Page 2 of Under Dark Skies

There were certain parts of town where the people lacked the life experience required to really tell the difference between off the rack and tailored Armani. Even the inexpensive suits he had would be enough for someone to think he had enough money worth trying to knife him in the back and take his wallet. Even though he was already over six feet tall, he knew there were still people who would try to take him if he looked like a prime target.

Not that they had much chance of succeeding in attacking a seasoned werewolf like him. Rafe might have looked like he was in his late 20s, but he was getting closer to a hundred years old. Being a wolf made aging gracefully easy.

He pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a grey, slightly stained t-shirt.

The ketchup, coffee, and sweat stains were authentic. Sitting in a car for hours on end didn't tend to lend itself to neatness. It was easy to drop your lunch when the guy you'd been waiting three hours to get done with his mistress finally stepped out of a cheap, by-the-hour motel.

It wasn't like he couldn't have cleaned them, but the stains could serve a purpose. It wasn't what he'd want to be seen by most people in. He wouldn't regularly want to look this slovenly.

He kept them for times like this when he wanted to look like just another down on his luck, shiftless guy walking the mean streets of the city, maybe trying to score. He didn't want to look like he was worth anyone's time and attention. Blending in was important, especially in the seedier parts of the city.

He looked at himself in the small mirror on his wall. His dark brown hair matched his dark brown eyes, but he didn't want to look any more coordinated than that. His hair was a little too neat, so he ran his hands through it trying to achieve a slight 'yes I have bed-head, and I don't give a fuck because life is too hard to try and impress anyone look.

He was well past a five-o-clock shadow, but it completed the ensemble. He was doing his best not to stand out. Though, even under it all, despite his best efforts, if someone got close enough, they'd be able to see he was handsome. It wasn't that good-looking people couldn't be down on their luck. But people tended to remember the pretty people more than the plane.

There wasn't anything he could really do about that. Still, he needed to do his best to blend in if he was going to be gathering intel. There were a lot of agitated wolves out there. Even if he had the instincts of a slightly duller person, he could have seen that. But the big question was why?

There weren't a lot of answers he could find out there. Most people weren't willing to talk. He could try to beat an answer out of someone, but that was a risky move. Hurt someone enough, and they'll tell you something. It might not be true, but people would say anything to make the pain stop. Even someone who didn't know anything would blurt out an answer.

So, he was just starting with a bar crawl and trying to gather as much information as he could by being a fly on the wall. Some people might notice if you leaned in or looked too interested in their conversation. But being a wolf came with advantages other than looking really good after nearly a century. Keen senses were another great perk.

With minimal concentration, he could pick out a conversation across the room and listen in. The only sticking point might be reacting to what someone was saying, but Rafe was good at keeping his face like stone when needed.

He strapped on a shoulder holster just in case. Sure, he could transform and make someone's day go really poorly, but that tended to draw far more attention than flashing a gun and saying, "Back the hell off." The former usually meant no one remembered who you were in a few days.

Transforming, even after the fall of the Veil and everyone understanding that metas existed, was still enough of a shock to burn the details about you into someone's mind. Again, Rafe didn't want to stick out. Sticking out was bad for business.

He pulled on a leather jacket. He was already planning out his route in his head. He knew which areas were most likely to be a good place to gather a lot of information. But a lot of information was useless. He needed the right intel. Knowing that some guy was having trouble with his marriage was only so helpful, especially if he didn't have a case involving it.

He didn't need gossip. He needed knowledge. So, he was planning on hitting up the dive bars frequented by a rough crowd. Had he been paying slightly more attention to his surroundings and not where he was going, he might have heard the footsteps approaching, or he might have smelled who was coming.

Instead, he opened the door to leave his office and came face-to-face with one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

“Can I help you?” he asked, at a loss for words.

“I don’t know,” the woman replied. “I’m hoping you can.”

He was suddenly regretting looking like he'd just rolled out of bed.

Three

Layla

Layla took a moment to look at the man in front of her. She took another deep breath and wondered how quickly life had taken her in an unexpected turn.

Using her phone, Layla had put in a search for ‘private investigators near me’. She was shocked at how many hits there were. “LA is not a nice town.” Still she needed a way to filter down the results. She continued talking to herself, “I need someone that’s low profile. Off the radar so to speak.” And so Layla began looking at the less popular choices.

One bad rating was because the guy was just lazy. That’s no good. Then another bad rating was for being too expensive. That’s definitely no good. But here was one that had a bad rating for being mean. “Oh, mama likes.” She said ogling the website.

Rafe Gentry. He seemed like a real hard ass based on comments, and he wasn’t too far away. Lucky thing too, because the sun was setting, and Layla didn’t want to tarry too long in the dark. She felt exposed now. Like eyes were on her.

When she walked into his dingy little office, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but he definitely fit the bill for hard ass. He looked like he was cut from granite. Dark brown hair jutted out in jagged tufts, but there was order in the disorder. Like a wild crown of bramble, and it accentuated his deep brown eyes.

His five o’clock shadow put it over the top, and while he was wearing a worn leather jacket, it was easy to tell that it was hanging off sheets of muscle. When he spoke, his voice was rough as asphalt.

“Sorry ma’am, I’m closing up.” He didn’t seem to be in the mood for any bullshit.

“Sir, please, I don’t know who to turn to, and you seem exactly like the sort of person I need right now.” Layla wasn’t exactly ready to cry for help, but the tremble in her voice let her know she wasn’t too far away from it.

---