Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

good name - Police chief Hoss Deacon

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

Yeah, I thought the name somehow fits the Police Chief that I have in mind, a kind of tuff guy, hard-nosed, get the job done kind of guy.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

But whatever you do...don't open the box!

Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

Doc Martin great name, also a great boot from what I have heard.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

Ahahahahaaaz! Good one! I never thought of that! Now that you mentioned it, that makes me laugh! Funny!

Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

missing quotation mark at the beginning of this sentence = "Give me one good reason,,,

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

Thanks, I'll fix that.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

Thanks. I'll get that one too.

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Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

Boo Cara, In: Judgement Night (Title Subject to Change)

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She had a friend.

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

In my spare time, when I’m done editing and polishing other short Stories (and a Novel)...I have been pouring my heart and soul into a new project - something I have never done before but have been interested in for a long, long time. What I’m talking about is a Crime Noir (Graphic Novel). While its not complete, and won’t be anytime soon - not until my drawing skills improve...I thought I would share what I have so far. Just to give you all a little taste. *And while it may seem disorganized this is just the rough draft. Enjoy!

(*      ) = Comic Art (*Visuals)

Italics = Narrative

‘Boo Cara’ In: Judgement Night

       Opening Scene 1:  The Scene of the Crime: A massacre in a warehouse operated by The Scarlet Ghost Clan, a collection of ambitious, well connected & highly competent, low level gangsters (looking to backdoor ‘Devil’ Rooney and take the city by force.) 33 dead. Chopped, hacked and cleaved with their heads - what's left of them - sitting on spikes, still smoking from a recent fire.

The Players:

Fallen Angel: (Vice Detective with a bone to pick.) He’s not your average trench coat wearing Tuff guy. A hard-nosed, scarred for life, patched up from the soul ‘thinker,’ Angel is one mean son of a bitch - a bad ass who still believes in Justice. One way or another he gets it. Seven in the back or a face full of hollow slugs with a cold hard shot of scotch to wash it down.

Bones 'Devil' Rooney: Crime Boss who is in tight with the Commissioner, planning a coup de etat of the whole city, and he'll get it...unless... Fallen Angel has something to say about it.

Hoss Deacon: Chief of Police who is on his way out. Permanently. Deacon has a Hard-on for Rooney - wants to see him burn. Alive. 2 comments

The Devil's Backbone: Deadly Assassins. (They Used to be Merc's but Rooney bought their souls with front row seats to watch the city burn.)

Vampire: A bloodthirsty Dame who would sleep with you as quick as she would torture you. Rumour has it she makes people watch as their blood pools in front of them. And she’ll woo you with her very own ‘special’ lapdance until you're all empty. And then she’ll go to work. Did I mention she’s a seamstress?

Pandora: Her box is wrapped in gold and laced with sex and chocolate, enough to sway any man, but whatever you do...do not open it! KABOOM! 2 comments

The Man With The White Eyes: A blind old fella, seemingly harmless - happy even, in a psychotic 'Let me tell you a joke' kind of way. but don't let that fool you. If you want to survive, you mustn't make any noise at all. And that includes breathing.

The Crimson Ninja: A sword wielding, mask wearing, Martial Artist whose face you will never see. If you have a gun you better use it on yourself. If you have a knife, you should have never been born at all. Your death will come with the darkness, silent and quickly, painting the night in crimson.

The Sand Man: You will fall asleep and awake in a nightmare. But who can say where? In your mind or in hell. Sometimes hell is better. All you can do is scream, and pray. Pray for a quick death that will not come. Pray to wake up in hell. God knows your safer there.

The Shadow: No one knows much about this one, except that...well, you better not make any. Shadows, that is.

The Brick: One brick or two? How many can you fit inside your wounds to stop the bleeding?

The Gemini: Twins. Nuff' said.

The Man With The Cane: Is it a cane or a walking stick? Who cares as long as it gets the job done.

Spike: Nobody knows anything about this guy. Nobody alive anyway. Just a long list of corpses who took their secret to the grave. And not by choice. Even in hell they're not saying anything. Not without their tongues. And certainly not without their heads.

23: The Mark (Boo Cara.) Witness in the aforementioned Murder Case with a special quality: She was born with a synthetic core processor that records everything and can be tapped into by one man...a scientist named Mozart. (Some say he is her biological father. Others say 'donor.' Nobody ever said 'Maker.')

