A Rose By Any Other Name

"Shittttt"

"Well?"

Friday ponders the recording billybear had given Tracer from the previous night's TeaseTime.

"Are you kidding me Tracer? It sounds way too complacent, there's not enough rage or aggression. It sounds like someone who's gone numb from the waist down. Did billybear hit him with the sledge?"

"No, billybear thought it would piss Princess off, the boot licker. Not that there's anything wrong with licking Her boots ..."

"Where were you?"

"In the caboose"

Friday sighs, "What this time?"

"Let's just say that I came up a tad short at The World of Sin. I couldn't 'splain' why your Visa was maxed out. Any comments?"

Friday blushes hard, "Well there's a birthday coming up in 26 days and I had to get a gift."

"So this isn't the guy?"

"No way, that 'Shittttt' sounds like a happy kitten dying, not the rage filled, frustrated SHIIIIIIIITTTTT!!!!! I heard. Nope this bankyboo isn't the guy."

"We may never catch this dude Friday. Let me take a gander at the evidence."

"No."

"Fine, I'll just go to your blog, you posted enough pictures there."

Friday protests weakly but falls silent when her site fills the screen.

"You do seem, um, happy with this development Friday. What's this?"

"What?"

"Here, next to your ..." Tracer falls quiet with embarrassment, "Did you get a tattoo?"

"What are you babbling about?"

"Look here, it's tiny"

"Oh yeah ... my flesh corrupted," moans Friday, "I can not believe that freak would do such a thing to me! The sharpie ink will at least come off! I am not a tattoo girl. Dammit!"

"Well you could try Turlington's Tattoo Removal Cream"

"I heard it hurts!"

Both detectives gaze at small, blood red tattoo.


"It looks like a rose, a bloody rose. What's it mean?" Friday asks, mystified.

"Maybe this guy is some sort of deranged, perverted gardener?"

A chuckle comes from the shadows, "I've been called worse."

Grendel

Faster than humanly possible Tracer leaps from his chair doing a full-gainer over his desk while simultaneously drawing both his forty-fives. In the middle of this complex maneuver Friday, using her cat like reflexes, snatches her Lady Derringer from her bra while executing a handless cartwheel lateral to the shadowy figure.

Both detectives collide in midair, crashing to the floor in a heap. Friday's cheaters come to a wobbly halt at the creatures feet.

"Delightful!" chuckles the oddly attired man. The shredded remains of a Pink robe cover a tight, black form fitting outfit, black mask and pink, leather straps on his legs complete his appearance. He's casually holding a long, black shaft with two parallel razor sharp blades attached to the end.

As Tracer's hand slides towards his fallen forty-fives the creature murmurs, "You really don't want to do that."

Tracer stares at the masked creature, his hand continuing to inch towards his gun. Faster than the eye can follow the scythe like fork lashes out and back. Tracer winces in pain as blood flows from two, deep scalpel like incisions in his forearm.

"Who are you?" asks Friday.

"Call me Grendel. I occasionally take residence in this poor, weak creatures body. In effect I am everything he is not. I am aggression, trouble and arch nemesis to just about everybody. I feed off of his shame and his fear. He has a surprising amount of both."

"Friday check the police reports and see if there's any bulletins about an escape from the local nut houses."

Grendel quietly replies, "I told the guard I was going out for a pack of cigarettes, but then I like totally stabbed him. Through the quantum foam I roam. I merely wanted to introduce myself since I plan on hanging about for awhile. Think of me as Schrödinger's cat."

And he is gone.

While Friday helps Tracer wrap a bandage around his arm, he says, "Oh this guy is going to be a problem."

"Well Tracer, other than the tattoo he might have done me a favor. I sure do enjoy having all this contact!"