Black Plates, Exploding Bodies, & Bridge Creepers

Wednesday, 2nd September

08:55

An anonymous phone call to the terrorism division had cleared all of the suspicious vehicles from outside of the old factory before 7am. In less than two hours, just over half of the dozen registered to the building were taking their places at the back of the structure anybody would guess was abandoned. The black Vantage skid up the grit pathway and made a diagonal park at the end loading dock. Unlike usual, two people exited the car rather than just the driver.

“Good morning, Miss Baines,” the driver of the BMW held his free hand up in greeting and advanced to close the gap between them. “You’re here early today.” The man with grey hair contrasting with his tanned skin opened his mouth to continue but halted upon seeing the owner of the antique dealership get out of the passenger side of the vintage classic, a sour scowl replacing his friendly visage.

“Same to you, Doctor Laghari,” the driver dodged the attempt at the touchy greeting she knew was coming.

“I heard the bomb squad was here a couple of hours ago. Did you get the notification?”

“Yeah, I came by to check.”

“That was at five o’clock.”

“I know, I was still awake.”

Laghari glanced to Julian, who had gone ahead and was unlocking the door to his business. “You really shouldn’t come around here alone after dark, Miss Baines.”

“It’s fine; I was up and down all night.”

“I don’t live too far away.” Rooting through his briefcase, the Doctor plucked out a business card and held it out to the woman. “Please call me if you ever need inspecting during the night.”

“Pardon me?”

Realizing the wording, the Middle-Eastern man with a strong accent tripped over his tongue while waving his hands. “I meant the building - so you’re not alone - I would come to help you look around. I would hate to see something bad happen to anyone who works here.”

Plucking the card out of tanned, nimble fingers, a skinny lad in his early twenties cooed from behind the doctor. “I never got your card, Doc. Don’t you care for my innocence or well-being?” Although it was partly for the act, the sing-song coo dancing over those getting ready for their workday left an awkward air.

Alex leaned against the side of her bonnet as she sparked up a smoke in the dawn. Eyes tilting at the refrain of her own grin, she watched the extremely traditional doctor fluster under the playing of the photographer in a deep v-neck and sequin scarf. In no time at all, the man of medicine - or rather, plastic - scurried off up the concrete steps to his business in a huff and unlocked the high-tech reinforced door which was unlike those belonging to Julian or the photographer. As soon as he had gone inside, the photographer, Jimmy Q (as he liked to be called) stood beside the blonde at her car.

“Homophobes these days.” Anyone would think that remark was jumping to conclusions but prior evidence made the pair privy to exactly what Laghari thought of Jimmy and ‘his kind’. Taking a hand-rolled home-grown smoke from behind his ear, the spindly lad in skinny jeans and a denim waistcoat, his swathed sequin scarf blustered around what was no doubt an assault of lovebites, placed his flat ass against the polished black paint job. “I wish they’d just come out and call me a fag instead of running away to stuff their own issues to the back of the closet with their wives’ giant black dildos. He’s fumed murderous intent every time he sees me since I clocked him going into a club on Canal Street last year.”  

Glancing to the man taller than her by a head and neck, Alex took stock of what he was wearing. It wouldn’t have been anything odd in usual circumstance, but he was also still wearing his ‘Saturday’ socks. “Maybe he can smell that you stayed out for half a week.”

Shooting up, Jimmy turned to face the woman he conversed with just about every day he decided to turn up to work. “What gave it away? Do I stink?” He plucked the fabric over his chest and sniffed it harder than he would a free PCP canister. “Am I clearly doing the walk of shame?”

“Boy, I’ve seen you roll in wearing a balloon headband until it deflated like a limp dick. Before today, you’ve worn the same outfit for two-days-straight, you just switched your pants and shirt around and inside-out, calling it art.” Watching the man who acted up to the stereotypical flamboyant art major gag check himself out in the reflection of her window, his twitching almost a dance, Alex grimaced as she picked a feather and silly string out of the back of his matted shoulder-length hair. “Don’t you have any appointments today?”

