It was meant to be simple proceedings for a simple day. A quick recuperation and exchange of supplies, an affair that should've been a mere afterthought. As it often was in this forsaken town, the easiest things were demanded to turn complicated.

  The meeting point was a little coffee shop. The Black Pecan was one of the few diners of choice still open for business. Medus had once frequented it, a somber joint with jazzy twangs and soothing small talk. It didn't lack those things in the modern day, but the attractions turned from sweet to saccharine, dashing to dull. A travesty of its own ideal. Medus lowered his cap by the brim and darted his eyes. Bobbys were stationed like seagulls on a dock, and though it was only a duo, their keen scrutiny made up for their low numbers. One held their baton with a cocked head and a protruding lower jaw. It was a tactic of intimidation, and though its execution was palpable, it didn't take much to rattle this languid place.

  It wasn't as if Medus planned to speak in a loud tone, nor was he here for any considerable conversation. Supervision would've been a manageable hurdle. However, his tryst partner was nowhere in sight, and the presence of supervision at all implied an interjection. Medus assumed that Austin was a compromised man, another casualty in the Mayor’s tirade. Whether he spilled information or the coppers just had a lucky break, they were here. Medus no longer had business in this place. At the very least, he decided to order. He hadn't had something sweet in months. So he beckoned the waitress, who began taking his order with a charming curtsy. A simple glass of sweet tea, how he always liked it, and within a tenth of an hour, his drink was handed to him. He gulped it briskly, but in sparse intervals, letting each sip comfortably settle before the next.

  “Hey, Big Fella. Hate to bother ya, but we'd like to ask ya a few questions, if you don't mind.”

  In the midst of swishing in his mouth, he was interrupted by the very face that made the room sour. The copper with the crooked neck was standing before him, poised to pounce, or to light up a cigar. Even behind his shades, Medus knew he was eyeing him up and down. He crossed his arms as Medus set his drink.

  “Can I help you, officer?” He said in a cursory voice. The officer glared at him for a bit longer, but ultimately, he broke the silence.

  “Yeah… sure can, champ. Deputy Winter, at your service. I'm here wondering if you could answer a few questions.”

  The officer invited himself to the opposite seat of the booth. He put his arms on the table and tapped them in a rhythm. Medus put his hands in a finger tent.

  “I'll ask right away, I don't really wanna bother ya: we're looking for a duo. Some rascals, y'know the drill. It's been the talk of the town for a while. A little birdie tipped us that they'd meet right here, but the most I know is that they're gonna come in the afternoon. Have you seen anyone… acting shady, on your way here?”

  There was something spine-chilling about his cordial tone. Medus couldn't call it fake; it was too good to really call it that. More, rehearsed, refined, a cadence he was often warned about from his colleagues. He clutched his jaw and answered the best he could.

  “I didn't see anybody shady.”

  “Really, now. Not a single soul? Could even be a woman or a teenager, man. They're crazy these days.

  “Not at all, officer. I was keeping to myself.”

  “Alright, alright… y'know, I like sweet tea a lot, too. Not so much as a kid, but I recently acquired the taste for it. I understand all the rage. The only problem is, it really inflates my bladder! Haha!”

  Medus raised a cautionary eyebrow. The officer noticed it and swiped his palm.

  “Eh, forget it. You look on edge, young champ. I hope I'm not startling you.”

  “...Not at all, Officer. But I do dislike having my privacy intruded upon.”

  “I get ya, I get ya. Alright, I'll cut the small talk. Next question.”

  The officer reached into his breast pocket and produced a crumpled paper, which he began to unravel. He slid the page to Medus, careful to avoid the wet spots from his glass, and the man scrutinized it with narrowed eyes.

  It was a symbol he recognized. A sideways, figure-eight shape posted upon an upside down cross. He wasn't familiar with it– it wasn't a sigil he himself affiliated with, but he saw it often in the hidden parts of the town. The end of alleys, the underside of bridges, and the side of trains that parked nearby until the next departure. Places Medus visited frequently, too, but not for whatever business these people did. Perhaps they were a noble sort, or maybe they were just a garden-variety clique of thugs. For once, he answered honestly.

