It had been a long night, but then, every night was long and fraught. Rumwell rolled over in his king sized bed, only occupied by him this morning. It had been another busy night, when he and his cops didn’t have as much time to satisfy their own vices, occupied as they were with containing everyone else’s. The high point of the evening, certainly, had been the capture of one of Shadow’s shades, which had been sent down into the jail for the warden to deal with, though where there was one, there were bound to be more. It was starting all over again, then. He could only hope that they might keep up, before the shadows were overrunning them in the midnight streets.
He rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his inch long beard, stood up, bent back and cracked his spine. His cock was already hard and leaking, and with the house to himself, he thought he might take some time for one of his more rare pleasures. The commander usually smoked cigars at the precinct, but at home, he was fond of a contemplative pipe. He threw on his robe and went to his study, where a rack hung on the wall with nearly fifty pipes on it. He took down one of the larger ones, the briar rubbed a bit smooth from his worrying fingers, then went to another shelf of pipe tobaccos, and rummaged about for a moment, until he pulled forth a particular tin, opened it up, and cursed. Barely enough for a quarter of a bowl. He never let this blend run dry, usually. With all this about Shadow, Pigtown adding another half block each month in every direction, and all of this freshmeat around, he must have forgotten. Disappointed, he considered one of the other blends for a moment, but set the pipe back up on the rack, returned to the bedroom, and dressed himself in a clean uniform. A cigar lit, he set out with plans for coffee, breakfast, and a stop by Marshall’s to refill his favorite tin.
His usual table on the sidewalk was reserved for him, and a number of other officers on the night shift were there, mostly in twos or threes, recovering from their night. A cub wearing booty shorts and an apron brought Rumwell his coffee–black with one sugar–checked that he wanted his usual, and skipped away. The cafe was connected to a bookstore, and already there were a few busy perverts in the aisles, magazines open in one hand, masturbating onto the floor with the other, in full view of the sidewalk. In another life, Rumwell would have taken issue with that, but in Pigtown, you had to choose your battles. He drank his coffee and ate his breakfast, and instead of sitting for a few more minutes to read the paper, as he did most mornings, he settled his bill and walked down the street, stepping into Marshall’s Cigar and Briar.
One of Marshall’s regulars was inside, and the two of them were chatting about some gossip or other. Marshall’s new boy was at the back of the shop restocking, puffing on a cigar, and looking a little haggard–he still probably wasn’t quite used to the long days and nights under Marshall’s care. Rumwell was a bit uneasy about the developing situation, but Marshall hadn’t asked for his advice, and the boy seemed sensible enough. If he ended up causing trouble, there was always room in the jail, after all.
“Morning Rumwell, here for some cigars?” Marshall asked.
Rumwell stared down the regular until he got the hint, and vacated the store with a hasty goodbye. Then he said, “I need some more of the blend, I’m out.”
“You know, I was hoping I’d see you soon,” Marshall said, “You hear about what happened down the street, between the Baron Apartments and that old laundromat?”
Rumwell was familiar with the spot, a dim alley where a good amount of fucking got done each night, usually by guys who were travelling between the tamer clubs at the edge of Pigtown, like Depot, and the ones a bit deeper in, like The Hideaway. “No one’s filed a report, no,” he said.
Marshall stood up, and stretched up. “Kyle, I’m gonna go get us lunch, watch the counter for me.”
“Yes sir,” Kyle said, and came to the front of the shop. Rumwell and Kyle hadn’t been properly introduced, but they sized each other up.
“You’re Rumwell–the guy in charge of the precinct?” Kyle asked him.
He nodded.
Kyle looked like there was something on his mind, but just gave a little nod to Marshall. “I got it handled, Sir.”
“What about my blend?” Rumwell asked.
Marshall went to the back of the shop, opened up one of the locked cabinets–one that not even Kyle had a key to–took out a glass jar about three quarters full, and packed a tin with it. He came back, but didn’t hand it to Rumwell right away. “Why don’t we take a walk?” he said, and left the shop. Rumwell, with a huff, followed after. He hated when Marshall toyed with him.
