It was sunny on the day they got the call. Not a single could floated loftily in the sky and the rays of light bathed the English countryside. More perfect whether could not have been imagined for Fletcher to work on his car. It was a nice car, rather expensive too. Too bad there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Yet for hours Fletcher stood in the driveway that sloped gently to the road clearly intent on fixing his car. The gentle slope of the driveway contrasted well with the steep grade of the road itself as it fled from the lone house on the hill. Their house was the only visible thing for miles and Fletcher hated it.

Isaiah looked up from the book he was consuming in his chair by the fireplace and smiled grimly at his view out the window. Fletcher was mumbling to himself, vicious profanity no doubt, and engaging in his weekly "fixing." Isaiah knew a thing or two about cars and there was nothing wrong with Fletcher's red Alfa Romeo 4C. Isaiah knew his partner was clinically insane and this was, fortunately, his only main delusion. There were so many other things to worry about regarding Fletcher that this quirk seemed harmless.

When the phone rang neither one of them was expecting it. Fletcher, absorbed in his work, didn't hear it until the fourth ring but Isaiah had the phone in hand before the first ring was done. He stared at the number. He didn't recognize it but that wasn't surprising: nobody kept track of numbers these day. Then four letters flashed on the phone's small screen. He answered the phone. 

At this point Fletcher had entered the house and was wringing his hands to wipe away imaginary grime,

"Who's calling? I thought nobody had this number."

"Well I didn't recognize the number," Isaiah clicked the phone off,

"Fuck it all, nobody ever gets to come play!"

"But," Isaiah knew what was coming and wracked his brain on how to deliver the news safely, "I answered it and it was them. They have a job for us,"

"Really?" A grin crept across Fletcher's face, "Well where are we going Mac? Who are we working with? Who's the target? How long will we be gone for? What should I wear?!" At this point Fletcher was practically vibrating, "You know, never mind. I want it to be a surprise,"

With that, the conversation was over and Fletcher was off to begin what he called packing. Isaiah strolled to his room, glad that nothing had been broken. He retrieved a number of identical suits from his closet and carefully placed them in his portable suit bag. He opened a suitcase and placed inside a week-and-a-half's worth of shirts, ties, underwear, and socks. He would wear his shoes. Each item was carefully folded and methodically placed. As usual, everything fit snugly and the zipper zipped without a hitch.

In his room, Fletcher was rabidly throwing clothes into his backpack. It was a nice thing. A single shoulder strap would run across his torso and hold his folding blades. Thick nylon protected the contents of the pack. Isaiah had gotten it for him last year. In it was a series of long-sleeve T-shirts, jeans, underwear, and mismatched socks. There were clearly not enough clothes for an extended stay but Isaiah wasn't nearby to gently point it out. On top of the clothes Fletcher gently placed a few bags of gummy bears. 

From on top of his dresser he retrieved some small plastic bags full of a fine white powder. All but one of them he tossed in the suitcase. He clipped the both of his folding blades to the backpack strap. Immediately after he unhooked the first one and dotted out a thin line of the white powder on its blade. He eyes the white stripe for a few seconds before violently snorting it up one nostril. The bag was tossed in the backpack and the blade almost folding up with Fletcher spasmed once, twice, and then a third time. 

Wild eyes darted around in his skull but he moved calmly and with purpose. He placed picked up the blade from the floor, folding it up and clipping it to his pack. Slinging the bag over his shoulder he walked to the front door and sat down, looking longingly out the window.

"Fletcher, the helicopter won't be here for another two hours," 

But the call fell on deaf ears.