Finally home, Flores felt ecstatically relieved after what felt like an hour or so of shambling like a half-conscious zombie. Although she called it home, it wasn’t even a house. It had been listed as a rundown postal station back when personal mailboxes were a scarce commodity. When she had bought the place, the original owner practically gave it to her for pennies. She quickly figured out why when a member of the Cicero Mafia came to visit her the day after she moved in.
She dragged herself up to the door. A simple sign with the words, “Fortune Private Investigations,” hung on the quaint wooden door. Underneath was a note pinned to the door with a free sharpened tuning fork.
Your payment is due in three days. Don’t keep us waiting! -The Ciceros.” The words echoed in her mind as she struggled to comprehend how her luck continued to worsen. Clearly, rock bottom had a basement.
“Oh great…” She struggled to yank the fork out. It detached itself from the door with a nice reverberation. She took the note and pocketed it along with the tuning fork. She figured she might be able to pawn it off for a bit of cash.
Reaching for her necktie, she took out the small key hidden right next to her lockpicks and moved her arm haphazardly to unlock the door. After fumbling around for a few seconds, missing the keyhole multiple times, she finally got the pesky key into the hole. She stepped inside and was greeted by the rather small waiting area. Thankfully, locking the door was much easier than unlocking it. Her weary eyes set upon where a great wall of metal mailboxes once stood. It had been removed a long time ago by the previous owner and a small brown two-seat couch now served as the main furnishing for the makeshift waiting area.
“Gotta… get a nice… plant in here… someday…” She searched blindly to turn on the light. Her hand came less than an inch away from the light switch on the wall. She gave up shortly after concluding that she saw equally as poorly in low light conditions as she did if the room was lit up when she was this sleep-deprived.
“Mnh… All the… shifting… shapes…” She lightly smacked herself against the head, or at least she meant to. Her ears ended up ringing for a solid seven seconds as she blindly stumbled around for a wall to stabilize herself against.
“Gah!” She shook her head to see that she successfully reintroduced lucidity into her body. Her built-in night vision capabilities finally kicked in and she could almost make out her surroundings. Her sense of smell also told her that the dried splatter of blood on the carpet was still there. It was her blood and it was from a rough last day at another detective agency. She had tried everything, but nothing could get the stubborn former life liquid to come out. At this point, she chalked it up as unintentional decorations befitting of the lifeless room. Moving deeper through the small building, she walked down a hallway on the right. She passed by two doors on her left. They used to be two small sorting rooms where a pair of plucky postal workers were supposed to take in and organize various parcels and letters. Now, the first was used as her primary office and the second was used as a storage room for files. Luckily for her, most of the furniture in there originally could be repurposed.
The next and almost last door she would see at the end of the hall was the door leading to a small break room. This was her living space. She did not hesitate to fling open the door. She hung her coat on a lightless lamp she had found in the alleyway behind her office. She had turned it into a makeshift coat rack. She practically threw herself onto the futon she had slept on numerous times. It was far more comfortable than that dreaded jail cell cot. She groaned into the cheap mattress with all of the stress of the day sinking into the not-so-soft fabric. As much as she wanted to drift into unconsciousness, the smell of herself demanded maintenance. She sniffed her arm and a pungent, smoky, acrid odor met her nose. The burning down warehouse had left its chemical imprint on her clothes and body.
“Eugh… Gonna… hafta… deal with that first…” Although the laundromat a few buildings down should still be open, dragging herself back out into the open air and further delaying her need for sleep was not an option. Instead, she decided for it to be dealt with in the morning. At least the coat didn’t reek as its leather made it hard for scents to stick.
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Along with the breakroom was a quaint bathroom located in the very back. It only had a basic sink, mirror, and toilet, but it made do. She had undid her necktie and hung it over a microwave atop a desk in the breakroom. After taking care of business, she found herself in front of a shattered mirror. At least a dozen fragmented reflections judged her.
