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James hated cabs.

They were convenient sure but New York cabbies were generally mistrusting and rude,James couldn't smoke in one and typically by the time he got back into Taletown everyone heard the "big news". Tales, by their nature, are a curious and often superstitious lot, most of them like to keep an ear to the ground to find out what's happening in the city. Ironically these days it seemed when the Crier was quiet and didn't ring any bells [I]then[/I] he had everybody's attention. Even still, that wasn't the real reason James hated cabs.

He just didn't like seeing the city pass by.

The tall gray buildings and out of place colourful storefronts mixed with poverty stricken neighborhoods and shady characters really drove home the fact that James was one man and couldn't seem to make any difference. He'd been dealing with Gingie and his gang for almost a year now, they were doing illegal acts as is but humans among their ranks was almost akin to terrorism to hear the council tell it, yet they seemed quite content to look down from The Homelands and let it fester. So many people in Taletown wanted power, but none of them seemed to realize that when the inevitable spark came to light the fuse, everyone burns, the only person left gets to rule over a pile of ashes.

James began focusing on the store names as the car drew closer to Red's. He knew she hadn't done it, Red was smart but she narcissistic, she loved playing mind games. She'd leave something there to jab her thumb (metaphorically though she'd probably love to do it literally) into the eye of The Crier, she was well regarded and well respected in the community "What're you gonna do about it?" he could hear her saying.

But the victim was beyond recognition, at least to someone not attuned to looking at the finer details. The victim carried damage that fit the M.O's of several Tales at once, share the glory? That wasn't in Red's playbook. But Red, like everyone else, kept her ear to the ground. All Crier needed was to put her head clean through it until she gave him a lead to go off of. The killer was undoubtedly insane but they knew what they were doing.

[I]'Someone knows..."[/I] James thought to himself as he continued mentally reading the store names.

[I]'Hardware Town, Cavanaugh's Bar, Boogie-.."[/I] James frowned.

[color=RoyalBlue]"you mind stopping here pal?"[/color] He asked, to which the driver wordlessly pulled over and held out his hand for payment. James flung a twenty onto his palm and left, walking directly across the road to the coffee shop.

Terror. She was as bad as Red, save for the fact that Terror had major delusions of grandeur as opposed to Red who just committed evil acts for the sake of it. James was pragmatic though, occasionally he'd pay for information from the condescending blonde but he suspected she figured she had more of a hold over him than she actually did. They weren't friends and Crier was a little bit more suspicious of her involvement of this, he wasn't looking to prosecute yet, especially not this early. But if Red kept her ear to the ground, Terror practically was the ground. 

The Crier pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and lit one up as he entered, ignoring the "No Smoking" sign placed on the front window.

[color=RoyalBlue]"Miss Sinclair."[/color] James said with the same enthusiasm he usually reserves for car crashes.

[color=RoyalBlue]"I'd like for you and I to have a little talk."[/color]