A small crowd had gathered along the sides of the streets as an old western showdown was about to take place in this relatively modern street. While technology had far outgrown those days, the chivalry of duels persisted still. The streets, though lawless in a different sense, held the same air as centuries ago. However, vigilantes and bandits weren’t allowed to run rampant. Not when larger forces at lay remained present. Order must be kept in these streets somehow and that order manifested itself through chaos. A beautiful swirling disarray in which the slightest twitch could destabilize the entire house of cards. In a sense, it almost matches the rest of the world. Only instead of countries, nations, and borders, everything is confined within the city. In the same way, the duel is confined to the street where the entrance to the subway station was. Nick and Flores arrived just in time to witness the show begin. Across both ways were two armed gunmen standing a relatively close distance apart from each other.
“Settle down people! Settle down!” a man in a navy-blue suit ordered as he attempted to keep the crowd away from the scene, “Keep away from the duelists!”
He had on a matte-black, protective bulletproof vest under his professional attire. A silver bishop-shaped pin neatly attached to his suit, the mark of the Rhodes Family unbeknownst to Flores. Nick knew it well, and he knew why this man was standing here. The symbol of a truly backwards city left a sour taste in Nick’s mouth. It should have been a proper officer of the force standing in the place of the mafioso. In the man's left hand he held what appeared to be an open book bound in leather. Something about the man told Flores he had a semblance of authority that the officers she had seen didn’t.
“Yeah! If you know what’s good for you blokes, you wouldn’t be watchin’!” another man yelled in a vaguely British accent. He stood across the street from the man in the navy-blue suit and wore a black suit with a silver rook pin and had a simplistic smoke pipe lodged in his mouth. The slow-rising streaks of gray signified that it was not just for decoration.
“This isn’t a spectator sport! Don’t be so surprised if you get shot,” a man right next to the leader warned the onlookers. In contrast to his peers, he was wearing a brown leather jacket that barely concealed the black tactical vest he wore underneath. His rook pin was lazily pinned at a slight angle on his vest.
“Enough!” the duelists on the left screamed in an odd accent, “I’ve had it with you poking your nose where it don’t belong! Damn, filthy thief! I don’t care if I waste my pretty penny on this bullet. I’ll shoot you dead where you stand!” The man was wearing a white suit and an eyepatch.
“Oh you know I’d never lay a finger on another man’s goods. Such uncivilized folk around here.” The other man on the right responded in a Texan accent, which threw Flores off guard. It wasn’t just the accent. The way he dressed could only be described with a “yee-haw!” With a gleaming white cowboy hat and a gambler’s white blazer and aviator shades to top it all off, he could have been mistaken for an oil tycoon coming home from a day out at the casino.
“What’s going on now?” Nick groaned, “A duel in the middle of the streets? It’s hardly even noon.” As he peered toward the two men standing on either side of the street, he noticed a familiar face and white cowboy hat. “Oh for god’s sake- Eric!”
“Huh?” The Texan looked around briefly until he spotted Nick. “Can’t talk right now, partner. The show’s about to begin.”
“Ten paces!” the other man shouted above the commotion of an awed audience, “And then we’ll see who’s the smart mouth, investigator!”
“Your funeral,” Eric offered his hand with a smile, “Partner.”
The other man disgruntledly shook his hand before sneering.
“I know you hail from a state that hands guns to their children. Let me warn you, this bullet means a lot more than just three dollars!.”
“Enough talk, Mad-Eye. Let’s dance.”
As the two turned their backs on one another, Nick whispered to Flores, “You might want to look away or at the very least cover your ears.”
“No, I want to watch this…” The imminent duel ironically reminded her of home. Flores briefly looked up into the sky. The morning sun hung low in the sky, painting shadows across the land perpendicular to where the two silhouettes stood face to face. A flock of crows gathered to watch the unfolding scene. The tension seemed to remain even as dusk broke.
“You don’t have to do this, Mad-Eye. I can still negotiate a deal if you-”
“It’s far too late for you to try and talk your way out of this. What? Are you feeling scared?”
“No, I was giving you one last chance to back down. Before we begin.” Eric walked off first with a freshly-polished Colt Python revolver held in his holster. It was ready at his side as he counted the steps he took in his head. Mad-Eye quickly did the same, careful to keep a good grip on his own piece, a well-worn workhorse of a Ruger Old Army revolver.