  “I don't know anything about this symbol.”

  But not without some significant omissions, naturally. Deputy Winter seemed to press his tongue against his teeth. He merely shrugged, reaching over and retrieving the page.

  “You're a tough nut to crack, aren't you?”

  “I'm told that often. It's a skill one picks up when they value their alone time.”

  The officer released a hearty scoff.

  “Well, you're quite the smooth talker, so it hasn't hurt ya yet. It's a shame, though. Not to leak anything classified, but a handful of groups have been causing trouble.”

  “Trouble? Really? For whom?”

  “Why, for everybody. They're being unlawful, after all.”

  Medus hummed with tightly sealed lips. Winter had a way of speaking that burrowed beneath his skin. Medus’ mask was beginning to crack.

  “Unlawful, maybe. But dangerous?”

  The officer tapped on the table again. The muscles of his face constricted, giving the impression of narrowed eyes.

  “You’re quite the righteous man, aren’t you?”

  Medus didn’t respond. He kept his pose firm. The Deputy sighed. He leaned in, flicking his eyes left and right as he raised his glasses, then nodded.

  “Oh yes, dangerous. Dangerous men and women. Conniving men and women, in their cabals. Men and women who wish to see our democracy crumble and falter, all because they just don't like the head of the hour. It's unstable. It's getting everyone riled up. And you know, when people get riled up, we coppers have more of a job to do. And I don't wanna hurt anybody, you know. But I got a life. I have a wife and kids, people who need the money I make to live. And there won't be any money for me if my boss is out of his seat.”

  “And you don’t fancy being a simple salaryman, do you?”

  The officer laughed with his whole belly, wiping his nose once his fit died down. Medus swore he saw a tear roll down his cheek.

  “Heh. If only it were so simple. The chaos of shifting jobs, especially in the modern day. It just ain't something I can afford.”

  “...I heard a man was killed in his home a week ago. Shot in the chest, and the grapevine tells me he, too, just wanted to be alone. Perhaps, one of those very men you call dangerous. I think it's awful. Have you heard about it?”

  “Huh? Sure, I have. Look, don't get me wrong, champ. I don't like the idea of snuffing lives either. Hell, I'd even say he didn't deserve it– Tom said the guy never fired. But sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do. There are a lot of problem people. Y'know, drug dealers, pimps, conspiracy chanters, all the loonies waving knives and bats. We take care of ‘em just fine. I think you're being a bit harsh, don't you, man?”

  Medus leaned into his finger tent. He let out a stream of air through his nostrils.

  “We'll see.”

  “Huh? Come again?”

  The officer leaned in, cupping his ear. Medus glanced then shook his head.

  “Again, I don't have anything you want from me. Honestly, I need to take a leak. If you don't mind.”

  “Oh, sure thing. Righto. Can't get between a man and the toilet, can I?”

  Medus excused himself with a tip of his hat, and Winter returned it, though he had no headwear. He occupied himself, counting the hairs on his forearm until the next piece of intrigue entered his peripheral vision. The young champ left his glass half-empty. The sheriff wasn’t going to do anything ridiculous and, namely, illegal, like spiking the drink, but he figured that if the man didn’t return soon, he’d help himself to a little sip. Or, better yet, he’d hide the glass on top of a different table, or even ask the waitress to put it up for him. He snickered to himself and exited the booth, but just as he prepared to relocate the glass, a green smudge on the maroon upholstery caught his eye. It was a five-dollar bill. He grabbed and snapped it. It wasn’t fake, that much was for sure, so why would the gentleman just leave this cash behind? It was impossible for him to forget it; it was tucked right between the crevices of the cushions. Its location was all too intentional.

