Lou meets Donnie

  I duck into an alley behind the hardware store over on Parnell. I take off my overcoat and look at the burns on it. Sonofbitch! I really like this coat. I move my fingers and concentrate on the speaking the right incantation. The burn holes begin to patch themselves. The patched parts look a little too new and it still smells of smoke, but it's the best I can do. I throw my coat back on and pull up the collar, not so much against the cold but because now my gut is on fire with paranoia. I quickly hot foot it to State Street. I can catch a bus to Donnie's there.
  I'm in luck, the bus is pulling up as I get to the stop. I drop two dimes in the box as I get on. The driver looks ancient, as if he came with the bus when it was built. There is only a few people on the bus as I get on. My paranoia kicks into high gear as I scan each one of them. A pair of blue collar guys sit up front with their metal lunch boxes. Are the packing something in those? An old lady sits across from them clutching her purse with bony fingers. Why is she holding that so tight? Midway on the bus a guy in a cheap suit is reading the Sun-Times. He peers over the top of the paper to glance at me. Why is he looking at me? Does he know something? Damn it Lou! Get a grip on yourself! Non of these people know anything. They are just taking the bus to where ever their sad lives take them. I take a seat at the back of the bus. Relief washes over me as the bus pulls away. Donnie should have some answers for me. I still remember when I first met Donnie. I was a 14 year old snot nose punk.
  My mother had just died the year before. My dad told me it was an accident and that she was drunk when she fell down the stairs. He's a fucking liar. I knew what happened. He was a drunk and would routinely beat both my mom and me. Things were worse when he had been drinking. He would get pissed if his meals were cold or late. Or if the house was not cleaned. The abuse stepped up a notch when he found out that I was doing horrible in school. I just couldn't concentrate. I suffered from painful migraines. I just couldn't grasp simple spells. I did horrible on test because of the pain. My mom took me to several doctors and know one had an answer for her. My dad on the other had just thought I was fucked in the head and a good beating would straighten me out. Surprise dad, it didn't work. My mom would try to protect me during his violent rages and she'd take the brunt of his ire. Fuck me I still hate that bastard after all these years.
  I was in school one day and we were practicing the fairie fire spell, when one of my migraines came on and caused me to lose control of the spell. I still don't know what I uttered during the incantation, but the fire engulfed me, causing my brain to overload with pain. I just simply passed out. I woke up in the hospital, all bandaged up with my mom at my side, crying and whispering that I'll be ok, despite how I look now. I asked her what she meant. She replied, "Ah, me stoney broke louie. Yer 'ill be dead on. De doctors said dat yisser buff did not burn, but de magic from de fire 'as burned aff al' yisser 'air. Yer don't 'av any 'air on yisser body. I'll miss dohs bonny boyd locks av yers, but yer are me fella so oi 'ill love yer naw matter waaat. Yisser buff is sensitive roi nigh due ter fire so yer 'ill nade ter kip 'ere for a few days." With that she left and I never saw her again. A nurse came in the next day and told me that my mom had gotten drunk and fallen down the stairs. They said her neck snapped upon impact and death was instant. Yet I knew what happened. My dad happened. He never once came to see me and I ended up walking home a week later from the hospital.
  My dad called me a freak and a loser after that. He blamed me for my mom's death. He said that if I had just been a better student and gotten the fucking spell right I wouldn't have ended up in the hospital. He said my mom came home and got drunk that night and just fell. I always knew he was lying through his fucking teeth. My mom never drank. I couldn't be around him.
  I dropped out of school and started doing odd jobs to make some quick cash. Some of the jobs weren't really legal in a sense. It was during this time that my migraines were getting worse. Sometimes the pain was just unbearable and I'd just curl up in a ball somewhere until the pain lessened. I was about 14 when I met Donnie. He was just a small time fence then, but he changed my world. I used to run errands for the local auto shop on 63rd and Western. Usually I was just getting the guys lunch, but sometimes I was picking up packages that I'd rather not know about. One day I showed up with some Caddie hub caps that I "found". Benny, the owner was there. He was pretty young at the time, maybe 21 or 22. The girls in the neighborhood were always fawning over him. So anyways he gives me $5 apiece for them, but there was this well dressed suit there talking to Benny. All white suit, it looked tailor made. He had slicked back hair that was red as fire. He had a clean shaven face with wire rim glasses. Benny introduced him to me as his friend Donnie. He brought his car in for a tune up. And what a car! It was a cherry red 