“You know you’ll have to do better than that if you want to impress me, Mr. Sullivan?” Nancy half-quipped, her words laced with a bit of harshness.

And rightly so, given what he had possibly landed her in.

Ms. Smith over at Higher Understanding did not seem the sort to bother about minor infractions, especially those committed by someone employed by another department, but there was always some middle-management brown-noser somewhere who would drop a dime on anybody for the chance of a glorified pat on the head from the big boss.

So far, Nancy seemed to have either weathered through everything, or had not suffered any blowback at all, but that did not relieve Frank of any debt to the woman who had helped him.

“Merely a promise that this night will meet the standards you're accustomed to, my dear,” he replied.

That was not a line…alright, it was; but it was also a true one.

The Tenpenny Theatre was the upper-class entertainment for the middle-class. An establishment he was in no doubt of Miss Harris, the woman currently walking arm-in-arm besides him, having attended before this particular outing, the woman clearly of an upper middle-class background. But that was the point: a taste of the familiar to form the first step of tonight’s journey, a means to engender a feeling of control and safety within the woman who no doubt only tolerated going on this outing at all for not being willing to have suffered whatever she had and not get anything for doing so.

They had just exited the building, after seeing the Dark of the Night, by Allister Holden, an above-average play performed by a rather average cast; the Tenpenny meant for the well-to-do workers of the city, not the Top-Hats who could afford far better.

Still, an alright starter for the now descending night.

Frank had Donny chaperone him and Nancy in the Beast, their animal of a machine whose every grunt and growl had not failed to impress the woman beside him as she was driven down here. His partner had complained about the waste of the Beast’s precious fluids, the fuel it burned to somehow make its internal mechanisms work a precious and tightly controlled resource that they could ill afford to waste, but the man had understood the need for Frank to smooth things over with Miss Dorsey here, such troubles rarely working out well in the long-term if left ignored.

Didn’t stop the man from henpecking him before they had picked her up, though, nor did Frank imagine that that would cease long after this night ended, his track record with woman…not as successful as he would have liked, but it was what it was.

Donny had only driven them here and had left quickly afterwards, with a promise to pick them up around two a.m. tonight, so it was walking from here on out, but that was also intentional.

The Webbing was a chaotically designed part of the city that had formed from the many, many establishments that had arisen to cater to the needs of the masses, a walk down its various, seemingly random and winding lanes criss-crossing this sector almost more entertaining than whatever lay within any of the buildings that dotted either sides of those many streets.

From hawkers to jugglers, street-theatre to random weirdos spouting on about made-up gods; anything and everything that could grab your attention was on display here, and quite often for free. A fact that ensured that the area was always crowded. Something that, for some reason, seemed to enhance the quality of that entertainment, the communal experience scratching some ancient instinct within them all.

‘And that attacks rarely occurred when a hundred or more people gathered together certainly don’t hurt,’ a dark part of Frank’s mind reminded him.

Yes, fear was always a factor. No matter who you were or what you did, danger was always present, the feeling of trepidation lacing every event, because, unlike mere mortals, the things from the unseen places could appear anywhere, at any time.

Distracting himself from himself, Frank turned to Nancy and asked, “I realise that this might be a bit out of nowhere, but would you care for an ice-cream? Perhaps something else?”

Though not as cold as the weeks before, there was a certain chill to the night. No wind, but that did nothing to the stop the cold from cutting across the skin. Thankfully, whatever her true feelings about tonight were, Nancy had elected to dress to impress as he had done, her wear formal, yet stylish—though the important part was that it included a long-sleeved coat.

“Odd, I know,” Frank explained, “but for some reason, I always enjoy an ice-cream better in the cold than not.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no…,” Nancy responded with a smile.

It was a gamble, one that payed off. Most people enjoyed the confectionery no matter the season, so the meaningless revelation at his personal preference helped to endear him to her without actually offering up anything, and given the low cost and the availability of the foodstuff along the streets thanks to the government’s drive to electrify every part of the city, it would be foolish not to take advantage of the sweet’s presence.

Frank was then reminded of Donny’s discomfort over that electrification. He still could not understand the man’s dislike for more light and convenience.

Purchasing a pair of matching cones from a vendor, Frank remarked, “So, you’re a mint girl?”

“Something wrong with that?” she inquired.

