gun that saved his life. He turned just in time to see the first man, his nose bleeding profusely, aiming the gun directly at his chest. Jefferson dived headlong into a nearby window just as the first man fired. He could've sworn he felt the bullet narrowly miss his hand. He climbed out of the window with a few cuts and bruises but unscathed overall. That leather jacket was a lifesaver. The man with the gun was nowhere to be seen. Jefferson dragged the fainted man's body over to a nearby lamppost and handcuffed his hand to it. An elderly woman walked by, who Jefferson recognized as Mrs. Pearl, one of the tenants of his building. "Someone should call the police" Jefferson said, and fled into the night. He hoped she would not recognize him under his mask.
Jefferson ran through the back alleys of his neighborhood, shaken. That man was obviously a part of some sort of organized crime. Small-time druggies and messed-up kids could be scared straight, but crime bosses and their followers were something else. He stopped in the vacant lot next to Washington Heights. If he kept this up, he could be dead within a week. Then he remembered why he had started this crusade in the first place. This was one of the most crime-ridden parts of the city; it was also the neighborhood he grew up in. This was where he had first decided to become a police officer. He had done it with the hope that he could clean up the city. That plan had failed, so he moved on to another plan - the sword.
Jefferson stood up. Within a week he could be dead, but, he asked himself, how would that be different from any other week? He would have to change his tactics. He would deal with crime from the top down., instead of just scaring the bottomfeeders straight. This neighbor was where his first crusade had began, so this neighborhood was where his second crusade would begin, as well. Jefferson looked across the street. He could see the owner of Oscar's Meat setting up shop, and also discreetly taking down a sign that read "New York Strip." Something illegal was going on over there, but he would have to wait to investigate. The sun was just beginning to rise over the skyline, and Jefferson was still in costume. Also, he was tired. Jefferson climbed the fire escape, but he paused and looked out over the city. He would focus his efforts here, until Washington Heights was a beacon of hope for the rest of the city. Or he would die trying.
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