48' Buick Roadmaster. This car was gorgeous! Bennie looks to Donnie and says, "This is the kid Lou, I was telling you about Donnie. He's a hard worker and never asks questions." He stuck his hand out to shake mine, but before I could raise my hand, one of my migraines kicked in something fierce. Donnie noticed and asked if I was ok. All I could mutter was, "The pain, the voices won't stop!" Next thing I notice was the voices died down to a very low whisper and the pain was going away. I look up and Donnie is smiling at me and asks, "Is that better?" I ask him what he did. Donnie responded, "I put a small magic dampening field. I sensed that we are kindred spirits Lou. I want you to come work for me. I can teach you how to quiet the voices and control the pain in your head." He hands me his card. "Come down to my office tomorrow. I'll show you. Now go home. I can't keep the field up long." With his card in my dirty hand I raced home.
  The next day I showed up at his office. It was a store front over on 35th and Ashland. As soon as I walked through the door, a migraine hit me like a brick wall, it was the worst one I have ever had. I fell to my knees hold my head. Donnie rushed over and put this garish pendant that was on a leather string around my neck. The pain almost immediately stopped. "That is an old charm that helped me as kid, Lou. It dampens magic all around you for about a one foot radius, but unfortunately it also prevents you from preforming magic." I thanked him. I had so many questions. He looked at me and said, "Now Lou, you will wear that until I can teach to control things. Then after that, you shouldn't need it. Now come with me." I looked around and his shop just filled with all kinds of really weird odds and ends. I've never even seen shit crazy like what was here. Stuffed animals, cases of some of the ugliest jewelry I've ever seen. And books, shit, there were books stacked every where. Donnie took me to his back office. Which was just a rolldesk with two chairs inside a room the size of a closet. I sat down in one of the chairs. He took the other. The he explained it all to me. "Lou, when I met you yesterday and you mumbled about the pain and the voices, I realized what was wrong. I suffered from something similar as a a child. Although I sense that it was not as bad as it is for you. You see Lou, you are what they call a receptor." Confused, I asked him, "A what?" He chuckled. "A receptor Lou. You see, everyone that can use magic, can sense it to some degree. This can be a little tickle at the back of their brain. Or a maybe, just a sense of something is there. With training some people can pinpoint the magic and identify it, but this takes years of training. You on the other hand can sense it more than other people. You see Lou, all magic is cast with gestures and incantations. So what is happening for you is that not only can you sense all the magic around you but you are hearing the phantoms of the incantations that cast the spell. I too am a receptor, but I can only sense enchantments.  You seem to sense all magic around you. I can teach you how to filter out these phantom incantations and to ease the pain it causes. Before we start let's get some breakfast. Are you hungry?" The deep growl from stomach gave him his answer. He gives a low chuckle. "I take that as a yes. I know this great place called Dugle's Pub. The food is greasy, but it's the best grease you'll get in Chicago."
  With Donnie's help, I was able to learn how to drown out the voices, that's what I called them. I learned to identify spells cast just by the phantom incantations. Yet I was never able to learn to use magic like Donnie. Every time I tried to cast anything but the simplest spells, I couldn't keep up my concentration to drown out the magic around me. He always told me it would come to me in time. It never did. Donnie also taught me all about being a magic fence and how to pickpocket along with a score of other things that a simple thief should know. Donnie was more of a father to me than my own was. He has disagreed with my career choice, I should have gone into the fencing business like him, but have that damn conscience. So I became a Finder. I find people or things that are missing.
  The bus driver's voice snaps me back to reality. "Jackson is next!" I ring the bell to get off. The bus pulls up to my stop and get off the bus. Donnie's office is a half block down on Jackson. I light up a smoke as I walk. What the fuck is going on with Jimi? Who is the Philospher? Who were the goons shooting at me? Too many unanswered questions. If anyone knows anything, Donnie would. Or at least I hope so. I get to his office, so drop my smoke and snub it out with my toe. Donnie hates smoking. The curtains are drawn on the windows. Which means the office is closed. Donnie has really moved up in the world. He no longer fences two bit magic items. Now he deals with antiquities. Not all of them are legal. Which has made Donnie a pretty wealthy man. But if I need info, I go to Donnie, even if he's not really a "hands on" guy any more, he still hears things. I use my key to open the door and hear the little bell above the door go "dingle". Then everything goes black.

