November 5, 1947.

“Man, that’s a lot of blood…”, said the man looking at the red liquid oozing from his chest. Under his arm, helping him walking was another man. Shorter in built, but muscular.

“You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’m bleeding on you. Sorry.”

The shorter man made nothing of it as he ducked into a damp and dark alley. Good thing it was late into the night, not many prying eyes around he thought.

“Almost there”, grunted the shorter man, obviously exhausted from all the hauling around. Then he eased his partner on an empty crate. Rats scrurried away, running into a hole in the building wall. He looked around, trying to get his barings. Tonight’s job had been a complete botch. The robbery had all been planned out perfectly, everything had been thought through. But never had it occured to either of them there would be an out-of-town cop shopping for an engagement ring. Never. That was most defnitely not part of the plan. And since when do they carry their piece around like that?

Glass breaking and crates flying into splinters brought him back to reality. The ground had apparently suddenly come up to meet his bloody partner’s face. Quickly, he help him sitting.

“I don’t feel so good”

“Hold on”, he tried to sound convincing, “It’s all gonna be alright. I hear this guy performs miracles.”

“If we find… Him…”

The voice was getting weaker and his breath was slowing down.

Panic was suddenly starting to take over him. He had the right alley, that much he was sure of. Many times had he heard stories of that doctor that helped people on the street, people in need. And in need he was. At least his buddy was.

In all the stories he had heard, there was the mention of a sign. A sign you couldn’t miss. Tried as he might, he couldn’t see anything that looked anything remotely like a sign anywhere in that filthy alley.

“Wuzzat?” mumbled the bleeding man, pointing at the far end of the alley.

How could he have missed that ? The was a glowing red cross on the left wall. It wasn’t big or anything, barely half a foot across, but it was plainly visible. Picking up his partener’s arm, he helped him up and started walking towards the glowing red cross. The walk was slow and painful, and seeing from the trail of blood left behind them, his partner’s conditions was far from improving.

A door opened right under the cross. Standing in the shadow of the doorway was man signaling them to get in with his gloved hand. His movements seemed slow but steady, very reassuring for someone about to go under the knife. Once inside everything stopped. The short man lost his composure and let his partner hit the ground without any restraint. What he was seeing was impossible, there could be no plausible explanation whatsoever for it. In front of him, in the doctor scrubs were bones. Only bones, no flesh, just bones. A skeleton so to speak. That’s when it came back to him : “Doctor Bones”. That is what the name on the street was. For what seemed like hours he stared into the black, empty eye-sockets which surprisingly enough seemed to be staring back.

“What can I do for you, my friend ?”

The voice was soothing, clam and slightly high-pitched.

“I suppose your friend needs a little assistance”, continued the faceless dorctor.

Blood was quickly spreading on the tiles, filling the cracks, making them look like small rivers flooding the lands.

Again, he picked up his almost lifeless buddy and laid him down on a steel table the doctor slowly pointed towards.

“Ah”, expressed the doctor as he approached the man lying on the table, “I seem to have found the problem my young man. It seems your friend was shot.”

Still trying to take in that the doctor was only made of bones, the short man did not reply but only strared some more.

“You might want to sit down. This may take a while”

Taking the advice, the man went to a nearby chair.
All this was too much. The botched robbery and now this! It made no sense. How could a skeleton be alive? Was he even alive ? He had to be, right ? Impossible, there had to be a trick. Of course there had been some strange stories recently of a giant blue bear attacking some thugs and stuff like that, but a skeleton ? No way.

“Point thirty eight caliber to the lower chest. Very lucky fellow. Painful but he will survive”

How long had he dozed off ? The short man realized he had been sleeping when he heard the voice and opened his eyes. A talking skeleton digging bullets out of people. It had not been a dream as he had hoped.

“Your friend is heavily medicated for the moment, but should be able to walk by himself in a couple of hours”, said the doctor, “Ah, he is coming around as we speak”, and turning to the man on the table, “And you my friend, are to be taking it easy for the next few days. No catching bullets with any part of your body.”

Had the skeleton just made a joke ? Hard to say, thought the man. Without any lips there was no trace of a smile or a smurk or anything. Deciding that getting out of there was the best possible plan of action, he went to his partner’s side and helped him to his feet. His walk was wobbly, but it would have to do. Getting out was now a priority.

“Uh, how much do we owe you Doc?” asked the shorter man uncomfortably.

“Oh, think nothing of it”, was the unexpected reply, “One day someone in need will ask you, when it happens, feel free to return the favor to that person.”

Agreeing with himself that it was now the best moment to split, the man pulled his partner to the door.

“Say…”

That sounded like suspicion coming from the doctor, and turning around the shorter man saw the skeleton was holding the bloody slug between his thumb and forefinger. He seemed to be examining it intrently with his empty eye-sockets.

“Isn’t thirty eight the caliber generaly used by police officers? Like that out of town officier that was killed about an hour ago ?”

He was on to them ! How was that possible ? He knew, the skeleton knew. There was no choice. The man laid his partner down slowly against a cabinet and took his piece out, pointing it at the doctor.

“Are you going to shoot me ?” asked the skeleton, standing up from his stool, slowly putting the bloody slug into a metal container.

As the clinging sound of the slug hitting the container was heard, a thunderous bang followed. The skeleton grasped at the air in front of him and fell over himself in a heap of broken bones.

“You shot the doc!” mumbled the other man leaning against the cabinet, “Why’d you shoot the doc?”

“He was on to us !”

“How come there’s no blood ? I bled a lot more than that when…”

Not letting him finish his last sentence, he pushed his partner through the door and into the alley. Trying as much as he could to put as much distance as possible between them and that horrible place. It was slow, they had to stop often on account of the pain from the freshly stitched gunshot wound. Painfuly, they made their way to the docks. It took almost two hours to walk there and both men were exhausted. Sitting down on some crates they rested a while before saying anything.

“That doctor… He was a skeleton, wasn’t he ?”

The medication was starting to wear off a little.

“That he was”, answered his shorter partner wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You know, shooting a doctor is not a ver nice thing to do.”

Both men had heard the voice coming behind them. When they turned, the saw him. Arms crossed, wearing a three-piece pinstriped suit and matching hat, the skeleton was looking at them with his empty eyes.

“Impossible”, whisper the short man, his mouth not quite closing anymore as he slowy took out his revolver.

“Are you going to shoot me once again ? With all the good it did last time, I would imagine you would have learned soemthing.”

The taller man tried to run for it, but he was still too weak and fell over himself banging his head on a heavy crate on his way to the ground.

“Oh, I don’t think your partner is getting up again. Convulsions like those are usually serious”

Glancing at his contorted partner lying next to him, the shorter man began to feel the fear filling him. His weapon was powerless against that monstrosity, what could he do ? But he did not have to find out. That last thought had been his actual last thought.

“Who called it in ?” asked the police captain, obviously not a morning person from the look in his eyes the look of his crumpled clothes.

“Anonymous caller”, answered a uniformed officer.

Hell of a way to start a day, thought the captain rubbing his stubbled chin. One dead guy with a gunshot to the stomach that did not kill him. A broken neck did. And that other dead guy. Seemed like he was punched through a crate with incredible force. Weird.

“Captain ! We found something!”

“What?”

The uniformed officer handed him a little object. Holding it in his palm and looking at it from all angles he concuded :”It’s a tiny bone”

“Not a real one according to the coroner”, answered the officer, “it’s a toy, And it was found lying on the forehead of the man inside the crate.”

Taking a second look a the bone, the captain noticed something engraved on it : doctor.

Letting a slow sigh out, he put it in his shirt pocket and let out : “Hell of a way to start the day.”