As the two men walked away from each other, the only sound that could barely be heard was the footsteps of two potentially dead men. The air was filled with dread, fear, and guilt.
To Flores and most of the spectators, a flurry of emotions hung high as they watched the stage play. Except, this was no stage play. This was very much real and Flores knew that. There very well could be one or many fewer souls walking the Earth in the next few seconds. She brushed those feelings aside and decided to try and indulge in the strange culture of this city. She couldn’t help but notice her grip on the manila folder became ever so slightly tighter. Nick was also intensely watching intensely as well. He had seen many attempts at civilized duels but most ended in outright shootouts. He wondered grimly if this would be the same. Even if there were about twenty or so people, this was the largest crowd that had gathered for such a strange event. Trying not to worry about the gruesome results of a spray of blind fire into the gathered crowd, Nick kept his own hand close to his own .38 Colt Detective Special snubnose revolver. He was a protector of the law, after all. More so than those self-proclaimed peacekeepers standing on either side of the streets. At least they were keeping people as far away from the duel as possible.
When they finally stood ten paces each from the center, the two performers turned back around to face each other. This time, it could be their last. Eric took in another deep breath as he concentrated on Mad-Eye’s looming silhouette with special attention placed on his revolver. He slowly walked in closer with his gun still at his side, making sure to occasionally change his direction to disrupt his opponent’s focus. In retaliation, Mad-Eye did the same, carefully zig-zagging to throw off Eric. Both of them prevailed in their efforts to maintain accuracy along with precision. It was one thing to shoot a spectator, but it was another to potentially hit a member of the police or the Rhodes Family. Doubts and worries began to creep up the spectator’s back. The stillness of the air was matched only by its silence. A silence that would be abruptly shattered by two sharp cracks ringing out nearly simultaneously, one slightly later than the first. The two sounds became one rippling thunder that reverberated in the air around the spectators. Following the echoing thunder, the silence returned.
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Flores was left in awe. She had never seen a hand move that fast before. It had all happened in an instant. She watched the man named Eric draw his revolver, only letting it reflect the sun’s beams briefly, before reholstering it not even half a second later. The image of Eric firing flashed with the muzzle of his gun. Despite the delayed afterimage, Eric had shot first. A stunned silence fell upon the crowd before the quiet murmurs of who remained standing began. Numerous gasps arose as they watched Mad-Eye twitch, groan, clutch his side, and collapse to the ground. All eyes set upon Eric as they awaited his fate, except for Nick. He had been struck in the shoulder by Mad-Eye’s bullet. Nick let out a sharp groan he had been holding in before dropping the lunch pail he had been holding.
“Nick!” Flores quickly caught him before he could fall. The crowd once again gasped as they realized who had been hit. “A-are you okay?”
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Nick clutched his bleeding shoulder before slowly lowering himself on the ground against the outside wall of the bakery. “Keep your hand firmly pressed on my shoulder while I radio back up. God, I hope that didn’t hit an artery…”
Hesitantly, Flores pressed down on Nick’s shoulder and kept applying pressure.
“Alright, everyone disperse! Show’s over!” the man in the navy-blue suit ordered, “Doc, go patch up the detective while we deal with the Cicero.”
A man in a lab coat appeared from the crowd from across the street and approached Nick and Flores. The man took out a red leather briefcase with a red cross emblazoned in a white circle on the side. Nick watched cautiously as the man set it on the floor and opened it.
“Don’t you worry, now,” the man spoke soothingly as he dug through the medical kit, “You’re in good hands.”
As the man pulled out a pair of sterile surgical forceps, Nick drew his sidearm, much to Flores’s surprise.
“You make one wrong move, doc, and I’ll make sure that both you and your friends won’t ever make another.” Nick’s threats went relatively unheard.
“Detective, I’ve done this countless times before on far worse bullet wounds,” the medic simply replied, “Some of which were caused by the likes of your comrades.”
