“I kill ye!” - was the response as the massive bulk flew towards me, aiming to cut me into ribbons.

“Heard that already.” - grumbled I, calculating the rapidly shrinking distance.

I brought up my hand, aiming to intercept his slash, but then the clawed ape-man showed the difference between him and the unintelligent opponents I had had before.

Instead of trying to simply cut my arm, he stretched out his claws and hooked them around my wrist, using his whole mass to press it down. He might have aimed to break or cut off my hand, but while it was impossible for him, he still succeeded in getting me off balance. To fix my stance, I was forced to step forward and almost collided face-first with the dirty brick wall.

I managed to brace myself using my left hand, but the awkward situation awakened other emotions I had not felt for quite a long time - shame and anger.

Suppressing the feeling of disgust, I twisted my palm to grab the claws that were still hooked around my right wrist. I used the fraction of a second when the bloke was still a little unsteady after his landing and strongly pulled him sideways.

With a sweeping motion, he was dragged off his feet and I smashed him straight into the wall. That got him distracted well enough and as he attempted to use his free hand to claw at me, I caught his wrist with my free hand, brought both of his hands together in front and with a wide motion twisted his arms outwards.

I was not sure about his body structure, but apparently some limb and joint locks worked on him well enough as he was unable to break free. He tried to swipe at me with his hooklike legs, but I simply pulled him downwards by bringing his hands down.

That motion connected my forehead against the tip of his chin with a crisp whack. According to my memory it should have been enough to knock any person unconscious, but he was still thrashing around, trying to fight. So I simply pulled him down again, earning another solid punch.

At least I had tough extra-dense bones and no brain to shake or cause a concussion to, so nothing stopped me from repeating the next five or six quick, sharp and strong hits to his jaw.

Only then I heard weak “S-stop, s-s-stop!”

---

I halted to see that the bloke had regained the white colour of his scleras. Almost invisible on his pitch-black skin, a thin trickle of black blood came from the corner of his mouth.

“Now we are talking, eh?” - I asked, still not letting him go.

He nodded readily, slowly opening his claws that were around my right wrist before: “Yeah, alls safa, manz on top now…” - I interrupted him with a shake which made him wince: “No slang, I am sure you can speak normal language.”

He was quiet for a moment, apparently arranging his thoughts: “Okay, yeah, I can do that... er, sir?”

“So, what are you?” - I asked, hoping that nobody will mistake anything from our almost-hugging position.

“They called me Ebo, then, Bob… sir.” - the self-proclaimed Bob admitted. That was not what I had asked though: “Not who, what. If you are human, then I am a tangerine.”

“Sir Burton said I am asanbosam, sir.” - Bob corrected himself.

That was not something I had ever heard about: “Bosonasam? What are you mumbling? Making fun of me?!”, I was rapidly getting annoyed.

“A-san-bo-sam, sir… I swear, he told me that is what I am called, sir!” - apparently, my apparent annoyance got Bob scared.

“Alright, I will check what the hell asanbosam is later. You said, Sir Burton? Who is that?” - Bob from London gang ghetto did not look like anybody who could have come into contact with British aristocracy.

Bob explained: “Emm, Sir Richard Burton. Richard Francis Burton, he was called. We met in Ashanti and he helped me to get to Britain. I heard, he was very famous writer and traveller.”

“Not sure there are any great explorers remaining nowadays… but, wait,” - I stopped mid-sentence as a thought struck me: “When was that?”

Bob was silent a few seconds before telling slowly: “Eighteen sixty-two, I believe. We were cursed by the same witch.” - he cringed as he remembered something unpleasant before adding: “Took us two weeks to off her.”

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Now was my turn to be silent. 1862, Sir Richard Francis Burton.  Now I remembered - back when I was getting my degree, we had a history course about Africa. And there he was mentioned: a famous English polymath, who allegedly spoke around thirty languages and infiltrated Mecca in disguise where Europeans at the time were forbidden on pain of death. If that was true, then Bob was amazingly fit and energetic for an over 150-years old fossil.

I felt that I had to reevaluate my attitude and manage everything carefully now. Who knows what could a 150 years old “asanbosam” gang boss have up his sleeves.

I looked at Bob, maintaining silence until he began squirming nervously and slowly asked while keeping face expression neutral: “So, I believe your gang got some reserves. I need a clean flat, no people on the floor above or below me. Clean laptop, pay-as-you-go phone top up cards of untraceable origin and clothes. You do that, and soon I walk away, leaving you and your gang. Deal or no deal?”

