Frank “Frankie” Sullivan held a dour look upon his face as he stared out the window. It was early July, the air outside shimmering with the oppressive temperature of the season, the shroud of damp heat blanketing the city sapping the energy from your body as it smothered you, making even the most simple of tasks a chore to commit. Despite that, in the streets far below, the city was still in full motion, the people scurrying to and fro as they went about their meaningless daily lives.

He noticed that there was a delivery truck offloading goods outside of Hanna’s, a diner across the street from his building.

‘Good,’ he thought.

Her diner had been struggling of late and Frank had been concerned that she would have been forced to shut the place down.

That concern was not entirely altruistic, mind you, as the diner’s presence helped him and his business in several ways, its loss ultimately affecting his bottom line. That, and she was a damn fine cook.

It was then that he observed a rather eye-catching, cherry-red hat bobbing amongst masses below. A hat that soon veered off towards the five-story building where he now stared down from.

A long and inevitable few minutes later, he heard the door to his office open, the sound of heels clicking against the stained wooden floor then filling the room as someone walked in unannounced.

“It was a hot summer day when she walked in,” Frank started as he turned around to stare at the woman intruding upon his domain, a vicious, toothy smile plastering itself across his face as he did, “a five-foot-four blond with legs that went on forever, cherry-red lips that could stop a man dead with a smile and azure-blue eyes that could kill with a look.”

The woman rolled said azure eyes.

“A dame that would be described as one in a million,” Frank went on, then thrusting both of his wrists forward as he then shouted, “Too bad she’s just a gods-damned harpy come to suck the lifeblood from my veins!”

“You done?” the woman asked.

“Go to hell!”

“Ma says hi.”

“She can join you!”

Francine “Frankie” Sullivan was about to prove to her brother just how much of a harpy she could really be when she heard a snort from somewhere behind the other side of the open door beside her. She took a step forward to give Donny a taste of what she had in store for her sibling when she suddenly stopped short.

Rather than the curly, raven-haired detective that covered for her brother’s incompetence, she saw a strange kid seated at a wretched-looking school desk that someone had dragged up the three flights of stairs leading to this dump. A series of hideously deep surgical scars covered the boy’s flesh—what she could see of it, at least, most of the boy being covered by a set of rather plain-looking clothing—new clothing, too, she noted—but such was the length and number of those injuries that it was easy to tell that they must have covered a good amount of the boy’s body.

The kid had been busy drawing something but stopped when he realised that he was being watched, looking up when he did, his brown eyes then meeting hers. After an awkward moment of silence, he waved at her.

Francine gave a half-wave back, then turned to mouth to her brother, “What the hell?” but the fool had already stalked off into a side room of the cramped office where he and Donny ran their business out of.

She quickly followed after him.

The smaller room she then entered had originally been a kitchen but now served as a filing room of sorts, with several poorly installed, large wooden cabinets and a stone safe now lining the right wall.

Her brother had filled, then plugged in a kettle—another new addition, she noted, the electric device only having come on the market several years prior—before walking over to the safe, where Frank was now in the process of counting out a series of bills from a larger than normal collection of them. And it was not the only bundle present in the safe that she could see.

Francine took note of that too.

From what she knew, Frank’s business was still faring as well as it normally did, which was barely scraping by at best, so what had her idiot brother done to earn that extra cash?

“Hey,” Francine whispered. She called out again when he ignored her, “Hey!”

“Do you not see me counting here?” Frank barked back.

“Of course not,” she quipped, “your shoes are on.”

He gave his sister a scathing look before returning to his task.

“Hey?”

“What, woman?!”

She gestured behind her, “What’s with the kid?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Francine! He’s a child! Try to at least have some standards!”

Francine began whacking her brother on the arm with her purse, the tall man flinching and calling out as each blow struck.

“No, you pencil dick! …I should be the one saying that!” she yelled at him.

Francine needed to take a deep breath or two to recover from the anger and effort behind her response before she could continue.

“What the hell are you doing with a kid?! In your office and alone, I might add?!”

“He’s my…our new partner!”

“What?!”

“Our partner…helping us get this,” he said as he raised the wad of cash in his hand.

Francine took on a queer look as she tried to digest his words. Not understanding, she looked behind her in hopes that something about the boy would offer forth some revelation. A moment later, a thought occurred to her, one which would explain much of this mystery, so she turned back and leaned in towards her dismissive sibling.

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“He yours?”

“What?!” Frank yelled, “No, he’s not mine! He doesn’t even look like me!”

Francine just shrugged her shoulder, “He kinda looks like that Gillespie girl you used to go out with.”

Her brother was about to bite back at her, then stopped and looked over sister—an easy task given the height difference—he then appeared to think for a moment, then nodded his head to the side and muttered a submissive, “Eh” as he had to begrudgingly admit to himself that his sister had a point.

“Whatever happened to her?” Francine inquired.

Frank waved her off as returned to his counting.

His response led his sister to conclude that that relationship had ended as most of her brother’s had: badly. A second later, Francine called to him again. “Hey?”