  “...Ah. I getcha. Well, young champ, you played a fine gambit. And it’s such a shame; I really wanted to trust that you were a good one.”

  He scouted the premises and confirmed his suspicions; the young champ was nowhere in sight. Winter reached for his belt and unholstered his walkie-talkie. Right before speaking into it, he sighed.

  “Tea in a coffee shop. I shoulda known.”

  —

  Medus assumed he made a clean getaway. There was no reason to think otherwise. Aside from a handful of drawn movements, Deputy Winter showed no signs of harboring suspicion. From the way he spoke, he also seemed a daft fellow, a man who read too deeply from wild guesses rather than good hunches. That's why, when he ventured down the sidewalks of Abaddon, he did so with an untroubled speed walk. He broke into a sprint when he saw the Deputy leaving the coffee shop.

  Medus was a large man. Well over six feet in height, and his 200 pounds didn't come from fat. He was forever grateful for his physiology, but it possessed a debilitating feature: he would always be a dislodged nail in the presence of a crowd. A whistle shrieked not too far behind him, and he presumed that the two officers broke into pursuit. He was a fast runner, but there was only one of him, and who knew how many other bobbies would be sent his way? He did, however, have an advantage. He had knowledge. Familiarity. An understanding of this town that was far more sophisticated than any crummy copper. The issue was losing his trailers. Sewer entrances were on every other block, but he had no winch, and even if one were open, they'd see him go in there. Medus couldn't risk the discovery of their provisional hideout. More accessible sewer entrances were further along the outskirts, but they'd take a clean ten minutes to reach. Not terrible, but not secure. However, it was one of his best bets.

  Thus, as he continued going down the road, he kept eyes on sudden exits. Alleys, stores, hotels, even stairs for the metro. Nothing like a refuge, but places for him to shake the coppers off or otherwise buy more time. Perhaps he could take a fire exit of a pawn shop, but it ran the risk of trapping himself in a place with one point of entry. He turned his head. The policemen weren't gaining, but they weren't stopping, either. Medus clicked his tongue. It looked dire for all but three seconds, when he spotted a particular landmark.

  It was an alley, of course, but a unique one; one that was split in two by a wall. A tall wall, much taller than him, but a wall he could easily scale. He sharply turned and smiled at the sight. There was nothing in the alley to use as a footstool, and that was all the better; if his pursuers wanted to get him, then they'd have to walk the whole way around. He leapt at the brick surface and used his momentum to reach the tip before pulling himself and vaulting over. Right before making the other side, he caught a glimpse of Deputy Winter. He had a scowl so furious it nearly burst out of his face.

  Medus recoiled as he landed, and immediately he was back on his feet. He exited the alley and looked for a new place to hide. His eyes landed on a dumpster the block down. He knew he could do better, but he would only be out of sight for so long. It would serve as adequate cover. Swiftly entering the new alley, sitting behind the metal container but keeping a peering gaze, necessary tabs for knowing when to leave. He was prepared to keep himself still for as long as it took.

  “You seem to be in a rush.”

  And then he turned his head fast enough to nearly snap it off. It was a woman's voice, startling him to make the dumpster rattle with his jolting body. Medus held a hand on his chest as he heard the person stifle a laugh. She held a cigarette in one hand and took a drag.

  “You… you must announce yourself more gracefully. I nearly ripped a muscle,” Medus choked.

  The lady rolled her eyes and crossed one arm, resting the other’s elbow on the wrist. Medus darted his eye to the alleyway opening and swiftly spoke.

  “Would you mind not speaking with me? I'm attempting to maintain secrecy.”

  “You're sneaking around? Oh no, I should be scared. I should scream. Lone woman, next to a large, suspicious, intimidating man.”

  Medus furrowed his brow and quickly rubbed it. The lady laughed and made no attempt to suppress it that time. She let out an energized breath and approached him with a strut.

  “I only joke. Very well, I'll keep quiet. I'll even pretend that you aren't here.”