Even before I managed to finish, Bob was already nodding: “Yes, deal, yes, sir.”

“Good. Oh, and make sure I hear no gang slang, around me.” - I let go of Bob the Asanbosam’s hands. “Oh, and arrange me some clothes. Proper ones. Shirt, pants, jacket, stuff.”

---

I was picking up my rolled-up spirdhide cloak when weak shimmering light on my cuff drew my attention and I saw that my wrist was actually lightly cut. Apparently, asanbosam’s claws were not simple, managing to cut through my skin and draw a few drops of blood.

The wound had already healed, but some blood was still smeared over my hand and Bob’s claws. I was still not sure about the effects of the energy that came from my blood, so I had to take care of that. It could well work like radiation for all I knew.

Because all the blood was nearby, I tried an idea I had come up with while thinking about electronics in the park last night. I concentrated on my energy I felt in the remaining blood and attempted to overload it by adding more. That worked, as the smears quickly lost their colour and turned into ash. At least now I had a way to remove my spilled blood, which could have otherwise become hazardous to me and others as well.

I shook the ashes off my sleeve and turned towards Bob who was whispering commands to one of the few remaining relatively unharmed thugs. He clearly did his best to follow my order to keep gang slang away from me, so I did not bother informing him that I could easily hear them. As far as I could understand, he did not try anything funny, he was just relaying my tasks in an easy to understand fashion. Good for him.

Then he picked up the thug whose body was riddled with bullets and turned towards me: “Sir, we need to go from below, is it okay?”

“Below?”

Bob elaborated: “We use communication tunnels and such. Easier to evade po-po, I mean police, sorry, sir. Especially it is useful for people like us.”  Us, yes… even some over century old African hook-clawed berserk apeman thought I am closer to him that humans. That thought hurt, actually.

“Show the way.”

“Yes, sir. We will get straight to the house. Just like you want, and very good to come and go without notice.” - it was surprising how an over two meters high huge man that resembled a gorilla still managed to act and look careful and even somewhat nimble.

***

When we got to the house Bob talked about, it turned out to be a respectable side of Peckham. Apparently, I had been lucky enough to actually find the “bad” area straight away when I needed it. And obviously, the gang business was much more than simply mugging people in the alleys.

The underground communications we used to get there, although damp and dark, were actually much cleaner than movies tend to make them be. And although narrow, they were enough for us to walk after hunching down a little.

By the time we arrived to the house, some gang members were already there, carrying stuff in and out. The house was actually a private one and looked quite good with high brick wall surrounding the property and large trees covering it with dense shade.

We quickly went in from the back so that the corpse Bob was carrying around would not draw unwelcome attention. “All good, boss!” echoed from the front as the gangsters finished moving things and left after loading a pile of boxes into a minivan. I suspected that this proper-looking house was one of the warehouses or stashes of the gang. I could faintly feel the remaining scents of acidic chemicals, some metal, oil and sulfur.

Bob assured me that the house is for my undisputed use and moved to the shade of a giant bush which actually covered most of the backyard. Who could have guessed that the reason Bob took the corpse with him was not to get rid of evidence. Instead it was a snack.

I was opening the door with the key I just got when I saw how the Bob’s teeth turned metallic from usual white as he bit the into the neck of the corpse. Then, with big gulping motions of his throat, he began to suck the blood. I noted that fact, suspecting that his diet did not sit well with the gang, so he preferred not to test their loyalty with such scene.

I stopped in the doorway, critically looked up at the cloud-covered but definitely light winter sky and shrugged. Apparently, asanbosams needed blood. But either books and movies were wrong, or they were not vampires. In any case, Bob was not showing any signs of spontaneous combustion or suspicious sparkling.

I briefly wondered about what the gang thought about his physique and habit of appropriating corpses. Well, as long as it did not affect me, I had no spare energy to poke my nose into it.

---

I closed the door and moved into the house while keeping an eye on Bob though my perception. I confirmed the layout of the first floor, which in Britain ought to be “ground floor” and found a fully furnished kitchen, bathroom and living and dining rooms there. There were also two empty rooms which were rather small and had a brand new carpet laid out. The suspicious scents were strongest in these two rooms.

I was going up the stairs when I felt another microbus drawing up to the back door. Bob ordered them to wrap up the corpse and after a short talk they drove away. Finally I was on my own.