“I forgot about you…”
Its broken state resulted from the resentment against the one trapped inside its glassy prison, the actually lucky one. The mirror itself hung as a glimpse of past and future. Attached around the frame were items she had tried so desperately to forget. Five newspaper clippings remained taped precariously. Each one left a haunting story. She took them down without looking at them and laid them on top of the toilet’s tank. It was best to forget about the past as well as her own image. She took the mirror down, careful not to damage it any further. Even with her caution, a glass shard left a minor cut on her thumb as a reminder of her luck. Throwing the mirror out the back, she left it in the trash where it belonged. She had no need for it anymore. An idea popped up to fill the now empty section of wall. She turned off the lights. This would make it nigh impossible to read the headlines of each newspaper as she reattached them one by one to the wall. She wanted to save that for once she was done. As she finished, she flipped on the lights to her new gallery display. While her reflection was gone, she still stared at herself. Her past plastered the wall above the sink.
“Grant’s Detective Agency Massacred in Bloody Battle, One Survivor,” one headline read.
“The Twenties PI Crew Down to One After Street Brawl,” another joked.
Flores clenched her fists as her breathing quickened. Each time, it had been a decently well-off office temporarily in need of an extra hand. And so, she was hired as a temp. They didn't even bother formally documenting her presence in anything. Even if she had no direct involvement, she remained cursed as a harbinger of the downfall of anyone she worked with.
“Lucky Number Seven Office Not So Lucky After All,” a newspaper mocked.
“The Exquo Investigation Firm All Exit Stage Right,” a tattered one japed.
She began to question why she had done this to herself. She answered that it was to remind her of her past sins, penance. A mural to the many times she should’ve died. And yet, she still clung on like a tumor. The never-ending cycle of the lone survivor was a curse, never a blessing. The last one forced an involuntary death grip onto the sides of the sink.
“Another Private Investigator Jessie Henderson Found Butchered,” a tear-soaked paper blankly stated. Although the article was treated as any other, the words had blurred into an unrecognizable mass of lament to Flores’s eyes. She had intentionally forgotten Jessie’s name ever since as a defense mechanism for her psyche. Her twisted meeting with Nick finally caught up to her. She felt sick hearing the last name, Henderson, reverberate within her mind. She blamed herself for Jessie’s death. She blamed every fiber of her being for what had happened. Nothing could have prevented it, nothing she could have done differently. She still remembered the day she partnered up with her. The day she first saw someone so determined to fight against the city’s whims. Those hollow promises and platitudes left a bitter aftertaste as she woefully mourned not only for the corpse that remained.
“We’ll take one step at a time. Before we know it, Laslow will be clean by sunrise!” The flame once sparked by that simple yet resonating speech remained snuffed by the cold city breeze. Jessie’s dream died with her.
Flores remembered the trial, what had truly happened. She hadn’t told Eric the full truth, because she had forced it back into the dark recesses of her mind.
“I plead guilty,” her defeated voice confessed.
“W-what! We were so close!” her defense attorney cried in outrage, “Your honor, please let us have a fifteen-minute recess! My client is clearly not in the right headspace!”
“That sounds like an insanity plea, Mr. Colt,” the arrogant voice of the prosecutor responded, “How about we settle this already so we can all just go home, hmm?”
While her trial had started with the planted drugs, it devolved rapidly into the death of Jessie Henderson. Her mind must have censored that entire month and kicked it out of conscious memory. At least the trial could be remembered, albeit a bit too clearly for her taste.
“We cannot rule that she had any direct involvement in Jessie Henderson’s death,” the judge announced, “But with that guilty plea, the defendant, Flores Fortune, will be sentenced for third-degree manslaughter. As for the charges for possession of drugs…” The judge hesitated as the eyes of the few cartel members made sure things stayed in line. “A fine of-”
The next thing she could remember was collapsing to the floor from the weight of her guilt.
“Maybe… Maybe a nice shower?” she thought aloud, “Yeah… I can forget all over again. That’ll work.”
