Posts Tagged ‘Mystery’

Some Free Fall

Posted: January 23, 2023 by Ty in Free Fall
Tags: , , ,

Hoping to get some time carved out in my schedule for this to develop into something…

It is always a weird feeling to be in darkness, and then see a bright light, but not at the end of the tunnel, your notifications had decided to push through the do not disturb feature overnight on your phone. No wonder insomnia was beginning to become a rising issue? The covid pandemic pause had shown us exactly how overworked and running on empty we were as a society, yet as restrictions lifted, we wanted to jump back onto the eternal treadmill once more.

Hence the squawking at this ungodly hour, when one should be sleeping, others note it as the dead hour. Here I am in the darkness, should I be sleeping? Yes, a normal person would be, yet here I am awaiting a communion of sorts. Finished the cleansing of the darkness from this place, tapping into some Anglican Rites, being a good quasi-Canadian associated Anglican I used the Book of Common Prayer, needed the sludge cleared for the phone to activate once again.

In the phone there may be an answer, the question is whether it is a call I wanted to receive, but the communications had brought me to this old trailer, to do this. The essence is simple, to discover what my actual name was, not just be the bloke the locals had designated Jake Doe, whatever would come through would open more to me than that.

“Jake me boy is that you?”

Even a quick thumbing to dark mode did not help the blinding green screen glow, reminded me of the type on the monitor of an old Apple 2E in public school. Not exactly the best ergonomics for eye care in the 21st century.

“That is what folks have been calling me? Who are you?”

Who I am is irrelevant, the time is short, Jake you need to find it.”

“Find what?” My name? My memories? These are what are sticking out to me at this moment. But this disembodied voice through the green screen is attempting to speak in bad, almost pedantic, riddles.


Further reflections on a Leadership Summit within the Stone-Campbell movement, and understanding the Spirit within.

Always pondered

why I felt unmoved or

a round peg breaking into a triangle hole

Not understanding

the self-selection of religious groups

Spiritual not religious types perpetuate

their own exclusionary criterion

One risk taken

to attend a summit centered on being Shaken by the Spirit

C. Leonard Allen speaks of grammar of the Spirit

the piece of the Trinity forgotten not the right word

rather locked away in Sola Scriptura

only active within old old stories

or new charismatics tied to literal understandings

Missing the point or the mark

For it is within the Spirit,

that Church is family

that community is birthed


In the Spirit

when people matter more than money

programs are secondary

to an open

welcoming table

for all…

The Spirit

living in and out of Love

I always wondered why

I felt on the outside of the religion

I loved so much…

and the answer was simpler,

than I ever believed…

I let the Spirit break through my present

and future

to shape my heart.

The mall at one point had been thriving. But with a Wal-Mart at one end, and the other end having a bankrupt empty spot where Sears used to be (how could Sears not transition from catalog to internet?). The stores may be shrinking, but the food court was still bustling with folks. That is what Lee Jacobs was here to watch. He tugged the non- descript black ball cap a little low as he scanned the crowd.

Ever since the city over 20 years ago had come to realize children were peddled on the streets, they have attempted to hide it. At that point shutting down the vice unit, it was back up and running. Finally, the mainstream had caught on what was now dubbed sex trafficking was a North American problem as much as an “over there” in the developing world problem.

Sean had reminded Jacobs as they painted over the white supremacy graffiti at St. Jude’s if he was looking for a recruiter, head back to the mall and start back in the old ways. There it is. The table that the scuzz had set up at. As they leave to the bathroom, a smart move would be to take their table, disrupt the flow, usually leads to a threat perhaps police arresting them and get them banned. But Jacobs did not have time for that. Follow the non-descript polo shirt, khaki man with that weird hair cut of buzzed sides, and long comb over. The hair was the fake blonde brought about by too much bleaching.

Wait a beat. Only person in there. A kick to the back of the knees and the gent’s chin bounces off the bottom of the urinal. Jacobs looks down at the fresh blood now dripping off the porcelain. Teeth look like discarded Chiclets gum on the linoleum floor. Jacobs squats down and stares into the man’s obvious colour contact lens green eyes.

“Let’s make it clear chump, St. Jude’s is off limits. Spread the word or next time I won’t stop with your teeth.” Jacobs hissed lowly.

“who you?”

“The Padre.” Might as well take up that which drove him batty from Sean. Jacobs rose and with the tip of his boot kicked the gent in the head.

As he walked out his phone vibrated.


