West Dallas
West Dallas is a largely blighted area of poverty. Several geared-to-income housing projects are in the beginning stages of springing up along the streets in these neighborhoods. For the most part, the area is classified as 'industrial' and plays home to quite a few warehouses, bars and salvage yards.
Oddly enough, it is also home to the historic Belmont Hotel which rests on a beautifully landscaped bluff overlooking Oak Cliff.
Today, of all days, is probably not the day for Cinco to be out prowling neighborhoods. And, really, he wouldn't be, had he any other choice. But, there's business that needed attending, and it couldn't wait until later. Nor did he get sufficient notice about it to arrange to attend it earlier. Now, to be fair, the full moon happened in the wee hours of the morning. So, there's no immediate danger of anyone 'wolfing out' uncontrollably, but it does mean his temper is a little shorter than usual and there's a bit of an itch that runs up and down his spine. That restless energy is a fact of two-natured life on the three days that constitute the time of the full moon each month. Thus, he slams out of the low-rent lo-rise, heading towards where he left his bike out front.
Except, it's not there.
Where his bike should be, is an empty spot on the street. Well, not completely empty. There's a red bandana lying apparently discarded right where it should be.
The beta's eyes narrow as he sees it. Immediately, he sweeps his surroundings with a penetrating gaze. Nostrils flare, slowly testing the scents in the air. Were he furry, the hackles on the back of his neck would be standing on end and his ears would be back, lip in an aggressive snarl. Human, at least in form, he settles for squared shoulders and a blunt scowl, instead.
~
It may be of note, that lo-rise? It's red brick! The Beta's keen hearing might pick up on the sound of two engines, to vehicles approaching, one from each direction on the street. The first one to actually appear, only seconds before the next, is a beat up old jeep, top down. It screeeeches to a halt right on the damned sidewalk between Cinco and the street. Without even taking the time to cut the engine as he's already afraid he'll be too late, Jesse is out of the jeep in an impressive leap for a simple human. He certainly uses those long, lanky legs to his benefit. The lower half of his face and his shirt are both flaked with drying blood.
"Cinco! Get down!" he bellows, feet hitting the ground at a dead run toward the Beta. His intent is to tackle the man to the ground if he doesn't get there fast enough on his own.
From the opposite direction, a nondescript white sedan, no plates, opens fire only seconds after the jeep is in place as a pseudo barrier.
~
Cinco spares the jeep the briefest of glances, but it's the sedan that really captures his attention. Throwing himself back out of the way of the jeep that careens its way up onto the sidewalk, he's already on the ground and rolling by the time Jesse dives for him and the bullets spray over their heads. "Sonuva—!" The expletive disappears into a deep growl of anger. He glances swiftly to Jesse, smelling the blood on him. Dried. Fine. "Stay down, kid." This ain't the kid's fight. His palms hit the dirt with a flat slap as he shoves himself up into a crouch and sprints for the nearest alley. The occupants of the sedan are already beginning to open their doors.
~
Oh, the hell with that. Jesse's seen, Jesse KNOWS this isn't it. He pushes himself to his feet. He positions himself with his back mostly to Cinco's, covering both sides of the fence. "Look man, the guys in the car aren't all of them," he explains in a rush of whispered, hissed words. "We have about one minute to make a choice before they're all over the place. Stand and fight, or try to get out in my jeep. Either way? Head for the jeep, yeah? I got some shit in the back that might come in handy. And either way, you're stuck with me." Something cold, steel, is pressed toward Cinco's hand after the kid reaches around himself and under his jacket. "It's only a 9mil, only has four rounds left. I didn't have time to get ready and get here in time." A quick crouch produces another small firearm from his boot. "I got five myself. Best case? We manage to take out nine of them, but I saw at least 15. Dude, who the hell did you piss off?"
