Matthew King was found in the outskirts of the city, his body was reeking of crimson. Valefar told Chance the entire thing, that the same poor bastard who was once Rat King via the Hellfire Arm of the same name was now as dead as a squashed rat. Speaking of rats, a passerby found him whilst taking a shortcut just before the North of Morissey, in a large alleyway off Shelton street.
Just a few inches away from the Rat King's upper torso was a trail of dead rats, each of them equally cut open in addition to gaining crimson mist coming out of their bodies.
King's ratface was also crimson red, but that wasn't as unsettling as how his torso was separated from his lower body. His hat fell off, revealing his bald clear head also drenched in crimson. The cops and one HAST member, most likely McSweeney, were at the scene to analyze King's death, most likely heading off to the morgue.
Another crimson death would make MPD coroner Tom Hill's death even more busier than an entire office in the North side of town.
"What's gone into ya?" Valefar spoke. "Lloyd Howitzer's murder really pumped you up to get whoever killed him?"
"Those Hellfire Arms need to go, Chance spoke. There's a difference between letting the law handle people like Howitzer and then doing whatever the hell you want. As for who killed him,I don't think I have to go too far in order to get that kind of information."
"For crying out loud, fine! I know Bright, but I haven't gotten a clue where he is."
Chance raised his eyebrow.
"I swear. I'm just the dealer. I don't have time to watch over whatever he or the other Hellfire Arm users are up to with their respective weapons."
"You know the amount of work you're gonna have on your end? Every single one of those Hellfire Arm users! Drip Work Inc. or not!"
As soon as Chance exclaimed that, Valefar's pupils bursted and out came long dark hands. Its palms stretched all the way to the ceiling, before it twisted to push Chance to the floor. The pupils on Valefar's human cover as George Vale soon came back to normal.
Strangely, his jet black hair didn't move an inch, maybe all that gel or whatever he covered his hair in was strong enough to hold the hairlines together.
"Don't bust my fucking balls Gordon." Valefar gritted his teeth. "You think I'm not aware of how screwed this Hellfire Arm crisis is? Even if I told you I know Bright, what do you plan to do with that info? Hmm? Cause as far as I'm concerned I want this all to end as much as you and this entire city do!"
"Give me Bright, or anyone of Drip Work. Hunch Harvey, Clive Stabler, Mustang, any one of them!"
"ALRIGHT!" Valefar shouted and stopped his feet. It made a tiny shockwave that made Chance froze in place to the point where his heart was beating loudly. He saw Valefar's anger, the Representative clenching his fists.
He could kill me, Chance thought, or he could just take it and move on.
"What do you want?" Valefar spoke.
"I'll get to little Italy to recover that Hellfire Arm. You go to the 9th precinct, interrogate Wes Riskell. I want to know where Hunch Harvey is."
"Oh well that's a fucking surprise, cause just a few seconds ago you went batshit angry over Bright. Why Harvey? Convince me, detective."
"Well demon if you were able to remember about my conversation with Barbie Keane, you should know that he was Lloyd's friend, and Riskell's employer. We get to Hunch, we can get him to cough up any other Hellfire Arm user he knows. Also, Riskell apparently knows Drip Work Inc, so see what you can get from him as well."
"That's not a bad idea." Valefar said first. "Not a bad idea at all. But don't ever piss me off again. You ain't getting free passes just because you're a Haverton, survived a great war and haven't died yet from Hellfire Arms so far."
As Valefar left the scene by heading through the door, Chance huffed and prepared the gloves the Representative gave him before. He was heading to Little Italy where he was going to recover a Hellfire Arm.
It'll be like picking an apple from a tree.
"Speaking of which, how's Barbie? I haven't heard since the Rat King raided Sunshine Heights."
"Oh, uh." Valefar stammered. "I think she's alright, best I check on her before I do what you suggest I do."
"Don't tell me-"
"Oh fuck off Chance." Valefar spoke as Chance let out a wide grin. "She doesn't know who I really am. Not yet at least."
"Just how long exactly have you been George Vale to her?"
No answer from Valefar, the Representative threw a piece of paper at him before moving backwards in his smoke from before he went through the apartment door. The Haverton detective let out a laugh, before he put on the gloves from Valefar.
***
Chance's Deckard was a darker shade of beige with standard rims. The wheels were full of air. Morissey streets weren't the hardest material on the planet but the state highly suggested that all vehicles regardless of type would carry enough air to withstand the toughness of the concrete street. Streets in the city were under major improvement when the great war was going on.
The construction crew who built the streets were as equally glad as the relieved Americans by the time they heard news of the great war coming to an end, the defeat of the Axis and the strong victory of the Allies including those serving the United States.
Chance remembered those days, when families from all over Morissey were waiting west of Port Pembroke gathering in large groups of tens.