  The woman leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes as she kept smoking. Medus sternly nodded, mostly to himself. He kept his gaze trained, and soon enough, the policemen fell into his line of sight. Confused, searching, outmatched. They yelled something at each other that Medus couldn't identify before dispersing in opposite directions. He smiled and sank to meet the cold concrete.

  “By the sound of things, you lost them.”

  The lady didn't keep her word for long. Medus opened his eyes to the woman looking down at him, not in any condescending fashion, but it nevertheless rubbed him the wrong way. He adjusted his seat and rested his hand on a bent knee. The woman continued speaking.

  “I wonder, just who was it you were hiding from? An enemy? The law? A lover? Did you anger the wrong guy? Well, you look like a shady man. It's too warm to be wearing a coat so big.”

  Medus looked at her with an agitated expression. These incessant questions were misbegotten.

  “...You are wearing a cardigan on top of a sweater, your khakis reach your ankles, and you have a scarf.”

  The woman shrugged after a click of her tongue.

  “Touché. Touché. But I hate the cold. I can't stand it one bit.”

  “Then I hate the cold as well.”

  Medus adjusted his position and rose to a standing posture. After sweeping dirt off his trousers, he tugged on his coat and put his hands in its pockets.

  “I don't appreciate your questioning. We don't even know each other.”

  “How reasonable. I apologize, I suppose. I'm just a… naturally curious soul.”

  He looked at her with a tilted head. He ground his molars, stimulating his mind.

  “What would a curious soul like you hope to find in a desolate alley like this?”

  “Well, I only came here to smoke, but I wound up finding a hulk who’s running for the hills.”

  Medus harshly huffed through his nose.

  “It was just dumb luck.”

  She laughed. But unlike her previous, near-scathing guffaws, this one held a hint of regret. She shook her head and snuffed her cigarette, flicking it to the dumpster and missing by a foot.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it was.”

  Her smile appeared forged rather than blossoming. The atmosphere became frigid, terribly awkward, but the shift was more disquieting than the air itself. Medus rustled his hands in his coat and looked once more into the street. It wasn’t empty, but nobody alarming presented themselves. He turned to the woman to speak. She looked hung up on an ornate thought.

  “I'll take my leave, then. I hope I wasn't a bother.”

  Just as Medus began to depart, the woman was struck out of her daze. She reached a hand out.

  “Hold on now–!”

  Though Medus was already halfway out of the alley, he was promptly stopped by the woman’s words. He glared like a cat. The woman looked hesitant to continue, like her calling wasn’t conferred with herself. Medus’ glare transformed into an inquisitive stare. She retracted her hand and looked to the sides.

  “What is it?” Medus asked. If she couldn’t finish herself, then Medus would offer encouragement.

  “Oh, it’s… I only had a thought. Tell me, do you want to hear it?”

  “How am I meant to answer that if I don’t know what kind of thought it is?”

  She gave him a half-open smirk. This one wasn’t so unsettling to look at, but her face sloughed its joy soon after. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and muttered something to herself before speaking out loud.

  “I’m in an odd mood today, and I was wondering… How about I help you?

  Medus’ eyes widened and reddened. He grabbed the edge of his cap’s brim and pinched it.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “Help me? Why? And how?”

  “The ‘why’ can be answered later, but as for a how, I happen to have a place you can stay in for a while. I understand that whoever is chasing you hasn’t given up yet, have they? You’re not safe in this back alley.”

  Medus groaned with shut lips. Her words were agreeable; wherever those two policemen were, it wasn’t far, and it would only be a matter of time before dedicated eyes were stationed around the town.

  “Where is this ‘place’?”

  “Down Isaac road, right at its edge. It’s a walk, but it isn’t a place many people fancy visiting. It’s probably the last location your pursuers will look.”

  “And it’s near the outskirts, too… do you have a covert route over there?”

  “I do, but it’s slow, and it involves a lot of weaving through buildings. I trust you’d rather take it slow and safe than fast and risky, though?”