Flores took in the details of the strange man attempting to remove a bullet from Nick. With a light-gray field cap with an emblem atop his head and a sterile white lab coat, the man must have taken his medical title seriously despite who he was working under. The emblem on his hat was a crimson-red cross surrounded by a golden outline. There was a white circle within the cross that had a few odd symbols within its own area. A single red droplet with a beta symbol inside suggested some radiological experience from the doctor. He had on a surgical mask to both protect his health and his identity. Only a pair of blue eyes were visible peering above the fabric lining. They were carefully studying the entry hole and calculating the approach angle at which to insert the silver forceps held delicately in his hands. Nick clenched his teeth as the man quickly ripped the bullet out. Pain replaced the waning adrenaline. Nick instinctively drew his revolver on the man.
“You’d better freeze.”
The man, unfazed, continued anyways, dabbling a cloth to wipe away the blood. He then took out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and doused a square of medical gauze before applying it to the wound.
“Ngh!” Nick pulled the hammer back on his revolver. “One more strike, doc…”
“Please detective, I’ve worked enough under the stress of live fire and I don’t need you adding to it.” The man grabbed an oddly-shaped syringe filled with some sort of spongy material. “The life of a combat medic is not one of comfort, to say the least.”
“Before you inject me with that thing, I need to know what it is!”
“A hemostatic device,” the man simply stated before injecting it into the bullet wound.
The feeling of the void being quickly filled by something spongy made Nick squirm. “Well then, patched up for now.” The man handed Nick a business card. As he did, he noticed Nick’s leg wounds. “Call again if you need me in the future.”
Nick read the card, “Dr. Scott Kell, huh? Why haven’t I heard of you.”
“I don’t live here,” Dr. Kell explained as he wrapped a tourniquet around Nick’s legs, “I only work here occasionally.” Dr. Kell turned to Flores, who had been observing silently. “And you, could I have your name please?”
“Um…” Briefly shaken out of her concentration, she hastily recollected herself and answered, “Flores Fortune.”
“I have a feeling that you and I are going to be crossing paths later. I know what you are, or at least, have had experience with your condition.”
“You couldn’t be referring to my…” Flores briefly touched her own face. “How do you know?” she whispered silently to Dr. Kell.
Dr. Kell simply smiled as he handed a business card to her. With the most immediate threat taken care of, Nick’s attention was shifted back toward the lunch pail containing the evidence of a victim’s severed hand. He needed to get that back to the station so that the lab boys could analyze whatever remained of the poor murdered lady. Unfortunately, he also needed some actual medical assistance beyond what a medic could provide. He looked at Flores and then at Eric, who was currently lighting a cigarette while leaning against the lamppost. Two birds were right in front of him and in his hand he held the proverbial stone.
“Flores, I’m gonna need you to get this back to the station.”
“But I-” She was about to point out how she had nearly gotten lost on her way home from the police station but Nick interrupted her with a solution before she could even pose her problem.
“I’m going to have you go with Mr. Sullivan over there so you don’t end up eating the hand as well.”
“Okay, it was only one sandwich and a good one at that.”
“Only half joking. Tell him you're looking for a job while you're at it. He’ll definitely listen in as long as you don’t do something stupid. Do you have a phone?”
“I uh…” The last phone she had was a cheap pay-as-you-go flip phone that was somewhere in the confiscated items bin at the prison. She didn’t have enough money at the time to bribe the desk officer for it back. “Why do you ask?”
“I need to know if you got the hand and yourself there in one piece.”
“How do I put this? Oh I know. I just got out of jail. What do you expect from me?”
“Not even a burner? You know what, nevermind.” Nick turned to Eric and called for him. “Hey Eric, mind doing me a favor?”
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And just like that, Flores was awkwardly walking beside a stranger who seemed unphased after dueling someone in the open streets. The air had gotten slightly warmer as the day progressed. The sky above had cleared up slightly and rays of sunlight shone between the overcast clouds. Even the brick of the passing buildings seemed friendlier. The brownish-red hues mixed in with choice blends of off-white rose from the concrete foundations. They served little to hide the dreary nature of the faceless mass that inhabits them. Perhaps she was wrong about there being an endless library of stories in this city. It seemed to her that everyone was caught up in the same desperate bid for survival as with any other urban sprawl. This time, rather than being limited to climbing the ranks politically or corporately, there were more lucrative options for obtaining power.