~
"Fifteen?!??" Cinco gives Jesse something of a 'WTF?' look. He shoves the gun back at the kid. Fuck that. He's not that good a shot. "Jeep," he agrees. But, he starts stripping off his shirt and reaching for his belt. It's not like the kid doesn't know what he is. And los perros haven't reached them yet. Kicking off his shoes, he shoves his pants down and crouches behind the nearest dumpster. "Grab my clothes. They won't be after you. And they won't expect this." His change, especially with the moon so close to full, is quick. The wolf is big and black, and very vicious-looking. His hackles are up and his ears are erect and listening. He growls darkly, teeth bared, as the footsteps of the four or five from sedan become apparent. The pair can certainly be out of here before all fifteen arrive, but only if they get past this first wave and back out into the open within the next couple of minutes.
~
To say that Jesse is slightly terrified would probably be an understatement. Sure, he's gone up against 'less then humans' with his old man all his adult life and some of his teen years, but the sheer volume, the numbers they're facing, human or not… is a little daunting. But the kid stands his ground. He accepts the gun being shove at him and shoves it into a pocket within easy reach. Fuck the close for now, he's ready in a shooter's stance when the first of them rounds the corner. "Go! Go!" he yells even as he squeezes off his first shot, steady and true, it hits the first to show his face in the alley in the kneecap. Still can't force himself to make a kill shot until it's absolutely necessary and that might just be what keeps him from filling his dad's shoes one day. It certainly won't be lack of courage.
~
The black wolf growls as the shot rings out. The youth it hits screams out in pain. His buddies start firing towards the shooter, Jesse, of course. But, he's not someone they recognize. "C'mon, Cinco!" one of them calls out, pushing back against the wall, using the base of a fire-escape as partial cover. "C'mon, old man! You can't take us all out. You knew comin' back into Los Perros territory'd cost ya."
"Man, the fucker shot me!" the guy on the ground cries out, rolling with the pain and groping for his gun. "He fuckin' shot me!"
His buddies largely ignore him, however, two still shooting at Jesse, the last edging his own way down the alley.
The wolf crouches low. As the edger gets close enough, he launches himself out from behind the dumpster in a fury of teeth and claws. The edger cries out in surprise and finds himself slammed back into a wall, his gun at the wrong angle to shoot the beast. "Fuck, man! It's the Black Wolf!"
They've heard stories of that.
~
Jesse gets off one more shot before he takes one of his own, it's just a grazing injury to his right shoulder, but it's enough to throw his own shot off mark enough that it becomes a graze to the left thigh of the damned banger he was aiming for. It's time to take cover.
For the moment, he ignores the pain from the graze and dives for said cover behind the dumpster to take up Cinco's previous position. Somewhere along the way, he manages to grab the important bit of the Beta's clothing, that would be the pants.
He leans against the wall, crouching and regrouping, breaths coming in heavy pants, but it only lasts a heart beat or two before he's leaning out to look for another shot. That's two bullets, three more in the gun he's holding.
~
The wolf isn't much up for mercy, this afternoon. In the first place, if he bites someone, and they don't die of the bite, he's got to deal with the hybrid in the pack. He doesn't want that. But, in the second, well, in wolf form, he's not thinking so coherently about such things, either. But that just makes it easier, really. Wolf instinct is simple: Kill or be killed. Escape or die. Thus, the ganger against the wall shoots blindly, reflexively as the wolf, true to instinct, rips out his throat. The bullets ricochet off the wall, only to embed somewhere further up the red brick expanse.
Of course, at least one of the shooters in the middle of the alley turns his gun on the creature as his victim slides lifelessly down the wall. "Holy shit! Holy shit, it killed Jose! It killed Jose!" His voice is high-pitched and panicked. More shots ring out as he fires blindly toward the wolf, who is already pelting headlong up the alley towards him. The shots go wide, solely on account of his fear, one, at least, embedding itself into the body of the now-dead Jose.
The knee-capped kid on the ground howls in pain toward his companion by the fire escape. "Fuck, man! You gotta get me outta here! It's gonna kill me, it's gonna kill me! Get me outta here!" It doesn't much matter that the wolf is still blocked by the other shooters. He manages to get hold of his gun and starts firing down the alley again, grazing his buddy across the thigh.
