FicWad

The telephone in Kaylee’s room rang at roughly four A.M.
She answered as soberly as she possibly could, especially since she was not a morning person. Especially not this early in the morning.
“Ugh. Hello?” she said, pressing her hand to her temples. A throbbing pain already had set up residence with no plans to go out, and she made a mental note to never,ever in the future answer the phone before eight in the morning.
“Miss Freck?” the tinny voice asked on the other side.
“Speaking,” rasped Kaylee, looking over at the wobbly stack of books on her bedside table.
“It’s Commissioner Adler. We need you and your brother at four forty-one Fleet Street.”

Kaylee nodded, casting her eyes around for something to wear.
“We’ll be right over.”

______________________

In the end, Kaylee had decided on some sensible brown pants and a white blouse. Alvin had decided to wear the same thing he had worn the day before. The elevated train ride had been quiet, for the most part, both twins too tired to speak.
“We’re heading into Scab’s End again, right?” asked Alvin, pressing his hands to his eyes.
Kaylee nodded, and wished she’d never gone home, maybe stayed out like a true jazz baby. If she stayed out, maybe with the right amount of adrenaline, she wouldn’t feel so dead on her feet.

_____________________

Fleet Street was empty but barred with police tape. Commissioner Adler led them through, lifting the tape enough for the three of them to duck under it.
“We found a new body. Owner of an underground speakeasy,” explained Commissioner Adler as she took them closer to the crime scene.
Kaylee’s stomach twisted.
“Gang work?” asked Alvin.
Commissioner Adler pointed upwards.
“Somehow, I doubt it.”

A right leg had been violently yanked out of it’s socket, and the top of the bone pushed clublike at the the hip. The leg had also been broken at the knee, and wrenched into a knot around the black sidebar of the lamppost of which it hung. To keep the body in place, the left arm had been torn free and jammed through like a bind in a grisly tourniquet. Although the chest was pointed away from the three of them, the face of the corpse still looked upon them due to a near-decapitating head twist.

Kaylee felt ill. Peter may have been a beast, but nobody deserved this.
“Who called this in?” asked Alvin.
“A young woman who worked at the jazz joint with him. Goes by the name Tinkerbell. She heard a loud crash and went to go find him. Apparently, a rather large, ah, being, had broken in and had taken her boss. She chased it, until it apparently jumped on a train. Tinkerbell called the police, and then somebody else showed up at a station near here gibbering about this,” recited Commissioner Adler, staring up at Peter’s empty face. She didn’t understand how such a thing could have happened either, that much was clear.
Alvin wanted to bring up the Anthropophagus theory, but the killing method was inconsistent. An Anthropophagus would eat its victim, going to town with sharp claws and teeth and taking everything that they did not want to eat with them back to their nest.
To their clan.
Alvin felt ill, realizing that they were probably dealing with quite a few of these creatures, if at all.

“What kind of monster just kills something but doesn’t eat it?” murmured Alvin, squinting at the corpse. Not everything could be wrong, it had to be a copycat killer but it had to be a huge guy who weighed as much as a grand piano, to rip apart another person like that. He couldn’t scrap the Anthropophagi idea so quickly.

The same muttering, mustached medic from the case last night had shown up again.
“Do you want us to get him down, Irene?” he asked,
Irene hissed a breath in between her teeth. “If you can. I mean, all the best if you can unpin the bones.”
Alvin laced his fingers behind his head, looking carefully at the mutilated corpse. None of this made sense. None of it! Not a detail!
“How odd. The strength required would be really something.”
Alvin didn’t even turn to look. “Go away, Holmes.”
Sherlock Holmes didn’t look near as tired as Alvin did, and Alvin resented him for it. “Not the first,” murmured Holmes, eyes combing over the severed arm. “Dead stiff or pretzeled stiff?” asked Alvin, and then yawned.
Holmes’ mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Pretzeled stiff, as you put it.”
“Ain’t it the truth, though?” said Alvin.