“I got one girl coming in at ten for a headshot. She’s deluded herself into thinking she’s going to be a model for Givenchy or Dior but even if she miraculously splits in half in the next few hours, she’s still going to have to lose another five stone and take serious stock of her personal hygiene.” He rolled his eyes as he droned on, clearly unhappy with the idea. In the same breath, something sparked in his mind and lit up his eyes. “I have a date tonight though. He’s super cute~ Wanna see a pic?” Jimmy already had the man’s Instagram page up regardless of Alex not breathing even the slightest of interest in the matter. “He’s hot, right?” He shoved the screen up to her neck height.

Even if she wanted to look at whatever fuqboi he had in his DM's, her alcohol meter from the night before was still twinkling half-full. Alex wasn’t interested in his love-life. She wasn’t interested in anyone’s love-life, not even her own when it came to a toss-up of other things she enjoyed. Like seeing how much of each alcohol she could consume until her body told her to fuck itself, or making money regardless of how so, or spending easy days with the two people she considered her-

“What d’ya think?” Jimmy nudged her with his shoulder and Alex had no choice but to look at the prime specimen of human man-meat taking up the screen.

‘Catfish,’ is what Alex thought. The guy - Rootytootylookingforbooty - was pretty much Arnold Swatzneggar’s body in his heyday with a ‘bad-boy’ Insta-Ho’s face photoshopped on. Even colour-correction was lacking.

If this was Julian or Domino in his position, Alex would have kicked over a table, slapped them across the head with the hardest non-lethal thing she could find, and yell in their face at the top of her lungs that they were fucking morons. But it wasn’t; it was a work-neighbour. She hardly knew him in a personal sense. It was none of her business.

“Just make sure he doesn’t take you across the city and then say he lost his wallet like the last two.”

“That was an accident.” The frail brunet let out a soft giggle as he wafted his hand once.

Alex took notice of the lack of eye contact and the enclosed frame from the usually outgoing man once she mentioned the incidents. She wasn’t friends with any of her work-neighbours per se, but she did take notice of him. Out of the four businesses which had consistently occupied the sectioned-building she worked in, Jimmy was the outsider. He was unconventional - the 'doped up hang-on' - and the youngest of the bunch; he was brushed aside by the law firm and plastic surgery which resided there. He could barely keep his staff on a good go'around - all of those taking up assistant, admin or stylist jobs for him in time for the holiday season had bailed within the last two months when unsavoury rumours concerning the area spread to the parents of teens picking up work-experience jobs. The fact he was clearly as camp as Christmas - much to the dismay of those frowning their higher brows - added fuel to the fire which had emblazoned the business passed onto him due to tragedy. He’d had the section of block closest to the perimeter wall a little longer than Julian had the last of the slots - which had been just over three years. The initial property belonged to Jimmy’s older brother, Jackie, before he had disappeared some five years prior.

“I saw the Lincoln here yesterday.” Jimmy said, bringing Alex back from her thoughts. “The one with the black plates.”

The blonde furrowed her brows. She never noticed the colour of the licence plaque. She didn't even know Jimmy knew the difference between a van and an estate.  What she did know was that it didn’t belong to anyone working there and in her mind - didn’t have any right being there at all. It gave her bad vibes when she saw that strange car and it was only made worse by the guest and his cronies who had let themselves in a couple of days ago. “Black plates?” Glancing up, she tilted her head in recollection. “You weren’t even here on Monday.”

“I have a few peeps keep an eye on this place after what happened to my brother.” Turning around to glare at the spot where the aforementioned vintage car had been, Jimmy’s features twitched. “They said I was high when I gave my testimony; that no car with black plates could ever move around the city without being pulled over. They called me crazy when I refused to change my story.”

“Jimmy, what the fuck are you talking about? You sound like you’re gonna pull out a tinfoil hat at any moment.”