"Fuck, asshole! Watch where you're shooting!" The general result, now, of course, is that the gangers are in chaos. The panicked shooter is scrambling to get out of the charging wolf's way. The one shooter that was still concentrating on Jesse's position is distracted by the unexpected friendly fire. Kneecap isn't much better than wolfbait. Of all of them, the calmest is the guy by the fire escape, and even he's swearing. "Just hold on, y'fuckin' idiots! Back up's comin'!"
They'd told him taking out Cinco wouldn't be easy on account of El Lobo Negro. They weren't kidding.
~
Bullets flying willy-nilly all over the place have Jesse ducking his head back until there seems to be a lull in them. It's the calm one, the one that appears to be in charge, that he focuses on when he makes his move. He takes his time, he needs to make this shot count, they're running out of time.
Deep breath. Count to three. Picture it. Steady hands, slow squeeze… and Mr. Calm and In Charge's brains splatter all over the wall behind him from the exit wound to the back of his head.
Maybe he'll fill the old man's shoes after all? It's not something he won't regret later, but this is quickly turning kill or be killed in his mind, as if it wasn't in the beginning?
Seeing the glue that held them all together sliding wide eyed and dead down the wall, leaving a trail of blood and brain matter behind? Well, it damages what calm they had left. It's now or never.
"Jeep!" he calls out to Cinco, hoping the wolf still understands him. A pair of pants in one hand, a gun with two bullets left in the other, the kid breaks cover, firing random in the direction of anyone left standing just to further incite chaos among them.
~
Frankly, that's where the charging wolf is already headed — toward the mouth of the alley and, thus, safety. Of some sort, anyway. Jesse's last two shots have their desired effect, though he'd better hope to high heaven any security cameras in the area (not that there are many) are as busted as everything else in the neighborhood. And that they didn't pick up the spattering of Mr. Calm's head all over the red brick. One of the wild shots from Kneecap glances across the wolf's flank. He yelps, dodging toward the wall to one side. Bullets from the other shooters spray across the brick overhead. In the distance, however, sirens can be heard. That's enough to cut through everything else and send the two still on their feet pelting toward the fence with the intention of climbing it and getting the hell outta dodge. Kneecap's pretty screwed, though. There's no way he's running anywhere. "Omigodomigodomigodfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Hey! No! Don't leave me, man! Don't leave me!" His voice is so high, his throat oughta be bleeding with the effort to make the sound. His gun is empty now, though, his bullets wasted on random shots. The wolf bears down on him. He covers his head with his arms and hands, rolling into a fetal position, which is probably all that saves him from being throated himself. As it is, the great black beast growls harshly as he passes, easily catching up with Jesse on the way to the Jeep. He's not thinking all that clearly, the wolf is, but the kid's scent is familiar and the thought that he's 'safe' is firmly enough entrenched in his cerebral cortex that he leaps up into the back of the running Jeep without more than just a second's hesitation when he pauses to see where the kid's at and if he's coming.
~
Jesse is as 'right' behind the big wolf as he can be. Those legs of his are long, but not quite that long. His gun is shoved into the waistband of his pants at the back as he runs and he hits the air a few feet away from the jeep, using those long legs to propel himself into a leap that's not nearly as graceful as the wolf, but still gets the job done, it gets him over the doors and the 'roll bars' and in the driver's seat. He tosses the pants into the back of the jeep with the wolf and lays a trail of black rubber beating it the hell out of there. Cameras and other possible ramifications? He'll think about it later. Right now him and Cinco are both still alive and that's what matters. He made it in time.
He drives in silence until they're well out of the area and then a little longer still, until he finds a dark, deserted place to pull over. He walks to the back of the jeep and switches out the tags for a another set he had stowed away. He's feeling the pain of his injury by then, that coupled with the headache still lingering from the earlier vision has him a little pale and trembling.