Lou goes for a walk

"Fuck me it's cold!" I pull my overcoat a little tighter to cut the wind out. Cold air stings my scalp. I should really start to wear hats, but I never liked them to begin with. When you have no body hair, a hat just makes you look like an idiot. Why don't I have any hair, you ask? Let's just say that contrary to popular belief, fairie fire does burn and what ever it does burn does not grow back.
 I stop at Doug's paper stand to grab a pack of smokes and the Trib. I drop a buck on his counter and stop as I see the paper's headline. "Prominent Trader leaps to death from Chicago Temple" Looks like some poor sap lost his savings in market and took the easy way out. Wait a minute. The photo of the scene on the front page. It shows the police and a gaggle of people trying to get a peek at the body. I cast a minor magnification spell to zoom in on the onlookers. Damn it I knew it. Sonofabitch! That's Jimi in the crowd. Now what the fuck is he doing there. I let go of my spell and scan the artical.
  It says that the lucrative stocks trader by the name of Les Clayburn, entered the Chicago Temple Building at 77 W. Washington at 4:00 pm yesterday and produced a revolver. He then shot two priest and climbed to the top of the temple, from which he screamed "The Philosopher!" before leaping to his death. What the fuck? Some guy who has the world by his finger tips just ups and  kills two people and then commits suicide. And Jimi just happens to be there? I don't believe in coincidences, those are for people who are too stupid to see whats really happening. This shit just got real interesting. Now I have to see Donnie. I fold the paper under my arm and step to the curb to try and hail a cab.
  As I look down Halsted to see if a cab is coming, I spy this beautiful Pontiac, slowly coming towards ma. It's one of those dark blue models, you know the blue that looks almost black. Something is off. It's too clean looking. Shit! They have a protection spell on the car! Just as it begins to get closer, I see the tinted passenger side window roll down. A shotgun barrel emerges. Why does this fucking shit always happens to me? I instinctively dive behind the park car next to me as the first blast shreds through my flapping overcoat. I lay flat to the snow covered ground as whoever the fuck this is unloads hellfire rounds into the car. The smell of melted steel and burning leather fill my nose. It's over in a matter of seconds. I lay there listening to my own heart beat against my eardrums. I slowly get up and pat out the smoldering embers on my overcoat. Fuck me, I really liked this coat. It looks like most of the shots hit the car. Then I hear a scream behind me and sobbing. I turn around. Fuck me. Some broad caught one in the chest. She's lying there with a fist size hole in her chest, blood everywhere. Some kid is crying over her, telling her to wake up.
 Well I'm not sticking around to answer any questions from the cops. Besides I'm not really their favorite person and I'm sure they would try to pin it on me. I start jogging down the street until I turn the corner at 35th. I start walking towards the lake. Donnie better have something for me. If I'm going to get shot at, then I'd like to know who's doing the shooting. Also what did Jimi get himself into and what does he have to do with this Clayburn character. Too may questions and not enough answers. This is the kind of shit that pisses me off and usually ends with me in even deeper shit.

