Post by Dakota Bishop on Aug 4, 2005 16:23:00 GMT -5
To Thee Muse and Thee Independent, but mostly Thee Muse, yes, he's the same Ash you're probably thinking about. Just in a very different life.
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Ash Valliant. It wasn’t a well known name in Hollywood. In a city of cheap glitter and fools gold, it took a lot to get your name out there. A few local celebrities knew of his name, of course. They were all mostly behind bars, though. Which made perfect sense, because he put them there.
He stood there in the rubble of the old parking garage. By just looking at him it was hard to guess that he was a detective. His red hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and his face was covered in stubble. He looked more like a hippy Jesus than an authority figure. The badge in his wallet was proof enough for most people. If that didn’t work, his gun was pretty effective, too.
The night air was nice and cool, but the morning was on its way. He took a scalding sip of his coffee. It was already a long night for him. They never mentioned the hours on the TV shows, but they were plenty grueling and hardly as rewarding as you thought they would be. Especially if you took your job seriously. He looked around at the police tape and officers. People taking pictures, people moving rubble…it was a big mess. A mess he had to sift through, if he was going to figure out what happened here.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him it was gang related, he already knew. The neighborhood screamed of it, and the colors on the corpses seconded the notion. It played out in his mind like a scene The Westside Story, and he had to smile. Sometimes making a joke of it was the only way to stay sane. Jokes aside, Ash knew that no amount of song and dance could have brought the garage down. It had taken some serious force.
Ash started to walk among the rubble. He was careful to avoid the forensics guys and all the yellow tape. He was confident that they would do their job. It was his job to catch what they didn’t catch.
The first thing Ash noticed was a certain lack of bullets. There were some, yes, but not as many as he would have thought in a conflict like this. That meant it must have been mostly fists and blades, with some blunt objects thrown in for a little extra flavor. That was pretty suspicious. These gangs really liked their guns.
He took another hot sip. He smacked his lips at the hot liquid, both cursing and praising it at the same time. Some of the concrete caught his eyes, and he crouched down to inspect it. Black marks were all around it…burn marks. The fire had been put out once the rubber boots had shown up, but from the markings, Ash guessed it had started from an explosion. A pretty big one, too. The remaining pieces of an old van told him it was more than likely a car bomb. That also struck him as odd for a gang.
Ash stood and doctored his coffee in heavy thought. The gangs here were vicious, true, but they didn’t use bombs. They usually had more pride, or honor, or whatever thugs had. They liked to get bloody, end of story. Bombs implied planning on a large scale, especially in a skirmish like this. Who would want to risk blowing up their own men?
After he tossed the coffee cup, Ash almost tripped. It was an arm, belonging to either a Caucasian male or a really butch woman. Ash had been on the force for almost five years now, and he had an exceptionally strong stomach. He started to move the rubble carefully. Strong stomach or no, it turned a little at what the rocks reveals. The arm that he had tripped on belonged to a body just like it should…but it wasn’t attached. That wasn’t too strange, when you considered the guy was under so much rubble. What was strange was the deep laceration like marks around the wrist and upper bicep. They were done by fingers. He had seen strangulations enough times in homicide to recognize them. Bush Ash had never seem them this deep before. Whoever had a hold of this guy, Ash thought, had to have been some kind of monster. Thanks to the torn sinews and tendons on the other end…Ash could almost imagine some huge hulk ripping the arm off! But that was crazy, and Ash knew it. There wasn’t a man on God’s green earth that could rip someone’s arm off, and that was a fact. Still, he must have been one strong mother to have left marks like that. Ash shook his head as he rose up from the corpse. Meeting his eyes as he did was a man in a black suit. The guy looked like a bulldog who was trying really hard not to laugh. He had about the same proportions too.
“Do you have clearance for this zone, sir?” The bulldog asked him. Ash couldn’t help but smile as he reached into his hip pocket. The guy kind of sounded like a bulldog too. Ash flashed his badge without saying a word. The man in black scowled like Ash had just stomped on his favorite toe. “I’m sorry sir, but this is no longer a police investigation. It is now a matter of national security.”
The dog-man flashed his own FBI badge. Ash’s sharp blue eyes caught the man’s name, birth date, and his agent number. The information was as good as memorized as soon as Ash looked at it; he had a photographic memory. “Man, you guys are quick. The suns not even up, and you guys are already here”. Ash leaned over to glance over the man’s shoulder. There were suits everywhere. Ash had been in deep thought for a while, it seemed. “So, let me guess.” He said. “You guys think this is a terrorist attack of some kind, right?”
The agent didn’t even flinch. “I can’t comment on the situation, sir. Please escort yourself away from the zone, or I can have someone escort you.” And with that, the man turned around and walked toward a tall, skinny man in a similar suit. Ash ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. This had to be a new record! Were they just in the neighborhood when it happened? Were they covering something up? Ash considered himself a patriot of sorts, behind a detective and all, but this really stunk of some kind of conspiracy or something. Ash caught himself quickly. He himself had thought the bomb to be a little strange for gang-bangers, but for terrorists? It was right up their alley. It wasn’t Ash’s department now, and just as well for him. He was getting tired anyway.
Before he could turn to leave, though, something caught his eye. The severed arm held a detail he hadn’t noticed before. Underneath the finger nails he could see bits of bloody flesh. Apparently he had put up a fight, though a pretty girly one from the looks of it. Ash bent down as if he had to tie his shoe, and produced a small bag and some tweezers from his jacket. In a matter of tense seconds, he had one of the bits in the bag and in his pocket.
The boys in black would handle it, Ash told himself as he got into his Celica, but there was no harm in being a little curious, was there? Surely no one would blame him for wanting to find out who on earth was strong enough to leave those marks on that guy, would they? Ash didn’t see any harm in it; he was a detective, after all.
