short timers: Episode 1a

Intro to the Short Timers.

James walked up to the rave pit, smiling at the dim thumping that came from inside. The sight of the man door of rusted metal illuminated by one overhead light with ‘keep out’ scrawled in red spray paint always put him in a good mood.

It was a rich college kid hang out... A place where they could take a break from their studies and be young and stupid without their helicopter parents getting in the way. A place they could kick things loose, and live a little. A place where they could back off from being so high strung, and take existence a little less seriously. The pressures of society and university would melt away upon the screaming hinges of the front door and the dank ashy smell of cigarette smoke and pot. There were no finals, or professors to impress. No employers or careers. They could be stupid, and more often than not they used it as an opportunity to be smart.

He loved it... Equations were sketched onto the unfinished drywall in permanent marker and spraypaint. Snatches of poetry from Frost and Rilke were written here and there in strange collages around skulls and crossbones and paintings of trees. Art students loved to come here, some would even model nude for other artists who said that the rave lighting gave them inspiration. There were usually discussion corners, where the hot blooded kids would spout their interests to each other on a multitude of subjects: Politics, civilization, mathematics, genetics… the future.

Spun up kids talking a thousand miles a minute about things they could do to change the world.

James was the host and owner. He initiated a few simple rules based on decency and politeness, and maintained a peaceful and respectful place. Fights were few and far between and mostly between sports jocks that came with friends. On those rare occasions James would step in, explain the basic rules of nonviolence and offer a second chance. Those interested in continuing any aggressive or destructive behavior were escorted out politely by himself and a couple of his friends, armed with pepper spray and tasers. In the two years since the place opened, he’d only had to resort to that once. After which James insisted on being present for every new membership request, and personally interviewed the individual before allowing entrance.

But all in all, it wasn’t a place that attracted those looking to get in fights… It attracted intellectuals, Philosophers, and artists…

Nerds.

He charged a hundred per person for weekend membership. The drugs were expensive, but pure and worth the cost. He had lists of musicians and DJ’s, all of them played well, and were paid well.

Kids were calling it the J.C…. Jimmy’s Crib.

James normally hated being called Jimmy, reminded him of a dick. But in this case he considered it a compliment, and an honor.

J.C…. Jimmy’s Crib. Awesome.

His uncle Rich had initially bought the place, and helped James get it started. Rich was a heavy hitter in the mob, a younger cousin to the really heavy hitters. Rich had taken James under his wing when his father had died of an aneurism five years ago. At the time James was heartbroken and angry, and Rich offered him solace in such a way that James could direct his anger towards something useful… making money, and making people happy. They’d agreed early on that James should stay out of the ‘Family Business’, which James still blamed for his father’s death… even if it was from natural causes, James had watched his dad’s stress levels continually rise beyond his ability to cope. If it hadn’t been an aneurism, it probably would have been a heart attack.

Uncle Rich kept the cops away, and only asked for a small cut. He’d told James once that this place was intended for James’ retirement… not another cash cow for the mob.

He’d said. ‘You gotta try to break clean from the mess your dad and I got wrapped up in. There’s only one way outta the business, and you know what it is. They’re gonna find out what you’re doing here eventually and they’ll want a cut. A big cut. When that time comes, you gotta get the f**k out. Disappear.’

James remembered listening to what his uncle was telling him with a sense of affection and a little fear. Everyone had heard about how Rich had once broken a guy’s kneecaps with a ball peen hammer.

‘I’ll protect you as long as I can kid.’ Rich said. ‘From the cops and from the family. But keep your a*s under the radar… play the long game, and they’ll leave you alone.’

‘Yes sir.’ James said, like a good nephew.

The family did find out, and they required a percentage which James paid with little arguement.

Rich said. ‘Your lucky it ain’t fifty percent kid. At the moment, they’ll take twenty and I’ll keep them happy with that. But blood’s in the water. Better start thinking about getting out of it.’

All James needed was a few months, and he could be.

Twenty feet from the door, the hinges screamed and his thin African-American friend and main dealer stepped out. James’ good mood vanished when he saw Skinny’s face.

“Yo Big J, We gotta talk bro.” Skinny said.

Skinny was one of the smartest people James had ever known, but he played the part of punk a*s gangster type to a T. He usually sported a huge gold toothed smile, a fist bump, and a handshake with a sample of the ‘Skinny Pure’ in it. But not this time...

James didn’t like the tone, or Skinny’s look.

He nodded towards the alley to the right of the building, there was another door into the building back there that kids would use sometimes to get some privacy, but it was early enough in the evening that they wouldn’t be too interested in grinding and groping in the dark yet.

They made their way quickly, and thankfully didn’t have to walk in on any back alley blowjobs.

“What’s up?” James asked. He was stern. James hated surprises.

“There’s a problem.” Skinny said. “My main guy turned up missing yesterday... I didn’t get a delivery.”

“That is a problem.” James said. “You got a backup?”

“Yeah.” Skinny said. “That might be a problem too.”

James had watched his dad and uncle do a few back street negotiations before, and he’d paid attention. Keep your voice low and cold and not threatening… but make sure the words got through. James wasn’t angry with Skinny, but he was irritated with the situation. He’d told Skinny in the past to rat hole a good month’s supply of s**t to sell in case there were dry times.

“Skinny.” James said. “We make too much f*****g money to go dry now. F**k man, I could retire in six months.” James had drifted into his north-east accent as his agitation flared to angry.  

“Yeah. I know.” Skinny said. “Me too.”

“We talked about this, Man.” James said. “What about that four weekend stash?”

Skinny shook his head. “We’ve never been able to hold onto it for more than a couple weeks. The demand is high, the price isn’t a deterrent. We haven’t lost much in the way of membership, but we’ve gained a steady two percent per weekend. I’m sure you’ve noticed that it’s a little more crowded in there.”

James nodded.

“We held onto an extra weekend’s worth of supply for almost a year, but it’s been dwindling steadily for three or four months. Our shipments have been getting lighter.”

James was startled. “What? For how long?”

“A few weeks.” Skinny said. “Drugs are more expensive and harder to find.”

James should have been paying closer attention rather than just leaving it to Skinny to deal. James felt a stab of shame, it wasn’t good business to be ignorant of your supply stream and income.

James said. “Who’s your backup?”

Skinny winced. “Your family.”

James was quiet for a minute, thinking hard about which part of his family Skinny might be referring to. He had to be careful who he spoke about with other people… Some of his uncles didn’t play ball in the same field.