“Just admiring a woman of taste,” he shot back, taking a lick of his green, chocolate-chip studded orb, the scoop already beginning to melt despite the temperature.

They walked like that for a while, enjoying themselves with cheap sweets and small-talk, until Nancy inevitably approached the question everyone asked eventually.

“So, Mr. Sullivan. How does someone go from being a recognised detective to the wild, untamed world of freelancing?”

Frank looked at her, his muted surprise raising his right eyebrow.

“Central Processing, remember?” she reminded him.

He snorted. Well, she had bent the rules for him, he realised, no reason she would not bend it because of him, too.

“Well, used to be a cop,” he started, telling her what she already knew more because the line was well-rehearsed, Frank having to repeat the story more than a few times in his life. “As you already know,” he then said, shooting her a cheeky grin.

She returned that smile.

“And then I just got tired of it.”

A disappointing revelation, certainly, but as with many things this night, that was the point, the lacklustre explanation often inciting the obvious follow up: “Tired?”

Which she then asked.

“M’m…tired,” he repeated. Tired of the paperwork, the politics, the constant emphasis on what not to do, ‘stead of what we should be doing. But mostly, just tired of having to bow to people who got to where they were ‘cause of who their daddy was, who their family was.”

“M’,” she replied, non-committedly.

It was another gamble. Those below never got on with those above, but only a fool would not exploit a family connection if they had one. Frank certainly would have had any of his not been a bunch of blood-sucking leeches.

That said, the woman beside him might have exploited such a connection, his remark possible serving to further antagonise her than to engender any sense of comradery.

Whatever the case, she said nothing to indicate her feelings on the matter, one way or the other.

Their journey thereafter, while as chaotic as the streets they now walked, eventually brought them to a nightclub along the edge of the river.

The Dizzy Deluxe was another upper-class joint. Not one meant for the middle-class, but certainly not opposed to a paying customer from that station either.

It was Frank’s highlight for the evening, the part that was meant to give Nancy something to remember and be able to gossip about after tonight’s end.

The room they entered after handing their coats in after entering was large enough that the thick pillars supporting the glass roof were not there merely for show, the large amount of land it was built upon purchased through means that Frank would rather not look into.

Mob run; but most of the money-makers in the city were. The establishment was suspect, to be sure, but was of the reputable type of disreputable establishments within the city. Just enough so that Nancy would get a taste of the danger that the freelancer’s life was supposed to hold, while also ensuring that she was also perfectly safe at the same time.

They first set themselves down at one of the tables that ringed the main dance floor, to order some drinks and a tray of light finger-foods—which they shared as they enjoyed the large band playing at the back of the room, the ornate stage packed with dancers who jostled to-and-fro in rhythm with the music. It was only when a singer came on that he and Nancy got up to cut loose—the song sung of the modern and energetic style now sweeping through the colonies, one which enticed the blood to flow and emotions to rise.

Time flies when you’re having fun never held truer than now, Frank and Nancy getting into the full swing of things as they lost themselves to the dance, the girl far more than he as she near giggled up a storm, all thought of the problems he had caused her seemingly forgotten, for now.

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Unfortunately, the same did not hold true for himself.

Years of dodging trouble, from people looking to get their loans paid back to the unnatural forces from beyond, had forced Frank to foster more than a hint of paranoia to help keep himself observant and on the ball at all times, a habit that would often make any attempt to relax a time-consuming endeavour. And it was for that reason that he had initially ignored the scratching at the back of his mind that he had felt since entering the Dizzy. But, as the night wore on, and the sensation at the back of his mind slowly grew, Frank found himself growing more and more agitated, peering around when his and Nancy’s movements on the dance floor could provide cover for his attempts to observe his surroundings.

Some of the security—mob thugs, in reality—were giving him the eye, though for the life of him, Frank could not think of any reason as to why they would do so. He never borrowed from the larger outfits—far too much trouble—and he and Donny made a point of keeping their noses out of any affair that could bring them into the crosshairs of such people, so why did he get the impression that he had just gotten himself on a list that he would rather not have his name on?

At the rear of the room, in a private booth, sat the manager of the Dizzy, a made man who dressed to impress.

Liam Maes, the notable boss of this part of the city, was…not looking at them in any particular fashion, though it was obvious that the man did not need to—not with a veritable army of goons to do the watching for him, but so too was it obvious that the man was aware of Frank and Nancy’s presence within his house.

