Chapter 31: Sympathy For The Dead

The Living Room, Apartment 42, The Bowerstone Apartment Complex, 4th And Flint Street, The Attison District, Temple City (3040).....

After calling it a night, once he had come back from the morgue and waited at his office for close to six hours, Baddwulf made his way back to his apartment still a bit puzzled as to what had truly been happening in Temple City and right under his nose. He took a few moments to pour himself a drink, slowly savoring it after all the stuff he'd seen. While he'd been through his fair share of scrapes and dead bodies became the norm for him when living in the Gaelic Isles as a lad where people had been dropping like flies from disease and starvation, even his time in the cold labs had been another situation where he'd seen his fair share of dead bodies pile up, nothing had prepared him for the sick and twisted mutilation of someone he'd seen only a few days ago.

Even if that someone was a large bull-headed brute that tried to do him in. Baddwulf slowly began to take off his hat and coat tossing them onto the nearby sofa and loosened his already sloppy tie. He pulled it from around his rather thick neck and tossed it onto the sofa as well. He took a moment to kick off his dress shoes, leaving him standing in his shirt, trousers, and black dress socks for the time being as he turned up a glass of the good stuff noting the swirl of the dark brown liquid as he further sought to take the edge off and clear his mind of the rather gruesome images that plagued it ever since he'd gotten out of the morgue.

There had been no sign of Sullivan, more so due to him having been asleep in Baddwulf's bed. Feeling the weight of the world pressing against his shoulders, the rather exhausted detective plopped down into his familiar brown chair and tilted his head back as he closed his eyes and attempted to focus on something other than the scent of blood and bile.

The visuals of the bull-headed brute that attacked him the other day came back in waves, his throat torn out and his body cut up as if he'd been a pig given to slaughter. There was no doubt that he'd lost a good deal of blood and even less doubt that he'd been able to put up a fight as a result of it.

It had appeared that Sullivan had sensed his master's anguish due to him running out of the kitchen licking at his blue paws and hopping into his lap as he purred, apparently having finally forgiven him for his carelessness when forgetting to feed him beforehand. Baddwulf smirked as he looked down at his cat, rubbing his hand along the nimble creature's back and ears.

"What a pair we make," he said, his gruff voice laced with exhaustion and alcohol.

Sullivan seemed to agree as he nuzzled his head against Baddwulf's chest for a few moments and enjoyed being petted briefly before hopping off the werewolf's lap and venturing back to the kitchen.

Baddwulf turned his attention back to the glass that had been gripped rather tightly by his other hand as he rested a bit against the back of his chair. He had not known how long it had been since he'd just sat in the silence amid the darkness of his own living room, or even taken in a moment's peace for that matter but he was sure it wouldn't last, not with all the sleaze and craziness that had constantly been unfolding in Attison District.

Julian Arthur Moran, had been the real name of the humanoid bull that had given Baddwulf a run for his money while working for Blacky Clay. He was a relative nobody aside from his short-lived sports career in baseball before an injury and a crash sent all those dreams of his up in smoke.

He had not known his real parents, being a Graphite he'd possibly lost them due to them being killed and ended up being adopted by Garrett Arthur Grossman, a local Graphite goat-man who owned a local butcher shop, an ironic fate for a man whose son was a walking humanoid bull, but the big carnivores paid big money for cold cuts and racks of lamb.

It was a lifestyle that lead to Julian and Garrett clashing on more than one occasion due to his affiliation with the girls who had been gutted for the product. Baddwulf had inquired about the Bullman since finding his body and their fight in the street, the lad had fallen on bad times following the purposeful end of his career on a count of fixers putting the squeeze on him and him refusing. He'd been a clean kid up until that point finding work due to his massive size and temperament with Blacky Clay who had been quite fond of most outcasts, a tragic tale of a kid that tried to make good on a better life only to be snuffed out for daring to shake up the status quo of the big leaguers.

Baddwulf had almost been sorry that they fought, as he would have been a big fan of a strong-willed fighter like that, even if he had nearly kicked his head in. The kid had a real issue with chasing skirts whenever he'd been paid and frequented The Dope Diamond more often than not. A lad after Baddwulf's own heart when one thought about it. It was his skirt-chasing that likely did him in, as he wasn't too keen on knowing when to stop and probably ran afoul of the wrong skirt so to speak.

It wasn't uncommon for a working skirt to be lethal in Attidson District, especially when one didn't treat them right when dealing with them. Baddwulf sighed and turned up his glass in a bid to finish it off before pouring another round.

"Here's to you kid, you were one hell of a fighter and I would have gladly kicked your ass on any given day," said Baddwulf despite not being much for any sentiment on any other day but given what he found out about the kid and his previous indulgence in drink, he allowed it just this once. "Rest in peace, Champ, you were one in a million."

With that, he turned up the glass and drank to the memory of the now-deceased Julian Arthur Moran, the only person to ever give him a run for his money combat-wise.