But that little bag was full of more trouble than Ash Valliant would have ever dreamt.
Check
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Ash Valliant. It wasn’t a well known name in Hollywood. In a city of cheap glitter and fools gold, it took a lot to get your name out there. A few local celebrities knew of his name, of course. They were all mostly behind bars, though. Which made perfect sense, because he put them there.
He stood there in the rubble of the old parking garage. By just looking at him it was hard to guess that he was a detective. His red hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and his face was covered in stubble. He looked more like a hippy Jesus than an authority figure. The badge in his wallet was proof enough for most people. If that didn’t work, his gun was pretty effective, too.
The night air was nice and cool, but the morning was on its way. He took a scalding sip of his coffee. It was already a long night for him. They never mentioned the hours on the TV shows, but they were plenty grueling and hardly as rewarding as you thought they would be. Especially if you took your job seriously. He looked around at the police tape and officers. People taking pictures, people moving rubble…it was a big mess. A mess he had to sift through, if he was going to figure out what happened here.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him it was gang related, he already knew. The neighborhood screamed of it, and the colors on the corpses seconded the notion. It played out in his mind like a scene The Westside Story, and he had to smile. Sometimes making a joke of it was the only way to stay sane. Jokes aside, Ash knew that no amount of song and dance could have brought the garage down. It had taken some serious force.
Ash started to walk among the rubble. He was careful to avoid the forensics guys and all the yellow tape. He was confident that they would do their job. It was his job to catch what they didn’t catch.
The first thing Ash noticed was a certain lack of bullets. There were some, yes, but not as many as he would have thought in a conflict like this. That meant it must have been mostly fists and blades, with some blunt objects thrown in for a little extra flavor. That was pretty suspicious. These gangs really liked their guns.
He took another hot sip. He smacked his lips at the hot liquid, both cursing and praising it at the same time. Some of the concrete caught his eyes, and he crouched down to inspect it. Black marks were all around it…burn marks. The fire had been put out once the rubber boots had shown up, but from the markings, Ash guessed it had started from an explosion. A pretty big one, too. The remaining pieces of an old van told him it was more than likely a car bomb. That also struck him as odd for a gang.
Ash stood and doctored his coffee in heavy thought. The gangs here were vicious, true, but they didn’t use bombs. They usually had more pride, or honor, or whatever thugs had. They liked to get bloody, end of story. Bombs implied planning on a large scale, especially in a skirmish like this. Who would want to risk blowing up their own men?
After he tossed the coffee cup, Ash almost tripped. It was an arm, belonging to either a Caucasian male or a really butch woman. Ash had been on the force for almost five years now, and he had an exceptionally strong stomach. He started to move the rubble carefully. Strong stomach or no, it turned a little at what the rocks reveals. The arm that he had tripped on belonged to a body just like it should…but it wasn’t attached. That wasn’t too strange, when you considered the guy was under so much rubble. What was strange was the deep laceration like marks around the wrist and upper bicep. They were done by fingers. He had seen strangulations enough times in homicide to recognize them. Bush Ash had never seem them this deep before. Whoever had a hold of this guy, Ash thought, had to have been some kind of monster. Thanks to the torn sinews and tendons on the other end…Ash could almost imagine some huge hulk ripping the arm off! But that was crazy, and Ash knew it. There wasn’t a man on God’s green earth that could rip someone’s arm off, and that was a fact. Still, he must have been one strong mother to have left marks like that. Ash shook his head as he rose up from the corpse. Meeting his eyes as he did was a man in a black suit. The guy looked like a bulldog who was trying really hard not to laugh. He had about the same proportions too.
“Do you have clearance for this zone, sir?” The bulldog asked him. Ash couldn’t help but smile as he reached into his hip pocket. The guy kind of sounded like a bulldog too. Ash flashed his badge without saying a word. The man in black scowled like Ash had just stomped on his favorite toe. “I’m sorry sir, but this is no longer a police investigation. It is now a matter of national security.”
The dog-man flashed his own FBI badge. Ash’s sharp blue eyes caught the man’s name, birth date, and his agent number. The information was as good as memorized as soon as Ash looked at it; he had a photographic memory. “Man, you guys are quick. The suns not even up, and you guys are already here”. Ash leaned over to glance over the man’s shoulder. There were suits everywhere. Ash had been in deep thought for a while, it seemed. “So, let me guess.” He said. “You guys think this is a terrorist attack of some kind, right?”
The agent didn’t even flinch. “I can’t comment on the situation, sir. Please escort yourself away from the zone, or I can have someone escort you.” And with that, the man turned around and walked toward a tall, skinny man in a similar suit. Ash ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. This had to be a new record! Were they just in the neighborhood when it happened? Were they covering something up? Ash considered himself a patriot of sorts, behind a detective and all, but this really stunk of some kind of conspiracy or something. Ash caught himself quickly. He himself had thought the bomb to be a little strange for gang-bangers, but for terrorists? It was right up their alley. It wasn’t Ash’s department now, and just as well for him. He was getting tired anyway.
Before he could turn to leave, though, something caught his eye. The severed arm held a detail he hadn’t noticed before. Underneath the finger nails he could see bits of bloody flesh. Apparently he had put up a fight, though a pretty girly one from the looks of it. Ash bent down as if he had to tie his shoe, and produced a small bag and some tweezers from his jacket. In a matter of tense seconds, he had one of the bits in the bag and in his pocket.
The boys in black would handle it, Ash told himself as he got into his Celica, but there was no harm in being a little curious, was there? Surely no one would blame him for wanting to find out who on earth was strong enough to leave those marks on that guy, would they? Ash didn’t see any harm in it; he was a detective, after all.
But that little bag was full of more trouble than Ash Valliant would have ever dreamt.
Check