Marshall had been smoking a cigar in the shop, and he passed one to Rumwell, who lit up as well. “What is this about, Marshall?” he asked, “You aren’t seeking to change the terms of our arrangement, I assume?”
“Certainly not,” Marshall said, and handed him the tin. “Your supply is well secured, so long as I’m free to do as I will–which I assume I still am?”
“Within limits. Just mind your little boy in there, and make sure he understands the rules.”
Marshall chuckled. “What rules are there, in a place like this? Still playing cops and robbers like little boys in the street, that’s all you are.”
Rumwell thought about a bitter retort, but bit into the cigar instead, and they walked the next couple of blocks in silence, until they passed the apartment complex, and arrived at the narrow alley beside it. Marshall gestured to the wall, in the side of the vacant laundromat, where there was now something else there. Spray painted above it were the words “Hole in the Wall” and there, embedded in the brick, was a human ass, at about the right height to be fucked. “This is what you wanted me to see?” the Commander said, “Someone’s stuck a fuckdoll to the wall, so what?”
“Look a little closer.”
Rumwell stepped up, to the side of the building, and found himself becoming a little unnerved as he did. If it was a fuckdoll of some kind, it was a very realistic one. He could smell something on the air as well, a scent that any resident of Pigtown would know well, the smell of cum, lube and heat that any hungry hole could give off in a dark backroom–but somehow sweeter, more inviting. He was a couple feet away from it now, and the ass in the wall, which had been a little too low for someone of Rumwell’s height to fuck easily, seemed to tense, and rise up the wall by a few inches, the hole winking at him, drooling either cum or lube down the crack and onto the pavement below. He noticed then that he had his cock out and in his hand, rock hard and leaking himself, and pushed the temptation away. He zipped back up and took a few steps back, watching the hole in the wall relax again, sliding back down the wall.
“It’s…alive?”
“I don’t know,” Marshall said, “I mean, you’re familiar with my work. They aren’t alive, not like they were, and certainly not like this.”
“Have…you seen anyone use it?”
“A regular said they saw someone fucking it. The guy came, zipped up and walked off, nothing seemed to have happened to him that he could see. It certainly smells like it wants you to fuck it. I haven’t partaken myself.”
Rumwell pulled out his phone and called the precinct. “I need a squad here on the corner of Seventh and Wellington, we have a possible aberration to quarantine,” Rumwell discussed it for a few minutes while Marshall examined the hole in the wall himself, touched it, felt where the warm flesh became warm brick became cold stone. Rumwell hung up, and then turned to him, “What do you make of it?”
“Not sure. Not my kind of craftsmanship. It’s not an aberration itself, I don’t even know if it was done by an aberration. There’s nothing missing.”
“What does that mean?”
Marshall shook his head. “Look, I don’t know, and I don’t have the time. I’m just a concerned citizen looking to stay on the precinct’s good side is all. All the regulars have been talking about it this morning–half of Pigtown passes this way to get to my shop.”
“So now we not only have Shadow on our hands, but some other new aberration out of the blue.”
“I told you, this isn’t an aberration. This…is something new. It’s not the first thing either, that seems different. Something’s happening around here. There’s an energy, lately. I don’t know how to explain it. You know I don’t agree with everything you’ve done here, but I know that chaos isn’t good for anyone. Now, I gotta get back to the shop,” he said, and pushed the tim into Rumwell’s hand. “Have a good smoke, Rummy. Let me know if I can help.”
Marshall left as the cops came running up to where Rumwell was standing. Some made a perimeter, others started investigating. The Commander supervised for an hour or so, but as he figured, it didn’t match the M.O. of any of the aberrations currently active and at large. It was something, and someone, new. If there was something that Rumwell didn’t like, it was new wrinkles in Pigtown. It meant it was getting stronger. If the precinct couldn’t figure out what was coming and how to contain it, it wouldn’t be long before the whole city looked like that cafe and bookstore–or worse.
Bracken's Corner 