Flores left the bathroom quickly, not wanting to live through her unpleasant memories any longer. The way the building was laid out, the bathroom was separated from the break room by another room in between. This room was adjacent to both rooms and had a door leading to the back alley. Three doors in a T-junction arrangement. She had memorized that the left door led to the bathroom and the right door led to the open air after making that mistake the first time.
A small grate was installed on the floor. According to the previous owner, this was done because of the room’s notoriety for flooding when the fire sprinklers went off. She had also learned of the hair-trigger fire sprinklers after setting off the smoke alarm when lighting some paper partially covered in fire retardant spray to reveal a clue. Unfortunately, none of them could be used as a proper washing station even though they certainly gave Flores an unwarranted shower.
There was, however, a makeshift shower built out of scrap pipes. It was present when she first arrived and she figured out what its purpose was after a lot of botched experimentation. It was the shower promised in the documents for the building. It had taken some time for her to figure out how it worked, but she got the hang of it. The series of valves to redirect the flow of water from the sink into the showerhead went from a cumbersome ordeal to a menial task through repeated usage. As the water began to trickle down, it collected in a small pool on the tiled porcelain floor before running down the small grate. She supposed there was no delaying it.
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“Misery as usual.” Since the water from the shower had come from the same heaterless source as the sink, every shower was automatically a cold one. At least she had a towel to dry herself with. Too bad her head still dripped like a wet dog’s no matter how many times she rubbed it with the towel. She shriveled as she hastily dressed herself in her shirt and pants. Through the cascading cold droplets, she pondered every element of what went wrong. As much as she wished not to, she couldn’t help herself. The unmarked red sedan belonging to drug mules, the foot chase through the alleyways of the backstreets, the inevitable capture by Los Rubios.
After the shower concluded, she concluded that the ones responsible for Jessie’s death were still at large. Los Rubios had only played a minor part in capturing them and delivering them elsewhere. The ones that tore her to pieces had done so to keep the city in the crooked state it currently was in. They wanted it done quietly as well. The only reason Flores was still alive was because she had won a coin flip.
“H… H-heads,” a broken voice exited her non-existent lips. A rope shrouded in darkness ensnared her arms.
“Don’t do this, vixen!” Jessie ordered in one last act of defiance, “Don’t play into their sick game!”
“I’m… I’m sorry…”
The coin that flipped into the air landed on the survivor's bet. The rest was history. She never saw the killers' faces.
“Grah!” She futilely slammed her fist against the wall in frustration. “Get outta my head!”
Her breathing became shallow and heaved. She couldn’t withstand the anger she held for herself for long and she knew it. She mindlessly scratched at the walls, the cage she put around her. She grew light-headed and her sense of balance outright disappeared. Fighting with the little strength left, she let out an anguished cry. Her legs wobbled as she collapsed to the hard wet ground. Her side splashed into the shallow puddle still flowing down the drain. Her vision began to darken as she could struggle against exhaustion no longer.
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“It’s a bit too dark in here for a meeting now,” an old gentlemanly voice announced, “Hit the lights, young chap.”
Nick did as instructed and flipped the light switch. The series of fluorescent lights lit up one by one. Although unintentionally dramatic, it had lost its charm after the fifteenth time or so. Revealed inside the cramped conference room was a single circular table without any chairs. Sixteen officers filed into the room. They were a part of the force from before the days of the previous chief of police. The circumstances around his untimely retirement into an early grave were ruled as a suicide after the internal investigation. Still, every single hand in the room was left marred in the process. They all agreed wordlessly that it was a necessary action.
“So what’s all this?” the new chief, sworn in only a week ago, greeted. A stylish jade-green suit jacket with a golden dragon design emblazoned on the fine fabric hung over his shoulders in a casual and comfortable manner. The dragon pattern almost appeared alive with the man’s confidence. “A hazing attempt by the old guard? Hahahah! I appreciate your sense of humor, but please try a better approach.”
