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* * * *

One

September 7, 2022 at 8:46 PM

Old City, Philadelphia, PA

Daniels woke with a start, traces of numbers still outlined in his vision as if burned into his irises. Then he blinked and they were gone. Still in his car, 2nd Street in Old Town on a Friday night laid out before him. He watched people hurry up and down the sidewalks or cross the cobblestone street, searching for their favorite bar or some new trendy place. Live music with a heavy funk bass drifted from down the street. He smelled coffee. The air through the cracked window was cool; the day had been hot as if summer were holding on with all its might.

Feeling suddenly boxed in by the unmarked cruiser, Sean Daniels stepped out of the vehicle. He made sure he had his shield and piece. This wasn't the type of neighborhood where bad shit happened frequently -- unless you counted what the bars charged for a pint of beer. Daniels wasn't here on 2nd Street to police the area or anything. If something happened, sure, he'd get involved. But he was here to look for someone. And for that person, you brought a gun. He also grabbed a baseball cap from his passenger seat and slung it on. Anonymity wasn't always bad.

Daniels moved away from his car and headed toward the coffee smell. This wasn't really his neighborhood so he was going off of his senses alone. He passed two guys and a woman in their twenties, sporting the recent return to Grunge that had been his choice of attire when he was in high school. Unlike then, they each wore matching glasses, the feeds from some site illuminated on the inside of the lenses. One guy looked to be checking out sports scores, the logos of different MLB teams on his glasses. The woman said, "It looks like Art Deli has excellent reviews."

"Lead the way," said the guy, looking at the sports scores and taking her hand.

Daniels found the coffee shop at the end of the block, the sidewalk made narrow by all the outdoor seating. All the seats were full of young people (God, when did I start calling them young people!) either at tables or seated alone. People were focused on their phones, their faces illuminated by the light cast from the displays. Some had glasses like the trios and some had holographic displays that cast ghostlike images in front of their screen. The air of the place was full of chatter, clinks of metal on china, and feedback sounds. Barely anyone was talking to each other, they were engaged on their phones. Actually, a table towards the back seemed to be talking to each other through their phones, the messaging and ensuing laughter coming up on their glasses. A waitress came out with an order, her own glasses listing off different orders.

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At some point in your life, you start to feel disconnected from the generation before and the one after you. Daniels felt that disconnect grow every day. It wasn't something that they did -- rather, he was pretty sure that the problem was on his end.

As he made his way to open the door, he picked up a reflection of a figure walking around the outdoor eating area. The various pieces of metal on his leather jacket clinked just like they had since the day Daniels had met him twelve years ago. Daniels, hand on the door, watched the reflection step out in front of some guy in a BMW, flip the guy off, then keep on walking to the other side. Daniels pulled the baseball cap down lower, then left the coffee shop door to follow the man who had once been his criminal informant.

* * * *

Daniels moved gracefully against the flow of traffic, watching up ahead where Lizard pushed his way through the people. Lizard, as if the name didn't inform you already, wasn't the most subtle of individuals. Bull. China Shop. That kind of thing. Usually, guys like Lizard are all flash and not much substance. But Lizard had been the rare CI that had been both: his fingers in so many pies that he became a regular go to on Daniels' Rolodex. Passing a guy strolling with a life-size holograph of a woman that had to be computer-generated, Daniels made a hard left into the alley he'd seen Lizard enter. Cobblestone, long, and narrow, there wasn't much to the alley unless there was a door to enter. But Lizard hadn't gone anywhere -- he was standing leaning against the alley brick wall, talking on the phone and taking a drag on a vape. He exhaled and said, "Listen, I don't give a shit about any of that. The Minotaur people are paying me to deliver--"

Someone must have cut him off because he abruptly stopped talking. He took another pull on the vape, a look crossing his face that said if he could reach through his phone and choke the shit out of the person on the other end, he would.

"I'm going to stop you right here," he finally said. There was a pause as he pocketed the vape and looked up to Daniels, talking. "I made a deal with Minotaur. These aren't the kind of people to mess around with--" His words died in his mouth as he recognized Daniels. "I'll call you back," he said into the phone and hung up.

Lizard took in a deep breath as Daniels walked down the alley. With a deep bow, he said, "Detective Daniels, what a pleasure."

Daniels nodded to the man. "The pleasure is mine, Liz."

"Lizard."

"I've heard people call you Liz."

"Those are usually guys that can kill me."

"And I can't?"

Lizard broke into a grin. "Not without a lot of paperwork."

Daniels nodded to him, still approaching. He did so in small movements, his hands visible. He needed to talk to Lizard, not spook him.

"What can I do for you, Detective? If there's someone dead, it wasn't me."

Daniels was about four feet from him, his shadow dissecting Lizard. "I don't work Homicide anymore. I'm with Missing Persons."

"People actually give a shit about those folks?"

"I do," Daniels replied. "I got a missing persons that disappeared somewhere between work and home, about five blocks. Their way home leads them right down 2nd. I know this is your turf so I figure that there's little that goes on in this neighborhood that you don't know about."

"You flatter me, Detective," Lizard said with a fake blush, "Is this someone I would have any regular contact with?"

Daniels shook his head. "No. He's squeaky."

"One person going missing in this neighborhood--"

"I've got three. One is solid and the other two are potential. I find it hard to believe that three people get taken in this neighborhood without you knowing who the operator that's--"

Lizard lashed out at Daniels like lightning. Daniels saw him pivot but wasn't sure what he was doing. Then an expendable baton (sure looked like a police-issued one) slid out and arced for Daniels. He blocked the strike with his forearm but didn't see the foot that swept him off his feet and down the alley ground. He hit the bricks, his spine lighting up with fire and then Lizard was filling his vision, saying, "You're asking all the wrong questions." Lizard punched him in the face so hard Daniels' head bounced off the brick and the darkness that had taken him in the car took him once again.

But only for a few minutes.

Daniels woke up in the alley, his right eye a crater of pain. All his limbs hurt but around his face it was just white-hot pain. He got to his feet, grateful that his gun and badge were still on him. Standing in the alley and taking a deep breath against the rising tide of humiliation (you really need to learn how to read people better!), he thought about the moment that he'd seen Lizard go for his baton. Oddly, he'd known exactly what Lizard was going to do. He'd actually seen it played out in his mind, each step that the man would take. That had never happened before. So why did it happen now?

And why didn't he act upon it?

Daniels left the alley to go get that cup of coffee and go home. He would need something for the pain and swelling.