~
It's only once the vehicle's stopped that the wolf stirs from where it had hunched down and braced itself against the vehicle's movement, laying on the jeans and licking its flank. As Jesse looks to switch the tags, the wolf rises a little stiffly and picks up the jeans in his teeth. Pulling them out of the jeep, he jumps down and drags them around the far side, away from where the kid works. Muscles and bones shift, fur recedes, and Cinco shoves human legs into his jeans, feet and torso bare. The outside of his thigh hurts, but it's not the end of the world. In any case, the blood won't show on black denim. "You okay, kid?" he asks as he 'rounds the back of the vehicle then.
~
"Yeah, just a scratch, man," Jesse offers up with all the bravado of a very young man still trying to fill some very big shoes, but the pain of it is clear in his eyes. He's hurting. "You?" he asks in turn. He finishes tightening down the bolts on the replacement tags and looks around for a dumpster to toss the others in. "If anyone saw the plates and runs the numbers, it'll lead them to some washed up ex Pro-Wrestler from Poughkeepsie," he explains with a grin that's slightly forced. "Dude, I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner," he adds, his grin fading. "Man, you pissed someone off. It's none of my business, really, but dayum."
~
Cinco gives only the faintest trace of a wry half-smile. "Los Perros Rojos. Used to run with 'em, when I was your age. It wasn't a pretty break-up." That's all he'll say about that. Though, really… 15 guys after him? That gives him pause for thought. He may have to suit up and go pay a visit to the old stomping grounds and persuade a couple of people that, really, he needs to be left alone. Unless there's something else going on he's not aware of, of course. In that case, maybe he'd better go speak to other contacts, first. "You're a seer," he says bluntly, instead. He's heard about seers, certainly. He's spent too much time in the supernatural world not to be well-versed in most of what's out there. "That the nose bleeds?"
~
"Blood in, blood out, huh?" Now he gets it. For the briefest of moments, Jesse considers denying it, playing dumb, it's what he's been taught to do since they started, the visions that is. But in the end he just nods and offers a barely there, "Yeah." He straightens from the crouched position he was in and trots down a nearby alley way to pitch the plates before discussing the matter any further. He rubs the back of his neck with his left hand when he returns, a self conscious, almost nervous gesture. His right arm is all tingly and pins and needles and not wanting to cooperate much right now, so it's the left that does the nervous bit. He cracks a grin that's as nervous as the gesture. "What gave me away?" Yeah, that's slightly sarcastic. He knows the events of the evening coupled with the 'warnings' from their last visit put a neon sign on his forehead. What could he do though? Nothing save what he did. Right ain't always easy.
~
Oh, yeah. There's a pretty big lantern hung 'round Jesse's neck, far as Cinco's concerned. "You get those visions often?" Some do, some don't, after all. He suspects so, given how many days it's been since their last meeting. "Your dad know about this?" 'Cause, from what the kid's said, that's as likely to send the old man over the edge as anything. He notes the kid's stiff movements and moves to look at the flesh would on his arm. Cinco knows more than he should about bullet wounds, after all. Certainly, he's still moving a little stiffly himself, his thigh aching. But he had fur to absorb some of the friction and deflect a little of the impact. So, at best, he got a graze and not a hard wing. "Lemme look at that."
~
"Just rip the sleeve," Jesse offers first, as he moves a little closer so Cinco can have that look. Bravado yes? Bravado enough to argue with the pack's Beta wolf? Not so much. There's a tear in the sleeve of the thin jacket he's wearing already, the dark material all sticky with blood. "It's always on for me. Best way that I can explain it is like someone's watching TV with the volume down and the fast forward pressed on the DVR. Then something or someone, or whatever hits play and turns the volume up full blast from time to time. Sometimes I go a week with just background images, running too fast to see, other times I've had two or three 'play' moments in one day." He rolls his 'good' shoulder in a small shrug. "It just depends. The nose bleeds only happen when it's really bad. Like seeing your head get blown off."
"Yeah, he knows," is added, not so much as an afterthought, but more as if he's reluctant to acknowledge the fact and what it might mean now that the Old Man's over the deep end.
~
Cinco simply chuffs in response to the information, absorbing it. Filing it away. Head blown off, huh? Fun times. Helluva 'gift', if y'ask him. He pulls the fabric of the sleeve away enough to get a look at the wound. "Needs cleaning. Maybe stitches. There's a doctor I know. Treats the Pack." Off-the-record, of course. "Should get him to look at it. You got a first aid kit stashed somewhere? Water bottle?" A beat. "Alcohol?" Anything he can use to clean it for now.