Concerning, but neither he nor his men looked to be making any moves to do anything, so Frank left it at that.

Perhaps they thought he was someone else? Or maybe here on business? He was a former cop, after all—and it was not out of the realm of possibilities that Frank might have been hit up to do the department a favour by spying on the place.

…or?

He focused on Nancy.

…maybe it was not about him at all? Maybe it was about her?

Pushing his ego aside, he observed the girl with all his effort, slapping on another cheeky grin to disarm her as they continued to dance.

He had thought her just a secretary before, but Frank was quick to admit that he had not exactly delved too deeply—or even shallowly—into her story, too focused on ensuring tonight did not go south, further antagonising the already angered woman.

“So, gorgeous,” Frank shot out in the corniest way possible, “come here often?”

Nancy snorted as she rolled her eyes, almost missing a step as she giggled.

He danced with her like that for another hour, physically and verbally, discovering nothing that would explain why she would be at the centre of attention of anyone, let alone one of the city’s most notorious capos.

Grew up outside of the city, as most people did—descended from those who had come over on the boats, as most people where…the typical story of damn near the entire population here. A generic tale for a perfectly generic woman.

Still, the effort of unravelling this mystery was certainly warming Frank to her. That and the gentle tingle of the white wine they had both been drinking was finally working its way towards the parts of his brain that were needed most during this strange scenario, compromising his ability to reason.

They would carry on for some time more, eventually having to leave so as not to miss their lift with Donny.

Frank and Nancy were not quick about meeting that rendezvous, though not for any nefarious reasons. The evening—as far as Nancy was concerned, at least—had gone exceedingly well, made all the better for the alcohol they had each imbibed. And as they walked along, they gawked and laughed at every storefront display, street-performer, and various oddities on offer by the various hawkers who made their living preying on the drunk and the stupid.

Though that was only part of why Frank was trying to prolong the evening, truly enjoying feeling like a human being for a change, the carefree state of not worrying over his many problems, of caring about what happened tomorrow, of…well, for now, he was free of all that. If only momentarily.

And the other, other part of their delay was also because Frank was leading around the two men tailing them.

Two of the same goons that had been eyeing them at the club.

At first, Frank had kept to heavily populated areas, to delay what he had assumed would be the two men’s attempts to go after him or the broad, but after a while, he had witnessed their lack of any effort to get closer. Their body language was also off. They did their job, as professionally as a pair of shaved gorillas could, but they were clearly bored with having to watch over the tipsy couple, especially with Frank’s inebriation played up for effect, the man intentionally making himself an easy mark to lower their guard.

Eventually testing them, Frank began veering off to the emptier lanes—though, given the popularity of the area, they were still crowded enough to ensure that there would be plenty of witness should the situation change. But again, the two men did little but give him a nod when they realised that they had been made.

Then, something did happen: A scream in the night.

Frank would never know why he did what he did then—possibly the alcohol, possibly the woman beside him inflaming his masculine urges…who could tell? Whatever welled within him then spurred him on to race towards that scream like a fool, Frank’s passing into a dingy alleyway announced loudly to all by the raucous echoes bouncing along its walls as his feet rapidly beat against the ground.

He should not have left Nancy behind. Even in his compromised state, he realised that if those men had been after her, now would be the perfect opportunity to abscond with the poor woman.

But still, he raced on into the dark.

It was not a perfect dark, the electric light of the city keeping even this out of the way location visible enough for him to see what was happening a head.

A group of men were struggling with a smaller, bound figure, attempting to force it…her, into the boot of an automobile.

The machine was new, or maintained well enough to appear so, something that said much about the men ahead of him. But Frank’s attention was focused more on the fact that the men were armed. Armed, but not currently bearing said arms.

The authority of the freelancer was a curious thing; though given many rights, they officially had no authority, especially not like that given to and enforced by the agents of the law. Despite that, most of the populace often treated them as they would a member of the police or other such Department due to the commonly held—and often reinforced—characterisations of the freelancer as a gun-toting fool that would shoot first and ask questions later, the reasoning often being that as long as said freelancer was not after something that affected them personally, it was better to apologise for their cooperation later than to risk getting killed now. For that reason, and for the conditioning of the City upon its populace to always comply with the law, did Frank shout out, “Freelancer! Explain yourself?!”

But only after retrieving his firearm and unloading it upon the assailants.

