[center][i]Collab with [@Atrophy][/i][/center]

Cab rides were great. All you had to do was get in a car somewhere, tune out and then, sometime later, you were wherever you wanted to go. It gave you time to process anything that was on your mind, to nurse wounds, to fight the urge to throw up, to get ready for whatever you were going to do... whichever the situation called for.

But cab rides were awful. They smelled, the drivers were greedy bastards who either showed no regard for their passengers and had some awful music turned to full blast or were nosey as fuck and would shut up unless you paid them to or threatened their life. During the rush hours, there was no way in hell they got you anywhere in the city in less than an hour, even if your destination was literally two blocks away, and virtually all of them were involved with one faction or other, so if you wanted to get from A to B without the entire city knowing about it, taking a cab was not an option.

The streets were busy as usual tonight but luckily, Francis Cain was in no hurry, not worried about raising anybody's attention and he needed a moment to think.

It had come as a surprise to him that Nyxvira Bloodbloom, of all people, had offered him a considerable compensation for finding the Somabra Slayer. Well, that wasn't [i]entirely[/i] correct. The job was to talk to some Catholic priest from the the outskirts of the city who apparently happened to be the spiritual guide to two victims of the Slayer, and the Faerie wanted to know what [b]he[/b] knew, if anything. 

Of course, that wasn't out of the goodness of her heart. Nobody who sunbathed and stuffed their face while conducting a business meeting on a serial killer would do so for the benefit of all. Or, as she had put it:
[i]"I'm fucking sick of people looking to me every-time some prozzie ends up dead."[/i]

The simple truth of the matter was that the Queenpin of Santa Somabra was surrounded by a lot of idiots who could follow simple orders and were unquestioningly loyal but also had trouble remembering to breathe when faced with something as challenging as simple arithmetic. The few that were capable either were more concerned with administrative work or, like Vigilance, had other work to attend to. She chose the easy way out: Hire somebody who has some experience with investigations, see if it leads anywhere and if it doesn't or if he turns up dead, it's no loss.

Not that he himself had high hopes for this padre and what he had to offer, but one thing was certain: [b]If[/b] this lead somewhere, he would follow it up, with or without being put on Bloodbloom's payroll. If only Narcissa hadn't postponed their weekly drink date for some work assignment... he could have used a drink right about now.

That was the train of thoughts rolling through Francis' head as he stared blankly out the cab window at busy stands and bright lights of Chinatown, the smoke of the cigarette in his mouth adding an ethereal quality to the sight as it lazily rose through his gaze, until the phone in his coat started to ring.
The caller ID was that of one Richard Kennedy, an old friend of Cain's in the SSPD. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Kennedy never called unless he had a favor to ask.

After one more drag from the cigarette, Francis answered the phone and exhaled more than he spoke:
"[color=lightblue]"Hello Rich. What's urgent today?"[/color]

"You act like I only call when--screw it," said Rich. "I just got word from one of my informants that some pests are about to try to overturn a goblin workshop in Chinatown. I normally wouldn't bother you on something as trivial as this, but my personal rat thought it would be a great idea if she got herself involved. She just texted me her brilliant idea to try and save that green son of a bitch by sneaking him out right in front of the same group of Rats she led to his place." 

A barrage of gunshots cut Rich off, followed by the voice of the man yelling vulgarities at someone. 

"Sorry," he said, putting his mouth closer to the phone. "Look, I would go stop her myself, but I'm rather tied up here. My bosses are willing to line your pockets if you can make sure that their investment doesn't get her head snapped off in a trap."

[color=lightblue]"Your bosses, huh? Right, now I remember - your little family business on the side was why Narcissa hates your guts."[/color]
Cain was half-tempted to tell his old friend where he could stick this offer. Yes, both Vigilance and him weren't exactly model citizens these days but at least neither of them had ever had their allegiances mixed up while they still worked for the police and every time Kennedy added some 'incentive' to his request, it not only made him question how flexible his morals were but it also became a little more dangerous - after all, his relative safety stemmed from being neutral when the different gangs clashed. If he agreed to this and it turned out he had to kill some high-profile Nyctari to save some girl rat, he would be in big trouble.

But Richard Kennedy was, after all, one of his sources on the SSPD, and one of the highest ranking persons on the inside he had connections to. And just now, he found himself in need of somebody like that.

[color=lightblue]"Fuck it... I'm game, but I need a little extra from [i]you[/i]."[/color]
He inhaled through the glowstick between his lips and gestured to the driver that he should pull over.
[color=lightblue]"I want the Somabra Slayer file, Rich. And this time, the unabridged version, if you please - none of that 'half the pages missing' crap from the serial rapist case a while back."[/color]

There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line as Rich thought his options over. When he spoke, his words seemed like they had been carefully cherry picked. "I will do more than that, my friend. I'll have one of my boys send you the necessary information to access our network remotely. Whatever the SSPD knows, you'll know."

Better than saying they had almost jack shit on the Slayer.

"I'm sending you a picture of my contact and the coordinates around where she should be. I'll let her know that backup is coming. She'll responded to the name Valorie; tell her that her professor sent you." 

There was no goodbye; the line just went dead. A few seconds later Cain's phone would buzz with a text message pinning the restaurant Rich's girl was waiting in and a somewhat blurry picture. The young woman in the photo had blonde hair tied up in a loose bun. Her eyes looked angered and a sneer formed on her lips that grasped a burning cigarette. It looked like she was outside of a music venue. There was a little bit of dried blood beneath her nose. Her clothes were stained dark in some parts. The way the beer bottle dangled haphazardly from her left hand implied that the stains had come from the woman being too sloppy with her drinks. Her right hand was casually giving the photographer, and anyone who looked at the picture, a middle finger. To most people, it would look like your typical Rat after a bad night.

But not to Cain. The surprise was so stunningly complete that his mouth went agape and the cigarette dropped right into his lap, burning a small hole into his coat and starting to work on his pants before he noticed a weird smell...
[color=lightblue]"Piece of shit!"[/color], he cussed and put it out with a few hits of his free hand, momentarily forgetting that he was a wizard and a pyromancer and could have prevented the heat's bite altogether. He even forgot to enjoy what Kennedy had put on the table - remote access to the network meant that, at least for a while, he was free to use any and all SSPD resources and would make some of his work easier for him.

Yet all of that was not even half as relevant because he [i]knew[/i] this girl. Several weeks had passed since then and he had had more than a couple of drinks - both of them, for that matter - but they found their way back to his place and into his bed. What he didn't remember was how goddamn young she looked in this picture, like a rebellious teenager, not like a "20-something, looking for company" she made herself out to be. The last he saw of her was getting dressed and sneaking out at some ungodly hour the next morning.

But it seemed like they'd soon have an opportunity to catch up on the events of that night, courtesy of Richard Kennedy.

[color=lightblue]"Keep the change"[/color], he told taxi driver, a burly man who didn't exactly seem fond of pulling over and letting his customer off so much earlier than expected, but one slam of a door later, Cain had forgotten all about the guy and disappeared into the sidealleys of Chinatown.