Chapter I - Boo Cara's Fallen Angel

My friends - if I had any left - call me Fallen Angel. My Ma, god rest her soul...she calls me Angelo. I'm the hero of this story. At least that's what the papers are gonna say. If they only knew... Truth is, I deserve the lakes of fire just as much as any of the riff raff I put down tonight. I didn't get them all though. Not enough bullets. Not enough guts, and not enough fire in my veins.

I may be bashed in, washed up and riddled with bullet holes, but don't count me out of the game. Not yet. Not while my blood still slogs through the sludge that is my life - a wasted mess of shadowy figures, creeps, danger and blood; a long life of bad guys, worse cops and terrifying individuals that even nightmares are afraid of.

Don't count me out just yet. Not when my Soul is still fighting through the darkness. Not when my heart is struggling for just another drop of blood. Not when my lungs are gasping for one final good breath. Not when my body is still twitching, convulsing, filling the E.R. with a bold, blatant tension. No. Not when my trigger finger refuses to lay down, give in and die.

I can't stand watching them tear into me with their scalpels, hovering around me like I'm a science experiment gone to shit. Don't get me wrong. I am looking forward to a good long rest on a cold hard slab, but as the saying goes, I'll rest long and hard when I'm dead. I may only have one arm left, and one good eye - if they can free it from my brain without killing me, but I still have my guts. They can never take that from me. "C'mon Doc! Do your damn job! Can't you see I need this! Can't you see I just need one more hit of lightning! Go ahead doc... Give it to me!"  

(*Doc looks to the others...) "Time...seven-oh-six. Date... Saturday, July...")  

It's a strange thing to be dying at the exact same time I was born. What are the chances? There's something in here with me now. Something in this room. Something I can't see. Some great wilderness of dread and fear and uncertainty. Like blackness. Like a red hot inferno just waiting to make my acquaintance. I won't let it take me. I gotta fight! Only one thing left to do!  

(*Comic Art) The Ghost of Angel reaches for the defibrillator, but is suddenly thrown back across the room! He fights to his legs and goes back in the direction of the defibrillator, and once again he is fighting now with a force that keeps hauling him down and dragging him across the floor toward the door which is now - strangely enough - filled with a strange darkness: a fire and brimstone kind of quality.)  

Must get to the far wall. Must pick up the defibrillator.  

(*Angel, Fighting with all that he has left in the tank - Wrestling an invisible force, scratches his way hand and foot past the doctors... He reaches for the defibrillator but - in his ghost state - can't take hold. He screams, still fighting against this invisible demon of the Underworld! )

Let me go you bastard! Hellish fiend! (*Finally he takes up the defibrillator in one hand, quite surprised to see that his hand - the only one he has left, reaches forth from the Operating Table!)

(*One doc to the other...) "Doctor Martin! Look!"

"See, Doc! I'm still here! Now c'mon! Let me have it!"

(*And with one last ditch effort the doc takes up the defibrillator, his mouth whispering something nearly inaudible,) "God help me..."

Now that we have a moment...let me tell you how all this started... 2 comments

Office Scene: A corner office of a burnt out building in a burnt out neighbourhood in a burnt out part of town - the last vestige of justice in a world all gone to hell, but don't go looking for handouts, the getting is as good as a dog without a bone.

It began back at my office over twenty-four hours ago - that's right, the same one that doubles as my home. Without it I'd be in the streets. But that's another story for another day, so let's just get a move on. That guy over there mulling over a life gone wrong with a bottle of cheap scotch and cheap black market cigarettes - yeah, that's right, the heavy-set boozer with the gun in his mouth...well that's me.          

(*Phone rings!)

Just my luck! just as I'm about to pull the trigger. Someone must really have it in for me. That's a long list. Too long to bother with the headache. (*He takes the gun from his mouth, sucks deep on what was supposed to be his last cigarette and swigs the rest of his bottle down before throwing it against the wall of his office. He pauses. The phone still ringing!)  

No suicide letter, no money and no way but down, straight to hell with an ace up my sleeve for the devil himself in a game of 'No Limit Texas Hold 'Em.' Devil, you better have your guns cocked and loaded cause Angel's comin and he's packin heat with a pair of fire and brimstone and three sixes with the chips 'all in' for his soul.