They were armed and in the process of kidnapping someone; both reasons enough to allow him to do what he did now. And if that were not somehow enough, then it was better to apologise to the police later than to risk dying now.

And anyway, he was a freelancer; everyone knew they were just a bunch of gun-toting thugs.

He did not stop to perform this action, however, his body continuing to barrel along as fast as he could manage, bringing him quickly towards the group of assailants.

It would only be much, much later that he would realise that he could have hit the girl. Frank was good with the gun, having both talent and years of practice both on and off of the range to testify to that fact, enough skill to come in the top ten in the few competitions that had ever been hosted by the city. But that was not to say that he was anywhere near being perfect in the skill, and with his senses addled by the wine from earlier and his rapid and exhaustive movements now ill affording him a steady arm, it was surprising he did not.

Aiming for the two men grabbing at the woman’s struggling legs, her one foot loose enough that she could attempt some form of resistance against her captors, two of his bullets struck true, piercing the man in front in the ribs and the side of his head, instantly downing him, the third clipping the man just behind him—that man then surprisingly showing no sign of noticing that injury.

The man at the head of the girl was instead hit by Frank himself, Frank throwing the entire force of what energy he could still muster into a full-body slam to down the man in a desperate attempt to finish the fight before it could even begin.

In a one-on-one fight, even when only one side was armed, nothing was assured. In a one-on-three fight, one where everyone was armed? Yeah, even inebriated, Frank was sound enough of mind to not like those odds, so he was doing the best he could to get in close and put these people in a position that forced them to rely on fisticuffs over the more sensible option.

But gods, that attempt was not necessarily the safer choice!

The man he ploughed into was built like a brick shithouse, and felt like it too, Frank’s impact leaving him feeling as if he had just run straight into a brick wall.

Though winded, he lashed out with his fist, punching and whacking the assailant with his now-empty gun in an attempt to coldcock the bastard. An effort brought short as someone grabbed Frank from behind, lifting him up with all the effort it took to grab a cat by the scruff.

He again lashed out, but to seemingly no effect, the man holding him not even acknowledging his efforts to free himself.

The man on the ground yelled something as he made to rise, the car then coming to life with a mechanical roar.

Someone shouted out at them all from somewhere behind Frank, though he was too focused on his fight to register the words. Though a second later, he gave the source of that yelling his full attention as a gunshot echoed out, hitting the man holding him in the ribs.

Again, the man did not react, neither showing pain nor making a sound in response.

Out of the corner of his eye, he witnessed the kidnapper’s car begin to race off, the man formerly on the ground chasing after it as several more shots rang out behind him.

Frank dropped to the ground then, the man…or whatever it was loosening its grip as a bullet impacted its elbow. A fortuitous release that was undermined by the wound that another bullet had left when it pierced Frank’s left shoulder, Frank not giving voice to his pain then only for not having the breath to do so, the thing’s crushing grasp having nearly choked the life from him.

Turning to face the new threat, the man lurched towards the firing gun.

A second weapon then began unleashing its load upon the creature, each impact into the things chest once again proving the effort as useless as the rest before it, until one found its way into the thing’s cranium, that particular wound felling the creature near instantly, the body then dropping to the hard floor like a sack of potatoes.

Mind racing, Frank turned his head towards the fleeing vehicle, which raced towards the other end of the alleyway, the other of the assailants chasing after it while screaming. The car slowed suddenly, allowing the man behind to catch up enough to it that he could dive into the still-open and—Frank only barely noticed—empty rear, the car then speeding up once more to make its escape into the night, the vehicle nearly clipping some onlooker at the other end of the long alley.

Turning back to see who had saved him—and injured him—Frank saw the two goons who had been tailing him, the men now racing up to him, weapons aimed at the corpse of the man-thing on the ground, disguised fear on each of their faces as they swore up a storm. From the number of shots that he had heard, the six-shooters were more than likely empty by now, but the men held their aims steady, regardless.

Look everything over, the man in the lead, the one who seemed to be in charge, swore then for a different reason. Realising that the thing was now down for good, he had more than likely realised that they now had a different problem.

Not Frank having seen their faces of his would be tail…no, the guns.

No one was supposed to have them, not outside of those approved by the city, that is. Even then, only the standard design that was handed out by Central upon registering—any other model sure to get you some attention from the police if they were found in your possession.