“‘The Old Guard’ part is right, but we’re not here to haze you.” The man who first spoke addressed him. “We are simply here to formally introduce ourselves and also come to an agreement on things.”
“Ah, Officer Hilton. I’ve heard many great things about you, among other things.”
“Please, Chief Gan Lee,” Officer Hilton requested, “We are all in this boat together. I’ve heard enough hotel jokes to fill a guest book. And no, I don’t offer room service.”
“That makes one.” Gan Lee turned to the rest of the room. “I know most of you from your dossiers. I don’t know any of you as friends yet.”
“You don’t expect us to go down the line, do ya?” a shifty but amicable figure asked earnestly.
“No, of course not. Time is what develops relationships, not greetings. But one must always plant the seed. From what I’ve read about you, you have quite the interesting history, Officer Coale. Arms dealing, smuggling, mercenary work. What made you decide to settle down here and join the law?”
“Ah, just…” Officer Coale rubbed the back of his neck as he chuckled. “Got tired of my home country, you know? Waking up to the alarms of air raid sirens every day isn’t exactly fun.”
“You did what you had to to get by. I respect that in a sense, but…” Gan Lee leaned in close across the table towards Officer Coale. “You have changed your ways, yes?”
“Of course. New place. New life.”
“Good. Good.”
The meeting devolved into bureaucracy and the sort. The problem of the new recruits running rampant with pockets full of dirty money was brought up. In addition to that, the issue of the Rhodes Family’s control over them came into the light as well as the subject of yesterday’s sweep was brought up. Results from the old chief’s ways troubled the current administration. All Gan Lee had to say on those matters was, “I’ll see to it…” and “Things will run to a different tune…” Not another word was brought up about the subject, but it was obvious on the faces of The Old Guard that they wanted further discussion. The meeting eventually adjourned with the proper welcoming of the new chief. Bows were made, hands were shaken, and jokes were said. All the while, Nick stood there, quiet and respectful. Chief Gan Lee noticed his presence and approached him.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“What about you? I haven’t heard your name yet, nor have I seen your file.”
“Nick, Nick Henderson, sir.”
“Are you a detective? Full-time?”
“Yes sir.”
“That trench coat suits you well. Keep it in good shape, and it will keep you in good shape.” Gan Lee studied Nick’s face further. “You look a bit young to be around all of these hardened veterans.”
“I’m not an official part of The Old Guard. More of an honorary member. I was unfortunate enough to join during the previous chief’s administration. We all called him Caesar for a reason.” Nick’s tone had grown far more formal than usual.
“I suspected as much. But I will say nothing on that matter. Judging by the sorry state of Laslow, maybe it was for the better.”
Nick, conflicted about whether that meant an opportunity or more trouble, left the conference room once he was dismissed. As soon as he stepped foot over the threshold, he let his grimace show. The wounds were still fresh and yet so sore. Marks of the old chief’s reign remained taped to the walls. Signs, warnings, posters, and even a hand-written note glorifying the relationship with the Rhodes Family. The bitterness from the adhesives had seeped into the walls. Nick couldn't quite pin the atmosphere that enveloped him until one word came to mind, "Melancholy."
Nick passed by Eric’s small office under the stairs and peeked his head inside to check up on him. Eric was there reclining in his chair with the phone’s handset held firmly against his head. The drone of the dial tone was all that came from the other end. Eric sighed as he redialed the number. Before he could, Nick entered his office.
“Line went cold?”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” Eric readjusted his posture as he faced Nick. “Can you do me and yourself a favor? I’ve been tryin’ to get in contact with Flores, but she’s not picking up the phone.”
“Something happened to her?” Nick questioned with a hint of worry in his words.
“Not that I know of. Lemmie give you the address first.” Eric hastily scribbled down the address to Flores’s office on a notepad before tearing the note off and handing it to Nick. “I needed to tell her about the situation at my office. This could be a big break and a nice fat paycheck for all of us.”
