Post by Deleted on Jan 25, 2013 0:13:52 GMT -6
He walks down sidewalks like a religion. It’s become a prayer for him, for his life, for his prey. A man in an oily leather jacket holding a brown briefcase walks 50 paces in front of him. Daniel prays silently for the man. It’s a prayer not to God but to the shadows, to the smoke, to the things that keep him hidden. He gives thanks.
The man is briefcase is praying too. But he doesn’t know it yet.
Smoke that only Prophets sees fills the street, seeps into his pores and heightens his sense. He breathes in. The air is filthy. He feels the filth under skin, digging down like a parasite.
Prophet reaches into his coat and pulls out a phone. He dials. The man’s cellphone rings once. Twice. He checks the number. Unknown.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Goldman?” The voice says on the other line, barely a sentence, barely a whisper.
“Who is this?”
“The man behind you.”
The man with the briefcase wheels around. There’s no one there. A thick fog has rolled in. There’s a woman with some shopping bags heading home. No one is on a phone.
“Sir, do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I just wanna talk, Mr. Goldman. I want to talk about a man who was beaten down.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s not do this. Let’s not, it wastes so much time. Now.
“It’s time to clarify some things, Mr. Goldman”
Earlier. In a church. Daniel is in a pew. His head is bowed, his hat is off. He's sweating from the heat. It’s hot during the day, he much prefers the stars to the sun.
Detectives wear too many layers.
A finger taps him on the shoulder.
“Hello stranger.” A voice comes from behind.
“I like the new getup. Are you going to a costume party or something?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Uhhh I dunno. You like some kind of 1940s detective or something. Seems kinda weird.”
The owner of voice sits down beside him. Daniel looks up. His eyes meet Casey’s. Casey has dark brown hair and eyes that squeak with rust and age. Casey is young but lost any fucks to give a long time ago.
“You still a crook, Casey?”
“Crook? Wow. Hi nice to see you too.”
“So. Third rate dope dealer? That still pays the bills.”
“I live. That’s all that matters.”
“You live like a rat. You’re better than that. You always were.”
Casey adjusts a loose strand of hair neatly slides it back. A flash of a smile.
“I didn’t even know you were in town.”
“No one does. I’m a nobody here. I’m a shade, a whisper. Nothing more.”
“You...stop talking like that...it’s freaking me out."
"Talkin' like what? This si how I talk."
"Where’s Danny? The Danny I knew in Boston. The fighter? The good old boy from back home.”
“.....I think he died. I’m still investigating.”
“Well you tell me when he comes back.” Casey gets up and starts to leave.
Without a word Daniel reaches up and takes Casey’s hand. They exchange a look. Casey sits back down, guided by Daniel’s hand. Daniel puts his head on Casey’s shoulder.
They both shut up for once. They breathe. It's quiet in church away from the screaming crowds and roided out loudmouths.
It’s a moment of quietness. It’s a moment of grace.
“Do you still...You don’t still-”
“Yes. A little more than a little. I'm takin' what I want now and I want you back. Am I goin’ too fast?”
“Hit the speed limit, hit a deer and kept on driving.”
“That’s what I like to do.”
“But. But I thought you and that...that girl-“
“Girl left the man. The man came here. The man changed.”
Suddenly Casey pushes Daniel away and fixes with a straight, dead stare.
“Goodbye, Danny. Next time do me favor and shut up.”
Casey turns and walks out.
Daniel makes no attempts to stop it.
“I’m a fighter here now. Gonna change things around here. You should watch me. My next match is for you, babe. All for you.”
But Casey is gone. Daniel is alone. He grunts and lights a cigarette. The smoke drifts up along crucifix, tickling it gently.
It's beautiful to watch things burn, Daniel thinks.
Later. A hotel room. Daniel watches a news report. Casey has been stabbed. Casey is in critical condition. Beaten down. Now back to who’s gay in Hollywood.
He turns off the television and picks up a phone.
No one cares about a second rate crook stabbed in a back alley. Casey is a third-rate crook at best. No one will bat an eyelash. No one will help. No one will care.