“Right,” the lead man said as he wrapped his gun within his coat, to then rub it down, “you killed that thing,” he stated firmly as he nodded his head towards the still body nearby, then tossing his empty weapon to Frank, the second man then mimicking the action before the two of them then ran off.

Exhausted, in shock and pain, and still utterly confused as to the reason why those two had been following him, Frank looked around, only now noticing the struggling form of the bound woman nearby, the girl having fallen from the car’s trunk thanks to her last-ditch effort to escape.

‘Lucky girl,’ Frank thought as he looked at her. ‘Lucky, lucky girl.’

~~~

Donny drove the Beast slowly down the main road, far from the point where he was supposed to meet Frank and his date. They were both late, but not so much as for him to attribute that tardiness to anything other than the two having a good time.

It was only when the two cop cars came speeding by did he begin to suspect that something was off. Now, seeing cops in the city was far from an unusual sight, but Donny was getting too many coincidences lately thanks to his ability, so his paranoia was at an all-time high. So, suspecting the worst, though not having any idea of what that would actually be, he followed them.

Now, he found himself trailing far behind as he entered the streets of the Webbing, the entertainment centre of the city. As rare and intimidating as machines like the Beast were, it was clearly not an official vehicle, despite its military origins, and the people crowding the various streets of the Webbing paid him little mind—Donny needing to honk his horn to annoy them into letting him pass.

Which it was why it took nearly twenty minutes to track down those same cop cars that he had so shortly before been right behind.

They were parked haphazardly just outside of the entrance to an alleyway, along with a third that had not come with them, Frank and his date being questioned by some forty-something detective, his partner writing everything down while another cop who looked barely old enough to grow a beard used a syringe on one of Frank’s arms.

An emergency aid distributed to police to assist with the injured.

‘So, Frank’s been hurt?’

Donny sat there for a minute as he attempted to make head or tails of the situation ahead of him, until Frank attempted to wave at him, the man wincing in pain as he did so. A wince Donny shared as the idiot visibly declared to the cops and everyone else around them that he and Frank knew each other.

With a huff of frustration, he exited the vehicle and jogged over to the gathering, waiting a moment for the cops to signal for him to approach before attempting to meet with his lunkhead of a partner.

“And you thought it best to unload all your weapons into the deceased?” Donny heard the detective ask as he came close.

“It just wouldn’t go down,” Frank exclaimed. “No way that thing was human.”

The detective motioned for Frank to lower his voice, a panicked crowd being the last thing anyone needed right now. Or ever.

“Okay-okay…and three guns? You always carry so many with you on a date.”

“Never know when danger’s gonna come calling,” Frank quipped as he put on the corniest machoman smile known to man, one that conveyed to everyone in sight that he obviously thought far too much of himself and how manly he was.

Donny frowned at that. Not at the smile—Frank preferred to keep only his old police-issued revolver and that pea-shooter he kept strapped to his ankle. Judging from the slight bulge Donny saw there, the latter was still present and holstered, so where had the other two guns come from?

After the two asked Frank and then him a few more questions, the detective then said, “Alright, Frank, I think we’ve got everything. You gonna be okay?”

“Sure-sure,” Frank replied as he shook the hand of the detective, “the tall guy’s my ride home”.

Donny sneered then, though he was also quick to wipe the expression from his face as the detective turned to look at him.

The police would not normally have just let someone go so quickly, even when they knew that they were the victim; that oddity and the use of Frank’s first name told him that the man was getting preferential treatment from his former colleagues.

“Hey, Donny, sorry for being late; ran into a bit of a hoo-ha,” Frank told him in a voice soaked in forced joviality.

Donny gave him a look that said he noticed that strain.

Reading Donny’s reply correctly, Frank then told him, “Some hoods had themselves a girl, had to deal with them…”

Donny felt the muscles in his face tighten as he predicted what he would hear next.

“…they…they think it might have something to do with those kidnappings.”

The tone of Frank’s words and the look on his face said more than what came out of his mouth—more than could ever be said with the spoken word.

Unwilling to say anything more in front of the people, the police, or the girl hovering just behind Frank, Donny lead the two back to his truck, where he drove them back home—to the building where he and Frank both had their apartments…where the woman stayed the night.

To help Frank in his time of need, of course.

Donny had to wipe another sneer off his face after leaving them for his own place.