“Hello Ms. Moon, yeah I will be there in 10 minutes. Just stirring the pot.”



Skid and slip. Is this stuff falling rain or snow? Jacobs wonders as he rounds a corner slowly. There was so much on the to-do list for today. He was supposed to be meeting with the MLA, Melanie Moon (Member of Legislative Assembly) for the area to discuss many things, among them actual electoral reform. Then a follow up coffee for a grieving widow whose life partner had just passed, and the hospital visit for the lady who on her hundredth birthday slipped and fell at the entrance to the church.

Yet here he was, playing detective. Tracking down the ne’er do well that had brought death to the Cosmic Mass. The predator had brought in fentanyl laced with carfentanyl so the Naloxone didn’t work. Worse yet, scuttle butt from some of the other attendees was that there had been attempts to recruit some of the youths in attendance to the sex trade as well. The description wasn’t some dark bogeyman that Jacobs’ congregants had built up in their mind for the nefarious deeds. Nope, they looked like prep school boys and girls, just hovering or just over the age of legality at 18.

A vibration in his front left jean pocket, Jacobs pulls out that which the youth mock, his old flip phone. “Lee here.” in a hushed whisper.

The voice sounded like it had smoked too many cigarettes too quickly. That raspy-smoulder quality. James Sean. Former beat cop for the area, and congregant. He had been working some angels when he heard what the `Padre’ was up to. “Padre, we got a bead down at the park three blocks from the church.”

Jacobs thanked James and disconnected the call. He pulled the collar up on his leather 3/4 length coat and tugged tighter on the gloves. The park that was three blocks from the church was the one he was staring at now. Lad of average height, and build, some may say charmingly handsome. Dressed like a staff from the bankrupt Target Canada. His satchel was a beige colour to match his khakis. Jacobs replayed the Cosmic Mass in his mind. The rhythmic beats of music, dancing, swaying, chanting, sharing of food… being one within the Holy Mystery…and the glow from the almost bleach blonde hair in the back off of the black lights and strobe lights.

Jacobs watched the obvious transaction. They had become more overt since the legalization of Marijuana, many not realizing that yes the substance was legal but it was not legal to purchase from your street corner dealer you still had to use a licensed dispensary. Unfortunate this attitude had been taken to many parking lot, park and street transactions. Jacobs had called the police on more than one dealer he walked by on the church steps/ramp heading in to work.

The slush splashed up on the cuffs of his jeans as Jacobs moved quicker into the park. The boring ones as the kids in the parish called them, sanitized from anything fun. Two simple ride `em animals, a short slide, and one swing. Blonde Target worker was sitting on the swing. Jacobs walked up, and mumbled something about how much.

Blonde Target Worker looked up, he saw the glint of the white cube collar and tried to run, but Jacobs pushed the chain holding the swing back causing the khaki clad lad to splash into a slush puddle as Lee scooped the backpack and held it.  Tears formed in the dealer’s eyes.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin'”

“You are not doing anything wrong is the correct grammar. And yes you are.” Lee said, as he unzipped the top of the backpack to view the product. “Last night you were at my church.” There was sirens in the background, Retired Constable James Sean had called his friends, which was unfortunate Jacobs was hoping to get more out the dealer but at least he would be off the street.

The dealer attempted to hork onto Jacobs but wound up choking, so as the police car pulled up what they saw was Jacobs hauling the dealer up and performing the Heimlich Maneuver until he expropriated the clump of mucus. Jacobs let him fall to the muck again, pulling the wallet from his back pocket. He was a university student, Brock Marshall. “So Brock, whose your boss?”

“F- you man.” Brock yelled in a raspy just finished almost choking to death voice. The two cops were moving slowly towards them, Jacobs could tell they were trying not to stifle a laugh at the scene.

Upon reaching them, Jacobs handed the backpack to the one. “Probably will find it fits with what happened at St.Jude’s last night.” The constables both nodded.

Brock was trying to sound tough in his squeaky raspy voice. It was a laugh. He looked right at Jacobs. “Oh man you are a dead man.”

Lee looked right at Brock. The Padre had dark brown eyes that some said looked almost black. One parishioner stated when sitting for spiritual direction it was like Lee was staring through you into the depths of your very soul. Brock still had tears trickling down his face. “You do not scare me.”

“Oh Father, you and all you people will be the first to die.” Brock said, giggling like a pre-schooler watching Barney and Friends as he was led away in handcuffs.

