When people have everything and more, it's hard to adapt when they lose all they ever knew.
Just like Casper Riggins did.
Hardly remembering anything about that night, he stumbles through the streets of New York like the lost boy he is. Oblivious...
"Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well." - Robert Louis Stevenson
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CHAPTER THREE - In The Hands Of Crows
When Johnathan Clarke was young, he always wanted to be a detective. All through his teenage years he was that weird kid who quoted Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple nonstop.
His dreams were as big as his heart back then. He worked hard, but all he ever got, was the ordinary trooper rank.
The moment he noticed the young lad hurrying down the street, he frowned. His gut was telling him there was something off about that lad. His suspicioun was confirmed when a young woman with pink hair came out of the building as well, her eyes immediately finding Johnathan Clarke's.
"Sir, sir! This boy is a criminal, I recognized his face!"
In that moment he realised that if he catches this boy, dead or alive, he would finally achieve the dreams that have so long waited for him. He didn't doubt once about the woman's words as he shot after the young man.
He could almost taste the praise and glory, there was no way he was going to let the boy go. Even the rain didn't stop him, if anything, it gave him burst of speed to catch up to the criminal.
Until the moment he realised he had cornered him. He couldn't see properly through the rain and darkness, but he knew he had gotten him, the criminal. He felt like a lion, lion who's about to bounce on its prey and he couldn't wait for the prize.
“Easy, boy. Calm the dog down. You have nowhere to go.”
He closed in on him, Clarke's eyes flashing between the target and his growling dog. If the dog didn't stand down, he'd be forced to eliminate the threat. “Stay away, or I'll let him loose!” Casper threatened, grasping the dogs collar in between his trembling fingers. He could feel the animal shiver as adrenaline pumped through his veins.
They were both so in animalistic game of cat and mouse, that they failed to notice group of four emerging from the shadows. Each of them had a hidden tattoo of a crow inked on their hardened skin.
“Hey, troopsie, do I have to remind you again that this here is not your territory to jump around on. You're crossing the line Sherlock.” cold and raspy voice said. Caspers startled eyes landed on a man who resembled a bull, his shoulder were wide and his dark dangerous eyes were hard. The smirk he wore was like the one of a snakes, it could only be taken in two way. You either run or stay and get bitten. The scar that ran down the right side of his cheek down to his chin was glowing in the darkness.
Casper was frozen, like deer in headlights. Not quite sure which way danger really was, his green eyes tarted from one person to another.
Clarke was furious, of course it was the local gang showing up. The Crows had been on his radar for years, yet they were indeed out of his patrol territory. And so was the boy, the murderer. “Stay out of it.” he said lowly, eyeing the four men but trying to still keep an eye on his target and the dog.