“And it’s not one you're splitting with me.”
“Unless you wanna combine efforts. But you ain’t gonna like workin’ with our new contractor…”
“Eh, tell me when I get back. I’m gonna check up on her and see if she’s just asleep. Poor girl certainly needs it.”
“So do you, Nick. You can’t be a night owl permanently. I can see it in your eyes.”
Eric’s concern was genuinely out of care for his friend’s well-being. All Nick could do was take note of it.
“I’ll be fine,” Nick dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been through worse.”
“We’ve been through worse, but look where you’ll end up if you keep walkin’ this path.”
“It’s what I signed up for when I became a detective. Nothing more.” Nick retrieved his trusty pack of cards. He had left enough room to fit a row of cigarettes snuggly into the box. He took one out and slid it to Eric. “To this purgatory… ”
Eric reluctantly accepted his gift and finished the saying. “…We call our home. You know, we ought to come up with somethin’ new. It feels like a dying sinner’s remark”
“Maybe when the saying no longer fits. Oh, and by the way, tell Laura I wish her a speedy recovery.”
“But of course, pardner.”
On his way out the door, Nick was reminded of the sutured-up bullet wound in his shoulder. As he continued his way out of the police station, he placed a hand over the wound to check. The waning pain instinctively made him remove his hand immediately. He was half expecting blood to soak it, but his hand was clean.
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A crimson red streak stained Flores’s hand as she held it up to her view. Pain mixed into the blood running down her side. She held her waist with one arm as she searched her surroundings with the other. Everything was pitch black besides a set of steps leading up to a door in the distance. Inching forth, she hobbled her way home. Only a few stray street lamps lit up the neverending void around her. Above her was a pure gray abyss that stretched onward toward infinity. No cloud nor streak blemished the monotonous sky. She pushed the door open by throwing her body against it. Stepping inside, she made it barely two steps in before falling to the floor. Her blood painted an abstract image onto the carpet. She lay there on the floor unable to move. Looking up, she could see her silhouette looming above her. She could not make out her reflection’s face.
“What do you want?” her voice demanded, “Why are you here?”
The apparition of her reflection did not respond. Instead, it pulled her knife out from its pocket before crouching down beside her. With an almost motherly tone, the reflection finally spoke. Whatever the entity was, it forgave her.
“This will only hurt a little.”
The knife plunged into her side as it dug for the bullet lodged in her side. She screamed, but no sound came out. Her mouth was covered by her hand as she swallowed her agony.
“Go ahead. Don’t hide your pain,” the silhouette instructed.
As she lifted her hand to scream, she fell through the floor. She hit the concrete pavement outside her office. The bullet wound on her side was gone. Instead, her right leg was broken. She dragged herself up the steps and through the door. The bloodied bullet lay on the floor in the center of the blood splatter. She couldn’t move anymore. Again, the shadowy reflection appeared. A metallic rod was in those shadowy hands.
“Do you wish to finish the job?” she defeatedly asked.
“Please hold still,” the voice hushed, “Everything will be fine.”
She felt the horrid crunch of her injured leg as the rod struck down. She found herself limping through the darkness back towards her office. The metal rod functioned as a makeshift splint, attached to her leg with bandage wraps. This time, her throat was coated in fine dust. She couldn’t breathe, only wheeze and cough. When she opened the door, the silhouette greeted her by grabbing hold of her. She was spun around so that the silhouette was restraining her from behind. The silhouette produced an inhaler bought from the pharmacy several blocks away. She could remember the painful journey while fighting against hacking her lungs out. The rest of her office wasn’t as lucky despite their name. The shadowy hand placed the inhaler gently in her mouth as it pushed down on the canister. A soothing blast smothered the pain. Her surroundings blurred as the stage was reset. There were only two left before she faced the trial.
“Get me out of this hell” She turned around and walked the other direction towards the emptiness. After several pained steps, she found herself back in the strip mall where her office was located. All the other storefronts were locked closed. “I won’t… I… I refuse!”
