Dirty Penguin Man

It was a dark and stormy night; mud flowed across the alleyway as blood flows across an open wound.

A man in mud-slung, blood-dyed tuxedo crossed the street with the swagger of the undead, confidently reassured that a passing car could do no worse damage than the first time. He vainly attempted to lite a cigarette as he stepped up onto the curb and stood like a statue on Halloween night in front of the police tape, allowing himself a moment's pause to contemplate why the tape was considered a barrier.

"Minds thin as paper can be stuck by tape," the Man mumbled.

As he made another attempt to lite his cigarette, flicking an ornate black flint lighter with silver trim as a drop of rain landed directly on the wick dampening out the flame. He looked at the lighter, read the silver engraving to himself, "No Luck," and grumbled a sarcastic laugh.

After placing the lighter back in the right front pocket of his tuxedo jacket, he flicked the cigarette down the storm drain and reached out for the police tape until he saw a familiar face.

"Geez, man, the rats in this city don't have enough issues; we are trying to add lung cancer to the list?" an officer in a suit called out.

Detective Jane Hooper was a fine officer but held a decidedly poor name for on in his position. The Man held a commonly drawn conclusion that the name is better than Sue, but it made him just as tough. Detective Hooper was not a small man by any means. At six feet four inches tall and all his 245 pounds, Jane had many friends and few enemies willing to admit it. He had been in several altercations with criminals but only had to use his gun for one of them. People would never mistake him for a genuinely rowdy type, being all suit and tie, but Jane never had a problem handling the streets.

"Rats are a cancer of their own; what difference does it make, Janet?" the Man unleashed an eerily elongated smirk full of teeth and shadows.

Jane laughed, "Fuck you, and stop smiling its creepy."

The Man shook his head but kept a closed smile.

"Hurry up, man; this case is your alley."

"My alley? I'm dead, not homeless, you prick."

Jane let out another laugh and shook his head as he turned, walking toward the alley.

The Man ducked under the tape and followed, taking note of all the cameras flashing and beat cops trying their best to control the scene and protected from those with minds of finer stuff than paper.

As he turned the corner, the Man, with few surprises left, let out a whistle. There was blood everywhere, from the tar-covered ground to the second-floor fire escape. Strung up in the middle of the alley was a mutilated corpse of a, who knows what.

Another Detective noticed the Man, "Oh great, this guy, hey, why don't you ever change out of that dirty tuxedo?"

The Man knew who it was without taking his eyes off the scene, Jimmy "Fat Man" Hankle.

Fat Man allowed himself a solo laugh, "You look like a penguin that shit on himself!"

Another Fat Man Snort.

The Man unveiled another toothy smirk as he slowly looked down.

"Yeah, that's me, the Dirty Penguin, man."

Dirty turned to the Man to face him fully but noticed everything had gone quiet, and a shadow seemed to be cast over everyone. Fat Man's snort had been frozen in place. A light seemed to come from the direction of the body, and below it now stood a figure, a woman of tall and slender confidence with a flowing of fire-red hair seeming to dance like real flames. The woman was looking up at the victim.

"Ahh Lucy, your home!' Dirty exclaimed sarcastically.

The woman turned her head to look over her left shoulder, her eyes fading from pure black to a more human forest green.

"Dirty, I have been waiting for you. It has been so long".

"So long since what, since you were denied my soul and decided to make me look like this out of spite permanently?"

Lucy's smile faded, and, in a blink, she was a breath away from Dirty's ear, her eyes black as darkness itself.

"Denied is not a carful word James, I am denied nothing; a respite before eternal torment is nothing to take for granted, but that is all it is, I assure you, friend, a brief stop," Lucy whispered.

The words reached him, but his ability for comprehension was delayed as his mind tried to register the unfathomable capabilities of his conversational dance mate.

Dirty, reflectively swallowed, before allowing the action to distract him, he took a moment to wonder why he swallowed or breathed at all. There was no physical or survival need for it. Swallowing and breathing were just remanent actions of being alive.

Lucy's hand on his cheek brought Dirty back to the situation.

Dirty looked into her eyes, "Could be worse, I suppose," he said before gesturing to what was left of the strung-up victim, "could have made me limp around looking like that poor fella."

Lucy hesitated for a human moment to realize Dirty was one of the few beings in existence that would speak while looking into her eyes.

Then she smiled, "Yes, now about that…my pet has seen better days, to say the least".

Confusion set upon Dirty, "Pardon me, but your pet?"

TBC