Lou and the homunculus

 It was then I noticed why it had gotten so quiet. Everyone but the homunculus and myself were frozen. A time freeze spell. But homunculus can't cast spells. Then I noticed the ring on here right hand was glowing. Whoever sent her knows some powerful magic. Not just anyone can make a homunculus let alone a ring with a spell in it. I'll play along, for now. Let's see were this takes me. Yet the pit in my stomach says to run. Run away now.
"I'm Lou Finnigan. What do you want?" As she speaks, I know it's just a prerecorded message that was cast when the homunculus was created, but I let her continue anyway. She spoke is such a soft sultry voice.
 "Mr. Finnigan, My name is Diane Louver. My brother has gone missing. He left several days ago to run some errands and he never came back." She paused as if to sigh,but no air left her lips. "He was suppose to meet me at The Berlin Cafe for lunch two days ago, but never showed up. All I know is that his last stop was at the Jilted Bird Emporium, but after that it's like he vanished." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a picture and hands it to me. "Mr. Finnigan, this is my brother. Please, will you help me find him?"
  I take a look at the guy in photo and I instantly recognize him. I mask my surprise the best I can, because who ever made her can see me through her eyes. The man in the photo is Jimi Quikfingers. A small time thief and fence. He deals mostly in small time occult items. The Jilted Bird would have been out of his league.  If he was at the Jilted Bird then he had to be fencing something big. The pit in my stomach is getting bigger. I lay the picture down on the bar and grab a cigarette and light up. I offer her one, "Smoke?" She just stares at me blankly. Figures. I hate dealing with these things. I look her in the eyes and ask, "What makes you think I can find him?" Again that same blank stare. Damn that is creepy as fuck, now how many of these things you deal with. She reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope and slides across the bar to me. "Mr. Finnigan, you have a reputation as one of the best finders in the city. This is a down payment for your services. I trust you will be able to find my brother." With that she got up and then handed me a card. "Call me when you find my brother and you will receive the rest of your payment." She glided across the pub and out the door. As soon as she left, everyone became animated again.
  Lonnie turned away from the poor sap she was talking to. She looked at me with concern and said "Are you ok, Lou?" I slid the picture and envelope into my jacket pocket. "I'm fine, Lonnie. I just remembered something. I gotta go." I dropped three bucks on the bar for my breakfast and left.
  Outside I lit up another smoke. So many questions. Who the hell sent the homunculus? What did Jimi get himself into? Why come to me with this? I hate not know the fucking answers to shit. Well, I wont find out just standing here talking to myself like a schmuck. Time to go see Donnie Pembroker. Nothing goes on in this city without Donnie knowing about it. Just as I start walking, it starts snowing. Fuck me. Just my luck. Let's hope I can grab a cab.

Breakfast with Lou

  My day started like any other day, at Dugle's Pub. I woke up around noon, stopped and got a pack of smokes from Jimmy at the news stand on my way to the pub. I could smell the smoke of cigarettes and the scent of cheap bear, even before I opened the beat up old to this dive. As I walked in, I saw the usual dead souls were there. Off in the back booth was Mickey Black Eyes sipping his sour mash. Mickey got that name from losing his sight during a particular difficult spell. He won't say how or which spell, but now he's a soothsayer, so he says. Actually Mickey is only batting .500 when it comes to predictions. Which is no better than your average asshole of the streets. Yet he'll pull his piece and shoot you between the eyes before you even got within 10 paces of him. Go figure.
  Then there was Gobber Twins at bar arguing over can eat more pickled eggs. Both of them are built like brick shithouses, and with IQs to match. They're likable guys, I've used them on occasion for jobs. Carl was behind the bar at the griddle slinging what he calls food, to anyone with an iron stomach. His belly stretching his apron to it's limits, the grease and sweat was glistening off his bald head. Then there was Lonnie, the bartender/waitress behind the bar. She's been here so long, I think she came with the pub. Years of hard drinking and smoking have made her look like 20 miles of bad road.  She was yammering away at some poor schmuck who looked like he was just trying to drown himself in his drink. I swear one day her deadman ash was going to drop into her coffee.
  My shoes made a soft suction sound as I walked across the floor. I swear it has never been mopped. The once white walls have turned a shade of ochre from years of smoking. I sat down on my usual stool, with it's faded and worn leather seat. The bar was at one time a beautiful oak with brass trim. Now it has lost it's luster and the trim is so varnished, you can't even tell it was brass. It was a dive through and through. In other words, my kind of place.
  "The usual Lonnie." She never stops talking to that drunken sap as she puts the beer before, spilling quite a bit. What a waste of good beer. Actually it's not good beer. It's shit beer. The crap taste like turpentine. Who cares? When you live on the kind of pay that I do, any beer is good beer. As I'm sipping the near flat beer, Lonnie sets a greasy plate in front of me. Two poached eggs, two pieces of fatty bacon and a slice of stale toast. Absent mindedly I waggle my fingers and float the salt over. "What the fuck Lou! There's no magic here!" Lonnie yelled at me. 'Sorry." was all I could muster between bite fulls of my grub.
  After breakfast, I had an open schedule so I just sat there nursing my second beer, and killing my lungs with nicotine. I was trying to figure out when exactly my life became a shithole when I heard the door open. I didn't even turn around because I could give two fucks who it was at that moment. I was too preoccupied with my own self loathing. Then as the door was closing, the pub got quiet. No voices, talking about stupid shit, no sound of liqueur being guzzled. Just the snaps and pops of grease on the griddle and the rattling of the fan over head.
  I felt a presence sidle up on the stool next to me. I never took my eyes of my beer. As soft wispy voice spoke. "Are you Mr. Finnigan? A Mr. Lou Finnigan?" I took a gulp of the turpentine and replied, "Depends." The voice next to me asked, "Depends on what?" I hate twenty questions, "Depends on if you're buying beer." I said. And with that I downed my pint and turn to see who's voice it was. She was gorgeous. Gold spun hair done up in a bun, A blue dress that must have been painted on her hourglass figure. Oh those tits! They were huge. I thought they were going to spill out from where her dress was cut so low. She was not from around here. Her skin was bronzed and with full lips done with a deep black lipstick. Yet what got to me was the dead look in here eyes. They were a deep mocha brown, yet had no life behind them. I knew right away from those eyes what she was. A homunculus. But who's homunculus?