“Which part?” James asked. “There’s gotta be a better option.”

“Joe.” Skinny said. “And he made it clear… there was no other option.”

James was fairly certain he felt his heart stop. Rich had specifically mentioned keeping Joe out of loop.

“F**k.” James said.

“It gets worse.” Skinny said. “Joe is here, and he’s coming to talk to you.”

“Jimmy!” Speak of the Devil. “You little f**k s**t! How the hell you doin’?” Came a gruff two-pack-a-day voice from the entrance of the alley.

James slammed his eyes shut. Not f*****g good at all. He opened his eyes and looked at his uncle, a heavy bellied, broad shouldered bald man in a black sports jacket and new jeans. His gray goatee covered everything below his nose, to the point you could barely see his lips move when he spoke. Everyone in the family knew that he kept the goatee because of a childhood knife fight with James’ dad that earned Joe a nasty scar on his upper lip, and James’ father a persistent limp. No one in the family liked Joe. But he did a hell of a lot of business.

“Hi Uncle Joe. How is Aunt Jackie?”

“Oh, you know…” Joe started walking towards him from the front of the alley. A very large bodyguard shadowed the entrance. “... She spends my money, dicks the pool boy, and makes my life hell.”

“What can I do for you?” James asked.

James was in deep s**t now.

“Well Jimmy.” Joe said. “I think it’s more about what I can do for you.”

James had to be polite. This was family, and there was a certain way to handle all discussions. He couldn’t be a dick. It was just part of the code.

“Well, I think I’m doing ok for the moment.” James said.

“Don’t try to bullshit me kid.” Joe was suddenly angry. “You know you ain’t got the stash to supply your f****n’ s**t heel college brats… and now that Richie’s dead, you got f**k all of a supply stream.”

“What?” James asked.

“That’s right.” Joe said. “Your f*****g uncle, and my f*****g brother, got his throat cut last night.”

James couldn’t say anything. He just blinked, and then looked at the ground.

“I’m running his game now, cause all of his lieutenants were hacked up too. Looks like the Columbian’s came and did some work on them… it was a goddamn slaughter.”

“Jesus Christ.” James said.

“That’s right.” Joe said. “Jesus, Goddamn s**t heel Christ.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Joe allowed James to absorb the information.

James tried to think… but his brain was moving in slo-mo. What the f**k was he gonna do? Now that he didn’t have uncle Richie as his umbrella against these goddamn thieves… what in the f**k was he gonna do?

“I tell you what your gonna do kid…” Uncle Joe started. “You’re gonna up the percentage you give to the family… another twenty percent sounds about right.”

James nearly spit with anger, but he held it in check. All he could do was flex his jaw in frustration. He knew what was going to happen to that twenty percent. It was going to go straight into Joe’s pocket.

“Alright.” James whispered. God he was gonna miss Rich.

“I ain’t done yet.” Joe continued. “You’re gonna go open another one of these freak shows… I already got a building you can start.”

“It took two years to get this one up!” James barked. Already regretting the outburst, and feeling the bark sounded more like a whine.

“Shut the f**k up kid!” Joe said. “Listen for once in your spoiled f*****g life!”

Suddenly the door to the alley from the J.C. opened up and two boys James had never seen before stumbled out to the alley… they were laughing and tugging at each others crotches. They noticed they had stumbled into an occupied alley and stopped giggling. They were both well dressed, and well primped. James finally recognized one… His name was Jeff. Psych major, and politicians son… Republican… politicians son.Jeff was known to be good with the ladies. Some of these kids could be potential gold mines of blackmail. But james didn’t want to play that game… But he would in a pinch, if he had to.

“F**k off you two.” Skinny said. “This ain’t the f*****g girls room.”

Jeff looked offended, and puffed himself up. He looked first at James, then Skinny, then his eyes fell on Joe…

Joe pulled a chrome automatic pistol from the holster hidden beneath his suit coat and aimed it at the two boys. “Better listen to him, before I shoot you on principal.” Joe said.

Jeff, and his unknown friend shrunk back into the building looking frightened.

This wasn’t the kind of attention James wanted. With Joe waving his gun around… by the end of the night he probably would have lost ten percent of his clientele. He needed to calm this situation down… before his retirement plan vaporized with the sound of running feet.  

“Real class place you got here Jimmy.” Joe said.

“Pays’ the rent.” James said, using one of his Uncle Rich’s sayings.

“And that’s alright kid.” Joe said.

“So do you have anything I can sell to these little s***s?” James asked. “Or are you just here to wave your gun around and scare the buyers?”

“It just so happens that I do.” Joe said, ignoring James’ taunt. He looked at the front of the alley and nodded his head at the bodyguard standing like a stone golem. The bodyguard disappeared, James assumed to go get Joe’s car.

“I’ll give you a payment monday morning.” James said. He still didn’t like the sound of his own voice.

“Bullshit you will.” Joe said. “You’ll give me a payment NOW! And then you’ll give me another payment on monday morning.”

James sighed. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled his wallet.

“Better be careful son.” Joe said. The tone in his voice like a dog grinding his teeth on a rib bone.

James realized his uncle Joe now had the chrome handgun pointed at his forehead. Despite his chest bursting fear, James didn’t waver his eyes or his hand. “Do you want your  payment?”

Joe nodded.

“Then get that piece of s**t outta my face, and open your hand.” James said. All of the weak whiney tone evaporated out of his voice. He was serious... Angry... Mean... And didn’t give a f**k.

“Good boy.” Joe said. “You sounded like your old man just then.”

“I’ve got one condition.” James said.

“F**k your conditions.” Joe said.

“Then f**k you.” James said, and turned to walk back into the building. He put his hand on the door handle and started to pull. He heard the car pull into the alley and saw the brightness of the headlights create strange shadows on the door in front of him. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, but not threatening.

“I’m sorry for Rich.” Joe said. “I know you two were close.”

“Yeah we were.” James said.

“Listen kid. You know how this game works, and you know we have to play it. Let me hear your conditions, and we’ll get on with the night.” Joe could be political when he wanted to be… or needed to be.

James sighed again. He turned and looked at his uncle, leaving his hand on the handle. “I can’t have you hanging out here.” James said. “I run this thing, and Skinny is my courier. He’ll come to you. Get the s**t. And he and I will sell it. I’m gonna mark up the price, and I’m gonna give you an extra twenty-five percent… That extra five percent is to ensure that I’m left the f**k alone.”