Lee Jacobs watches the car pull away. You people. Much of the populism had been aimed at immigrants, migrants, and the lower socio-economic classes. All existed within the largest multi-cultural and socio-economically diverse area of the city.

Lee walked slowly back to his church. His eyes fixed on the bright spray painted across the double entry doors as he ascended the stairs up. The weather was causing his bad knee to ache, and having to dead lift a drug dealing dumb ass had not helped it. Now this.

Jammed in between the door seam was a flyer “It’s okay to be white.”

“Not this shit again.” Lee silently cursed as he stepped inside the church.

End Part One.

I hate Killer Faces. They are the worst, its not just an intricate street gang, but one wrapped in a wanked out killer cult motif they try to tie back to weird practices of the occult and esoteric or so the revolving door of Killer Face Prime that leads them. I say it’s a revolving door because there is no way it is the same dumb ass running the show for over 30 years, but stranger things have happened.

The most twisted thing is that they pooled money and purchased a “temple” for their “services” where they gather to hear the gospel (keep in mind ancient word gospel was a political statement) according to K.F.P… The temple they purchased was a deconsecrated Anglican church. Which keeps its doors locked unless you have this week’s password. Which is why currently Kevin—sorry Mystery—an ol’ Shotgun are waiting outside.

They haven’t kept up well with landscaping, grass is so brown its blowing away in the dust, and five trees would have more life if they were driftwood.

Over the solid oak double doors is a cross that is stain glassed images of the stations of the cross. If I was a religious man this would be sacrilegious in my mind. Instead it is quite in genius for the scam, the members of the gang/cult unbelievably tithe to the temple so they are not only used as canon fodder, but also pay for the privilege.

Mystery is still trying to get a telepathic fix, but he is not a strong telepath, so its not the easiest thing to do. Part of me wants to knock and open and just see what happens. But, I also am not a young man, and I counted at least 50 inside and that was for the 20 minutes we were watching before service began. No telling how many may have arrived earlier.  Can’t believe this collection of idjits got the drop on Zed.

“Ready Kevin?”

“For the last time Shotgun, my name is not Kevin.” Mystery said.

“Oh right, sorry it’s Mystery.”

“No, you daft wanker, my name is Douglas, Kevin was my dad. What B.K.’s fist back in the day rattled your brain too much back in the day.” Mystery retorts. I can’t help the laughter escaping. Damn, he’s right. Kevin was entering retirement due to being crippled at the hands of K, and it was Doug that was the Street Avenger during the early days of Rick. The one that others believed was killed but no body was ever found. “Besides I wanted to use Enigma, but that was during Rick’s turn at being touch brooding mystery tech man. So, I took Mystery instead.”

I nod as the weird screamo wafts and hurts the ear drums out of the temple. “Why not use Street Avenger?” Valid question it being a family legacy name and all.

He dips his hat at me. I see a little flame crackle in the corner of his eye. “My nephew was the last Street Avenger. He gave his life and the lineage ended with him. I honour my family by continuing the fight, and letting a good, honourable death stand at the end of our legacy.”

Sometimes it is true, the heroes have darker souls than the villains.

But that spark.

“How strong of a pyro kinetics?

“Why?” His eyes follow mine to the cracked open windows around where the sanctuary would be. And I believe if this was a cartoon there would be a lightbulb going off above his head. If the temple is up to code he would set off the sprinklers, if not…well humans are resilient in survival.

Mystery floats up. His eyes look through the window. There is probably an altar with flammables, but I cannot speak to his theatrics or if he would just look for a sprinkler to light up…

When the wall explodes inwards sending sandstone and wood careening inside and the screamo music turns to screams.

Mystery lets out a cackle “for Zed.”

To be Continued…

Speedster called, but she’s still laid up at home and Johnny Power is playing nursemaid. That left the mysterious, Mystery to float down to the ashram to investigate. I know he likes to play off that he is this living enigma, but truly that is for those outside of the know. Not ol’ Shotgun have you though. This was a Street Avenger. It appeared the villainous K (a Nazi super-killer) had done him in, but left him in the sewers with amnesia for years. He finally regained his memory, a Kevin Katz. But still hiding from his true self. A tri-kinetic, low level, part telekinetic, telepath with flickering’s of pyro kinesis.

I stand at the gate. The ashram has seen better days, burnt out, by my old eyes, from the inside out.  The metal burst in such a way to look like a tormented lotus in bloom. At the centre, pipes twisted into an upside down cross.