So I'll care, Daniel thinks. I'll be the one to drag the worthy out of the filth.
No matter what it takes.
“It’s time to Clarify, Mr. Goldman. I know you’re the detective assigned to the Casey Williams case. I know you’re gonna do shit. So here’s what I’m asking: ust give it to me. Send along info. I’ll do your job for you.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Daniel Prophet. Private Investigator. “
“Haven't heard of you.”
“.......I’m kinda new.”
“...And kinda naive and kinda stupid.”
“Green is the new Black.”
“And what will you do if I hand up right now?”
“...I’ll rip the balls off your prize retriever. We don’t need another breeder world anyway.”
There’s a pause on the phone. Goldman is praying. He’s praying about his life, about his case and about the words he’s about to say.
“Okay. For the right price. Okay.“
A sigh on the phone.
“What will it take?” asks Daniel.
“Let’s talk, Mr. Prophet. Let’s talk.”
*****
(Promo #2)
The E-pro Arena. A new sound blares over the speakers. It’s music the audience hasn't heard before. It’s soft, but building. It’s a sound almost like static, but there’s something off, something no one can quite put their finger on.
Then the lights go out.
A voice: “Welcome to my world.”
A stark white spotlight comes on in the enter of the ring. A man in a white shirt, fedora, and black suspenders stands in the middle. His face is in shadow. He keeps his head down as he raises the mic to his mouth.
I don’t think we've met yet. It’s only polite to introduce myself.
He looks up, revealing his face. The audience is confused.
It’s me. Poor Daniel Prophet. The man who no one knows. The man no one cares about. But that’s gonna change. As you can see, I’ve changed. I’m stronger, I’m faster and now...I’m ruthless. Because I look at you and I see the filth. The filth keeping down good people like you and me. I'm talking about filth like Jafreese Frazier, filth like Daisuke Iwakuma....Filth like Rufus Frost.
A more confused reaction. People don’t know how to take this. Who is this asshole and makes him think he can talk like that?
Criminals do not just walk the streets. They are in our banks, in our offices, and even in our nice little E-Pro. This place needs a champion that will clean it out. That will remake it in a beautiful way. No more gray, no more color. You will all see the world like I do: in black and white.
When I am finished here, we all be the new masters. We will all step on the throats of the corrupt bankers, the sleezeball lawyers and the worthless crooks. Their bones will break and their blood will give us life. When I am finished with Jafreese Frazier, that pathetic wad of grime will look up to me and beg for mercy. But have they shown us any mercy? Did they cry when they too our money and left us penniless and broken on the streets? No.
When Jafreese looks up at me and starts begging me for mercy, when his damaged body can no longer hold together, so you think I'll care? Do you think I'll take even a second to hear his pain?
This is my final warning to you Jafreese. Leave now. Get out of my city and take your filth with you. It has no place here. It has no place among the decent, hard work people of Exodus Pro. I won’t say it again.
Because I once I step in that ring, once I get my hands around your throat, I won’t let go. I won’t stop until your body is still and my ring has been swept clean. THAT IS MY UNDERTAKING. THAT IS MY WORK. You want to tell me I’m nothing? You want to tell me I’m worthless? I’ve been told that all my life. I've heard it from every useless shit stain that’s ever looked at me...that’s ever looked at me and thought ‘there’s a loser. There’s a waste of space.’
No more.
NO MORE.
I will change things. I'll change everything. When I give you pain, Jafreese, you won’t like it. I will wipe that smile right off your face because the pain you get from me won’t hurt your flesh or your body, it will hurt your soul. You will be beaten. You will be humiliated. You will be held up as a an example and then left behind to ROT.
And you will be forgotten.
You will lie on the mat, barely able to breath in and out. And I’ll stand you up for all the world too see. I’ll show off my work to all the bureaucrats and narcissists that think they’re safe. I'll show you to all the lawyers and the bankers and the fat cat politicians that think they can break my city and suffer no consequences.
And they’ll quiver in their boots because they know that around every street corner, I’ll be there, waiting for them in the shadows.
The lights start to dim as Prophet lights a cigarette.