On the other side of the crime scene, Sam Spade was leaning against his Landau, taking a few quick hits from his flask. As long as nobody saw, it was A-Okay, probably. Besides, he shouldn’t have to listen to Cutthroat Bitch Irene for everything. Hell, he might even have time to roll a quick cigarette. Fetching his rolling papers and the tobacco from a shirt pocket, he held it waist high to avoid being seen and having to share with the rest of the fellas. Pouring the loose brown leaves into the onion-skin paper, Spade tucked the edges in neatly and raised it to his mouth to seal it.
And then he froze.

Kaylee stared up at Peter’s dead body. This seemed to have been done with purpose, with some form of malicious intent, but no man on Earth, surely, was strong enough to dislocate and tangle limbs like that! She shifted uncomfortably, aware of Peter's bulging eyeballs that seemed to be following her.
“Hey! Look!”
Eager to look at anything else, Kaylee instead focussed on a rowdy policeman. “Look!” he called again, and pointed to the end of the street.
At the edge of the group of police cars, beyond a white-blonde detective with a cigarette, there was an enormous shape. It may have been man-like, at one point in it’s career, but now it hunched forwards, like a gorilla, resting on it’s knuckles. A small head was barely visible between giant fleshy humps of shoulders, and its spine stuck a good foot away from its back.
“Ha!” exclaimed Alvin, from the back. “Explain that, Holmes!”

It’s gaze settled on Alvin, momentarily, before it began to back up. Commissioner Adler’s right hand slowly went to her gun belt, flicking the safety off her Colt.
“Don’t move so fast,” cautioned Kaylee through gritted teeth.
“What the hell is that?” asked a police officer from the edge of the group. Mind rattling, Kaylee mentally bounced through ideas. What’s that? What is that? It’s bipedal, it’s aware, it’s got a defined skeletal structure, what, what, what? What in the hell was that thing?
The thing huffed, a hot gust of breath rolling forth, and it slammed its thick fists down on the street. “Jesus!” shouted the white-blonde detective who was closest to it, and dropped his half-rolled cigarette. The monster gurgled, lurching indecisively between it’s planted knuckles and massive feet.
Kaylee watched the motions with fascination. What would its heart look like? Its lungs? She had to get her hands on it, pos-i-lute-ly! As if it could read her thoughts, the creature suddenly backed up, away from her, snorting and spitting. Loping away from the policemen, it turned, awkwardly balancing apelike on fingers and the soles of the feet.

“It’s getting away!” shouted a moustached policeman.
Alvin Freck, who had been mostly standing motionless near the back of the gathering of police cars, saw the opportunity of capture and examination slip. If this strange thing got away, they could lose the case. There’s no way that it wasn’t connected to the case somehow, and he’d be damned if he lost out. So, in the end, it didn’t require a whole crate of forethought, only a moment’s notice. Darting in between cars, Alvin gave pursuit.
“Alvin! Stop that!” shouted Kaylee as he passed by, but what could she do? Grab him? That could be rude, so he was off.

The beast had turned the corner, thundering down Archibald Street now, windows rattling on either side. Nearly rolling his ankle on the uneven cobblestones, Alvin started calculating. The thing could beat him out on a flat run, but if he got above it, he stood a better chance. However, running up the side of a building would cost him too much time. If he lost sight of that thing, he might not find it again. The beast had reached the end of Archibald, and was paused in the middle of the intersection.

Alvin slowed down, not willing to let his footfalls give him away. “Stay still. It’s a-okay. Shh…” Alvin murmured, hoping his voice could calm it enough for him to trap it somehow. It spotted him, and turned around to watch his movements.
“Hello, there, uh, big guy. Not gonna bite. I’m Alvin. And everything’s dandy, right?” said Alvin, hazarding a few more steps forwards.
The thing watched him, impassively. If it stood up to full height, it’d be maybe eight, nine feet tall. It rasped out a thick, greyish tongue over oddly flat teeth.
“I don’t know if you can understand me here, baby grand, but I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m a man of science, you know,” explained Alvin, and took another step closer.