“It was that car.” The weedy man’s line of sight shot to Alex. “My brother disappeared when that car was here. And now they’ve come back for me because they found out I narc’ed.”

“Five years later? I highly doubt that.”

“You can’t know for sure.”

“I do know. Why would they come for you when they could take me?”

“You?” A thousand lung’s worth of breath was sucked in by the photographer. “Why you? What did you do?”

“Why not me?” Alex held her intense gaze with the photographer, keeping the man hanging on. “I fight evil.”

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you? You think I’m crazy, too, don’t you?”

“In all the time we’ve worked next to each other, have you ever seen me make jokes like that or conjure lies?”

He looked at her as if he was watching a statue of the Virgin Mary animate. Tears wept from his eyes and his knees hit the wet grit. He brought his arms into his chest and clutched his outer biceps so hard his nails broke his skin. “I wasn’t imagining it…”

The rumble of an engine caused the blonde to glance up from her latest problem. Two seconds passed when a black Kawazaki motorcycle skid up behind the Vantage and partially up its right side. Lurching at the sight of a floored man in front of her colleague, Domino flipped up the visor of her helmet.

“I’m not shy of seeing you with a body praying at your temple, but why the hell is it so early, why is it a gay man, and most importantly of all, why the fuck is he in my parking space?”

Alex skewed her jaw, her mouth agape with a shrug before turning her attention back to Jimmy. Helping, or rather, pulling him up by his arms to get him out of Domino’s way, the blonde rested him against the side of her car as she stuck her hand into the bag hanging off her shoulder. Retrieving one of Julian’s business cards, she wrote her personal number on it. Handing it over, the man snivelled but accepted the silver slip.

“Call or text me if you need something or if you see that car again. It doesn't matter the time, make sure you call, Jimmy.”

The man nodded his head, stood up of his own volition and got out of dodge of the motorcycle threatening a jolt with a twist of the accelerator.

“Thanks, Zandri,” holding his hand up in farewell, he returned to his open car on the far end of the line of parked vehicles and began unpacking his equipment to take them to the second-floor block.

Upon parking, Domino took her helmet off and removed her keys from the ignition. Sliding off the sleek vehicle, she gave her company a sidewards glance. “What was that about?”

The pair walked up the concrete steps which led onto the original loading bay, Alex explaining what Jimmy had just said to her about his brother and the black plates of Monday’s unwanted guest’s car.

“Well, if that isn’t fuckin’ strange, I don’t know what is. Do you think it could be connected?” Putting their belongings into their respective metal lockers around the corner from the main ground-floor space, Domino looked to the blonde beside her who was on the verge of using a bottle of Jack Daniels as a mouthwash. “It’s quarter past nine.”

“It’s past twelve somewhere.” Furrowing her brows and licking her lips clean as she looked up, Alex snorted her nose clear into a tissue with her free hand. “It’s also dark, and I can smell blood - You're not early, are you? Why are the lights still off?” Taking another quick swig of the bronze liquid and replacing it to the top shelf of the tall locker, she shut the door. “Jules came in ahead of me.”

The pair rounded the corner to the main workshop floor calling for their employer. Before they had a chance to panic, they could see him on the top of the metal stairs which led to his office, his back to them.

“Jules, what are you doing?”

"It stinks in here. Did another of those little crap-heads take a dump near the air-con-"

Spotting the man atop of the stairs, Alex  drew back subconsiously when she saw the stance of her employer. He could pass as Christ crucified with the light hitting him through the high windows. "Julian?"

Turning around at the call, his knees buckled and vomit projected over the side of the open metal staircase, onto the ground floor and splashed towards the pair in the workshop.

“Ew, shit.” Domino dodged the spray and Alex bolted up the creaky steps to the yacking man.

