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Summary
Crowley believes fondly that it’s always his angel who needs to be pulled out of trouble.
It’s a little less one-sided than that.
By the time you get through the crowd and up to street level, they’re out of sight, but you don’t need to see them; you can hear down the alley, behind the bins: “Freak. I should cut you just for bein’ a freak. Get ‘is pockets, Jacky, that was a fat wad.” Hissing and spitting; this'll go bad quickly, but it’s a split second to take it all in as you come abreast of them: one of the punks twisting an arm up behind his back, the other tipping his head up with a flick-knife under the jaw.
That one goes down first.
Series
- Part 1 of The Shelter Of Your Wings