  “...If you’d only tell me why.”

  The woman made a scrunched expression, a clear indication she hadn’t much of an answer. Or, at least, not one which could be so easily delivered. She sighed, releasing her face from its difficulty.

  “Why don’t I tell you on the way? You don’t know who’s listening these days.”

  She spoke her final sentence in a low note. Medus nodded at her assessment. It was all too true to disagree.

  “Here. I’ll take the odus of the guide.”

  Medus didn’t say anything, letting the woman take the role that would have naturally fallen to her anyhow. They exited the alley with careful strides, and even though the woman had nobody to look out for, she turned her head this way and that to scout. It made Medus wonder if he wasn’t the only one on the run. He had half the mind to ask, but he didn’t want to distract her from her duty. She could have very well been that kind of worker.

  “So, who were you running from?”

  Or, perhaps, she was a conversationalist, a person who excelled in tasks when another person was there to spur her mind. Or, maybe, she just talked too much. Her question wasn’t one Medus was averse to answering; truly, he could blather about his umbrage until the sun rose the next morning. But he didn’t trust this woman quite that way, not in this environment, not in a town in such a divisive state.

  “Some thugs,” he merely stated. Generic, applicable, open-ended. The woman gave him a conflicting look. He couldn’t tell if it was knowing or nervous.

  “Thugs? Like a gang? An organized group? Or just some bad people.”

  “I would say a little bit of everything.”

  “Ahh… that tells me nothing! Be more specific, won’t you?”

  Medus raised an eyebrow.

  “What’s it matter to you?”

  “It’s as I said, I’m a curious soul. In many ways, learning about such perilous, clandestine things is what gives me life.”

  “You’re an odd one.”

  “So says the pot.”

  Medus granted her a conceding nod. She ushered him into a certain store. As they did so, they quickly made way to its rear exit.

  “I suppose you’ve made your intentions clear. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s best if I don’t say anything.”

  For all he knew, she could be a sympathizer. The woman, predictably, didn’t take kindly to his evasiveness.

  “That’s putting a lot of strain on me. What if I’m helping a criminal? What if you need a real good beating, and I’m delaying justice?”

  “If you think that, then I’ll gladly part ways with you.”

  “...I see. No, you’re too upright for that, aren’t you?”

  Medus felt that, in sole company, she’d be biting on her finger. She didn’t look uneasy– true unease couldn’t be dissuaded by such a meager gesture, only abated. But she wasn’t all calm, either. Medus’ secrecy was a lot more tiring than he expected. They exited the store thereafter, but not without a comment from the hulking man.

  “If you still suspect that I’m a criminal, I can tell you why I’m in such a situation. It may be enough to satisfy your curiosity.”

  “I doubt it. My curiosity is a picky thing; it needs the whole story, y’know?”

  She flicked her brows once, then twice. She fluttered her lengthy, manicured eyelashes, and she had her head in a position that gave her glance a hint of innocence. None of it helped her coax. In fact, it made Medus frown. She shrugged, muttering something about needing to try.

  “I guess I won’t be picky.”

  “Rest assured that I’m no criminal. I’m not on the run after a scandal, I haven’t hurt anybody, and I’m not a fraud. My pursuers are far more guilty than I am.”

  “The pursuers that you won't– Oh, forget it, just continue.”

  Medus nodded in courteous affirmation.

  “They've shown their wickedness in ways that haven't directly affected me. Kidnapping, coercion, theft, murder. But it wasn't too long ago when they captured my brother, placed him in their… confinement, all because of a ridiculous superstition.”

  “Oh. I'm, so sorry.”

  Medus raised his palm, somberly lowering his head with closed eyes. His calmness was only a vestige. Soon, his hands began to shudder. He didn't see it, but while the woman wore a frown, her ears were far more sharpened to his words.

  “What do you mean by superstitions?” She asked.