Puff intakes as I light a Cuban and begin walking towards the floating man in the billowing trench coat and fedora. Rumour had it that Zed was some ancient alien entity that our ancestors in Greece called Zeus, in Rome, Jupiter. His latest form to survive he had taken on the monastic form.

But here he was stripped to the skivvies, upside down like tradition tells us they did St. Peter. The glimmering fires I can see the scourge marks on the back. But his throat is slit. Who knew alien-godling-immortals bled chartreuse. If I wasn’t processing information to spot some clues I am sure I would laugh.

“Will.” Mystery’s voice sounds like a bad impersonation of the Shadow radio voice.

“Mystery.” I know who he is. He still won’t admit it. Not worth the oxygen having the same argument over and over again. Wonder though if he remembers the many times we tangled back in the day. Ah the bad ol’ days, sometimes it is hard to not want to take that path again, so comfortable like a worn pair of Levi originals they used to sell with Harley’s. The new path still takes breaking in of the new jeans creases.  But breaking in is the way to repay my karmic debt, as Zed once intoned it to me.

Now I am looking at—friend is to strong a word—colleague? Bit more, teammate just hanging there. “Any idea when rescue gets here to cut the poor bastard down?” I ask.

Mystery softly lands before me. “Rumour has it, Rick called in a favour to allow me to attempt to see if I could capture anything from his essence.” It is a telepaths trick, for those a bit stronger, that they sometimes if they respond quick enough can grasp a bit of synaptic energy and replay the last moments for clues. “Sadly, we were too late.”

I nod slowly, but my eye catches a blinking green light. Mystery’s eye slit (only thing visible between fedora brim and black kerchief) moves to the blinking light. I take a puff on my cigar as I move and squat. I go to click the flashing button on the cube, reminds me of that asinine power saving power bar the government gave me for free a few months back.

Mystery uses a telekinetic push and holds my hand still. “What if it’s a trap?”

“Well, I either press it and it goes boom, or we wait till the flashing stops and its goes boom, either way boom.”

I actually believe Mystery laughs as he releases my hand and I double tap (yes I loved Zombieland too) the button.

The blinking stops.

I exhale a little, didn’t think I was holding my breath.

Mystery looks at me, I give him my best Han Solo grin as the box pops apart and a beam opens wide with a whir. Hologram. I really hate this sci-fi shit. Not as much as the godling-alien murder crap, but its in the top 20 things I despise (though surprisingly not as high yuppified coffee bevvies).

The image is simple.

How did they manage to pull of murdering an entity whose twin existed and required literally the Son of the Devil to exorcise?

Mystery exhales. “Killer Faces.”

To Be Continued…


Best way to understand the new Johnny Power in action is he reminded him of the Eleventh Doctor, the one that seemed to have adult ADHD or even Hammy off Over the Hedge on the energy drink. It’s usually Speedster’s that have focus issues, but in this new duo it was the leaping over tall buildings and super strength that produced the focus issues.

The Evil was moving rapidly towards the red headed woman dressed for a night out of clubbing. He pegged her age mid-20’s if she was a day…and soon she would join the previous victim. Power is flitting about all over, thankfully Speedster he noted is trying to get a deeper focus with the rumbling skies, flashing lightning and fog.  Fog was new. The Evil was trying to cover its tracks.  He had to stop the advance upon the victim.

What the hell had MacKay been thinking sending these two out into the hunting grounds?

* * * * **

Susan turned to the words. MacKay aimed his shotgun as the dust cleared.

Zed dusted some of the splinters off him. His robes had burn holes.  The skin that was burnt began regenerating as it is what ancient immortal alien beings hiding on earth from those that would destroy them do.

Susan glanced at the immortal being, he appeared to almost be cowering behind MacKay, attempting to still look strong.  The words though kept ringing in her ears. “Bionics on.” Only two others had used that phrase, her best friend and lover, and his best friend. Who was back there?

Pen wasn’t providing any insight, he had startled awake and was softly growling.

Sheath lightning fills the Ashram (double wide) again.

Thunder cracks.

Another voice as the trailer whites out with lightening.

“The Great Crime Fighters I presume.”

* ******

The fog fills in the hunting grounds surrounding the four. He loses track of whom he believes The Evil’s prey to be.

“J somethings coming.” Speedster said.

Power attempts to leap up out of the fog that is at six feet high and rising.

Mystery’s eyes lock onto the prey only… she’s no longer there. “A mirage.” It comes out as a whispering hiss. How could he have missed that.  The Evil was not after another normal mortal but… “a supra.”  He whirls on his wing tips.