It swiped out a meaty hand, backhanding Alvin across the face. Pain burst through his face, and Alvin cried out, bringing his hands up to his nose. His palm dotted with blood. Goodness gracious, if he re-broke his nose, Winston would kill him.
The thing lurched closer, narrowing down with hands braced flat on the ground.
“Science?” it sneered with a voice like the bottom of a basement. “Yuh-Yuh-You study fairy tales. Look at me. I am the man of science.”

Alvin goggled, openmouthed. For once, he was stunned to silence.
“Good God!” he said quietly, ignoring the blood dotting on the front of his shirt. “You can speak!”

The thing chuckled, and advanced closer. Alvin tried backing away on his elbows, but the thing just kept coming closer.
“I’m not what you usually hunt, correct? Suh-seems you went saltwater fishing and caught yourself a shark! Oh-ho-ho-ho!” the thing laughed, and reached up to scratch the back of its neck. Flakes of dead skin the size of baby teeth fluttered down, landing softly on Alvin’s shirtfront. Alvin heard whispering coming from up and down the street. He knew the street was empty, but that didn’t seem to matter to the voices or to the pressing feeling in the middle of his stomach. The monster, evidently not impressed with Alvin’s lack of attention, raised his hand for another hit, maybe to smack some sense into the smaller boy.

Alvin felt the gunshot rather than just hearing it. It seemed to sizzle the air, burning its way through all the way to the monsters upheld hand. The shot was immediately followed by the monster’s howling, bringing on several lights in the nearby buildings.
“He shot me! You grazhny bratchny no-goodnick, I’ll kill you!”

Alvin focussed his eyes, and saw the thing raise its now-mutilated hand. Indeed, the bullet had struck true, and nailed a coin-sized hole right through the middle. Alvin could see the buttery light from the buildings behind it shining through.
“How dare you!” the thing shouted, lurching away from Alvin, and leaking blood onto the pavement.
“How dare I, indeed. You’re wanted for questioning. Come with me, or do you care for a matching set?”

Alvin groaned, letting his head drop back to the pavement. He knew the sound of that voice.
“You’re no cop. You don’t get to beat your gums at me, sir!” said the monster, and spat in the face of Sherlock Holmes. Cackling happily, it turned away and gallumphed down the right hand fork of the street.
Alvin scrambled to his feet, keeping a close eye on the monster’s retreating back. “Thanks for the help, Holmes,” Alvin said begrudgingly.
“No thanks to you. I lost the bloody thing,” Holmes said, voice tight.
Alvin made a show of digging earwax out of his ears. “Come again? You lost it? No thank you, you Airedale. My case, my monster, my forte. Beat it.”

Sherlock took his gaze off the thing’s retreating back to glare at Alvin. “Needless to say, you can’t be trusted to keep this under control.”
“It was under control until you showed up to ruin it! I can take care of this myself!” Alvin shouted, hands knotting into fists at his sides.
There was a clatter from the road away from them, followed by a rough guffawing. Both Sherlock and Alvin turned to look.
“He’s kicked over a mailbox,” noted Sherlock.
Alvin said nothing, and flexed his fingers, willing the anger to flow out of him. It didn’t seem to want to leave him, and merely changed into a different kind of energy. He wanted to run after that thing, run it down and tag it, and bring it back. He needed to move. Run! Alvin’s body screamed. RUN!

And run he did. He burst into a sprint, barreling past Sherlock, eyes trained on the beast, which was currently trying to uproot a streetlight. It didn’t take long for it to catch sight of him, however, and started loping away with knuckle-to-foot strides, like a large ape.
Alvin could hear another set of running feet behind him. Holmes really didn’t know when to quit, did he?