She laid down on the pavement just outside her office’s entrance and curled into a ball. The silhouette of herself never appeared to save her. She let the snow gradually build up on her body, coating her in a soft blanket. She could stay like that forever, embraced by nature’s frigid warmth. She was uncertain as to whether the sensation was one of hypothermia or irony. It wouldn’t matter as it was leagues better than entering that cursed door again, or so she thought. Regret would dash that thought away as shadowy arms pinned her down. A heavy weight rivaling that of her guilt stood on top of her, crushing her with a pair of old penny loafers. Her instincts forced her eyes back open. On top of her stood a monstrous apparition of herself similar to the silhouette. This one, on the other hand, wasn’t clouded in darkness. Two white dots floating inside the empty eye sockets of a fox’s skull stared into her soul. Scraps of flesh and fur clung to its face with a black tar-like substance acting as glue. Scraps of burnt clothing clung to its hardened skin revealing both unnatural muscle and scars. The creature was as twisted as the fate that led her here. It pressed hard onto her body.
“Why do you stay? Why take the coward's way out?” The voice of the creature was a similar motherly tone as the shadow, but far more coarse and honest. This entity chose not to forgive. “You have yet to truly be judged. Savor this respite, but take not in excess.”
She remained silent. She couldn’t come up with anything to say through her fear.
“The hound has yet to chase you, Florence. But it will come one day…”
“How d-do you know…?” She struggled to force the words out of her mouth.
The figure briefly looked away before returning its gaze to her. Its voice shifted and mimicked that of certain detective.
Her name echoed thrice more. With each repetition, the voice grew louder. Light began to fill the void until everything became blindingly bright. An ear-piercing ringing noise bleated like a siren. It all reached a crescendo as the sounds of the morning alarm from the timer on the microwave going off bleated through her skull.
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The lone detective strolled through the subway station’s exit after disembarking the crowded subway. Slipping through the turnstiles, he climbed the stairs and into the broad daylight of the streets above. Two streets away were the address he was given. If Nick’s mental map of the city was correct, he was nearing the city limits. He took his light stroll with urgency while keeping away from any oddities.
When he arrived at the supposed location given by Eric, he was confused and then impressed. The small strip mall located near the edge of the city housed only a few operational stores. There was a self-serve laundromat, a small convenience store, and a scrappy-looking pawnshop. Only the laundromat was open, but no one was staffing it at the time. The rest of the buildings were empty and defunct after being closed due to poor monetary performance. He kept a none-of-my-business attitude while passing by a formidable duo of Rhodes Family rooks, Bull and Delano. Worryingly, they were walking in the same direction Nick was headed. Trailing closely behind, he arrived in front of a small building tucked away in the back. The sign read “Fortune’s Privates Investigations.” It was obvious someone had tampered with it based on the red marker used. He hid out of sight against one of the vacant buildings in the strip mall and peaked around the corner.
Bull stepped up to the door and knocked with no response.
“Hmpf. She mustn’t be home presently,” Bull concluded.
“Well that’s where I come in.” Delano stepped up to the door with his ever-reliable lock picks. Nearly a minute passed with no progress.
“Come on now, you’ve broken through many doors before!” Bull complained to Delano, “What’s troubling you with this one?”
“Ugh. She’s just not budging,” Delano retorted.
Eventually, the lock clicked and the two entered the building single file. They left after staying for barely ten seconds. Closing the door behind him, Delano attempted to relock the door.
“Oh sod it,” Bull exclaimed, “Just leave the door unlocked. I’m sure she’ll be understanding when she gets back.”
“I dunno. Maybe we should leave an apology or something.”