The fog turns to fire.

“Fuck me. I know this evil.”


* * * * * * *

Another flash of lightening as the dust cleared.

The armour shimmered.

The sword was drawn in a parry formation.

The helmeted eyes crackled with green flame.

“Step aside villain. The godling must perish.” A voice that resounded as a Greek Chorus.

Susan moved in front of MacKay much to his protestations. Her eyes locked on the armoured figure. No recognition from the Knight before them. But there was a pull she felt to look into the reflective helmet.

“Who are you?” Susan asked.

The figure in the armour stepped forward again. “I am the PenDragon. The one this world calls the Bionic Knight. If you stand with this thing called Zed, then you are my foe.” The sword thrusts forward. “And you shall die.”

To Be Continued…





He watches the duo that Shotgun, his old adversary, dubbed “Thunder and Lightning”- passionate kids that they are for this line of work. There were two other duos that had the names Thunder and Lightning. Legitimately it wasn’t a nick name to the first, but rather their pseudonyms in a Circus Freak Show that they used as their base of operations for committing crimes. Thunder was the bearded strong woman, Lightning was a mad scientist, she had turned herself literally into electricity. The man remembers his Dad sharing stories of battling them.

The other were young heroes like these two, run away caught up in adventures. Died far too young as a government used them on a message far to dangerous.

But the media had always dubbed the tandem of Johnny Power and Speedster with it. Confusing yes, but wasn’t the world of super heroes such.  These two had done good in their short careers. The man remembered the original Johnny Power that this one had replaced, they had shared many a beer after successful adventures, and saving the universe. This Speedsters grandfather and father he remembered fondly as well. A pretty good BBQ burger maker they were.

Now he watched as they staked out around the hunting ground. MacKay was attempting to keep them safe by giving them busy work. Unfortunately, the busy work had placed them on the hunting path. The ripples of energy were speaking to it. It was back.

He adjusted the kerchief around his face and fixed his fedora. His long trench coat billowed a bit in the wind as his feet floated off the asphalt. The air rippled with thunder, and literal lightning began flashing.  It is coming.

The man floated towards the two standing around the cathedral where the last victim was struck.  The night was falling, and the clubs were opening.

The hunt would begin.

These two would try their best but they are not fully trained, he needed to keep them in sight.

The red head fell behind her group of friends due to the heals she wore. If you could see as he saw, you would see the white teeth glittering from the shadows.

  • * * * * **

MacKay adjusted his worn beaver hide cowboy hat.  The silver highlights in Susan’s hair shimmered with the sheath lightening through the window the trailer dubbed the Ashram. Zed had disappeared into the back bedrooms.

Susan studied her old friend’s face. The crow’s feet were deeper, and the graying whiskers were more salt than pepper now. “This was easier when I was the one playing the villain.”

Susan looked at the haunting in the man’s green eyes. He wasn’t lying to anyone, he had been cast in the role of mentor for this new generation. Not the role he was comfortable in, the old villain turned hero still struggled with the code of villainy in his new reality. But without John and Rick, he was what they had. Hopefully J.P. and the Speedster were up to the challenge of battling the ancient evil.

Pen rested nuzzling her neck. “Probably was, but you wear the white hat well kemosabe.” Susan said. A creaking sound from the back room in the double wide. MacKay’s hand picks up his 12 gauge and he motions with his finger for quiet. He slowly pulls back the triggers. Zed had been levitating, he wouldn’t be creaking.

“Zed?!” MacKay shouts.

Door splinters and an ancient godling alien fly down the hallway with two simple words in a burst of lighting inside.

“Bionics On!”

To Be Continued….

And the game begins anew.

-Neil Gaiman, Norse Mythology (2017)

It was the ending quote of a re-telling narrative of the Norse Myths. For the uninitiated, the Norse Myths are the stories of the Vikings Gods. Thor, Odin, Balder, Loki, Freyja, Frey, frost giants, Dwarfs, trolls, Fenris Wolf, Midgard Serpent and the litany goes on. They are stories of beings that age, can be injured, die…and yes with the story of Ragnarok tell the end of everything, and it begins again. I encourage anyone who loves legends of old to pick this up. This is the closing (beginning) quote after Balder & Hod with children of other gods pick up the pieces (images of the gods that have died in Ragnarok) and place then on a new chess board.