~
"Behind the big trunk in the back of the jeep." The weapons have to be easier to get to after all. "Fully stocked kit. If you're any good at sewing…" Jesse lets the suggestion just sort of hang there, but he's willing to let the Beta just get it done and over with here, if Cinco has a clue. "Not much worried about scarring or anything, at least it's not my pretty face," he deadpans. "Hey, next time I tell you to watch your back around red brick apartment buildings? Do me a favor? Try not to end up in a block full of them alone?" He just can't help it, he has to get a minor 'told you so' jab in there somewhere.
~
"Can't live my life in bubble, kid," Cinco replies, moving to the back of the Jeep, now. He shoves the weapons trunk easily out of the way. There's an advantage to being a werewolf rather than a simple shifter, after all. Then, it's easy to grab the first aid kit. He opens it atop the chest and grunts softly. Looks more like a trauma kit, which certainly makes sense, given what the kid does. "Could sew you up, sure. Should still get Dennehey to look at you." A beat. "Might come in handy for you, kid, to know a doc that don't ask questions." Just a suggestion.
~
"No, I suppose you can't." Although Jesse still thinks a little caution can be taken. But wait… what would he do in the same situation. He shakes his head, not going to over think it. "Yeah, maybe so. But in the mean time, just do what you gotta to make me stop leakin', yeah? I'm startin' to get a little light headed." His brow furrows a little when he takes his first peek at the injury himself. "Woulda sucked if that dude had been a better shot," he comments. He looks away from the wound, away from Cinco and adds, "For what it's worth man, I'm glad you still have your head."
~
"Yeah," Cinco grunts, agreeing with that last sentiment. "Me, too." A long beat. "Thanks." He doesn't often say that. Still, he attends to the wound, now, bandaging it tightly to keep the leaking to a minimum. "Gimme your keys. I'll drive you to Dennehey's." And then he'll find some way home. He's going to have to go hunting for his bike. That pisses him off. He doesn't do anything more, however, than shove the anger into the back of his mind to be dealt with later.
~
He acknowledges the thank you, but only with a nod. To the kid's credit, he's really pretty stoic through the bandaging, never you mind the sweating and the pale skin. Once it' finished, Jesse fishes in his pocket for his keys and hands them over obediently. "Just don't wreck it? She's beat and battered, but she's all I got." A beat. "This guy 'wolf or just a friend?" he asks, not entirely expecting an answer.
~
"Friend," Cinco replies as he walks around the Jeep and folds himself into the driver's seat. Moments later, they're back on the road and heading for the far side of town. "Guy's mostly retired, but still makes house calls sometimes." Or accepts them, as the case may be.
~
"You can take the jeep," Jesse offers somewhere between here and there. "I can call Devon to come pick me up and we can pick the jeep up tomorrow at Grizzly's," he furthers the suggestion. He's not blind, dumb, deaf, or stupid enough to believe that Cinco's 'business' is over for the night. But now the Beta has the upper hand, they won't get the drop on the man again, he's convinced of that. "Guy that took the bike, he was heading North." Something else the kid saw. "Didn't see his face, but he was bald, had a tattoo on the back of his head. Couldn't really make it out either."
~
"Huhn." The speculative grunt suggests the description may be familiar to the beta. "Thanks," he replies — on both counts. No, his business isn't over for the evening. The rest of the drive is passed in silence. When they reach the good doctor's, introductions are terse, but cordial enough. The beta knows the gruff medico fairly well, it seems. Sam Dennehey's a definite Texan and he doesn't mess around. That's pretty obvious. But, he's also willing enough to look at the kid that saved the Beta's hide. Shouldn't take him too long to get Jesse patched up. He's even able to loan Cinco a pair of boots and a t-shirt. But, once that's done, the Beta's got some hunting he needs to do. He'll have the Jeep back at the bar by sunrise.