  “Hmph. How I wish I could tell you. They told me to stay out of it as soon as it happened.”

  “But you didn't, right?”

  Medus kept his posture steady. The woman hummed to herself, speaking again.

  “If what you're saying is true, then your looks do your character a disservice."

  “What could that possibly mean?”

  “You just need to change your clothes… and maybe try smiling more, that's all.”

  The woman’s advice evidently did not help Medus achieve it. It gave her a good chuckle. Her gait, already fluid, became far less stubby. They made rounds through another store, this time a boutique with gently creaking floors. The ambiance riled her to speak.

  “It's hard getting the juicy bits out of you. Do you truly know nothing about the motive?”

  “Your pestering is maddening, but, yes. I know nothing, but I have conjecture. My brother was always an odd one, you see. He was engaged in extensive esoterica.”

  “Ooo. What, like the occult?”

  Medus looked at her with an abjectly worried expression. The woman coughed into her mouth with a flushed face, as if ashamed of an unsavory impulse. Medus stopped paying it any mind.

  “I didn't pay much attention to it, even when he dragged me out of my room to give me deluges and lectures. He asked me to perform in a seance once, and naturally, I declined. He's young, though; only just turned nineteen, but he's held an interest in it for years. I think it's all hocus pocus, of course.”

  “But?”

  “Ah, the ‘but…’ well, I have none. I'm sure you'd love to hear me say something of black markets, but I wouldn't know, and anything illicit he'd buy wouldn't have been a danger anyhow.”

  “So, what, you believe your brother’s quirks are what got him in the slammer?”

  Medus didn't answer immediately. The woman could hear him grind his teeth through his cheeks. It sounded painful. It was meant to be.

  “It only makes sense to me. They're notorious for engaging in more, secluded activities, aren't they? Those occultists.”

  “Pssh. ‘Secluded’ is putting it lightly. They like to mess with powders and cards, act like freaks, and all for naught. It’s a grown-up’s make pretend.”

  Medus widened his eyes.

  “A secular woman yourself?”

  “‘Secular’ isn’t right. Well, I'm no pious churchgoer, but I'm not secular either. Still, it doesn't take a stubborn atheist to denounce the occult. I mean, goodness, let alone seances, have you ever had someone try to read your fortune? Palms, or tarot cards.”

  “No. Have you?”

  “You bet.”

  “If you thought it was all bologna, then why even bother?”

  Her expression was initially one of surprise, clearly expecting a different kind of question. It then morphed into stark disappointment, as if she were asked what color the sky is at night. Medus opened his mouth to a lengthy “Ah.”

  “You're insatiable,” he added.

  “You're encroaching on dangerous territory there. You're lucky I know you're not talking of appetite.”

  “I don't follow.”

  “Oh, forget it.”

  The woman turned her head and flicked the back of her palm. Though a gesture of offended dismissal, its delivery hinted at a lighter tone. Medus couldn’t see her face, but it couldn’t have been a bad one. He held the impression that if she had a scowl to make, she would always show it. He put his hands into his coat and thought to himself, diligently, though soon elected to speak his mind.

  “You seem at ease.”

  She gave the man a sidelong glance, never fully turning her head his way.

  “Am I? I must be in a good mood today. It's been a long time since something like this happened.”

  “Not your first time helping a runaway? Your composure wouldn’t make sense, otherwise.”

  “Of course not. Far from it. I was something of a hero back then, hehe. But the last time was a long, long time ago.”

  Medus tilted his head up. They were back on the street, now. The sky was covered in an impenetrable gray, and though it made for moody moments, he was too caught up, mulling over her words.

  “A hero?”

  He didn’t speak it out of mockery, nor as a question, nor as an incredulous disbelief of her self-assesment. He felt the graze of a smile; tiny, gentle tugs, like a child asking for a treat, all for the concept. Medus, however, didn’t repeat those words in a voice quiet enough to stay in his thoughts. The woman responded.

