Alright, I got the block, y'know? So while I figure out what to do with Fortune Killer, I'm doing this to keep meself sane. It's based on Issue 62 of Hellblazer. I takes place after the Fortune Killer and the Trench Coat Brigade, all you need to nkow is that Angela cracked the case wide open. As you would expect.
It's been a while since I last got myself in the dark and nasty. Sure, I still do the usual Exorcisms, but it's been a while since I tempted my luck. The whole thing with the fallen Angels and those three bastards who dragged me on a quest to save the world was five months ago. I've since taken some time to recuperate, and needless to say, I'm bored shitless...
It's another sunny afternoon in Los Angeles; John Constantine is walking home after lunch in a fine Italian restaurant whose owner wanted to thank him for helping him with talking his son out of doing dark magic. He walked up the stairs to his apartment, picked up his mail and hit the button on his answering machine.
The envelopes don't say anything special, electric bill, phone bill, a letter from his landlord telling him to pay the rent or he'll be evicted... etc.
"You have two news messages." came a voice out of the machine; Constantine listened as he looked for cigarettes and some snacks.
The beep sounded,
"John, its Cheryl. Your sister whom you never call. Heh heh he. Anyway, I just called to say that Gina and I wish you a happy birthday. Why don't you call me back sometime, or come by and visit."
Constantine didn't pay much attention at first, but what she said soon registered. Looking at the calendar on the wall he saw the date. March 1st.
"I'll be a son of a bitch." said John as he remembered what his revoked driving license used to say; 'Date of Birth: March 1st, 1966'
Shit! Is my life so messed up that I can't remember my birthday?
He gets on the phone on called his sister, and after a hearty yet brief conversation, he talked to his niece some as well. He hung up the phone and then called a local number.
"'Ello?" said a cockney accented voice through the speaker.
"Frank, its Constantine"
"Well, Well. Nice to Hear from you. What's he score, John?"
"Well, uh... It's my birthday"
"No shit! How old are you?"
John hesitated for a moment, not wanting to say it.
"Friggin' Hell! You're getting old, John. You'll soon be hunting demons with a walker."
"Funny, or not. Look, I have no plans and I thought we'd go get some beers later on, paint the town red."
"OOOOO! Sorry, John. I'm on from twenty minutes from now till early morning tomorrow."
"Aw, Come on. Frank, how often do I turn forty?"
"With you, John, you never know. I'm sorry, but what can I do. Ring me up tomorrow anyway. Bye"
Frank hung up, John put the speaker down.
Who can I call? Everybody either wants to spend time with family or I owe money. Midnite is not talking to me. Screw it. Since when did I enjoy crossing over into another decade of my life? When I turned ten I was haunted by demons, when I was twenty I was in a Mexican jail and ten years ago I was being stalked by Satanist Cannibals.
Constantine got out of his apartment and walked for hours, he watched a movie with uninterested eyes and by the tie it was over the clock hit 8 p.m.
Forty Years... And here I am, no friends, no love in my life. The friends either die or leave to keep their skin still on, they all want to keep their distance, none wants to end up like Beeman, Hennessey, Chas or Nigel and mnay others. The love is in rare supply as well, who was my last girl that lasted longer than sex? Angela. Christ! I haven't though of her in some time, last I heard she cracked a serial killer case wide open.
Constantine walked into a 24/7 and picked up his order, two bottles of Guinness and twenty packs of Silk Cut cigarettes.
"Not your usual." said the cashier, a young Hispanic girl.
"No it's not."
"You should have seen this weird bunch that came before you, there was six of 'em. A weird bunch, there was this priest and this loud Irish guy. They bought case of Jack Daniels and some other weird shit."
"Glad someone is having a goodtime." said John as he left carrying the paper bag with his stuff.
How can I be forty, for Crying out loud?
Constantine started walking home after lighting a cigarette.
My life's nothing to celebrate. No company, bad afterlife, crappy life altogether.
He walked up the stairs to his apartment; he laid his bag on a table and leaned against a wall without opening the lights.
Constantia looked at the window where Chas sat; he could see his wings clearly.
Chas tossed him a bottle; which he caught. It was a bottle of Jack Daniels.
The light were suddenly turned on, and five people appeared and shouted,
They were the oddest bunch that could come; there is Jason Bauer, the Irish Demon. And Reverend Rick Nielsen from that church uptown. Niles Parker. Gene DeMill. And finally, there was Angela, smiling at him.
"W..What's the Idea?"
"It's yer birthday party, you dumb fucker!" shouted Jason in his thick Irish brogue.
Chas smiled, "You have plenty of friends, John. You just have to know where to look for them. I did."
"Come on, John." said Angela, "You have reputation to live up to."
Who knows? This evening might shape up after all.