Joe looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “Now wait a minute you little…”

“And I’ll start you another rave pit…” James interrupted him. “And you’ll keep all of the money from that, kick me back ten percent and I’ll play ball... But I gotta do it my way. These kids know a mob guy when they see him, and they talk.”

Joe shut his mouth with a click of his teeth. He breathed a heavy whistling sigh through his nose and nodded. “Anything else?” He asked.

“Yeah.” James said. “I don’t want to be involved with the family ‘business’.” He said with a sneer. “All it’s done is gotten people I know killed. I’ll run your drugs for awhile and then I want the f**k out. Find someone else, I’ll train ‘em and show ‘em around. But this is not a long term thing for me. It’s not sustainable.”

Joe seemed almost pleased with this statement. The shadows from the car headlights passed, and the engine turned off. James thought he saw the thinnest glimmer of red in his uncle Joe’s dark eyes. James heard the trunk of the car pop, and the big body guard step out.

“Alright.” Joe said.

James nodded at Skinny, who had remained silent. The thin black man dutifully went to the back of the car and joined the bodyguard. He reached in and grabbed two large bags.

“That be enough for the weekend?” James asked.

“Should do it.” Skinny said.

“We’re doing a discount this weekend.” James noticed the anger in Joe’s eyes again. “But I want double profits next weekend.”

“I’m on it.” Skinny said.

They were quiet for a moment as Skinny collected the dope, and went into the building. The door shut behind him, James and Joe stared hard at each other.

“You’ll do alright kid.” Joe said.

“Yeah, We’ll see.”  James said and turned to go in the building, to mingle with the rest of the dope headed kids. Play the long game… he said in his mind.

“I got one more thing…” Joe said. “I need a couple warm bodies later tonight. You got any friends you can trust?”

James closed his eyes against the anger boiling in his system. F**k.

“What’s the gig?” James asked.

“Nothing serious.” Joe said. “Just a show of numbers.”

Something clicked in the back of his mind. A little two plus two finally equalled four.

“Fine.” James said. “But I’m not a wise-guy, and I don’t want to be… next time find some homeless guy, clean him up and give him a gun. I want no part of this s**t.”

He went into the J.C. with it’s flashing lights, and stinking smoke filled air.

“Sure kid.” Joe said, smiling.

James knew what all this meant, or at least he understood it in the abstract. His uncle Rich was dead and Joe was in charge. There was going to be a huge vacuum in the power scheme. Joe was never the ambitious one, and taking over new business probably had him a little pissed and stressed out. The hierarchy of the mob didn’t allow for new guys easily, there was always jurisdiction to consider, and how much an older boss wanted to train a younger captain. But Joe wasn’t going to be interested in handling this size of territory for long… Which meant he would be looking for someone to do all the leg work, and pay all the taxes.

James wasn’t interested.

But for the moment he needed the support. He could feel the trap surrounding him, and could feel his big toe on the pressure switch. All he would have to do is sneeze and the jaws would slap shut, right around his neck, and he’d be wrapped up in this garbage life for the duration of his. Just like his father and uncle had been, as well as the rest of his family. His dad had been sixty two when his aneurism took him. His uncle Richie was the youngest of the five brothers, he was, had been, fifty five. Joe was just above Richie, probably fifty six or seven.

James didn’t think Joe would live to see sixty.

He would play ball for now, but in order for him to come away clean from this he was going to have to be smart, resourceful, and damn careful, if he had any intention whatsoever of outliving any of his crooked family.

James considered who he would choose to accompany him tonight. Skinny would be one, and probably Vince.

He felt the phone buzz in his pocket. It was a text from Skinny.

Rock and a hard place. It said.

Yep. James responded.

Ur uncle J will meet us @ 2.  Says its guard duty.

K. James responded again. Tell Vince.

K. Skinny said.

F*****g guard duty. He thought. Better be nothing more than guarding the car.

James may have suckered, but Skinny knew the score. The trap had closed cleanly and swiftly around James’s neck, but he was too arrogantly young to realize his predicament. So James stood there, gazing fiercely at nothing… At the future… as it dribbled out of his veins and stained the ground.

Skinny was smart. He hadn’t the choices James had growing up, being a sickly thin black kid growing up in the Boston hard streets. He simply had no choice but to become smart. Or end up like so many of his friends had in the old projects… OD’d, in jail, or dead.  

Skinny knew most of the history of the mob, and the particular family he was working for. He’d worked hard to be trustworthy to James, and in many ways considered the kid to be his friend. But skinny knew that loyalty, particularly to a black man, from anyone associated with the mob… Well, that s**t just wouldn’t stick. No doubt about it, if James needed to he’d ditch skinny in a heartbeat. Maybe even kill him personally.

Skinny had almost a quarter of a million dollars saved, and was accustomed to living a Spartan existence. He spent only what he needed to survive. A quarter mill was a lot of money. Money that could be invested, while he moved to a smaller town… maybe got a job. If he kept his head down and watched the markets he probably had enough.

He’d have to think about it later. Right now, Skinny wasn’t in the crosshairs.

That position of honor was placed on James.

Exactly how Skinny liked it.

He sat b***h-in-the-middle-with-his-feet-on-the-hump between James and Vince. Vince was crowded over to his door as far as he could to keep from touching Skinny. It was no secret that Vince didn’t like blacks, and it probably pissed him off to no end that he had to sit next to one in the back of a car. Skinny couldn’t help it… he’d already ‘accidentally’ nudged Vince two or three times. Just to make him uncomfortable… You know… Just, ‘F**k him if he can’t take a joke.’

Joe had picked them up at two as promised, hurried them into the car, and instructed the bodyguard to take them to the ‘meet’.

Skinny heard James sigh, and from the corner of his eye he saw Vince straighten. Vince was always looking for a toe hold into the family. And in truth, he just might get it.

“What are we doing Joe?” James asked. Skinny noticed he didn’t use the ‘Uncle’ s**t anymore. James was trying to piss him off.

Joe was quiet for a moment. The anger baking off of him. You could smell it, and very nearly taste it. Probably not as bad as the ridiculous cologne Vince insisted on bathing in every night, which smelled like a cross between a w***e house urinal and a head of rotting cabbage. The gag factor surged when he realized Joe’s bodyguard was wearing a similar musk, just as heavily applied.

“Didn’t you say you didn’t want into this family ‘business’ kid?” Joe asked. “We ain’t doin s**t.”