(He picks up the phone.)  "Hoss, its one o clock in the goddamn morning, you're ruining my date with destiny. whaddya want?"

(Hoss Deacon) "I got something for you Angel. Your ‘real’ destiny. All the way from the top. The top that counts anyway."

"I'm not interested. Goodbye!"

"Don't hang up!"

Give me one good reason why I shouldn't say 'go fuck yourself' Hoss?" 2 comments

"I know I've been a low life scumbag piece of shit, but hear me out. The job...its right up your alley. It doesn't pay well, and you might not make it through the night, but...well...it's got Rooney's number, I shit you not."

"I've heard that one before Hoss. Goodbye!" (*Angel hangs up the phone. Gets an Instant Message:) 'You ever heard of 23? Well this is it, the real McCoy! No fucking around. A real life living witness. She's alive but I don't know for how long. Now pick up the damn phone!  

(*Phone rings again. Against his better judgement Angel picks up.) Shoulda just ate the bullet when I had the chance. "So why me? Why now after all this time?"

"I feel shitty saying this, but...I can't protect her. The only one who can is you. Don't get your panties in a bunch...I'll be dead within the hour. But...I got something for you. A 'for your eyes only' lil' number. I'll send it over i a minute. The intel is 'old code.' You remember old code dontcha?" 2 comments

"You gotta be kidding me!" (*Angel scratches his forehead with the gun.)

(Hoss, spits,) "Jeezuz Christ Angel! C'mon old boy - think! It self destructs in sixty-seconds so you better damn well remeber it! I gotta go, they're here. Looks like my hour is up. One of them is in here with me now. And before you tell me to go fuck myself, ask yourself this: how much is justice worth to you? How much is Devil Rooney worth to you?”

“Angel...You'll get your wings back by morning if you don't fuck this one up. or you'll be buying me a bloody mary in hell by dawn, and then...hell, I guess it was all for shit anyways. One more thing: I always liked you Angel. Truth is...you're the only one I trust. You’re the only one I’ve ever trusted. You and your God damn moral code.  I’m sending it now. You'll never hear from me again. Consider this your retirement. See you in Hell Angel." (*The call ends with the sound of rapid gunfire and Hoss screaming blood and guts . And then...silence.)

"Hoss! Jezuz Christ Hoss! What did you go and get yourself into?"

(*The night comes alive with a blood curdling cackle coming from the other end of the line, followed by a voice - sultry, soothing, delicious, lulling any fears off into the sunset.) "Angel? Is that you?" (Angel, the smug bastard that he is, keeps his mouth shut and just listens intently. Any background noise that might give him an edge. Any sounds that might awaken his imagination, get him fired up - bring back that old yearning to see justice cooking hot at the end of a pitchfork. Again that same soothing, delicious, sultry voice...) "C'mon baby! Pick up. I'm getting lonely here all by myself in the darkness. It's so cold. Pick up baby! Pick up and let Gemini take you home in her arms. Pleeease don't make us beg!" (*And like that the sultry voice is gone, the delicious tart is now two homicidal maniacs cackling like hell itself woke up to a nightmare. Angel hangs up just as the 'code' comes through.)

(*His mind races back...the timer begins counting down from sixty. “The old code...! Think, god damn it! Think!

Chapter II - Scratching The Devil's Backbone

(A hulking shadow makes its way through the smoke... A moment of human decency creeps into the light of a dank old warehouse filled with garbage, sewer-rats and a few dead corpses piled high. Body parts mostly. And 33 heads sitting on spikes.)

“Jeezus Christ!” (*Angel looks around, keen eyes looking into the shadows, searching for the Mark: 23 - the only living witness to ever see Bones 'Devil' Rooney's grim mug, still in here somewhere tucked away in the shadows. Angel yells out into the darkness.) "Look here...! I ain't the bad guy! I ain't a cop! Not anymore" (A long silence ensues as he begins his search through the warehouse.) "Listen...I know you're here! Its only me and you, here. Nobody else! Deacon sent me... I'm your only way out! But we gotta hurry! Rooney's people are on their way! So... Why don't you come on out and we can get the hell outta here! Trust me...you don't want to be here - we both don't want to be here when they get here. So we need to get a move on! Its a long way through the city without a car."

(*Out of the shadows...appears a small figure. A small child. A girl.) "You're 23? I was expecting someone...a bit older. What the hell are you doing here kid?"

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