“The date’s set,” Tristan said with the least amount of enthusiasm he could. “We’re meeting at Peace Café tomorrow around one.”

“Great,” Nicolas adjusted his brown coat. “Romantic stuff, Tristan. I’m happy for you.”

The circumstances were less romantic than he wanted them, but he supposed a date was a date. He was still going to meet New Universe.

“Understood,” Arlene said, writing something in her notepad. “We will supply you with a microphone before your rendezvous.”

“Wait,” Tristan waved to get her attention. “You’re going to be listening in on everything we talk about?”

Arlene looked up. “That is correct.”

“Don’t you worry about us,” Nicolas put his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “If there’s nothing suspicious, just think of us like your own personal cheerleaders.”

“Wonderful,” Tristan wiped a cascade of sweat from his brow.

Forget it. Every potential drop of romance had been squeezed out of the situation thanks to these two.

He looked at his phone. It was nearly 5 o’clock, and here he was sitting at a table in a no-name bar, listening to what had to be the worst guitarist he had ever heard in his life. More than anything, he just wanted to be back home.

“Tristan,” Nicolas placed his hand on his shoulder. “You okay? You’re looking a little pale. Wouldn’t you say, Arlene? Isn’t he pale?”

Arlene stood up and brought her face close to his. “Yes, very pale,” she said monotonously.

Tristan pulled away. “I’m… I’m fine,” he managed to choke out. His clothes felt extremely restrictive, and the collar of his shirt made him feel like he was being choked. He had to fight the urge to rip it off.

“Nicolas, I think Tristan may be experiencing a panic attack,” Arlene said.

“What’s the matter?” Nicolas asked, seemingly completely unaware of what a personal space bubble was.

“It’s just been a while since I’ve been out,” Tristan picked up his glass of water and took a sip.

“You’ll be alright. After all, you were out and about a little yesterday too.”

Yeah, and they all knew how that turned out.

“Nicolas, I sincerely doubt that you are helping,” Arlene said.

“No need to get stressed,” Nicolas grinned. “Not sure about your date tomorrow, but the girl we’re meeting here is a cute one. A real firecracker.”

“That is incorrect. Females are considered to be girls until roughly the age of 12, when they then become young women,” Arlene sat back down. “The person we are here to speak to is in her late twenties. Therefore, she is a woman. Not a girl.”

Nicolas frowned. “Well whatever she is, she’s something else.”

Tristan tried to straighten himself up in his chair. His breath was still shaky, but he did his best to calm down.

“So what does this person have to do with the… to the uh, case?” He felt incredibly lame for trying to sound like he knew anything about crime investigation. However, it was clear that this wasn’t a typical crime, and it was equally clear that the man and woman sitting with him weren’t typical detectives either.

In fact, he had doubted that they were really detectives at all. When he brought up the issue on the car ride to the bar, the two of them were more than willing to let him examine their badges. As far as he could tell, they really did belong to the FBI, although they informed him they couldn’t disclose the branch. All Nicolas said was that they were specially trained to deal with “these kinds” of crimes. Whatever the hell that meant.

He remembered reading about an arcade game called ‘Polybius’ that supposedly existed in Portland during the 80s. It was an urban legend, really. Supposedly, it was extremely addictive, and it drove people that played it to the brink of insanity. In any case, people said that men in black would show up at arcades to collect some kind of data from the machines. He doubted the story was true, but as far as men in black went, Nicolas and Arlene more or less fit the bill.

“She… isn’t a suspect or something, right?” Tristan wiped his face again.

Who was even a suspect in something like this? They didn’t seem to know about the watches, but that was assuming they weren’t withholding that information from him.

“No, not a suspect, I’m afraid,” Nicolas picked up his glass from the table and took a huge gulp of water. “Someone who might know something about it though.”

“She is a contact,” Arlene didn’t look up from her notes.

“Someone…” Tristan started, but then remembered they were in a public place. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Someone with the CIA?”

“No,” Arlene looked up at him with an expression as blank as a white sheet.

“You could say that the group she’s with doesn’t get along very well with people like us,” Nicolas chuckled.

“But she agreed to meet with you anyway?” Tristan asked.

“No,” Nicolas said. “We’re showing up unannounced, actually.”

Tristan wanted to express his discomfort with the situation, but he suddenly came to the realization that the horrible guitar playing had come to an abrupt stop. The guitar flew through the air, just missing Nicolas’s head. It collided with the wall, smashing into tiny splinters as if it were made of glass.

“I told you,” Nicolas’s grin didn’t waver a bit. “A real firecracker.”

“It appears that Miss Hester has noticed us,” Arlene looked up from her notebook with a vacant stare.

Someone in the bar let out a booming laugh. “There’s Bridget’s famous temper!”

Tristan sat with his mouth agape as the other customers broke into applause. He couldn’t be sure if they were excited about the sudden violence or if they were just happy to be free from the terrible music.

“Mother fucker,” the woman that had been playing was on her feet and moving toward them. She was tall with long hair, a mole under her right eye on her cheek bone. She was slender, and didn’t seem like the kind of person that was capable of obliterating a guitar by throwing it from across the room. Come to think of it, was anyone actually capable of something like that?

She took a seat at their table across from Nicolas.

“Bridget, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” Nicolas nosily took another gulp of water. “I hear about Quinn all the time. Oh, and Xavier! He just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, always carrying his cute little sword around. I guess you must be on the straight and narrow.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” The woman sat with both her legs and arms crossed, looking across the table at Nicolas. Her eyes were those of a woman that had been told so many lies by her no-good boyfriend that she no longer believed anything men said.