But why does it matter in a post about the Great Crime Fighters? For you see as I read through these tales of very human deities. It struck me. Unlike what Morrison would say with the Justice League of America that it reflects the Pantheon of the Greek-Roman Olympus. The heroes in the Tyverse, with their foibles, humanness, and yes, legacy characters (ala the ending/beginning of Ragnarok) show that these are the myths that really informed shaping the pulp adventures backdrop.

The Great Crime Fighters were a coming together of heroes to make the world better. The acronym came out of elementary math class of Greatest Common Denominator, and how my mind plays with such things. Much like Thor with other Asgardians on journeys. Here we saw many groupings over the past 30 years in the G.C.F., some awesome (if I do say so myself), some not so awesome. But what held them together was a sense of adventure, even during the “government years” that saw under the umbrella the “Prophets” which were the heroic team for public eye, and the “Martyrs” a wet works-Task Force X version of anti-heroes to do dirty jobs.

Then they vanished, and the time of the non-hero, vigilante took hold. But in the stand of City Hall with the Bionic Knight and PinBall, the heroes of the Great Crime Fighters returned…Johnny Power, Speedster, Zed, Shotgun. Older but willing to be heroes.

Yet were they all older?

Remember what was said about legacy characters?

In the Quest of Rick Saturn, the team was alluded too as those that would support Rick in his journey for his friend, John’s, resurrection. Yet he turned down Zed hard.

So who are the new G.C.F that will be bounding onto the screen without warning?

William “Shotgun” MacKay – a former hit-man/super-villain, now a grizzled veteran that works to train new heroes in heroics. His nickname comes from the fact his left arm used to be a shotgun but during an unknown mission in Afghanistan, his gun arm was destroyed and his arm actually regrew.

Speedster– Kyler Storm was the Speedster that fought along the Bionic Knight, during the City Hall throw down it was believed he had come out of—well being missing… the truth is it was his daughter, Kyla, stepping into her father’s running shoes. Power: Super speed.

Johnny Power- Strong. Able to fly. Darn near invulnerable. Johnny Power has been dubbed the Thunder to Speedster’s lightning in the press. The original Johnny Power was almost immortal, and if not for a contained implosion linked to a singing thong on a downed mad scientist robot, he would be guiding his friend’s daughter. The Power part of Johnny came from the Djinn that merged with a human host. At the death of Johnny Power the first, an essence of the Djinn escaped and found itself connecting with John Jackson, a teenage run away that came to know Shotgun after attempting to pick his pocket.

Mystery –  Like his name implies, he is an enigma. No one knows where this telekinetic who shows glimmers of pyrokinesis and possibly telepathy came from. Rumours have it that he was the son of a Street Avenger, uncle to another Street Avenger, and himself served in the role until “dying”. Yet Mystery, is simply Mystery.

Zed- Zed is simply Zed. Shotgun does not trust him, and Zed does not trust Mystery.

What questions arise when an ancient evil comes a calling? One that before could only be silenced by the power of the PenDragon—a power lost in the Camelot dimension as seen at the end of the Quest of Rick Saturn the Bionic Knight…

Great Crime Fighters Together!

Coming Soon.

Speare had learned that sweater vest was not a good shot. Sax was not so sure, but as the question hung in the air. “Where is my soul mate?” Speare noted the Vest’s hands went to a hip holster (did they still even make those?) and a quick draw that would leave McGraw shy.

Sax dodged as the gun went off.

Speare used a flying tackle.

The bullet splintered a book case and came to rest in a stack of the Bard’s Spirit by some spiritual bloke. Vest’s hand let the gun go and skitter across the laminate as Speare used his right forearm across the guy’s throat to pin him to the ground.

A gacking sound from Vest or had he called himself Samuel? Speare relents on some pressure to only have a forked tongue strike out and smack him clear in the eye.

“AH!” Speare rolls back as out of nowhere Vest connects with a roundhouse.  That catches Speare’s chin and sends him down. Not what he was expecting from the accountant type. Speare tries to shoulder roll up only to have a knife slice and stick into his right shoulder throwing his roll off and landing him on his back.

Vest is now standing over him. Speare’s eyes look to where the gun should be.

Not there.

Vest’s hands.

Clenched but empty.

A crack of a shot. Wood of a bookshelf and some newly shot book pages’ rain down.

“Okay sweater vest halt, desist and quit trying to act macho to my private eye friend with the knife in his shoulder.” Sax’s voice is bordering on what would be classed as a Dad voice.  “And answer me simply why the fuck you are calling my husband your soul mate?”

“Because honey, we are married.” Natan’s voice entered the silent bookstore like liquid silk.