No, it was more than that. On the boat that took him and the remaining soldiers of war that survived Iwo Jima and other battles the United States participated in, the soldiers saw the crowd waiting for them at the edge of the docks.
Family, friends, wives, fiances, girlfriends. They were all there. Many of the Marines that arrived at the docks stepped down from the boat and were greeted like monarchs; kings, true servicemen to the country. Each of the soldiers came to their respective loved ones, still in 1945.
Chance recalled the day his parents embraced him. His father nearly shed a tear whilst his mother wondered regarding the injury her son received.
Then came the time he met Grandfather Ulysses. At the time, Ulysses was cracking in his mid 70s, and his words were one of the last words he spoke before he eventually passed away nearly a year later.
'You're a man now!' Ulysses once said as he greeted Chance in uniform, tapping his shoulder rather hard and showing the face of a proud man toward his grandson.
Some things aren't meant to be taken into pride, Chance thought of his grandfather, killing was one of them.
***
Little Italy was a central spot for the Italians living in Morissey. The Italians have been around the city as long as history can track them. People came from all over the world with different backgrounds, and immigrated to Morissey for the hopes of a better life, given the opportunity to reach the American Dream in the city.
Such a dream may be considered a nightmare for some people. Little Italy was decorated with small wires bearing the Italian flags. Some of the flags were in the shape of triangles. Chance's Deckard passed through the streets. He was at a slower pace considering many people were crossing the street.
Heck, he noticed some kids playing tag and chase in the street, behind those kids were their parents monitoring them.
Chance stopped at a nearby bar. It was called Mona's Bistro. With the Hellfire safety gloves on, Chance looked at the piece of paper Valefar gave to him.
"Guess I'm not too far ahead."
As he got out, he heard a voice. "Excuse me, sir." he turned to see an older man with a thick mustache, wearing an olive green shirt and gray pants. "I was told by a Mr. George Vale that a Haverton would be here. Would that be you?"
Mr. Vale, Chance thought of Valefar's human disguise. It was nice that the Representative found a Hellfire Arm via the man's family, but still, Chance couldn't imagine the looks on people's faces should they know who Valefar is.
"Yes sir, that would be me. Chance Gordon. And you are…?"
"Amato Fallaci." the Italian man spoke. "I live a few blocks from here. The Hellfire Arm is still at that rooftop. I told my wife and son to stay there. Follow me, quickly."
Chance followed Amato passing by the bakeries and restaurants of Little Italy. "Can you describe to me what the Hellfire Arm looks like?"
"It looked like a rifle." Amato said. "Some green odd looking aura was surrounding the thing."
Aura? Chance thought. "What else?"
"The rifle was dark green. For some reason, I saw an odd looking mask just standing beneath it. When my son found it by accident I thought somebody left their things, then I heard about Hellfire Arms."
Wait.
"Mr. Fallaci. Was there a pipe connecting to the rifle?"
Amato's eyes became bigger. "Actually there was!"
Rowland's Hellfire Arm, Chance remembered from his memories. It was here in Morissey. Thank goodness nobody's touched it.
Hopefully.
The two men arrived at a couple of apartments before Chance followed Amato to a small pathway. There was a brick wall in addition to the backside of other buildings. Chance saw the Hellfire Arm dangling from the fire escape.
He also saw a woman with her son. The son was standing next to his mother.
"Look it's papa." the son pointed at Amato.
"It's okay dear, a Haverton's here. He can manage it." Amato said to his wife who nodded. "Come on Marino." he picked his son up immediately. The son looked at Chance's badge.
"Are you a police officer?"
"Just a detective." Chance smiled.
"Are you sure you can handle this by yourself?" Amato asked. "Should I call the MPD?"
"Do that Mr. Fallaci." Chance said as he positioned himself underneath the rifle, grasping onto the dark gloves he got from Valefar. His hands were numb underneath those leather gloves.
He pulled the rifle from the string holding it with one hand, before his second grabbed onto the barrel, eventually pulling it away. No gas pack, he thought of when Rowland used it back in the war. He was holding onto the gun with these gloves. Soon it came to him. No effect, he smiled, no deal with Valefar.
He stopped looking at the gun as he felt some...whispering go through his ear. Let it go, it said, the Hellfire Arm Dead Air. His eyes soon caught visible wind.
It was in crimson.
Another stream of crimson wind, coming to meet up with the first stream. A third stream entered, and soon the streams raised up to tens of them. They all joined together and soon there was a body, a man wearing crimson from head to toe.
The man took out a revolver with gray linings, but the vast majority of the gun was in a huge coat of crimson. Some of the crimson was even dripping from the gun. It's cylinder was strangely huge for a revolver. In fact, the revolver's barrel was also quite long, like a Colt. Single Army. He was inches away from Chance.
"Detective." the man said with a voice loud enough for Chance to hear.
"Bright." Chance spoke with an equal tone.