“What happene-” Alex cut herself off. Her line of sight followed where her boss had been gesturing the glass panel of the office door with a shaking hand. The trembling figure of her employer fell into her side. Ripping her focus from the state of the office, Alex gripped Julian, her eyes, mouth, and both nostrils all turned into enlarged 'O's. “Oh…”

“What is it? Did he eat something bad,” the redhead yelled up at the pair, the back of her wrist pressed against her nose to block out the stench. Alex crinckled her features in order to stop the wretched air which would undoubtedly set her off vomiting herself. Alex steadied Julian as she brought him back down to the workshop and the redhead turned away to avoid the stink. “We said not to eat at that take-out place.”

“I told you not to leave that in there.” Julian gagged, threatening another wave of puke and Alex dropped him down on one of the small stools attached to the long work table which was once a school dining table.

“Someone touched the box.”

Domino’s brows rose in thought, and then her expression scrunched into a grimace, her voice trailing off. “The b-Oh…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get the mop.”

“I don’t think that’s an option.” Taking her phone from her trouser pocket, Alex scrolled through her contacts until she found what she was after. Listening to the dial tone only lasted a second before an automated voice on the other end directed her.

“Customer authentication number.”

“070271577.”

“Name and location?”

“Alexandria Baines, Stag Appraisal and Dealership, Anne Horniman Street, Manchester M1 5GG.”

“Thank you for your verification.” There was a pause before she was put through to an actual person. “Good morning and welcome to Crystal Clear Cleaning Company. How can we help you today, Miss Baines?”

“I need a crew to the aforementioned address. As soon as possible, please.”

“What kind of incident will we be dealing with today? Carpet, wood, walls, or-” The voice on the other end of the line was way too chipper considering the time. Way too chipper considering what their job was full stop.

"All of it." Alex glanced up at the glass-fronted office and wondered how she had missed it the first time around. Even more so, how to word the ‘incident’. “Um…exploded body.”

The professional’s voice faltered. “Excuse me, could you repeat that please. I thought you said an exploded body.”

“No, you heard correct. It’s covering a small office space.”

“Uh…I see.”

“You should be glad you can’t.”

“Indeed. Miss Baines, a crew will be out to you within the next hour. Please don’t contaminate the scene any further.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning to go wading through a human smoothie.”

“Your full charge will be calculated upon completion, plus the £500 call-out fee: please have payment ready. Thank you for your business, and good day, Miss Baines.” With that, the call was ended and the addressee returned her phone to her pocket.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Domino looked up from handing Julian a packet of tissues from her locker. Alex furrowed her brows, clearly not having all the pieces. “The box is still up there.”

Eyes rolling to the back of her skull as she held her head with one hand, the blonde instantly realized the issue at hand. “Agh…for fuck’s sake…” Receiving pointed looks from her company, she raised her hand in submission. “Aight. Lemme have a smoke first. Fuck! Find me some plastic bags and duct tape.”

 

11:10

Just a perfect day
Problems all left alone
Weekenders on our own
It's such fun
Just a perfect day~

Lou Reed’s melancholy warble filled the ground floor via the workshop radio. Julian and Domino sat at the long table, cups of tea in hand and dust masks covering the majority of their lower faces. Julian’s eyes remained down between his knees while the redhead kept stealing quick glances to gauge the waters of her colleague. Stood in the open, freezing workshop in her underwear and military-style boots, remnants of blood staining her skin where sanguine had seeped through her clothes during her escapade to retrieve the damned box in the office, Alex pouted like a child that had been told she wasn’t allowed to go to a birthday party after months of begging the popular kid for an invitation.

“If I knew I was going to have to strip to my smalls, I would have at least made them be part of a set.” Kicking out her feet one after the other in a pitiful fashion, her eyes narrowed at the mismatched socks. Or rather, sock, as only one was visible past the top of the boots stopping halfway up her shins. Even her sad-looking pale pink French knickers contrasted drastically from her neon-green t-shirt bra, the underwire of her right breast poking out between her cleavage every time she so much as moved her arm.