  “Yeah. I’d shower you with tales of my exploits, but we’re not in a bar, and you don’t seem like the type to care. Besides, nowadays, I’m just…”

  She slowed down. Medus matched her pace. She quickly shook her head and sped up.

  “Nevermind.”

  He shrugged. So be it, he thought. So be it. They continued without further fuss. Medus suspected that their destination was near.

  “Whatever it is that’s going on, I hope your brother is alive and well.”

  He froze. Her blurted phrase staggered his strut, audibly so, and she turned to face him. She looked him up and down as if to find a wound, then pursed her lips at his continued silence.

  “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  They shared a warm look, but it was short-lived. Something caught Medus’s ear, and as he turned in its direction, he rushed ahead. The woman jolted and followed him, keeping his voice down, understanding what the situation must have been. They were in an alleyway again, behind a dumpster, again. Both took cover, both peered over, watching the passersby on the street, and while she kept a keen eye, she hadn’t the slightest clue what she was looking for.

  “Are they here?” She asked.

  “They are. I don’t think they noticed me. I need to make sure they pass.”

  “Who is it?”

  Silence. She didn’t like it, but she realized that any answer to that question wouldn’t have been much use. Thus, Medus answered a question she didn’t ask.

  “I’ll keep an eye out. Trust me.”

  And she did, then, trust him, but that didn’t mean she loitered in the corner. Her eyes were still trained on the bustle of the streets. Nothing stood out to her, not even anything trying to be discreet. Soon, though, something did. A man in a uniform familiar to her, as it was worn by many in this town; a beige shirt and a tell-tale badge. A police officer, and judging by the man’s tensing, they had something to do with his situation.

  Then, the two of them began to walk into the alley. Medus retracted his head. She did, too. He was gnawing on his fingers. Words didn’t need to be exchanged for what was about to happen, but even if they were, they wouldn’t have reached her. Medus’s look intensified when he saw hers. Frozen, pale, like snow, snow so white it refracted the sun in blinding radiance. Her movements seemed independent of her thoughts. Medus had an urge to giggle; she looked like the one who was about to be caught. But that was exactly it, wasn’t it? She’d be found as an accomplice– she was an accomplice, and it would be Medus’s presence that would bring that trouble. But that could be fixed. Medus didn’t have his fists for show.

  “We can ambush them. I understand if you have gripes, so I’ll do it.”

  He said so with the intent of assurance, even brandishing his hands like they were whetted knives. It didn’t inspire any confidence. It only made the woman shake.

  It wasn’t the thought of being an accomplice that bothered her. Medus didn’t seem to realize it, but a duo of marching officers was a terrible omen. The woman didn’t care. She’d been in such situations before; they were just uniforms. Ultimately, they could’ve been any brand of blackguard. The “whats” had no impact. It was the “whos,” the skin and soul within that betraying uniform. She recognized that man. Oh yes, did she recognize him. She perspired. It wasn’t horror on her face, but she looked nervous. It wasn’t dread, but a rising agitation, seesawing with violent fluctuations, vigor of mood that waxed and decayed. She looked at him. Medus’s stony face was impossible to read. It made it hurt that he looked more concerned with her than he did himself. Their footsteps approached, and the thuds on concrete sounded like boulders on a car. His statement echoed, loud and clear: an ambush. She spoke it that time, as a whisper. An ambush. She knew that man well, and Medus suggested an ambush, then, on that man. Medus was a big person. She didn’t know of his skills, but he wasn’t apprehensive about using them. Being unarmed mattered little when the opposition couldn’t produce their weapons. She looked at Medus once more, holding a hand over her mouth. She clutched her face and shut her eyes. And then, she rose to her feet, and she ran.

  She didn’t catch what face Medus made. She couldn’t look. Appearing so suddenly was a shock to everybody. The Deputy reached for his baton, but hesitated once he saw her face. His eyes went so wide it nearly knocked his glasses off.