They disappeared back into the building before reappearing again shortly. They left while bickering about the effectiveness of their apology. Nick slipped in without them noticing. On the couch sat a badge holder with a note left inside. He passed by the few quaint rooms as he made his way through the one hallway in the building. Flores was still absent and Nick began to worry that she had disappeared into the city. This gave Nick enough reason to warrant a thorough search for where she could have gone. He opened the last door in the hall. Peeking inside, there were several clues as to her presence. Her coat was hung up on an ingenious usage, at least in Nick’s opinion, of an old lamp. The microwave was blaring loudly. There was nothing inside, but her necktie was draped over. Upon further inspection, it was clear that the timer had been programmed to serve as a makeshift alarm clock. He was surprised as to how he hadn’t heard it before opening the door to Flores’s living quarters considering how ear-piercingly loud it was. Nick shut off the alarm as he proceeded through the next door leading out to what he guessed as the bathroom. And there Flores was, laying on the floor unconscious with her head soaking in a puddle. There was a dripping shower head above her. Nick noticed the towel in the actual bathroom and grabbed it as he knelt down next to her.
“Flores?” He called. Prodding her yielded no results, so he repeated again. “Flores? Flores!” Seeing no other option, Nick leaned down right an inch away from her ears and yelled as loudly as he could, “FLORES!”
“Whah-aeh!” In a panicked frenzy, Flores scrambled against the wall while taking up a cowering defensive pose. Her heart gradually decelerated from its machine-gun rhythm as she took in who had awoken her.
“N-Nick?”
“Sleeping on the floor ain’t good for ya, you know. You’ll catch a cold.”
As if on cue, Flores sneezed. She felt the right side of her face and found it damp from sleeping in the puddle under the makeshift shower head.
“Here, do you need a towel?” Nick offered. In his hands was the towel from the bathroom, her bathroom.
“Thanks. Eh- How did you get in here?”
“Oh, the door was unlocked.”
“Oh, okay-” It took a few seconds for her groggy mind to remember that she had locked the door the night before. “Wait, what? Did someone break in?”
“They left a gift near the front.”
Nick led her through her own office as she gradually woke up fully. As she did, the full scale of the damage done by last night’s sleep on the floor had begun to set in. Her head throbbed, her nose was stuffed, and she felt uncomfortably cold. She checked the clock on the microwave and saw that it was now 7:29 AM, meaning she had slept a good six hours. She pulled her tie off of the microwave and slung it loosely around her neck. Tying it would be a hassle she planned for later. A blush of embarrassment grew on her face as she realized how the detective must have felt seeing the condition of her office.
“Pretty cozy place you’ve got here,” Nick complimented as they entered the hallway corridor.
“Is that sarcastic?”
“No. It’s bigger than my apartment. Then again, I assume most of the space is dedicated to business and not recreation.”
“I-I mean, you saw the breakroom.”
“Yeah, not much room. But there’s a nice futon you could’ve been sleeping on. Why choose the cold floor of your improvised shower? Were you crying yourself to sleep in the shower or something?”
“Something like that.” She didn’t know what to say.
"Eh, understandable. But if it makes you feel any better, mind if I give you a compliment."
"I'm not that desperate… yet…"
"That trench coat sure hides a lot."
She wasn't sure what he meant by that.
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Sitting on the couch at the front was a small badge holder with a clip and a note. The note was written in pleasant stylized handwriting. It read as follows: “We apologize for the incident last night. We do not wish to make enemies. Please take this and place your ID somewhere visible so we can, in the future, offer further compensation.” On the other side was another note written in rough cursive: “P.S. Sorry about the door. Delano couldn’t get the lock to relock.” In someone else’s hasty scribblings read: “SORRY!” A sad face was doodled next to it.
“Charming,” Flores grumbled. She slid her Lone Star Office ID into the badge holder, keeping the note inside of the holder, before attempting to find somewhere to clip it. She was tempted to attach it to her trench coat as that was the most reasonable place for her to put it. But knowing herself, she would somehow end up losing her trenchcoat and end up misidentified again. Instead, she chose to pin to something she never left home with. Before she could, she sneezed again. This time, it was violently loud for a lady.