Domino made an effort to hide her smirk, lest she bear the brunt of the inevitable on-coming tantrum. “Did you get some new ink…?” She pointed at the slightly older woman’s upper left thigh.

“No, that’s a bruise from where you ran into me the other day with my own car...”

“My bad.” Pinching her lips at the snippy tone, she nodded upwards. “Your tits look great though; you on soon?”

A knock on the heavy-duty metal door perked the seated pair but did nothing to weaken the glower sported by the blonde. Scampering up to avoid eye contact, Domino raced to answer the caller. In no time at all, four men in washed-out grey overalls stating ‘Manchester City Council’ over the left breast filed into the workshop holding chemical waste containment barrels and an array of cleaning products.

“Where is the-” The man at the front, around fifty and round with facial scruff cut himself off when his eyes landed on the blonde, his colleagues slowing to gawk when they too noticed.

“Do you want to take a picture, it’ll last longer-” Alex didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence when all four of the workers reached into their pockets for their phones and lined them up ready to take shots. “Do it, and there’ll be more bodies going in those barrels.”

Coughing to clear his throat, the apparent manager shifted his line of sight to the redhead. “Where’s the incident?”

Domino pointed up the steps with a scowl for the lech. Not like she should really blame him; her friend’s body was banging despite the beatings it had taken over its years. If she was doing his job, she probably would have ogled too. You don’t get to see many filled out figures still breathing in his line of work. Or F cups trying to squeeze into a £10 DD bra while bending over to finish a manual job as a horror had transpired two dozen yards away.

As soon as the cleaners had filed up the steps with their buckets, and mops, and gallon canisters of ammonia, the manager called down. “That’s a lot of blood. And…liquidized bone…”

“It’s not quite liquid - it’s still kinda gritty,” Alex grumbled as she rooted for her smokes, said grit grinding where the folds of her skin met.

“We’re thinking maybe we can post the extraction pipe through this back window,” the apparent manager jut his fat thumb over his shoulder, presumably motioning to the balcony doors behind Julian’s desk. “Will that be possible? We don’t wanna trail evidence through the workshop if we can avoid it.”

Domino stood up and her hand jut out to Julian, “give me the keys and I’ll go and unlock the side gate for them so they can park closer.”

 

Around The Same Time - 200 Yards Away…

Binoculars in one hand, the driver's other hand brought a bacon barm to his mouth. Tearing into the greasy bread, the brusque man in black grumbled. Stood on an old, mostly unused bridge overlooking one of the many industrial blocks from the golden era, the taller of the pair shrugged his shoulders with a groan. “Bomb squad, can you believe it?” He asked but didn’t expect any kind of reply from the sinewy lad beside him as he glowered from under his brow at the black Vantage parked at the converted mill for the umpteenth time in the past couple of hours. “Clever fuckers.”

Resting his elbows on the rough locally milled stone, the smaller of the pair smoked his nth cigarette since their position shift. “You should be thankful your fat arse could get out of dodge of T when he touched that box, or else you’d have to go and be hosed off, too.”

“You may have this cool-rider shit going on, N, but T happened to be my mate; we'd known each other since high school. Show a little respect. The man just exploded.” Wafting the second-hand smoke away from his bland face, the burly man with a skinhead gnashed his teeth. “You’re the one who should be grateful. What if you were the one who touched it first?”

“It’s unlikely anything would have happened.” N shrugged, his small nose turned up as a strong wind pilfered by. “Someone in there can touch it or else it wouldn’t have been opened properly, and I can’t smell any other demon beside that Slug Mephistopheles. But even that’s from at least Monday. There's definitely someone bad in there...”

The burly man scrunched up his face and his body tensed completely. His fists clenched around his colleague's jacket lapels and gigantic trapezius muscles flexed solid. “Then why didn’t you take it? There was no reason for what happened to T if you could have grabbed it.”