  “Huh? Ms. Doyle? What are you–?”

  “Back there.”

  She raced to his side, pointing at the dumpster. Winter held a raised eye brow, looking to and fro the location, hesitant from her jittering. She grit her teeth, furrowed her brows, and thrust her hand that way, over and over, and soon enough, the Deputy caught on.

  “I see. I see now. Hahaha! Oh man, Mike, call the boys here, will you?”

  The other officer obliged and ran out of the alley, directing further man power into the narrow passage. Winter approached with a sashay, holding his bat on his shoulder.

  “Come on out now, young champ. We’ve got questions to ask you!”

  The cantering of half a dozen men encouraged Medus to act. So he did, simply, unceremoniously, as if leaving a full-day shift. He raised his hands, though they had no firearms, as a gesture of surrender. There was fury in his eyes. Winter whistled at the sight, but he didn’t comment. He could tell they weren’t directed his way.

  “Doyle?” He shouted, “Everett Doyle?”

  The woman, Everett, was likened to stone one more. She tilted her head and glared. She could hardly keep eye contact.

  “You know me?”

  “From the rumors. I can’t believe it. They’re true, after all.”

  She broke her gaze away. She turned her head with closed eyes, groaning like a dying animal. She stuck her hands in her cardigan and exhaled through her nose.

  “You made the right choice, champ,” Winter interrupted, “things didn’t have to get ugly, and we can handle this in a civilized manner.”

  “Civilized? Detainment, over absolutely nothing, civilized?”

  “Suspected conspiracy is a serious crime, champ… Ah, you wouldn’t get it, though, would you?”

  As Winter shook his head, two officers walked around him and put handcuffs on Medus. He didn’t resist, but he sneered at them.

  “I say suspected, but we’re not idiots here, are we? Haha! It’s heartbreaking that you had to pick this path. I hate to see such a young, healthy man ruin his life. One little brush up in the dresser, and you would've been the century’s Casanova.”

  He turned his gaze to the woman, keeping his complacent smile.

  “But there are some things we just have to do, right, Ms. Doyle?”

  Medus began to be taken away. His eyes were affixed to the ground. Everett looked at Winter.

  “I… at least make this one worth it.” She spoke.

  “Come on, Ms. Doyle, you know me; I always make it worth it. But hey, we caught number two because of you! I’ll ask the mayor to give an even bigger check this time round.”

  Medus’ eyes went wide at the mention of a second person. He looked up at the woman.

  “You treacherous sleaze.”

  “Whoa there, young champ! That’s no way to refer to a lady! Maybe you wouldn’t have been a Casanova after all.”

  He lightly tapped Medus on the back with his baton, clicking his tongue like he was scolding a dog. He was sent away and soon out of sight, but Winter, another officer who was writing on a notepad, and Everett remained. Winter looked at the woman and blinked.

  “Aye, you don’t look too happy there, Ms. Doyle. Something the matter?”

  She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pants, lighting one up before taking an extended drag. There was a kind of air about her that the pungent stench of smoke complemented, though Winter couldn’t be there to appreciate it.

  “This is a no-smoking zone, Ms. Doyle.”

  “I pay my taxes. You lot don’t take care of the alleys. I can smoke.”

  Winter scoffed with humor.

  “Alright, I’ll overlook it this time.”

  The Deputy tipped his hat at her before calling at his partner.

  “Take care, Ms. Doyle. Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

  Everett didn’t acknowledge his farewell. She burned through her cigarette quickly. She checked her pack and found seven more. They wouldn’t be enough. She sighed and returned it to her pocket. There was no point in trying. Even a million drags wouldn’t have done anything. She stuck her hands in her pockets and got on her feet. As she exited the alley, she stared at the moving policemen. They turned the corner soon after, and now they were out of her sight. She turned her head to the sky, up high, straight up to where only building tips and power lines were within her peripheral vision. Her legs became wobbly. But she moved them. It would have all been for naught, otherwise.