“Bless you. Are you okay?” Nick asked. He saw the makeshift coat rack and pulled her trench coat off of it. He noticed the signature Rhodes Family pawn pin attached to it, but didn’t question her on it. He draped it over her shoulders for extra warmth.
“Myeah… I’m fine. Just g-gimmie a sec to get properly dressed.” Flores moved back towards the breakroom.
“I’ll be waiting here. Just so you know, Eric’s got a message for you.”
The day had begun again, so she properly put on her attire. She spent a minute or two attempting to straighten her necktie in the breakroom. Even if she lived like a rat, she still at least tried to make herself presentable. It was bad for business enough that she looked the way she did, even worse when the office reflected it. She had no clue as to why Nick cared so much about her despite only meeting her a day ago. Maybe she would ask one day when the time was right so as to not drive him away. Once she felt ready enough, she took in a deep breath before pulling the door open.
Nick was pleasantly surprised to see a slightly more composed Flores reappear from the door. She still looked half asleep, but he was sure she’d wake up as they set off. But before they did, there was something about her that was just bothering him.
“Excuse me for a second.” Nick approached her until his breath landed on her face. She cautiously observed Nick’s arms move slowly for her torso.
“What are you doing?”
Nick grabbed Flores’s tie and sought to straighten it properly. He gave up after it proved too much of a hassle and opted to undo the tie completely.
“Here, let me show you an easier way to tie it.” Nick removed the necktie from around Flores’s neck and draped it in his hand. He then grabbed the thin end and wrapped it around his hand twice before pulling out the innermost loop. Flores watched in astonishment as he dropped that loop over the entire tie circle and then pulled up another loop, stretching the entire tie into the shape of a neatly tied tie.
“How’d you-” She was at a loss for words.
“Just a trick I learned a while back. Here.” Nick handed her the tied tie and she held it in her hands for a few seconds. “Aren’t you gonna put it on?”
“Yeah just give me a few seconds.” Even with the loop super loose, she struggled to fit it around her muzzle and over her triangular ears. She eventually got it around her neck and tightened it into place before straightening it.
“Hmm. Maybe that wasn’t so helpful,” Nick commented. “Here, Eric’s got a message for you.”
“A debrief? Splendid, slick, but give me a moment.” She finally clipped the badge holder to her tie. She looked back up to see her phone in Nick’s hands. There was a voice message from Eric. “You are just full of tricks, aren’t you?”
“Do you usually leave it on the floor?”
“No. It must have fallen out of my pocket.” She wondered if Nick had actually just pickpocketed it off of her. She reminded herself that some things were best left unknown. Even if he did steal it from her, she could probably excuse him. She took her cell phone back and checked the message.
Eric’s voice played from the phone."Good news, Laura is healed. Bad news, we are officially bankrupt. Damn you Scott!"
There was a faint reply from Dr. Kell in the background, "You've still got a stockpile of ammo you can sell. Stop being so dramatic."
“But, I do have good news to end on. Starting tomorrow, we’ll officially be a subsidiary working under the Rhodes Family. What this translates to for you is a slightly stable pay. So, you don’t have to worry about lookin’ for work. Eh- probably… Anyways. I’ll give you a call once I set up this little training exercise I’m preppin’ for ya. Now don’t get-”
The message ended there abruptly.
“Great…” Flores stuffed the phone securely in her pocket. “I’m still gonna check for part-time opportunities.”
“You care that much about money? Try gambling,” Nick half-heartedly advised, “Maybe your luck works inversely there.”
“It’s not that I care about the money. It’s more so that I care about not ending up as a permanent debtor to the Ciceros. I don’t trust the Rhodes either, but this is better than nothing.”
“Certainly explains the pin. However, I must warn you about dabbling between two families. Especially those two specifically.”
“Why? Do they have history?”
“I’ve got an inkling that they're about to have some more.”
Without another word, the two stepped outside into the cold. The morning began once again. A question rested on both of their minds. Would today bear better fruits or would the worst be yet to come?