“I told him not to touch anything but he was a moron who liked to put his grubby mitts on things he shouldn’t,” sniffling sharply, the man a third of the mass of his company rolled his neck as his monotonous voice fell from thin lips. “Just like those high school girls he was so inclined to.” Leather gloved hands wiped the grip off the front of his coat without a change in tone or expression. “Don’t go getting worked up like he was an upstanding citizen or your best friend.”

“Fuck you, Nik-” Air bursting from his lungs, the bruiser bent double at the punch to the gut. A half-eaten bun fell to the floor and scraps of bacon landed in a puddle.

“Don’t think you can use my name, you stupid fuck.” Taking a final drag on his vice, the mousy haired man flicked the dimp over the bridge and into the murky canal which ran beneath. “What’s that?” A leather-coated index finger pointed at a van rounding the high brick wall and stopping beside the Vantage in the parking lot two hundred yards away.

Wheezing something serious, the brute handed over the binoculars as he clung to the bridge. Ignoring the pain he’d inflicted on the man-made into his temporary partner, the smaller of the pair placed the device to his eyes and inspected the Transit van which stated Manchester City Council. Most would have guessed it was routine work but the slight man dressed like a 1950’s greaser noticed what the majority would not. Above the licence plate on the back bumper was a small sticker stating ‘CCCC’ and a familiar logo in the shape 0f an iridescent crystal crescent moon.

“Looks like they’re mopping up T.” Handing the tool back, N fished a small carton out of his pocket.

“Maybe we should follow them when they leave.”

“Why would we do that?”

“We could steal what they’ve collected to plant it as evidence later.”

“The trajectory of thought isn’t bad - for you - but one, just like the rest of us, T doesn’t technically exist on any normal police records, so nothing would come of it. And two, if you wanna go and make enemies out of Crystal go ahead and be my guest - just do it in your own time.”

Scoffing with a smirk, K wobbled his head, “’you actually scared of someone?”

“There are plenty of people to be wary of in this world and as much as that bitch is a dog with a bone, I’m not scared of her. I just don’t like the thought of not being able to walk down the street without one of her people recognizing me after pissing her off. I happen to like my daily strawberry and white chocolate smoothie not to be poisoned by a man pretending to fix the plumbing in a shake-shack.”

“For someone with a reputation like yours, you sure let the hype go down in a ball of flames with your diet. It’s not even nine yet and in the last three hours I’ve seen you eat eight waffles bigger than your head with half of a Cadbury’s factory on them, you’ve stopped at a corner store and came out with an entire carrier bag of junk food, and that’s your fifth milkshake - and that’s not even considering whatever you consumed before I picked you up. ‘Pretty sure you just opened your second pack of smokes, too.”

“What has it got to do with you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m concerned about your health?”

“No.”

“Good, because I don’t. I hope you get fucking diabetes and lung cancer.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I won’t. 'Super-quick healing and all that.” Wriggling his hand as the other twiddled a cigarette, N’s brows flickered. “Just like I could punch straight through your ribcage before you blink. I may break my hand, probably tear it to shreds on the jagged bone when I pummel your organs and then watch you choke on your own blood. But I’d be as good as new in a couple of hours.” Looking away, the smaller man took in the greyscale scenery as he lit the end of a fresh smoke. “You, not so much.”

“You really are one sick fuck, N." Grimacing, the driver scraped the sludge from his tongue with his upper teeth. "I've been told about what you've done, and I've heard the official weekly report. They really do leave out personal details. You're a bonafide shit." Narrowing his eyes, K turned away and brought the binoculars to his face to watch their target. “I really don’t even wanna know where they dug you up from. But at the same time, I do - just so I know never to go anywhere near it.”

“St Philomena’s in Newham, London.”

“I’ll scratch out Hell on my number one spot of Top 10 Places Never to Visit and replace it with there. Thanks.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It spawned you.”

“I meant Hell.”

K slowly turned his head to look at the younger man beside him only to see the back of his head while he scouted the surroundings in the direction they’d come from. “I can never tell when you’re serious.”