“What, Woman?! Do you want this money or not?!”

Rather than answer him, she nodded her head back behind her.

“What’s with the…,” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Frank looked at her and said, “The visage to haunt one’s nightmares?”

Francine’s jaw stiffened at her brother’s bluntness.

“Yeah,” she whispered tersely as she looked back to see if the boy had heard.

“Oh, him? No idea,” he quipped.

Francine shot him a look as she considered whether or not to hit him again. She instead chose to press on. “Hey? …hey?!”

Frank stiffened. Rather than yelling, he turned to her while moving the hand holding the roll of money back to the safe.

She yanked on his other arm in response, then did so again as she pulled him back towards the main room.

“What are you doing?!”

“Introduce me,” she whispered.

“What, why?”

“I’m your sister.”

“So?”

Frank yelped as his sister drove her heel into his ankle.

“Goddammit, you whack job! Do you know how much that hurts?!”

“Yes! Now introduce me, ya piece a shit!” she yelled as she tried to repeat her previous action.

“Okay, okay, Godsdammit!”

Frank continued to swear and limp as his sister dragged him back within sight of the boy, who now looked up at the two, having given up on his attempt to draw, an uncaring smile appearing on his face as he rested his chin in both of his hands, the kid seemingly enjoying the show in front of him.

Francine let go of her brother and took a step to the side, her back straightening as she tried to present herself as best she could. She would have tidied herself up a bit before entering the office but she had only been expecting the company of a couple of idiots, not a complete stranger.

Once released, Frank gave off one last “Goddammit!” before extracting himself from his sister’s grasp. He then stood up properly, brushing himself off as he did, then addressed the boy.

“Kid? My sister; sis, kid.”

“Frank,” Francine warned him.

He gritted his teeth, breathed in, then out, then tried again.

“Goodie? This is my dear sister, Francine. She’s a prostitute.”

“What the hells is wrong with you?!” Francine screamed as she began beating at her brother with her purse once more. “You do not call your sister a whore!”

“Wah…what?! It’s the truth, ain’t it?!”

“I am a therapist, you overgrown man-child!”

“You charge men to come to your room and lay on their backs! What’s the difference?!” Frank shouted as he tried to ward off his sister’s blows.

“I do not sleep with my clients!”

“So, you really screw them,” The boy watching the display commented nonchalantly.

Francine froze as she registered his words, her brother on the other hand guffawing uncontrollably in response as he wagged a finger at the boy.

This time it was Francine’s turn to begin swearing. And swear she did, teaching her brother and the boy several examples they had no idea even existed before today. Then, swiftly grabbing the entire roll of money from Frank’s hand, she stormed towards the door.

“HEY, HEY?!” Frank yelled out.

“NOT LIKE YOU, MY ASS!!! He’s a regular chip of the off the old BLOCKHEAD!” she screamed, nearly bumping into a tall man as she crossed the doorway.

Whatever rage had overcome her fled in an instant as she then cooed, “Hey, Donny.” Francine then moving in far closer to the startled man than she needed to as she squeezed past him, snagging the crooked cigarette from his lips as she did so, inserting it between her cherry-coloured own with a smile and a wink, to then, adding an emphasis to the sway of her hips as she moved, walk away.

Donny’s lips curled into a carefree but confused smile to match hers as he watched her leave. One that soon vanished when he turned to see that his partner was about to burst a blood vessel from the rage overcoming him, Frank’s face turning as red as a tomato.

“What’d I do?!” Donny inquired defensively, his deep, rich voice echoing around the small office.

Frank waved him off with a huff as he took a seat behind one of the two desks in the small office, venting his anger on an aged office chair that had to have petrified into stone rather than remain the once expensive wood it had been constructed from to survive all these years under Frank’s tender care, the piece of furniture almost as tough and worn as the man who now sat upon it, its surface pockmarked in stains and scratches that told a silent history of the seven years it had served as Frank’s only uncomplaining supporter.

Donny closed the door as he entered properly, sighing as he did so, now realising it was going to be another one of those days.

“How’d it go?” his partner asked.

“Haven’t finished yet,” Donny said in reply.

“What! Why the hell not?!” Frank shouted, venting some of his unsated rage upon his partner.

Donny shook the small lockbox in his left hand as he planted his hat on the coat rack next to the door. “‘cus I don’t like carrying around this much money,” he explained as he dropped the container on Frank’s already cluttered desk before dumping himself on a leather couch meant for waiting clients, casting a wary glance towards the strange boy as he did so.

Frank laughed out loud as he opened the small, metal treasure chest, a mess of money practically bursting out once the lock was undone, another devilish grin marring his face as he clapped his hands together.

“I told you! I told you! See?!” he yelled as he pointed at the cash that Donny had already seen several times that day.

As the man began to count it out with extreme eagerness, Donny called out to him.

“Frank? …Frank?!”

Frank thrust his hands up into the air in frustration. “Why does everyone insist on talking to me when I’m counting?!”