One at a time. They’ll all fall.
(Darker)
One...
(Darker)
By one...
(Darker)
By one...
(Darker)
Until...
(He smiles for the first time. Darker)
We all fade to black.
The man is briefcase is praying too. But he doesn’t know it yet.
Smoke that only Prophets sees fills the street, seeps into his pores and heightens his sense. He breathes in. The air is filthy. He feels the filth under skin, digging down like a parasite.
Prophet reaches into his coat and pulls out a phone. He dials. The man’s cellphone rings once. Twice. He checks the number. Unknown.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Goldman?” The voice says on the other line, barely a sentence, barely a whisper.
“Who is this?”
“The man behind you.”
The man with the briefcase wheels around. There’s no one there. A thick fog has rolled in. There’s a woman with some shopping bags heading home. No one is on a phone.
“Sir, do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I just wanna talk, Mr. Goldman. I want to talk about a man who was beaten down.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s not do this. Let’s not, it wastes so much time. Now.
“It’s time to clarify some things, Mr. Goldman”
********
Earlier. In a church. Daniel is in a pew. His head is bowed, his hat is off. He's sweating from the heat. It’s hot during the day, he much prefers the stars to the sun.
Detectives wear too many layers.
A finger taps him on the shoulder.
“Hello stranger.” A voice comes from behind.
“I like the new getup. Are you going to a costume party or something?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Uhhh I dunno. You like some kind of 1940s detective or something. Seems kinda weird.”
The owner of voice sits down beside him. Daniel looks up. His eyes meet Casey’s. Casey has dark brown hair and eyes that squeak with rust and age. Casey is young but lost any fucks to give a long time ago.
“You still a crook, Casey?”
“Crook? Wow. Hi nice to see you too.”
“So. Third rate dope dealer? That still pays the bills.”
“I live. That’s all that matters.”
“You live like a rat. You’re better than that. You always were.”
Casey adjusts a loose strand of hair neatly slides it back. A flash of a smile.
“I didn’t even know you were in town.”
“No one does. I’m a nobody here. I’m a shade, a whisper. Nothing more.”
“You...stop talking like that...it’s freaking me out."
"Talkin' like what? This si how I talk."
"Where’s Danny? The Danny I knew in Boston. The fighter? The good old boy from back home.”
“.....I think he died. I’m still investigating.”
“Well you tell me when he comes back.” Casey gets up and starts to leave.
Without a word Daniel reaches up and takes Casey’s hand. They exchange a look. Casey sits back down, guided by Daniel’s hand. Daniel puts his head on Casey’s shoulder.
They both shut up for once. They breathe. It's quiet in church away from the screaming crowds and roided out loudmouths.
It’s a moment of quietness. It’s a moment of grace.
“Do you still...You don’t still-”
“Yes. A little more than a little. I'm takin' what I want now and I want you back. Am I goin’ too fast?”
“Hit the speed limit, hit a deer and kept on driving.”
“That’s what I like to do.”
“But. But I thought you and that...that girl-“
“Girl left the man. The man came here. The man changed.”
Suddenly Casey pushes Daniel away and fixes with a straight, dead stare.
“Goodbye, Danny. Next time do me favor and shut up.”
Casey turns and walks out.
Daniel makes no attempts to stop it.
“I’m a fighter here now. Gonna change things around here. You should watch me. My next match is for you, babe. All for you.”
But Casey is gone. Daniel is alone. He grunts and lights a cigarette. The smoke drifts up along crucifix, tickling it gently.
It's beautiful to watch things burn, Daniel thinks.
************
Later. A hotel room. Daniel watches a news report. Casey has been stabbed. Casey is in critical condition. Beaten down. Now back to who’s gay in Hollywood.
He turns off the television and picks up a phone.
No one cares about a second rate crook stabbed in a back alley. Casey is a third-rate crook at best. No one will bat an eyelash. No one will help. No one will care.
So I'll care, Daniel thinks. I'll be the one to drag the worthy out of the filth.
No matter what it takes.