James was quiet, looking out the window. Skinny was sure that James was considering what this family ‘business’ s**t, that they weren’t doing, was going to mean for his future.

The stain getting deeper and wider around his feet. Skinny felt that James might actually be feeling the fear.

They arrived at the docks and drove around to find a good spot to conceal the car. It was dark at these docks, the glint of the city off the rippling water looked like sparks flying from a forged blade. The heavy smell of the bay, all fish slime and diesel obliterated everything else… even the heavy cologne.

They parked the car off the dock and in an alley about fifty yards away.

“You two stay here.” Joe said, pointing at Vince and Skinny. He handed each one a handgun.

Skinny looked shocked, but accepted the gun and placed it in his hoodie pocket after checking the clip. “We looking for anything specific?”

“Watch the front of the alley… We’re the last ones here, so there shouldn’t be anyone else. If something comes from that direction… blow it to hell.”

Vince took his weapon. “Can I come with you?”

“No.” Joe said. “You stay here.” He pointed at james with the butt of another gun. “You’re coming with me.”

“I don’t need that thing.” James said.

“Take it.” Joe said.

James pulled two black nine millimeter semi-automatics from somewhere around his waist.

“I told you, I don’t need it.”

Joe was silent, then handed the other gun to Skinny. Which he took and placed in his other pocket.

“Let’s go.” Joe ordered, and they all got out of the car.

Skinny and Vince were in the alley together looking to the glow of the street outside. They didn’t see any cars pass, but they would both perc up when they heard traffic getting closer. James and Joe had sauntered off quietly a few minutes earlier, trailed closely by the heavy shouldered body guard, and in that time neither of them had uttered so much as a word to one another. It was like being in the Principal’s office after getting in a fight, while you both waited for your parents to show up, hating each other intently all the while... No matter what anyone said… nothing was solved after a fight. You still hated each other... unless one of you was dead.

Finally Vince said something.

“I’m going up front.”

“Joe said we stay here.” Skinny said.

Vince looked at him sideways… The look suggested all the ways Vince wanted to kill him.

“...But do what you want, man.” Skinny finished.

Vince sniffed loudly and walked to the front of the alleyway. His arrogant swagger a reminder to Skinny that he desperately needed to find something else to do with his life.

He was left alone, and was glad to be so.

He liked the darkness of the alleys, hiding in places where no sane person would be caught dead. It simplified life. There was nothing to be done, but be here: Standing, watching, and waiting. He liked to look at the weird glow of the city glancing off the damp brick and metal of the old warehouses. He even enjoyed the heavy odor that clung to the docks. It reminded him that there were other lives in the world besides coked up college brats, mobsters, and a couple kids trying to climb the ladder from a different angle.

He heard a click to his right, and looked to see Vince lighting up a cigarette. F*****g idiot. He thought. But at least Vince would be the first target.

But Skinny was feeling something...weird. More than just the feeling of being watched, it was like being in crosshairs…

There was a tiny pin prick of pain in the top of his scalp before his vision exploded into white hot sparks, as a foot long black metal spike was thrust through the top of his skull straight down. He didn’t even feel the blade that cut across his neck severing his windpipe. Skinny was brain dead well before his body slumped to the ground.

Vince heard something from within the alley, and looked over. He couldn’t see well in the dark anyway, but having just lit a cigarette the flame of the lighter created a bright spot in his vision that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he blinked.

But he thought he saw movement up on the wall, not far from where he left Skinny. He shook his head and blinked his eyes some more. He thought squinting might help.

He noticed something on the ground move, and saw one of Skinny’s shoes twitch.

It took a split second for Vince to realize Skinny was down.

A black cloud of smoke burst into movement from the wall above where Skinny’s body lay cooling on the alley floor. It separated from the wall and slid to the center of the street, oozing over  Skinny’s body. It moved towards Vince.

It was small...Maybe chest height to Vince. He saw a flash of light from inside the boiling cloud.

Eyes. It had eyes, and they were glowing like cats eyes.

Vince groped for his gun, the cigarette fell from his hand as he moved to draw the weapon. His heart hammered his ribcage, and he could feel the pulse in his neck. At that moment he knew he wasn’t ready for this s**t, not by a long shot. This wasn’t bullying kids on the playground, or jacking a car for a joyride.

Just as his finger touched the butt of the semi automatic in his belt, and before the cigarette could touch the ground, the cloud was less than a foot away from his face. The silver glow of it’s eyes burning into his vision.

One brilliant flash of pain. Bright light and high pitched sound…

Then nothing.  

She watched his grimace fall away, he was dead, but his body still shuddered as the nerves died. She withdrew the blade, the tiny silver shimmer reflected off it’s wet black surface from the dark O of his mouth. It reflected the glow from her eyes.  

The blade wasn’t an easy withdraw; the bone clung to the metal and she was forced to twist hard to break through the cranium. He had been...satisfying.

She settled his body quietly, almost gently, onto the ground and raced towards the back of the alley towards where the other three had gone maybe ten minutes earlier.

Silent and black in the ambient yellow glow of the city, casting no shine or reflection, trailing a flowing mist that boiled around her when she paused...A running shadow ghost, speeding across the night in total silence.

She paused. Went perfectly still.

In an instant the boiling mist collapsed onto her, showing the form of her against the backlit cast of the city. And then she disappeared. Vanishing like she never existed.

James and Joe walked into the dim light of the docks, no more talkative than Skinny and Vince had been. As individuals they could be no more different… James was the obvious younger man and acted so. Something about being with the family had turned him into the slouched shouldered, moody and pouty teenager he so despised even when he was one. And Joe looked liked the stiff backed, ultra male father figure bent on turning the younger partner into a man. Even how they walked… James with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and hunched shoulders, looking at the ground. Joe was puffed up, and forward, clenching his jaw repeatedly and purposefully walking too fast.

“Hurry up kid.” Joe said.

James didn’t hurry, and nor would he. He was not interested in Joe’s approval or appreciation. He wanted this chore over with so he could get back to his studio apartment, smoke a bowl, eat a spinach salad, and go to bed.

“You know,” Joe started. “This family business thing isn’t a bad gig.”

Great. James thought, here comes the pitch.

“It’s been pretty lucrative for a lot of us. We could use some young blood.” Joe said.

Hating himself James took the bait. “That's because all the old blood is being wiped out.” He said.

Joe was quiet. “It'll calm down.” Joe finally said, but he didn't sound convinced.

