Holy Water cannot be found here [Jones]

[Deleted]

Tiffany sat in the seedy bar, his suit old and dusty, one of the few things he managed to find in the thrift store. He currently was staying in the poor quality motel three blocks away. He could feel the very walls infested with the scent of demons and evil, the movement it made as it crawled through the flooring, and the sounds of infidelity and conspiracy happening in the rooms near him. He could rarely even close his eyes feeling dirty just sleeping in the bed, but as he reminded himself, he had a duty. He had been brought back, saved, to finish what needed to be done, and the best way to accomplish such a task was to walk with the evil. Determine what it’s plotting and kill it from the inside.

It was for that very reason he currently sat at this bar drinking water looking very close to a homeless man seeking shelter from the rain outside. He had heard rumors of this being the Red Hoods part of town, a ‘gangster’ in his mind that needed to be brought in. He had started to recognize his patterns, but still had yet to manage to physically locate him, but if he were truly honest with himself, his mind wasn’t fully there.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watching the shadows dance and crawl around the bar ready to attack him or from listening into the slime conversation behind him. How did god expect him to clean up such a terrible mess? In the time he was away, it had only gotten worse. He was working from scratch, but he suspected this was his punishment for giving up, for doubting. He could never doubt god’s plans.

His eyes picked up when someone entered. The man seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place the face. Strangely, unlike the other patrons of the bar, this man appeared to not have the evil shadow lingering on his shoulder or attaching itself to his body. No, this man was clean, but one could never be too certain for why would he be in this part of town in the first place if he were clean?

[Deleted]

What was special about this bar? Nothing, that was why Isaac had chose it. Once every while he’d bunker-up in a random bar in East Gotham, to get his mind off every thing else going on in his life. After the fifth shot glass, it began to work. Seeing all the things he has seen, sometimes the bottle is the only cure or at least the only one he’s willing to try. Upon entering the bar, the door dragged along the wooden floor as it opened, creating a small scratching noise on the floor as wood drifted over wood. His tattered brown shoes carried him past the other tables, with less than modest citizens sitting at them. The joys of being born into wealth, he could get as wasted as he deemed fit with out having to worry about the cost. If only his Father could see him now, he’d give him a swift slap over the head for even visiting a bar such as this. How times change.

Finding his way to the bar, Isaac sat down upon one of the few bar stools, calling for the bartender. “Jack Daniels.” He said as he took out a few dollars from his pocket, handing them to the man behind the bar. For a room so full of people, it was remarkably quiet. No one spoke out loud, only in hushed voices to hide their conversations. Not that Isaac was too concerned; he was off duty after all. He hadn’t had a case in days; his mind was becoming stagnant with out something to keep it active. Everything else was boring, simple, and mediocre; it didn’t provide him with a challenge. After living for so long always expecting that there’s going to be another challenge for him to face, so when there wasn’t, he became easily bored. For the past two days he hadn’t even left his apartment, he was quite happy to sit there and smoke doing odd tasks.

A glass was placed down before him as the bartender poured him a drink. Before he could walk off, Isaac grabbed his wrist and gave him a few more dollars so that he could keep the bottle. The Bartender obliged, placing the bottle down next to him. Running his finger around the rim of the glass, he turned his head to the right of him, looking at the man next to him. He looked like he was in a worse state than even himself. Yet his face was familiar, as if he’d seen it before. He could recognise the face but there was no name to go with it, as if it had been lost amongst the hordes of information in his head. “Michael? No that’s not right, Martin, no. Matthew? Your Matthew Tiffany, I mean Agent Matthew Tiffany of the illustrious Federal Bureau of Investigation!”

Finally he’d remember who he was, he was the honourable Matthew Tiffany, a man he once knew from his old FBI days. They’d worked together on a few cases but he didn’t ever expect to see him again. It must have been ten years since he last worked with him, a few months before he quit the agency to come and work in Gotham. Last he heard of him, he’d been promoted to head up some FBI scheme although Isaac never took any attention of that stuff. Lifting his glass into the air with a smirk on his face, Isaac toasted to Tiffany. “Cheers.” And with that he knocked back the glass, inhaling through his teeth as it warmed his throat. “Strong stuff, real good though. Want a drop?”