22nd Bullet: The Black Wolf Beneath the Crescent Moon ③

In order to find Q, Janda needed to find Hanze-fi. Apart of the Mavericks, Hanze-fi must be formidable and cunning, not wanting to expose himself in the open. With so much happening and his team split up, Janda had to work harder on the case. Leoria must still be looking for Andreius but her connections should mean she's hot on the conclusion. It was still night. A dark night.

In front of him was a poster of Vadars' ugly face on an equally ugly sheet of paper. It read:

Killright Execution in 3 days. Grand Spectacle hosted by Wade Alfonso. Location: Townsquare. Local broadcast. Watch as Death's pets are shown what happens when false safety is given to us.

Ironic.

This city was more messed up than he imagined. Everyone was just cogs in a machine, going on by to avoid the grimy and sludge between the gear. The gangs made the citizens swallow into eternal peril, the gangs constantly biting and chewing each other to feed their bottomless bellies and the rich are like the citizens, only they have much more to own. San Francisco used to be cited as a place of hope and almost a utopia but that was all shredded away by the hands of who?

The people? The Killrights? The gangs?

Janda couldn't find an answer. He hated not finding the answer.

"You'll get cross-eyed if you stare at that all night," said a man's voice. Janda turned an eye. It was the man from the crime scene, riding that well-groomed horse. He had a sharp jaw and eyes that were charming to the average person but Janda could something deeper behind them, almost regret masked by a façade, a well-built one at that.

"And who are you to be saying that to me?" Janda inquired.

"Oh, well," the man said, tipping his hat, "who am I truly? I guess I shouldn't be ordering you around." He chuckled and his horse clopped gently. "The name's Sandusky Dorr, duellist and bounty hunter extraordinaire. I'm quite the hot topic."

"Not in my world, you aren't."

"Oh, pepper-tongued. I was never this brazen when I was younger but then again, it was probably because I was the only brazen one."

Janda ignored him and walked away from the poster, down the sidewalk. The horse caught up and Dorr frowned. "Not a conversationalist?"

"If I had a penny for every time someone said that to me, I'd drown in it."

Dorr chuckled a bit more. "I like your style, gramps." 

Janda picked up the pace. "Don't talk about my hair."

"It's pretty silver, though. Hard to ignore."

"Then ignore it." 

"Was that Killright a buddy of yours?"

Janda stopped. "Not really. Also, he's not dead."

"Not yet. Wade tends to keep his captors under a tight leash. Well, chain. Once a man is under that brat, he's gone for good."

"Does he do spectacles like this a lot?"

Dorr scratched his slightly bearded chin. "Not often. Only when he's in real bad mood. He's kind of impatient but when he's not, he'll make sure his craft is desirable."

3 days... Janda thought. At least he knew Vadars was in San Fran. Besides, that gave him enough time to find Hanze-fi. He'd break Vadars out on the last hour. No biggie. As for Hanze-fi, where would I find a high-ranking Desperado with fiery red hair? Janda then looked at Dorr who looked at him back with that stupid lazy gaze. This guy seemed to know a lot of stuff about San Fran. Perhaps he's seen someone like that.

"Hey, old man," Janda said. "Have you seen somebody with bright red hair?"

"Not of lately. Why?"

"Business. Long story short, I need him dead."

Dorr close his eyes and racked his brain for an answer. After a while of thinking and he opened his peepers and smacked his lips. "Nothing."

"Jeez, you're useless." Janda turned to walk but Dorr called out.

"Wait! I do think and I have an idea where your perp is."

"Who?"

"Assuming this guy is a Desperado, he's probably out with the Black Angels. Psychos tend to meet other psychos so that's your best bet."

"And where do psychos meet?"

Dorr looked away before a brief face of dread built and collapsed like a sudden swarm of ants. "Downtown. They call it Hell's Trash. Worst of the worst hangout around there, not a single sane soul walks there unless they want every piece of miss fortune to fall on them."

Janda tilted his head and walked. 

"You can't be serious... They'll kill you, kid!"

"Not if I kill 'em first." 

Dorr watched the kid walk. He didn't even care. It was as if all life and fallen out of him, his selfish desires moving his feet, wanting to discover out of pure curiosity. Dorr had seen all sorts of characters but this boy defied everything he thought of as an insane person. He smiled to himself. Who was he kidding? That boy wasn't a sane soul, not enough in the same dictionary as the definition.

"Wrong way!" Dorr called out and Janda stopped and a clueless look popped up on his face. 

This was going to be a long ride.

Downtown itself was a wallowing hole of depression. 

But Hell's Trash was far worse.

The huge crumbling overpass remained suspended in the air. The rancid and sour smell of whatever hit Janda's nose like a boxer's punch. The streets looked as if something foul and slithered and left its decay all over. The people were less and less and the dark made things even more unsettling.

Dorr kept close to Janda and Janda walked by his side, not far enough to lead but not behind enough to diminish his presence. As they walked, a sudden glow erupted in front of them and they walked further to find dying buildings and sick roads. The awful citizens cowered at the sudden sight of a Killright. A one-sided brawl erupted in a dark corner and a crying baby could be heard.