They continued on in silence until James noticed a group of men standing further down the dock.

“This shipment will take care of us for another year or so,” Joe said. “Then we can do some tracking and find out who's behind all this s**t.”

This answered a lot of James's questions. But he kept his mouth shut. The mob was smart about a few things… The most important being its enemies, if the Syndicate didn't know who or what was hacking it to pieces, then they were in some very big trouble. The Syndicate was also usually pretty smart about keeping all of its eggs in different baskets… If they were banking on one shipment of drugs to tide them over for a year… Things were far worse than James had thought.

The trap snapped shut, but James wasn't anywhere near… He decided right then and there… He was retiring. Now. As soon as he got home, rather than getting stoned and sleeping, he was packing and getting the f**k outta town. If he needed more money, he’d go work for Walmart.

James could hear the men talking as they came closer.

They stood in a semi-circle, casually bantering back and forth. They were confident, mean, and cagey. James was struck by how they all looked… straight out of any mob movie. Specifically the series ‘The Soprano’s’. All of them were far too old to be dealing with the shipment themselves. Which meant the younger captain’s and lieutenants were probably dead or run off.

More evidence that the Syndicate was in trouble.

“Hey Joe!” One of them called out. “What brings you out tonight?”

“Make sure this doesn’t get fucked up.” Joe grumbled.

“Who’s the kid?” Another asked.

“My nephew. Richies boy.”

Everyone knew that James wasn’t Richie’s son, but he may as well have been as much attention as the recently dead boss had given him.

James took careful note of all the weapons the men were holding.  

“I’m sorry kid. Rich was good people.” A thin, evil looking man in a dark sports jacket and white T-shirt said. From the looks of him, James doubted that this man was sorry for anything… except perhaps being born.

“Thanks.” James said. He could feel the tension rise, they didn’t like strangers, least of all on a night like this. They all wore semi-expensive clothes, none of them stupid enough to bring their best clothes to the grimy docks. The street smart old guard of the syndicate understood the value of a dollar, whether it was stolen or not. Whether it was theirs or not. They had struggled through several gang land wars, and survived the ‘John Gotti’s’. They’d earned their scars, and their money, and the right to stay at home when s**t like this was going down. But there wasn’t anyone left to babysit. So here they were.

But not alone.

Each of the aging men in the semi-circle had brought at least one bodyguard who was concealed in the darkness that surrounded the docks.

A few of those bodyguards were already dead. Joe’s included.   

There was no moon in the sky, and in this city there were no stars. Just a yellow ambience from the street lights reflecting off the clouds, broken by the skyline buildings marching towards heaven in a hostile takeover of fertile angelic lands. And though the highest hearts were dressed in hundred thousand dollar suits and dresses, they hammered the rib cage of the city with a rhythm unchanged from it’s birth. The rhythm of the street; filthy and dark, dangerous and corrupt.

Everything born from the city had it’s eyes cast upward.

Eyeing their coveted territory.

Preparing for war with angels.

The last bodyguard, well trained and cautious, buried in the dark, essentially invisible to the outside heard something move behind him. A sound so tiny that it barely rose over the distant sound of the casual banter of the mob guys thirty yards in front of him. He didn’t pay much attention to it until he heard it again, a little louder and closer to him this time. Like something metal, touching something gritty. A knife blade drawn across a sharpening stone.

The black spike skewered the back of his head, as another blade cut across his windpipe. He saw only a bright flash, and felt nothing but the violent manipulation of his neck and head. But even that was far away as he drifted into blackness.

She let his body fall, carefully, cradling his head so the arterial spray would be contained. She caught most of it with the front of her body. Blood can be quite loud when it slaps against pavement, and she didn’t want to alert the rest of the group to the bodyguards death, or her presence.

But.

Psychically some people are tuned to each other. And the deaths of each other in close proximity. Some people are extremely tuned…They just know. They don’t think they know, or have some idea…They just know.

Jack was one of those people who knew.  

He’d felt the bodyguard go, like the popping of a balloon.

He stepped away from the group and looked in the direction of where he’d ‘felt’ the bodyguard die. He tried to bore his vision into the darkness. Unconsciously he readied the weapon in his hands.

“What’s up Jack?” One of them said. “You look like you need to take a s**t.”

There was a chuckle at the joke, but a couple of them, Joe included, knew that Jack had something a little different than everyone else. They trusted his instinct. They all brought their weapons to a ready position.

Joe looked at James. He noticed the kids wide eyed stare. He then looked back towards Jack cursing himself for bringing the whelp along.   

“Probably nothing” Jack said.

Bullshit. was the silent response from all of them. Something was up.

Jack looked to his right, into the face of Joe. Jack nodded. Joe nodded back, and gestured to the other men. He looked at James again.

James had pulled one of the semi-automatics out of his sweatshirt and held it in an elbow-locked firing position, he was scanning the darkness in front of him through the sights. His eyes were narrowed and intent. The fear Joe had seen a second ago had evaporated… The kid was ready. Or at least looked like he was.

They all spread out instantly and silently, alert and guns drawn. They maintained the semi-circle, but expanded it twenty feet or so. They didn’t want to group up, in case their attacker had a machine gun or grenade. This was a practiced tactic, and it was tried and true. It was taught to James when he was very young by his father, and uncle Rich.

Besides James, Tommy was the youngest, and meanest. He was known for his brutality, and enjoyment of torture. He had a sneer permanently chiseled into his face. He was skinny and tall, with deep set dark eyes that glinted underneath lowered brows.

He looked at the dingy walls, washed in rust and faded gray paint tinted yellow from the lights, wishing that whoever was stalking them would come on out and play. That thin upper lip sneer was twitching in excitement. It had been too long since he’d hurt anyone... He’d been itching to put a hurt on someone for awhile now.

He looked at everything around him through the sight of his gun. He was steady, and aware.

He felt something strike the bones of his wrist, pause and then push through in a whip crack of pain. He heard something metal hit the cement between his feet and he looked down... first at the black metal automatic pistol, and then at his severed hand holding it. He felt another pull across his throat just as he was about to scream. He felt the blade drag across the vertebrae of his neck.

Joe heard a noise come from his right and he spun around to see Tommy falling first to his knees, and then onto his face. He saw nothing else. Heard nothing else... except the occasional grinding of grit beneath his shoes or the shoes of one of his companions.