***********
“It’s time to Clarify, Mr. Goldman. I know you’re the detective assigned to the Casey Williams case. I know you’re gonna do shit. So here’s what I’m asking: ust give it to me. Send along info. I’ll do your job for you.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Daniel Prophet. Private Investigator. “
“Haven't heard of you.”
“.......I’m kinda new.”
“...And kinda naive and kinda stupid.”
“Green is the new Black.”
“And what will you do if I hand up right now?”
“...I’ll rip the balls off your prize retriever. We don’t need another breeder world anyway.”
There’s a pause on the phone. Goldman is praying. He’s praying about his life, about his case and about the words he’s about to say.
“Okay. For the right price. Okay.“
A sigh on the phone.
“What will it take?” asks Daniel.
“Let’s talk, Mr. Prophet. Let’s talk.”
*****
(Promo #2)
The E-pro Arena. A new sound blares over the speakers. It’s music the audience hasn't heard before. It’s soft, but building. It’s a sound almost like static, but there’s something off, something no one can quite put their finger on.
Then the lights go out.
A voice: “Welcome to my world.”
A stark white spotlight comes on in the enter of the ring. A man in a white shirt, fedora, and black suspenders stands in the middle. His face is in shadow. He keeps his head down as he raises the mic to his mouth.
I don’t think we've met yet. It’s only polite to introduce myself.
He looks up, revealing his face. The audience is confused.
It’s me. Poor Daniel Prophet. The man who no one knows. The man no one cares about. But that’s gonna change. As you can see, I’ve changed. I’m stronger, I’m faster and now...I’m ruthless. Because I look at you and I see the filth. The filth keeping down good people like you and me. I'm talking about filth like Jafreese Frazier, filth like Daisuke Iwakuma....Filth like Rufus Frost.
A more confused reaction. People don’t know how to take this. Who is this asshole and makes him think he can talk like that?
Criminals do not just walk the streets. They are in our banks, in our offices, and even in our nice little E-Pro. This place needs a champion that will clean it out. That will remake it in a beautiful way. No more gray, no more color. You will all see the world like I do: in black and white.
When I am finished here, we all be the new masters. We will all step on the throats of the corrupt bankers, the sleezeball lawyers and the worthless crooks. Their bones will break and their blood will give us life. When I am finished with Jafreese Frazier, that pathetic wad of grime will look up to me and beg for mercy. But have they shown us any mercy? Did they cry when they too our money and left us penniless and broken on the streets? No.
When Jafreese looks up at me and starts begging me for mercy, when his damaged body can no longer hold together, so you think I'll care? Do you think I'll take even a second to hear his pain?
This is my final warning to you Jafreese. Leave now. Get out of my city and take your filth with you. It has no place here. It has no place among the decent, hard work people of Exodus Pro. I won’t say it again.
Because I once I step in that ring, once I get my hands around your throat, I won’t let go. I won’t stop until your body is still and my ring has been swept clean. THAT IS MY UNDERTAKING. THAT IS MY WORK. You want to tell me I’m nothing? You want to tell me I’m worthless? I’ve been told that all my life. I've heard it from every useless shit stain that’s ever looked at me...that’s ever looked at me and thought ‘there’s a loser. There’s a waste of space.’
No more.
NO MORE.
I will change things. I'll change everything. When I give you pain, Jafreese, you won’t like it. I will wipe that smile right off your face because the pain you get from me won’t hurt your flesh or your body, it will hurt your soul. You will be beaten. You will be humiliated. You will be held up as a an example and then left behind to ROT.
And you will be forgotten.
You will lie on the mat, barely able to breath in and out. And I’ll stand you up for all the world too see. I’ll show off my work to all the bureaucrats and narcissists that think they’re safe. I'll show you to all the lawyers and the bankers and the fat cat politicians that think they can break my city and suffer no consequences.
And they’ll quiver in their boots because they know that around every street corner, I’ll be there, waiting for them in the shadows.
The lights start to dim as Prophet lights a cigarette.
One at a time. They’ll all fall.
(Darker)
One...
(Darker)
By one...
(Darker)
By one...
(Darker)
Until...
(He smiles for the first time. Darker)
We all fade to black.