“Frank,” Donny repeated, his tone this time more serious…deadly serious. “…we need to talk.”

“So, talk.”

“Frank?”

“Hey! The kid helped bring all this in, maybe act like a grown man and talk to him directly!” Frank chastised his partner, knowing full well what Donny wanted to talk about.

Donny bit his lip. For once, Frank was right, he was being unnecessarily coy about all of this. But then again, you didn’t last long in this business by not being overly cautious.

“So, Good..ee?”

“Hm?” the boy responded without looking up from whatever he was once again attempting to draw.

“Could you take us through it again, where you’re from?”

“Nope,” Goodie answered succinctly as he continued drawing.

Donny raised an eyebrow as he lit another cigarette, asking cautiously, “And why not?”

“‘cuas I told you four times already and I hate repeating myself. Or at least I did,” he replied, tapping his head with a pencil as he finished.

Frank chuckled.

Donny just sat there in silence for a moment. Rather than beat a dead horse, he proceeded to then ask about something that had been niggling at his mind all day: “These dogs,” he asked, referring to what the boy had previously told him and Frank, “could they have been wolves?”

He noted a momentary pause in Franks counting then.

“Maybe?” the boy answered, “Didn’t see ‘em—and they didn’t exactly howl, so your guess is as good as mine,” the kid said offhandedly with a shrug of his shoulders. “Wolves howl differently from dogs, right?” he then asked, not sounding as if he expected an answer.

Regardless of whether he wanted one or not, the kid received none, Donny having instead turned to his partner to give the man a look whose meaning could have filled a library if converted to the written word.

Frank saw that look, and promptly ignored it, his attention entirely dedicated to counting the wads of paper rectangles in front of him.

“We’ll need to go to Blackwolf then,” Donny remarked.

“Yeah. Tell the boy why,” Frank ordered, not lifting his eyes.

Donny gave a ‘Hmph’ as he wondered as to whatever possessed him to ever foolishly consent to working with the man in the first place. He turned back to the boy, saying, “kid?” to get his attention. Once the boy looked up, he explained; “This?” he said, pointing down, “What we do here? It’s dangerous. Extremely so. Which is why we don’t like the unknown.” He interrupted his explanation by taking a deep drag of his cigarette. “Some of us, at least,” he then added while shooting Frank another look.

His partner ignored him again.

“Your story sounds like something that they would do—the Blackwolf agency, I mean, so we’re gonna go and see if they have records to verify it.”

“Okay,” the boy replied in his now characteristic uncaring tone before returning to his drawing.

“No comment?” Donny inquired, somewhat disappointed at the boy’s blaze attitude.

“As long as it makes it easier for me to make money,” the boy trailed off as his attention returned to whatever he was drawing.

Donny frowned in confusion as he heard Frank mutter, “Good gods, she was right.”

The boy unexpectedly spoke up again after that.

“Of course, if you want verification, you could just go to Abigail.”

“Who?”

It was Frank who asked, momentarily looking up from his counting.

Donny rolled his eyes as he realised that his partners sudden interest had been due to the name pertaining to the opposite gender.

“Abigail Smith; she dealt with me when I first got here. Department of Research & Development in the… ahhh…Bureau of Higher…Learning?”

Frank and Donny stiffened, then.

“You mean ‘Understanding’?”

The kid shrugged, “Probably; I’m awful with names.”

“You never told us that?!” Donny reprimanded.

“To be fair, you never asked; more interested in the money I could bring in.”

That forced a groan from Donny. The kid was not wrong.

“Well,” Donny said in resignation as he rose from the couch, “I guess we’ll need to go see this Abigail Smith, then,” a hint of frustration born anger entering his voice.

“Before that,” Frank butted in, the kid’s mention of money reminding him about what they had promised the boy in return for said finances, “We did promise the young lad here that we would help him in exchange for his services, ‘bout time we lived up to our end of things, seeing as the kid’s more than met his,” he said as he tapped the lockbox, Frank’s concern obviously more inclined towards keeping the fish in question on the hook rather than in being fair. “We’ll need to get him registered so we can get to it.”

Donny was about to object, but then noted the twinkle in Frank’s eyes, matching them with another roll of his own as he realised the man was blinded by the mounds of money he could no doubt see in his future. With the added incentive of being able to meet with several women that handled the front desk at the Department of Registration no doubt further enticing the fool.

“Right.” Donny stood and then waited a second, calling out to both Frank and the kid when neither made to copy him.

“What?” Franked asked.

“Let’s go.”

“You said you were still busy?”

“Well, as you said, it’s important the kid get registered,” Donny countered with a shit-eating grin, clearly enjoying the look of frustration crossing his partners face. If Donny was going to be annoyed at the new state of affairs then everyone else might as well join him.

Rather than fighting back, Frank just threw a fit as he got up, muttering something about how a man did not even have the gods-given freedom to count anymore before retrieving his coat and hat.

The trio then left, locking the door behind them as they did.