Joe didn’t run to Tommy’s side…it was obvious that he was dead, or close to it. He concentrated on the surrounding area, trying to find a target. The thought occurred to him that maybe Tommy had been taken out by a sniper, and he unconsciously tried to move out of the open, and get closer to the buildings.

The last one had stayed on his feet longer than she’d anticipated, and she was pleased at the advantage that it had given her to get closer. She watched them from the shadows, her suit with it’s cloud of shape shifting nano’s had turned her invisible. There was a tiny spot of color on her retina that flashed green for a split second when the nano’s turned active. She knew when she was invisible and when she wasn’t.

The older one with the goatee whipped around and watched as her last victim’s body hit the pavement. He paused in surprise, but didn’t show any emotion. These guys were very good. They didn’t flinch or panic, they became more alert and more aware.

Goatee was inching towards the building, she could tell he was worried about snipers…he was inching his way closer to her. He’d looked directly at (or directly through) her several times.

The remaining four were oriented in a widely spaced circle, each one keeping the closest one to them within their peripheral vision. That way if any one of them dropped, someone would know about it, and they would all be warned. They all faced outwards, guns raised and ready to fire.

This was a tough tactic to beat. Everyone had eyes on everything including each other. But she grinned… oughta be fun.

The tiny light in her vision flashed yellow, her grin had disrupted the nano’s cover, and there had been a visual artifact in the illusion of her invisibility. Goatee had been looking in her direction, though not directly at her.

S**t! She thought, and watched him bring his gun to bear on her.

There’s an unmistakable feeling of hazard when a weapon is pointed at you. Your skin crawls where you think the gun is aimed, like standing with your naked skin exposed and someone behind you with a thick rubber band, snapping it against itself. You wait for the sting of it biting into you.

But these guys weren’t holding rubber bands.

The ripple of movement out of the corner of his eye caused the instinctual reaction…Joe pulled his weapon towards the motion and fired.

He’d anticipated the feel of the shot. The pull of the hard trigger beneath his finger, the boom and echo, the ringing in his ears after, and the tinkling of the spent casing. But he experienced none of it.

Joe stared into a black cloud no more than a foot from his face. He felt himself pulling the trigger over and over again. No noise, no muzzle flash, no bullet. He glanced at the weapon in his hand. It was there, just not firing.

A black hand raised in front of his face, the skin smoking, it held a severed finger. He looked at his hand again. The black thing held his finger... displaying it in front of his face.

He saw the blade like a talon, held in a reverse grip coming towards his face in an upward punch. He felt the sharp pain, like a deep shaving cut sear across his neck. Joe saw the briefest flash of light from within the writhing depths of the smoke in front of him, like catching an animal’s eyes in the headlights of a car, and then it was gone. He watched the wide gout of his own arterial spray splash the cement in front of him. The smoke thing was gone. It had killed him so quickly and violently that there was no time for shock or even that much pain.

He heard a thump and a wet yell not far off to his right, and he knew that another man was probably just as dead as he was. Even as his consciousness was dropping away, his brain did the math… James had been the nearest to him. Off to the right. He shut his eyes… Sorry kid. He thought. Damn sorry.

She danced between them. That last one she’d spent just a little extra time with, because he’d almost gotten the drop on her. It appealed to her nature to flaunt his finger in front of his surprised and dying eyes.Though as soon as the blade had finished cutting through his neck she was in motion, moving with a rolling ease and sprinting to the next in line. This one looked much younger than the others.

The spike in her left hand was in and out of his skull in an instant, the scythe blade in her right hand stabbed through his neck and cut his throat from the inside out. She heard the gurgled yell escape his lips, and she cursed.

The other two guards heard the noise and turned their heads towards her, their guns already coming around and up. No way she was going to make it without getting shot.

The black thing standing just behind James moved like a nightmare, yanking a long black talon out of the kids throat which coughed a gurgling yell, and sprayed heart blood into the air like a fan.

The nightmare thing hit the ground running. Faster than he could blink, faster than he could think! It was running towards him, two glowing silver dots for eyes. It was on him... clawing up the front of his body, and shoved a spike through his bottom jaw up through his skull. The last thing he heard, even in the shattered spray of colors in his vision, was his heart stop.

She left the spike in the head of the last man, and called all her speed to her limbs. Her muscles, already amped up from the serum and adrenaline responded instantly. Her movements became powerful, twitchy, and vicious as a wild animals. She launched herself, full power and screaming at the last man, who was just leveling his weapon at her.

In that split second, she felt the tension of his finger on the trigger. It was the first round in the magazine, and there was a long way to pull the trigger. His first shot wasn’t going to be accurate, especially with her barreling towards him like a mad cat from hell. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, glowing pupils drinking in the light and reflecting it back in a bright flash. She’d switched her grip on the talon curved blade in her right hand. The blade jutted, wicked and thirsty from between her index and ring fingers, like an extension of her forearm. She pushed it forward in front of her. She felt herself slam into his body, felt his weight give way and tip backwards.

Her eyes never left his as they fell to the ground, His unfired weapon clanging loudly against the pavement. His blue eyes shimmered in surprise and pain, and slowly closed. HIs breathing quickened and then stopped completely. She felt the last spasms of his heart around her hand… which was buried in his chest cavity up to the wrist.

She stood up slowly, and pulled her hand and knife out of his cooling body. She looked around the docks, and then looked back down at him.

She’d felt something go with him… some sort of an energy pulse as his heart stopped.

It elated her, and left her a little sad. The lull after the hunt.

Her adrenaline and serum soaked system was beginning to slow. Easing into the strange euphoria that hunters and murderers and psychopaths know all too well. Like the deafening ring in the ears after a gunshot.

Over. The End. Draw curtains and head to the exits… “Shows over folks.”

But not for her it wasn’t.

She looked back into the alleyway she’d entered. She saw the bodies on the ground. The semi-circle of men, all very capable killers, hacked to pieces by a girl no taller than 5’2”... ok, maybe 5’3” with her shoes on.

She felt an introspection; A consideration of the lives she’d taken. She briefly thought what their lives might have been had they not met her.

Just as dead… just later. She thought, and with a lightening quick motion she disappeared, back from where she came.

Still on the hunt.

Jance sat high on the building overlooking the docks. The smell wasn’t so bad up here, though the reek of fish oil and diesel still hung on the air like the an old coat in your closet that you somehow never can bring yourself to throw away. The stench was just a part of the place, a thousand years after the death of the human species from war or famine, and the ripe odors of slaughtered sea life would still be there.

