Succu-busted

I was supposed to be retired.

At least that was the idea. No more late nights. No more blood-stained jeans. And certainly no more finding myself in life-threatening situations. I kinda like living, it suits me. Unfortunately when you go poking around London's dark underworld, stirring up all kinds of nasties, it isn't always just your life that gets threatened. Sometimes, you even have to watch out for your soul.


Friday night and the air was crisp and still. This was back in April; traditionally a month for rain, but London's weather has never liked to play by the rules. I had been waiting by the phone all day and needed to get some air. Believe it or not, I usually stay in on a Friday. Weekends are often crazy and I need to get my rest. I'd be down the gym until about 8 o'clock, then relax in front of the fire with a book and some horrendously bad for me but still so good takeaway food. The amount of exercise I get, I figure a treat night once a week is justified. Later on, I wished I'd stuck to my usual routine.

Leaving my apartment building, I contemplated hopping on the Tube and heading a little further afield, but soon dismissed it. Why not have a walk while the weather stayed unseasonably fine? It would be a poor substitute for a gym session but it was better than nothing. Without being too specific, I live in the Tower Hamlets area of London. It's a great place to live - you can be in the thick of things within minutes, but it's not got the same mad vibe as the very centre of London. It suits me perfectly. I decided to head towards Whitechapel; it's not the nicest part of town, but the history gives it a certain allure to people like me. You know, masochistic sons of bitches. I really wasn't looking for trouble, but sometimes when you're not looking, that's when trouble comes up behind you to bite you on the arse.

I'd been walking for a while and was starting to feel uncomfortably warm in my black leather jacket. I was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath, with dark blue jeans and black boots. On someone else, it might just look like a bad imitation of The Fonz from 'Happy Days', but I think I pull it off. Maybe. Shucking off the jacket, I slung it over a shoulder and crossed the street to the pub.

The Blind Beggar has been around for ages, but I've only been inside a couple of times. Not my usual scene, but tonight I was not looking for anything in particular, just a quiet drink to refresh me from the walk. It was a Friday night so the place was buzzing, but I have a special way of sending out a 'leave me alone' vibe so I was pretty sure I would be left alone, not bump into anyone I knew, and be on my way again within half an hour.

After finally getting served, I took my drink through the bar and into the part known as 'the haunted bar'. Cute. There's been a few murders in this pub over the years, but if you dig deep enough into the history of most public properties you'll find some whiff of foul play. Some of it is going to leave a stain, most will just fade away.

I took one of the last remaining seats and set my drink down, gazing vaguely around the room. This place wasn't haunted, at least not tonight. It was pretty noisy though. I was totally oblivious to the person who had appeared next to me until they tapped me on the shoulder, startling me slightly. I'm not usually one to jump, but like I said, I had been out of the game for a while, after what happened with... well, that's a story for another time.

Assuming the intruder was going to ask if the seat next to me was free, I started speaking even as I turned, "It's all yours..."

Then our eyes met. She was dark-haired, even in the dim light of the bar I could see it was the kind of black that absorbed all trace of light in it's inky depth. It fell around her shoulders in loose, wanton tangles - somehow effortless and yet well-groomed, all at once.