“I just wanted to catch up,” Nicolas smiled. “Of course, we do have a few questions for you pertaining to our work. You know how the job is. Let’s relocate ourselves, shall we?”

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“Burn in hell,” Bridget said as if this was the most mundane part of her day. “You want talk to me, you’re doing it right here.”

The other customers had their full attention on them. This realization only served to increase Tristan’s sweat output. He was thankful he had put on deodorant before going out. If he was going to get his ass kicked by an attractive woman, he wanted to smell good while it was happening.

“This could be sensitive information, Bridget,” the muscles in Nicolas’s cheeks twitched. “We can talk in my car outside.”

“Fuck off.”

“Listen up,” Nicolas leaned over the table. The smile that had been on his face completely disappeared, leaving no traces behind. “A girl was killed yesterday. She was cut up and I need to know if you fucking punks know anything about it.”

The table snapped in half right below Tristan’s arms as Bridget brought her fist down.

“Not the face,” Tristan let out a miserable cry as he slid backward in his chair.

Arlene jumped from her seat, putting her hand inches away from Bridget’s face. Nicolas remained completely still, his eyes locked straight ahead.

“God damn it, Bridget!” Someone behind the bar yelled, obviously unhappy about the property they had just lost.

The other customers in the bar continued cheering as if they were watching a boxing match. Tristan wasn’t much for sports, and he wasn’t much for dealing with people that could break him in two if they wanted.

“Outside,” Bridget looked behind her to the others in the bar. “Don’t worry about me, guys. I’m calling it a day anyway.”

“You’re paying for that table,” the man behind the counter yelled.

“Whatever,” she leisurely made her way to the door. “Just take it out of my paycheck like usual.”

Tristan let out an audible sigh and was met with a harsh look from Nicolas. It was a look that commanded him to stand and get moving. He wasn’t going to argue with him.

The four of them went up the stairs of the underground bar and into the car they had parked nearby. Nicolas and Arlene sat in the front seats, while Tristan and Bridget took the back.

Bridget glanced over at him, looking bored. “Who’s the kid?”

Tristan stayed quiet. He wasn’t much younger than her, but he felt like he might choke if he tried to come back with a witty response. Besides, the more he talked, the more he’d make a fool of himself. He wasn’t qualified to be here in the first place.

“Tristan’s a new recruit,” Nicolas said, the friendly tone returning to his voice. As usual, it didn’t sound genuine. “Is him being here a problem?”

Bridget looked him up and down as if she were looking to buy something she didn’t particularly want. “It’s fine.”

“It?” Tristan frowned.

She turned back toward Nicolas. “So you think I’m involved in yesterday’s murder or what?”

“No, we already have a suspect,” Nicolas laughed. “We have our guys looking for him right now, actually.”

This was the first Tristan had heard about a suspect, and it was likely that his facial expression gave that away. Mouth hanging agape usually meant surprise.

“The guy’s name is Zack Selby, a banker working for the place that got robbed,” Nicolas said, his tone becoming serious as he got more to the point. “We called for interviews of the employees, but got no answer from him. Sent some guys to his house, but it looks like he’s not around. Currently doing a background check and it doesn’t look like he’s a registered magician. Figured the guy might be one of your kind. You know anything?”

“Never heard of him,” Bridget said. “Time control isn’t exactly the kind of thing we’re known for, dumbass.”

Tristan wasn’t sure what Nicolas had meant by ‘your kind’, but he had seen Bridget’s eyes narrow when she heard it.

Nicolas reached into his pocket and produced a photo. “This is Selby,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She didn’t reach for it, choosing to just look from where she was.

“You’ve never seen this face?”

“Never.”

Nicolas turned to Arlene, who had already begun writing in her notebook again. Tristan couldn’t quite understand what she could be gleaning from the conversation so far. Did they suspect that she was covering for one of ‘her kind’?

After a moment, Nicolas turned back again. “I’m asking if your little gang knows anything,” if he had played the good cop for Tristan, he was changing roles for today. “Are you really going to try and tell me that time grinding to a halt and a homicide taking place didn’t get on any of your radars?”

Bridget stayed silent, but her calm but hostile aura was stronger than ever.

“Do Xavier or Quinn have phones?” Nicolas asked, his tone improving again. “You can make our jobs a lot easier, Bridget.”

“Xavier? Why would I have that idiot’s number?”

“Because you’re members of the KPW, that’s why,” Nicolas snapped. “Don’t bullshit me, Bridget.”

Tristan’s cold sweat was getting even worse. “The… KPW?”

“Yes, the KPW, Tristan,” Nicolas said. “Now come clean with me, Bridget. I don’t have all day.”

Bridget opened her mouth, but a phone rang out in the car before she could say anything.

Arlene produced a phone from her pocket. “Excuse me,” she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Arlene,” Nicolas tried to speak, but Arlene put her finger over his lips to shut him up.

“Yes. Yes, I see. One moment,” she held out her phone to Nicolas. “For you.”

Nicolas scowled, grabbing it from her hand. “Hello? This is Blaine.”

Tristan glanced back over at Bridget. KPW or not, it didn’t seem like she was going to cooperate with them. He wondered if Nicolas would threaten her like he had threatened him. He had a feeling that she would deal with it much differently than he had.

“You’re kidding me!” Nicolas yelled. “We’ll be there as quick as we can. I want that place fucking locked down. It mean it. Cops everywhere.” He hung up and started the engine.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Bridget asked.

“If you want to get out, now’s the time,” Nicolas said, putting the car in reverse. “It’s happening again.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. He didn’t even need to hear the next sentence to understand.

“Downtown just stopped.”