Literally. Already they were calling out to him.
Oy! Fat boy! Come on up. We taint bit your chunky ass in how long? Couple weeks?
The roses laughed. A chorus of them. The closed blossoms bobbed in the light breeze coming up the hill.
All the roses in the city seemed to be connected in some nefarious way. Every one of them knew him. Seemed to have it in for him.
How, he had no idea. The next time he saw his boss, he was going to ask him. Which would probably just get him a shrug and some tepid comment about the interconnectedness of everything.
One of these days he was going to get a flamethrower and…
No. That was the old Hilario. Doing bad things was part of his past. Putting up with bloodthirsty roses was probably part of his atonement. In some stupid way.
“Move it, clown,” Marco said. He gestured for Hilario to go up the thorn-lined walkway. It was hard to read the man’s expression in the pale moonlight. A good guess would have been a thin veneer of annoyance over a pot of boiling rage.
Heeeeeerrreeee fatty, fatty, fatty…the roses called.
Oy, gonna get me some clown blood!
Ay, come plant them thunder thighs on me, blubber boy!
Roses were just plain mean. Everyone thought they were pretty and delicate. But really, they were jerks.
Why did they have to pick on him anyway? What had he ever done to them?
“Detective Marco, is my presence really necessary?” Hilario asked, “After all, I am no law enforcement expert. I wouldn’t wish to hinder your investigation.”
Marco stepped up to him. So fast that Hilario didn’t have space to move. He pressed his back against the van.
The detective bent his face to Hilario’s. So close the man’s nose hit Hilario’s bulbous red clown nose. Which let out a soft honk.
Normally Hilario would have recoiled from such close contact. Maybe given the person a mental shove to get back.
Unfortunately he lacked any leverage, physical, mental or psychic to do so. Detective Marco was turning out to be a seriously complex problem. A sticky one that he couldn’t seem to shake off.
How had that mental shield formed?
“Listen, clown,” Marco said, “I’m having one helluva night. I’m kind of hoping that I got shot and I’m in the hospital hallucinating all of this. But on the off chance this shit is real, you seem to be the source of the crazy here. So you’re coming with me. You’re not leaving my sight.”
Hilario’s stomach rumbled. It had its own priorities.
He told it to shut up. He swallowed bitter acid that crawled up the back of his throat.
“Detective Marco,” he said, “I assure you–”
In a flash, the gun was in Marco’s hand. The barrel poked Hilario’s well padded chest. Sunk in a couple inches. The sharp scent of gun oil tickled his nostrils.
Aw, come on, man, the gun said, Don’t put me there. Gonna get clown blood all up my barrel. Take a couple steps back at least.
Marco’s teeth ground together with a shiver making clack and creak.
“And you’re going to figure out how to make shit stop talking to me,” Marco said.
A sudden notion hit Hilario. “Did you hear the roses?” he asked.
Marco’s brow furrowed. “Roses?”
“Yes, they were, uh…taunting me,” Hilario said, “Did you hear them a few moments ago? I believe the words thunder thighs were used at one point.”
The gun pressed in another inch or two into his blubber.
“Stop fucking with me,” Marco said, “There are hollow point 9mm bullets in this thing–”
Damned straight, mofo, the gun said, Shred that cholesterol soaked ticker of yours.
Through gritted teeth, Marco continued: “And I can write up the report any way I want to. I’ll plant a knife on you. No one will ever question it.”
Hilario swallowed hard. Short of using his reserves to physically remove the detective from the area, there was no non-violent way of defusing the situation.
Despite what the writers of the ridiculous shows and books thought, psychic powers weren’t cheap and easy to use. It took great concentration and a serious expenditure of energy to do something like, say, pick up a two hundred pound man and fling him a few miles into the bay.
Even for someone like the Sapphire Witch it wasn’t easy. But then she had a direct line to the unseen world and its dark energies. She was one of the elite, a gem witch. She had millennia of experience behind her. And vast reserves of power.
Whereas Hilario had bupkis. Nothing permanent he could draw on. No direct lines.
Well, that wasn't quite true, was it? He himself was a link to the dark places. He was a walking, jiggling, thin spot between the normal world and the unseen world. Only his own tight shields and maybe his blubberized body kept him in the normal world.
If he wanted, he could call on the dark energies.
And do bad things.
Like pick up Detective Marco and zoom him through the sky until he burst into flame. Became a flaming comet to fall into the silver waters of Korbahn Bay.
“Now get your fat ass in gear,” Marco said. He pulled back. Stuffed the gun back into his coat.
Calm. He must be calm. And not do bad things. No matter how much his fingers itched to curl into positions of casting. Unlock that dark power.
Become the destroyer.
Again.
Hilario honked his clown nose and did a little two step up to the thorn lined walkway.
“Whatever you say, Detective Marco,” he said, “I am at your command.”
Mmmmmmm, clown
