Page 22 of Pure Killers

“It feels the other way around.”

“Oh no." The corner of his mouth lifts in a grin made unsettling by the way water droplets streak through the black. "You’re not the type I prey on at all, Little Shadow.”

The edge of the rail bites into my palm, water dripping into my eyes. “But my husband was? He was an officer, a good man.”

Silence answers me. I don't know what to do but stare back at him, unable to read any expression, to guess what he’s going to do.

I shriek as a loud clattering above me crashes against the upper landing. When I look up, all I see is a large owl there, big eyes turned down towards me. Letting out a breath, clutching my heart, I look back down, but the corner is empty. Down, through the grates of the fire escape, I see a dark shape descending. And in the corner, he's left the tool, and my way inside.

***

Locking the window feels somewhat redundant now. As does locking the doors. But I do it all anyway, every day when I leave, and endless more times when I come home, obsessively checking the bolts are still in place. They always are.

No amount of looking over my shoulder turns up another sighting of Needler. But I'm convinced he's there, hidden in the subway crowds or the clutches of reporters outside work, or else watching from some place I can't see.

All this being true, Downtown in the middle of the night isn't the best place for my nerves. Especially since the absent moon nights have come back around again. Too early, I assure myself. He’s not due to strike again for another month at worst.

"Remind me why we're here again?" I ask as I look both ways up the street. Short of Crennick Row, Downtown was the place with the highest crime rate in the city. By night, the neon lightscome on and the nightlife comes out, and with it all manner of shady deals and shadier places. We're facing one such venue, with an outline of an unrealistically buxom woman on a pole above the entrance, and the nameIlluminate, though the lights on one of the l’s is out.

Dirk looks back at me. "Working."

"Uh huh…" I say, sounding unconvinced at best, but I follow him anyway. "Know your way around, do you?"

Dirk grins at me. "Come on, sometimes you gotta get among 'em to catch 'em."

"Nice catchphrase. You put that on your resume?"

"Hey, every side-kick needs a catchphrase," he counters.

It takes me a second, as we join the back of the queue, to work out what he's implying. "You arenotmy sidekick! We're partners."

"Oh come on, look at you; the tragic back-story, the burning internal rage, the deep personal flaws…"

"Watch it," I warn.

"Besides, everyone prefers the sidekick. We're funny."

I squint at him, trying to remember the last time he even laughed. Dirk rolls his eyes. "Look, the reality is that it has once again been over a month since Needler's last hit. He's ahead of us,again. Maybe we should change our tactics."

"Won't they recognise us? Our faces are on TV," I hiss at him as we move up.

"You're the face of the Needler case, not me."

"Excuse me?"

"…Besides, you think we'd be the first law-types to show up after dark in Downtown? If they start kicking those out, they'll lose half their business."

"Please be joking."

I follow him in, the lights turning his black jacket blue, then purple, glowing similarly off his hair. The jeans he’s wearinghave been around long enough to be ripped and weathered in ways stores usually try to emulate. Right now, smiling devilishly back at me, Dirk certainly doesn’t look like someone on the right side of the law. "Not everyone is quite as pure in their intentions as you."

Inside, it’s basically what I expected, except slightly more. Stages with poles in the middle dot the large, shadowy room, and seemingly everywhere I look, a half-naked woman is either dancing or serving drinks. Other than those, most of the clientele is predictably men, ranging from fat businessmen straining in their suits, to the rougher types, bald heads and neck tattoos. I can imagine how those two groups might serve each other, and a place like this, anonymous and filled with smoke, would be a good place to facilitate that.

I clear my voice as the wafting of cigars tickles my throat. "Unless I strip down to my underwear, I don't think I'm going to fit in here."

"I have faith in you. Lose the jacket. Have a drink and get some guy who's seen you on TV talking. Good luck!"

And Dirk leaves me while I gape after him. Asshole. But I take my jacket off anyway, leaving just my thin singlet underneath, and pull my hair out of the tight ponytail it usually stays in.

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