He sat in the lotus pose, eyes closed, breathing deep.

Jance.

He winced. It was Morgan. A telepath could never mistake the feel of that voice in the head. Like slowly bending metal, groaning in the cellar of your mind. Filled with solidness and kinetic energy, it was like hearing the voice of a long dead father come to life in the quiet home of the brain. A very hard and pissed off dead father, whose ghost loved to torment your moments of peace.

Jance…have you eyes on Stella?

Pissed off and annoying.

10-4 boss. She very nearly got her head blown off, but she seems to be none the worse for wear. But of course you knew that, didn’t you?

Not really a question, of course Morgan knew it. Morgan sat in front of a console that told him exactly what was happening to all of the Short Timers 24/7, and not just pulse rate and body temp either. Morgan’s uplink to the group was nothing less than a miracle of science, technology and metaphysics. It could read brain waves, psyche waves, neurological processes and body chemistry in a holographic representation of the individual in real time... It was like standing in an x-ray machine, an MRI tube, and having a shrink there with you at all times. He could pinpoint specific muscle frequencies and gauge the kinetic forces used in exact calculated physics outputs and inputs. It was beyond any piece of medical technology in the world at present day… and at least fifty years beyond.

There were no secrets from the man, not even in the quiet halls of the mind. Jance knew this because he’d designed the machine, and had been there with every step of it’s testing and implementation.

Yeah, I watched her through that exchange. She was pushing the limits, but I told her too. How many others are down there?

He meant how many other guards left alive. The bodies Stella had left in her wake now totaled 15, all of them executed with a precision that defined ‘surgical’, but graceful as angelic ballet. Like a dragonfly plucking a black widow from the center of her web, and devouring the spider in mid flight.

Beautiful, brutal, and terrifying to watch.

Twelve that I can count thus far. There are a few more  further down the way, but they are busy watching the boat.

Fair enough. Keep watching, and keep a close eye on Stella. The last few kills she made something passed through her neuropathology that changed her psyche state. I haven’t seen anything like it before… It flared… Your computer system said she had a ‘Spiritual Experience’. I’m curious if that will have any effect on her in the field.

The tone coming from Morgan from across the ether was strange. He was nervous, and excited. This alone caused Jance to raise an eyebrow. Nothing ever made the man show emotion that Jance knew of, and it was curious that he should be showing some now. Whatever had passed across his screens and holo-tables must’ve been impressive indeed.

Jance was curious too… he’d programmed the parameters to explain away most energy fluxes within the psyche system based on his knowledge of Neuropathology. Some things he’d just guessed on… including the computer systems explanation of what Stella went through, weird though it might be. Because there was no scientific precedent for what was being read.

What am I looking for, or specifically feeling for? Jance couldn’t help but feel an ominous sense of dread. Spying on fellow Short Timers at any time was a little like spitting in the face of a viper. You just don’t do it.

Don’t do anything deep, leave that to me, just watch her behaviors and tell me if she does anything stranger than her usual. Keep your antenna up, and let me know later. Don’t get her guard up.

Internally Jance rolled his eyes and thought, ‘what kinda moron do you think I am?’ Being very careful to try to hide the thought.

There was a moment of stillness in the ether.

The kind of moron that’ll bloody well pay attention to the job at hand, Without being a smartass. Hmm?

Gotcha boss. Jance said. Wincing. He had to figure out how to hide his thoughts better… or quit being such a caustic a*s.

Jance continued to feel for Morgan for a moment… he knew Morgan had severed contact, but he never really trusted that. He always wondered if there was a shadow of the man’s mind watching him from afar. Nothing. At least nothing that he could detect. He shrugged it off and continued his monitoring.

Jance was the watcher. He kept a constant link through the Field with the Short Timers working the scene. Through him, everyone could see a relative birds eye view of the area and all of the people within it.

Short Timer telepathy was extraordinary, but required some getting used to. Telepathy in Jance’s opinion worked on 90 percent intention, and 10 percent skill. Skill insofar as the ability to turn complex sentences and images into a readable linguistic approach, sending it through the psyche waves to the nearest receiver, and making it understandable based on the receivers linguistics. It was a deceiving balancing act. There had to be an agreement between the two individuals. Or more appropriately, an agreement amongst all the Short Timers on how to speak to each other. Because each of them Thought differently than the other, and each of them would prefer a different type of communication, everyone had to basically agree to have a sort-of mental mouth. It was like learning to read, write, and speak in a different language, blindfolded with a room full of people whispering in your ears. The 90 percent of intention came from not only having agreed to the form of communication, but absolutely wanting to speak that way. It was tough at best to get this group of maniacs to agree on anything, let alone want to do it.

Remarkably though, they’d surprised the science group, Morgan, and to a certain extent themselves by coming to an agreement quickly and sliding fairly easily into using telepathy as an actual functional tool rather than an interesting byproduct of the procedure. Now, rather than having to work out different ways to communicate through computers and headsets, all the Short Timers needed to do was spend about a week working around the Psyche Field, even if an operator didn’t explore it directly, and the telepathy became their preferred way of chatting.

In truth, most of them didn’t even really use their real voices anymore, except when they had to deal with the science group. That didn’t happen more than about once a week, and often the Short Timers being interviewed became frustrated because they couldn’t explain clearly what it was that they were trying to communicate, because the scientists couldn’t do telepathy. Or, put more specifically, wouldn’t do telepathy.

Except Jance.

He’d come from the science group, and had volunteered for the procedure. He understood the frustration the Short Timers felt when it came to explaining things to the scientists, because he felt it too. He likened it to trying to explain what color fire is to a blind two year old. What’s the color red to someone who can‘t see? What does a cello sound like to someone born without hearing?

The frustrating part, was that no other scientists besides himself had been willing to undergo the procedure to know what it was that the Short Timers were experiencing. They simply didn’t want to let go of the rest of their lives in order to understand. They’d prefer to sit back and watch, rather than know. To Jance, it was sad. Sad, and well on the way to tragic.  

He’d given the rest of his life (fairly quickly actually) in order to experience the first person view of those who’d undergone the Short Time procedure, to study it from the perspective of a scientist. To know what it was to sing like a wolf, rather than to just sit back and marvel at the beautiful sorrowful sound they made, and wonder; what makes them so sad? He discovered that the wolves weren’t sad, they were singing their glory to the golden moon and giving thanks for the miracle of their lives. Short and brutal though they may be. If someone thought their song was sad? F**k em.