There were only a few cars rushing by the road next to her as it had long since been rush hour. Each occasional car made her clutch the handle of the lunch pail ever so slightly tighter in her hand. In her other hand were her release papers and she held onto them as if her life depended on them. Probably because it did to an extent. She calmly reminded herself that her parents never raised no coward, at least that’s what she could remember them saying, and kept her steel.
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“So, Miss Flores Fortune, correct? What’s in that folder you’re holding onto anyways? You look like you’re trying to strangle it like a snake,” Eric calmly asked her.
“Well, it’s just my… uh…” Flores really wasn’t sure if she should be honest or not. “You’re not working with the police, are you?”
“I run a private investigation office, the Lone Star Office. It’s right smack dab in the center of downtown.”
“Oh… I mostly stick to the outskirts. The noise gets to me for some reason.”
“That’s a mighty damn shame. You would make a good candidate for a new hire. I’m short on hands at the moment. Well, I’ve always been short on hand, but you get the point.”
“How about we fix that? I need a job, and you need a worker. We’re staring at the solutions, ya know.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I assume then those ‘documents’ are your resume,” Eric joked.
“Not exactly. But can you keep a lady’s secret?”
“It better not be something unsavory.”
“It’s not. Just a smear on my record, that’s all.” Flores handed him the documents. She didn’t know why she so willingly gave them to the stranger. She rationalized that it wouldn’t make much of a difference in the long run. Chances are, he’d probably forget about her after a while just as most do. Even in her own eyes, she’s the background to even the landscape. Still, her detective instincts were blaring alarms in her head. It shunned her for letting her guard down so easily and she returned to her usual stoic attitude. “Make sure you give them back to me when you’re done.”
“You heard what I said back there,” Eric smiled confidently. He had perused through the release notes and found not much of anything. Just that she was from his home state and a surname he had become unfortunately familiar with. He silently hoped she didn’t bring the same bad luck as one of his other employees did. “So, a Texan, huh? How’d you like my little show back there?”
“Do you normally duel people in the streets or was that just an unforeseen incident?” Half of her hoped it was and half of her hoped it wasn’t. She had always wanted to prove her one and only real skill besides a sharp mind was an even sharper aim.
“I don’t often get paid to shoot people,” Eric cheerfully joked once more, “And if I were, I wouldn’t be so conservative with my shots. Do you know the price of a .357 magnum round here?”
“Not the fifty-five cents back home, I assume.”
“Three dollars.” Eric's joyful expression immediately dropped. Flores would have as well if she had one, to begin with. “Take of that what you will.”
“Do I even want to know why bullets are that expensive?”
“Not if you don’t want your pretty little heart to be shattered.”
“Well, besides that… You don’t seem to be on the exact same side as the police. And yet, you don’t seem to be with the crooks either.”
“How very observant of you.” Eric saw the familiar outline of the police station around the next corner. He had visited time and time again for all sorts of reasons. It had taken him a long time for him to be able to waltz in there without questions. “I did run a gang once, but that’s far in the past. Consider me a bridge of sorts between the two sides of the law.”
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She held her breath as she stood in front of the intimidating double doors of the large building in front of her. Before she stepped into the lion’s den, she took one last glance at the gray skies above and hoped that Eric wasn’t lying.
Eric walked in front of her before advising, “I’ll do the talking in case you land yourself back behind bars.”
As they walked through the reinforced glass double doors, the air inside was far warmer than the cold breeze outside. It felt oddly cozy and yet still had that noticeable icy reception of the law. A heater sat next to a few benches where people were expected to wait. There was a magazine rack but the only thing that was on it was a single copy of a recruitment advertisement.
Today must have been a rather slow day as, besides Eric and herself, the only person to greet them was a front desk attendee who was busy distracting herself with a large novel titled “Dreams.” Walking up to the desk, Eric cleared his throat before speaking.
“I see you found a new novel to engross yourself in.”
“Eric, a list of complaints is lying on your desk,” the desk attendee coldly informed him. She didn’t even look up from her book. “You’re lucky Nick still owes you. Otherwise, you would’ve been kicked out by now.”
“On it.” Eric turned to Flores and whispered, “Go drop off the evidence and meet me in my office. In the meantime, I’ll take your documents and see what I can do.”