“We should move; someone’s tailing us.”

“’That infamous nose telling you that?”

“You can stay if you want to find out if I’m wrong.”

Watching the man fix his biker jacket and start walking back towards where their transport was parked, K collected his bag from the floor and gave a hurried walk. “The boss said we should stay together.”

“I think that was more for your safety than mine.”

“He wants that godforsaken box.”

“I could have gotten it all by myself if he didn’t laden me with morons.” Pausing, N peeked back over his shoulder. “As much of a hard-arse as he is, he feels a certain slither of care for those who show loyalty. Maybe he was done with the trouble T constantly dropped on his doorstep. Even if he was your so-called friend, you can’t deny that he had a habit of expecting Z to clean up his indiscretions like his life was an Etch A Sketch. Maybe Z wanted him gone but his poor, shrivelled, black heart couldn’t bear the thought of having one of his little alphabet boys knocked off. ‘You think about that?”

“Why would I need to think when you do enough of it for all of us?”

“You seem to be getting the point: at least you’re good at punching things. How about you just stick with that?”

“You’re good at punching things too. You just proved it to my gut; I think you cracked a couple of my ribs.”

“Yeah, but when I mean to hurt someone, they usually don't get up. Sometimes, I still forget to put my gloves on…” Opening the van door, the smaller man hopped inside and put his belt on before placing his milkshake in the cup holder. “It’s hard work being in a brawl when you’re actively trying not to kill someone.”

Starting the ignition, the burly driver rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re so hard-done-by for having that kind of power in this line of work.”

“Don’t talk like I won the supernatural lottery. The cons outweigh the pros by a long shot - I didn’t choose this. I can’t even relax when I’m with a girl in case I let go and-” Noticing the utter interest on his company’s face, N turned away and propped his elbow on the door frame with scrunched up features. “Humans can’t stand up to this kind of affliction very well, if at all, and it’s not like there’s a hook-up app for people like me.”

Expression pulling his brows and lips to opposite ends of his face, K turned off onto the main road. Keeping his eyes on where he was going while cars whizzed past, the brusque driver gave a low, thoughtful hum. “I guess loneliness gets to everyone.”

“I’m not lonely - I’m pent up!”

“Sure thing. Whatever you say.”

“Fuck off.” Lighting another cigarette, N wound down the window via a manual lever with excessive force. Watching the scenery of the mills a level below pass behind a block of old high-rises when they hit the motorway, the passenger extended his fingers to make the joints crack. “It should take at least a few hours for them to finish cleaning. From the information I got, they work as a legit art appraisal and dealership, as the business name states. One of my contacts says they have a big shipment coming in early this afternoon and there are only three people working there so they should all be in to take care of it.”

“What about what those guys from the Industrial Estate told me? About the markings they had…”

“I think we can deal with two loony bitches and a historian.”

“One of them had a Luna Rhea tattoo, and the other a brand,” dark eyes sliding to the passenger’s upper chest, he jutted the shoulder closest, “one just like that.” As soon as the driver had said that, the smaller man fully zipped up his coat to cover the pearlescent mauve mar the length of an adult man’s middle finger below his collar bone. “I mean, the librarian could probably be taken out by a good smack to the fod, but I’ve heard about those from in LR. They dabble in dark shit - Humans with blood magic - that’s scary shit if they can pull that off, man. And if that broad with a brand is anything like you-”

“-Nobody is like me-”

“-Nah, I was just gonna say, maybe you should get her number.” K sent the passenger a sly peek so quickly that even N’s superior senses barely caught it as a smirk tugged at the corners of full lips. “Maybe she’ll be durable enough for you.”

N opened his mouth to verbally destroy the idiot beside him but something ran a different track in his head. Brows furrowing, he licked his upper lip and took a deep drag on his vice. “Maybe that isn’t as haphazard as you think.”

Updated: 12th October 2020 - 17:23