It was then never heard.

Towers of car parts and scrap metal were scattered everywhere, oil drums of fire lighting them up. It creaked and dangled ominously. The biggest scrap spire was next to what seemed to be a downward tunnel, deep into the ground. It seemed to be some kind of subway. On the far outsides were stacked shipping containers on top of each other. Ladders were crudely hung on. Janda assumed this was the housing.

In the middle of all the cries of chaos was an old police precinct. It was layered with graffiti and was beaming with broken windows and a flag. A flag that had the same image of Leoria's tattoo.

Eyes carefully analysed the arriving strangers. Some held fear and many held hatred. They came from all sorts of people, lepers, animals and curious souls on the brink of instability.

"It gets worse and worse everyday," Dorr commented. "Exactly why I try to stay out of here."

"Some tough guy you are," Janda replied. He walked further and tried to look for a clue of some sort. He needed to know where Hanze-fi was and if couldn't, he'd need to start getting physical.

"Hey!" a man called out. He was large and was painted with white powder. He was bald and a pair of baggy construction pants hid his lower half. A group of men followed, many tattooed and others looking as if they came out of a freak accident. "You don't look familiar. Care to introduce yourselves?"

Janda kept quiet and Dorr as well, his stead trying its best not to react.

"Well?" another man asked. "Answer the damn question! It's rude not to reply."

Janda turned to face the white-powdered man. "I'm looking for Hanze-fi."

The man's face went stiff. "Are you asking me questions? I'm the one asking questions. You stupid brat..."

"I'm just here to look for somebody. I want to get out of here so I don't bother you guys. So, you mind doing us a favour and yourselves as well and tell me if you know Hanze-fi?"

"I do mind. A lot actually." He got closer to Janda, a sneer growing on his lips. "You think you can walk in here and play cop, Killright? Our crew kills cops. We haven't even killed one in a long time, actually. Should we change that?"

Janda kept still and stared down the unhinged man. He exploded. He wrapped an arm around the man's neck and clutched him close, rolling his sleeve to reveal his enchanted armband, a controlled jet of water spiking towards captive's neck.

The crew huddled back in fear. The small jet of water hissed and threatened to take the man's life with only a flick of Janda's wrist. It was thirsty for blood.

"I didn't want to do this but," Janda began, "if anyone of you try something, you can start a graveyard with him."

One of them tried to move but a gun was cocked. A shining revolver was aimed.

"Sorry, fellas," Dorr said, thumbing the hammer back. "Can't have you causing trouble for us. Just make this quick and easy and we can all go back to our own worlds."

One of them shivered but it wasn't because of the gun in front of him. His eyes were off somewhere else. Janda scanned quickly but it didn't matter.

A clap was heard.

It was slow and could be heard quite well. Flesh hit flesh and it caught everyone's attention. Heads turned and eyes followed to see a figure. Soon, out of the shadows, a face was revealed.

A piece of metal sheet crossed his cheek, bolted onto his jaw. No eyebrows but analytical eyes that could read anything to the smallest of details. Fiery red hair and his body was wrapped in cargos, a battered shirt and boots. His pale arms were the whitest white could be. Around his pale wrists were cold bands of metal, again, bolts fashioning it.

"Took you long enough, Elliot," Hanze-fi announced. The men backed off and Janda let go of his captive that scurried into his crew.

Janda turned his body to face the man he was searching for. "Hanze-fi..."

"In the flesh and steel," he replied, holding his arms out wide. "Quite the face you have."

"Where's Q?"

"Slow down, we just met. Can't you give me some importance?"

"You're just a step. I didn't come all the way out here just for a chat in a dump like this."

Hanze-fi shook his head and sighed. "That impatience will get you in a real bad spot. My master said you're smart but very rushing."

"Master?" Janda quizzed.

"Master Khasta... you fought him in the Morgue?"

"And what of it?"

"Well, I've just been wondering how strong you are. I mean, you gave my master a run for his money by his words. Do you mind if I verify?" He lowered his arms.

"I do. Maybe I'll fight you if you tell me who and where Q is."

"Q isn't somebody you find." He lowered his arms further. "He meets you wherever, whenever."

Janda banked in the clue. Q is a he. "Perhaps he can run out of his hole and come to me. You're his follower, aren't you?"

"Follower?" Hanze-fi snorted. "I don't follow anyone except my master. Besides, you don't follow him. Just what is left behind."

Janda kept quiet, tensing himself.

"I think it's best you stop following someone that doesn't exist and just pack it up and leave. Q is nothing more than a fig—"

A explosive dash that was finished with a spinning kick that was blocked. Hanze-fi slid back and raised his hands. Janda landed gracefully and the jet of water turned into a miniature typhoon around his arm.

"Your pointless talking is making me bored," Janda said. His raised body and ripped his cloak off, his tight shirt wrapped around his lean body. "Let's just get to the part where I beat your head in like I did to your master."

Hanze-fi took a stance, his eyes sharpening. "Then let's get entertained, shall we?"