She was about to ask where either of those was but Eric managed to slink away with her files before she could, leaving her alone with the desk attendant.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
“It’s down the hall to the left. Unless you’re mentally handicapped, you can’t miss it.” The desk attendant’s words were filled with the bitter resentment she had for the job and life she was given.
“Okay… Thanks anyways…”
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At least the desk attendant’s instructions were true. Unfortunately, she had not been informed of the fingerprint scanner blocking her from finally dropping the lunch pail off. Defeated, she walked around in search of Eric’s office while darting around officers and trying her best to hide against the walls. Her search yielded nothing and she was forced to go back to the desk attendant for answers. When she found out Eric’s office was actually a storage room under a staircase, she would’ve confronted him about it had her own office not been any better. She opened the door to Eric sorting through an impossibly high stack of papers.
“Ah, back so soon?” Eric put the papers in his hands gently down on the desk as he addressed Flores. “Did you put whatever Nick found this time into the correct place?”
“I couldn’t even get into the evidence room because its locked with a fingerprint scanner.” She placed the lunch box on Eric's desk before taking a seat.
“Oh right. Forgot about that. Well, good news is that you’re ‘resume’ seems pretty impressive, albeit a little bit barren. Hell, you even worked for our old rivals, the Lucky Number Seven Office.”
“Rivals?”
“Yeah. I’m sure you heard of it from your colleagues.”
“Dunno, wasn’t really there long enough to-” She shut herself up before she could ruin her opportunity any further. “I-I mean, I was a temporary hire, but I still did my share and plenty more.”
“Eh, I’m still hiring any competent man or woman willing to give me the time of day. I’m a little short on hands right now, but I promise you that you won’t regret it.” The wink Eric gave almost sealed the deal.
“Alright, I’ll bite. But maybe we should focus on the fact that I still can’t get into the evidence room. Even if I had fingerprints, I doubt they would’ve worked.”
“You don’t have fingerprints?” Eric asked, slightly appalled.
“Nope.” She showed him her bare hand and Eric chuckled in amazement.
“Just how much more of an anomaly can you be? Well, while you’re here. I might as well set you up on that deal. You see, I’ve managed to make more than my fair share of connections to the law, as you can see here.” He jokingly motioned towards the large stack of complaints on his desk. “They keep trying to get rid of me, but my good ol’ pal Nick has me covered.”
“Seems like he’s covering for a lot of people.”
“Nah, just me, his friend, and I assume now you. But that’s neither here nor there now.” Eric handed her a few almost official-looking documents and a pen. “I’m not gonna advertise it to you like some sort of used car salesman. You’re probably smart enough to know what you’re getting into if you’ve managed to survive this long.”
“Is that a compliment or a-”
“Sorry, just something you pick up from being stuck in this city for too long. Anyways, on official terms, you get your cut, access to our equipment, limited liability on your end, yadda yadda. Just sign there when you’re done reading and I’ll get to work seeing what I can do for you.”
She read through the documents and found little legal jargon. The number she assumed to be her pay seemed fine to her, but if she had more experience in the city, she would have realized it to be lower than desired. Especially when drug runners and smugglers make fortunes more than the base wage of private investigators. She didn’t care all too much, just that she was getting enough pay to live on for another day. The only strange thing she noticed was the severe smudging and fading of letters near the bottom. There was what looked to be an official seal at the top of the page so the smudging felt excusable. Still, she made sure to read the entire thing at least three times. While the terms weren’t the greatest, they were better than working solo and getting thrown in jail again. She picked up the pen and started filling out the remainder of the form before signing her name. She handed the paper back to Eric while silently hoping she hadn’t made a massive mistake.
“Alright, let me see what I can do and then we can continue.” Patiently sat in her seat, Flores waited for Eric to stop flipping through papers.“Hmm, interesting stuff. Took the case of a lost dog in a city full of ruthless ones. How’d that end up?”
“In jail,” she responded blankly, “That’s how it ended up.”
“Funny, I had a good friend of mine end their last job end in a stinger. Bravo was the codename he liked to go by. We used to insist that we work together as Alpha and Bravo.” Eric turned to his computer and cracked his knuckles. “He died in a shootout four years ago on a botched job. Try not to let that dissuade you.”