Because he’d started out as a scientist, and had no real military training or killer instinct, he learned how to be functional in the group. He didn’t like to kill, though he didn’t hold judgment against the necessity of it, particularly in this case. Their collective targets were all horrible men, and generally needed to be removed from society. Drug lords, criminals, and murderers were their main targets of choice. Not because of some moral drive to cleanse the rotting city of it’s decay; but because they were the easiest to slaughter without a lot of people asking questions. The chances of a mob boss running up to the nearest police station shouting, ‘Hey! Somebody help! Somebody is killing off all of my wise guys!’ Were slim in Jance’s book. And he’d been proven right over and over again. Also, their targets were street smart, careful, and tough to bullshit. They were hard and mean. They could blend in and be invisible from the lowest levels of street thugs, to the highest political schemers. Perfect candidates for target practice.

It was the shock of killing, the horror of it that tended to disturb Jance. Though, in his six months of being a Short Timer, he’d learned to deaden himself to it. He was becoming more and more desensitized to the killing of these men simply because he’d seen so much of it. In six months he’d watched one hundred and thirty seven criminals die. Of all those deceased, he was personally responsible for only three. The others he’d seen killed were done by the hands of his fellow Short Timers, and didn’t really count against his conscience. Though he did feel a certain guilt with all the killings, he rationalized this with the thought ‘at least it was quick.’.

Jance watched through the Psyche Field as Stella moved carefully through the shadows of an alleyway just North of another group of men.

She was spooky to watch. Especially when he was hitching a ride on her cortex. He had impressions of all of her senses, and could (if he was damn careful) sneak in and ‘hack’ into her processes. He was very discreet, and only moved in to experience where she was at and what she was doing, not distract her.

Watching through her eyes, Jance saw the dark bricks of the alleyway and felt the hard asphalt beneath her feet. She was looking out towards the docks, sensing the men she was closing in on. She was excited, but the excitement was far off in the back of her mind. The predominant feeling running through her body was a type of hard electricity. Like rod iron heated to a glow, casting light through the shadows of the dull air. Her heartbeat was a metronome pulse of calm. Her breathing was slow and hypnotic. Her skin beneath the comfortable nylon lining of the suit pulled against her underarms and lower abdomen as she crawled expertly through the gloom. He felt the silky slide of the cloth against her n*****s and crotch. He felt the warmth there. He could feel the dull ache of her still healing bones and muscles (the procedure took a little while to heal from, all the Short Timers ached). Beneath her mask her tongue came from between her teeth and licked her lower lip…

Jance, quit it that tickles.

He was so startled that he damn near fell off his perch high above the docks. In his mind he heard her give a chuckle.

Jesus Stella, I’m sorry! I don’t know what the hell that was…holy s**t! Uuuuhhh, yeah. Sorry. He could feel (his own skin this time) give a mighty heated blush beneath his mask.

Relax Jance, given a different time and place that would be an interesting trick to experiment with. But for now, behave yourself. I’ve got another five or six men to kill, and we can discuss mind rape when we’re more appropriately situated someplace where I can defend myself properly. Ok?

Yeah. S**t. Sorry Stella. That was seriously not what I intended to do, I promise. I mean…Goddamn it. Jance had never felt so utterly zipper-down-in-front-of-the-whole-class embarrassed in his entire life. His mouth went dry and his heartbeat went up in pace.

He continued to stay in Stella’s mind but only in her visual field. She crept to the edge of the alleyway and froze. She looked through the gloom at her targets.

Closer to the water a fog started to roll in, and five men in silhouetted form stood facing each other and chatting in the heavy air. She could hear the gentle lap of water beneath the docks, and heard the muffled conversation of the men. One had a cigarette and the tip flared in the darkness.

Jance wondered how the suit would work in the fog. When he’d helped design them he hadn’t taken into account all possible atmospheric conditions. The Nano’s that surrounded the suit were extremely intelligent when it came to mimicking lighting conditions. However, Jance wasn’t certain how well they could handle density.

How’s it looking Stella? How is the suit responding to the fog? He asked.

Mm. Not good, the indicator keeps flashing yellow. I don’t think the Nano cloud knows quite what to do.

S**t. This was not good. If she couldn’t phase out, she was going to have a tougher time getting close enough to the targets to surprise them. She could rush them, but there was a long way between her and the group of men, and two of them were facing her direction all but guaranteeing her discovery as soon as she moved. Jance didn’t have to be in her mind to tell it was racing with the different possibilities. Her energy signature was pulsing with high vibrations and dense fluctuations. He could tell she was just about to rush them.

Stella wait, don’t go out there yet.

Jance, this is not a time to f**k around. If you don’t have anything useful to do, then shut up so I can do this. Her tone was hard, she knew what the score was. She knew she was walking into a bad scene. But Morgan’s instructions had been specific: no one lives, kill everything on that dock that moves. And Stella, for all her banter and hard headedness liked to make Morgan happy. She pulled her blades from their sheathes. He could feel them in her hands, she clenched them until her knuckles cracked.

Stella goddamn it wait for a second. You got lucky with the last group, but if any one of these guys puts up a noise, you’re gonna have another six guys on your a*s. They are about fifty yards up the docks. Check the Field if you don’t believe me. He could feel her hesitation, and then felt her access the Field through his link. She saw the other group of men, just out of eyesight, but still within earshot of this first group. She pulled back, and he heard her sigh and felt her give a shrug.

What difference does it make?

He thought for a sec, trying to come up with something.

He was the scientist of the group, and supposed to be the smartest. He needed to think, create some kind of distraction for her so that she could get in and kill the other men without being detected.

Just give me a minute Stella, I’ll come up with something.

I’ll give you thirty seconds, then I’m going out there. I’m fast enough to take these guys and you know it.

He sighed. Of course she was, but she wasn’t fast enough to take them without one of them alerting the other group of men. Even if she did manage to kill the first group, the second group would be barreling in on her position and she’d be out in the open with her suit not masking her presence. They had guns, and she didn’t.

But then again, maybe she did have a gun of sorts.

Alright, I’m gonna try something new. But I’m gonna be blind to you and everything else for a bit. Don’t move until I tell you it’s ok, got it?

He felt a non committal shrug from her.

I’m serious Stella. Don’t. Fucken. Move.

Alright alright alright already. She said, and seemed to settle down into a more comfortable position behind the crates at the edge of the alley.