Getting to know Lou

 Life can be funny sometimes. Yet at the same time it can be a cruel bitch. As a kid, I'd never picture myself living the life I do. When I was just a snot nose punk, if someone said, "Lou, someday the fate of every human soul will rest on shoulders." I'd call 'em a dipshit and go back to ripping off cars. Jeez, was that stupid as a kid? Yes I was, and I guess I still am, otherwise I wouldn't be in the predicament, I am in now. What predicament is that you ask? The one where I'm strapped to a gurney, with an interdimensional portal opening above me. Whatever is leaking through this portal will definitely not be good for my health. Then again what has been good for me? Not the boozing, smoking two packs a day or any number of things that make up my shitty life. Maybe it's better this way. My soul is devoured, I'll be able to forget this craptastic thing I call my life. The world would be better off without me.
  Now this is where life is funny. All of a sudden, all I can hear is my prick of a dad yelling at me in my skull. "Louie, yer feckin asshole! Waaat de feck ye doin'?! didn't yer learn anythin' dat oi 'ad taught yer? Once again, you've rolled over ter show yisser belly. Yer feckin pussy! You've alwus been a disappointment, ter me an' ter yisser ma. Bejasus kip 'er soul. Nigh chucker somethin', yer dumb kont, or ye jist gonna lay dare an' take it in de arse?" Fuck me! It seems death won't even let me escape his abuse. Yet he is right. I'm too fucking stubborn to die like this. Hell, I'm just too damn stubborn to die period.
  Now how the hell am I going to get out of this. Think Lou! You can fucking do this! The handcuffs keeping me shackled to the gurney seem to be police issued. Finally something going my way. They took all my picks, but I have a trick or two up my sleeve. I contort my fingers into the proper movements as I mumble the opening incantation. "Clink." One down, three more to go. That portal is getting bigger, tendrils of darkness are seeping through. Come on Lou work faster! When the last handcuff falls open, I jump off the gurney. Now to close this damn thing and get the fuck out of here. I can hear the spell being woven to open the portal, but where is the summoner? It's just too damn dark in here. There in the corner. I can see candle light. I start walking towards it and then something grabs my ankle and starts pulling me away.
  It's something coming from the portal, dragging me to it. Then I see who is reciting the spell in the candle light. It's a tape player. It's just a recording of the spell. Well if this isn't just fucking great. Whatever has a hold of me is too strong, I can't pull away, and I can't reach the recorder. Fuck this! I quickly pull off one of my shoes. You only have one chance Lou. Make it count. I launch my shoe at the recorder like a football. I missed it! I fucking missed it! I hit one of the folding legs of the card table it is on. Great. Now I'm screwed. Just as I'm about to resign myself to being interdimensional chow, I hear a creak. I look up and see the leg I hit, buckles and folds under. The recorder slides off the table and hits the floor. The chanting stops. The portal begins to close. I'm still being dragged to the closing portal. Fuck me! I just can't win. I roll myself under the gurney as I'm being dragged. I grab hold of two legs and brace my feet against the other two. Myself and the gurney are lifted to the portal. Just as I thought the portal has closed enough that the gurney is too big to fit through. Then in a blink, I land on my back and get the wind knocked out of me.
  I stand up slowly as now I have a fucking huge headache from hitting the concrete floor. I need a goddamn drink, but first I need my shoe back. I like these shoes. I'm going to go have a 'little" talk with the person who tried to kill me. That kind of shit tends to put me in a bad mood. This kind of shit wouldn't happen if I would just stop sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. I often ask myself why the fuck do I keep getting into these situations. I never seem to like the answer. Because I have a conscience. Having one of those can get schmucks like me killed. Let me tell you how I got here because of my goddamn conscience. First let me find door out of here and get that drink.