“Oh it won’t,” she reassured.
Eric rechecked the folder and chuckled, “Heh, not much, ey?”
“Never had much.” Flores took this as her cue to hand him her driver’s license.
“Hell, with what little you have here, you could easily become a phantom in these streets.” He picked up her driver's license from Texas. The image of the face was missing, almost as if it had been scratched out. Eric supposed it wouldn’t have helped matters if she were pulled over and the license she gave them didn’t include the strange fox-head on the image. For some odd reason, Eric wasn’t bothered by Flores’s anomalous appearance. It felt normal in an odd way. Eric shook himself awake before entering the details into the computer.
“I take it, you’ve changed a bit since your time in Texas.”
“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”
“You know, someone who came in here just two days ago just like you. Also came from Texas, except she was very sweet and innocent. I take it you are more stoic.”
“Eh… More gin than brandy.”
“Heh, like the way you think.” Eric turned to a computer next to him and began tapping all of the necessary data in. “I’ll getcha set up with me, and then we can start the real work.”
“So what are you doing exactly?”
“I’m trying to see what exactly they have on you. Give it a sec…" Frustrated, Eric gentily smacked the side of his monitor as if percussive maintenance would speed things up. " Ah, well. Maybe it'll come around eventually. You know, I accidentally shot my old computer back when I first got to use one. I was more distraught at having wasted a bullet than having to order a new one.”
“Interesting…” She had suspected that he would have shot his computer at least once. “You don’t usually do that to people, right?” she sheepishly asked.
“As long as they don’t try to do the same to me, but that’s Laslow for ya. Speaking of which, how's the city so far? Takin' a liking?"
"The city's… nice. The people… aren't."
"Yeah, that's how it usually goes 'round here. You’ll get used to it. Oh look who decides to start workin'!" He smacked the top of the monitor like a cowboy whipping his disobedient horse. His annoyed scowl turned into a frown at the sight of the large amount of red the monitor showed. “Welp, I doubt even I can do anything about that.”
“W-what? Is it that bad?”
“It’s not… bad. Not at all compared to some of the things I’ve seen before. It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a weary smile. “You're gonna need a major CEO or a mob boss to give you a pardon. They’ve got this one locked in pretty tightly, sorry. Dunno why, it doesn’t seem all that serious.”
“I was hoping not to hear that today.” She sighed as she took the folder back from him. “Thank you anyways, sir. I’ll take the job offer, though. I still need to find work.”
“No need to call me sir, just Eric. Mind if I ask how that trial went?”
“Bad… I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Eric took his hat off and placed it on top of the monitor. "So how’d they treat you in prison?"
"They spent all their budget for inmate uniforms on state-of-the-art security."
"Was the food any decent?"
"They served something called ‘Nutraloaf.’ Half my taste buds would go numb every time I took a bite."
"Oh… Anyone give you trouble?"
"I only got roughed up a few times a week. Marginally better than the inmate next door. I never saw her without bruises. Poor girl… Though, I feel that the guys still probably had it worse."
"Guys? Was it some sort of a mixed-gender prison they threw you in?"
"Technically. The main offices separated the men and women along with double, triple, and probably quadruple-locked doors. I only saw male inmates during initial processing and yard time. From the brief glimpses I got, I couldn’t tell who had it worse. I didn’t really care, but from the things the guys were saying…"
“Anything exactly or are your ears just for show?"
“Well, someone got shanked by a popsicle so they had banned those. Another guy committed suicide by cutting himself a thousand times with a sharpened cigarette somehow. They also permanently switched from Nutraloaf to Nutripaste, which looked even more like regurgitated sewage. The first time they served it to us, I spent the night over the toilet bowl.”
“Head or…?”
“Both.” She nearly retched just thinking about the experience. “But hey, at least I have an iron stomach now,” she joked with a nervous laugh.
"Lord have mercy!” Wanting to think about literally anything else, Eric changed the subject. “So who did the most roughhousing among the girls?"
"I think it was a clique of former mafia wives. I don't remember much about 'em. Just that they certainly learned a thing or two." She certainly felt a thing or two.
"Damn… Welp, at least that’s all behind you now.” He gave another reassuring smile before an idea came to his head. “The future ain’t so hopeless. If you can rise the ranks and befriend some powerful figures, you’ll be one step closer to a clean ledger. Maybe working some of the jobs we take will help you with that.”
“Thank you, really. Thought I’ll be stuck at the bottom forever.”
“Oh, almost forgot.” Eric reached under his desk and pulled out a flat device with a glossy surface.
“Is that a fingerprint scanner?”
“Oh right. You don’t have any.” Eric sighed as he connected the fingerprint scanner to his computer. “Jesus, you really are a ghost. Anything else you could use?”
Flores looked down at it and stared. She leaned close to the scanner, almost too close. Her nose was almost touching the surface of the scanner when suddenly, contact was made. Eric’s computer made a satisfied beep.
“Pfffttt!” Eric stifled his laughter. “Okay, I suppose that works too.”
Flores slowly lifted her nose off of the scanner before plunging her head into her hands in embarrassment. “Oh god…”
“Hey, cheer up. Now you can get basic access to the station as you please. Just don’t tell anyone that I’ve got your nose print under my profile.”
“Now why would I ever do that?” she sarcastically joked.
“Anyways, here’s a little something to hopefully keep you in one piece in the field.” Eric handed her what appeared to be an identification card and a strange-looking device. “Because you are the sixth active investigator my office has, you’ll be assigned the designation Foxtrot, which I find quite amusing.”
She winced after hearing her new callsign. “Why of all things, Foxtrot? Why couldn’t it have been anything else?”
“Because that’s the sixth word in the military phonetic alphabet. It’s just how I do things ever since Bravo.”
She sighed. It was as if reality was mocking her again. But before Eric had revealed just how cruel coincidences could be, he had mentioned something of interest. “Great…What’s that?”
“That.” Eric pointed at the mass of wires and metal bits jutting out at odd angles. “Is a Brintec Model stun gun.”
“Even better…” It resembled more of a shambled-together battery pack attached to an electrical plug than a professionally built taser. She assumed the cube that lay next to it was a probe cartridge.
“Standard issue for the market.” He struggled to say that with a straight face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t scrounge up anything better. You know how expensive ammo can be around these parts.”
Struggling with the stun gun, she tried to attach the probe cartridge only for it to almost spring off comically. It took some force, but she finally got the cartage to clip into place over the electrodes. Satisfied with her work, she held it in her hand and inspected it while trying to find a good grasp on it or at least the best grip she could muster. It could still very easily slip out of her hand if she isn't careful.
“I guess I’ll take it anyway. But I swear, this thing will be the death of me if I'm forced to use it.”
“Hey, better than using good ol’ fists. You at least have a chance now.”
“Fair, you aren’t wrong about that.” Flores had never been the fighter, but she was at least a good shot. It would be hard to miss at point-blank with a taser.
“Oh, and one more thing before you go.” Eric reached down into a drawer and grabbed another small rectangular device. “Take this burner phone with ya. You’re lucky I nabbed this thing from the market just yesterday.”
“Thanks…” Now she wasn’t quite sure what she had signed up for.
“Before you leave, what brought you to Laslow anyway?”
“Eh?” Surprisingly, this was the first time anyone here actually asked her that. She had to think about how to answer. “Just… looking for someone.”
“Well alrighty then. I hope the signing bonus helps get you through the next few days. Wouldn't want my new hire to be dead before she starts work..” Eric handed her a small amount of cash. Technically, any amount of cash would have been appreciated. “Here, leave the lunch box on my desk. I’ll take care of it. I’ll call you when I need you to clock in.”
She placed the lunch pail on the desk as one more task had been checked off. She took it along with the files back and tucked them safely under her arm.
“Hey, and more thing.” Eric extended his arm out to give her a welcoming handshake. She took it and Eric’s grip nearly crushed her hand. Flores swore she felt something go crunch. “Welcome aboard the Lone Star Office. We’re all lone rangers far from home. Keep yourself safe, pardner!” Eric chuckled at his own sarcastic remark.
“Y-you t-too…” Flores was glad that her inexpressive face hid the pain. As soon as she entered the hallway and out of Eric’s sight, she clutched her hand as it continued to throb. “Lone rangers? Not too wrong about that.”