Chapter 6: Chapter 5

“What were you thinking?” Chief Kimball roared, chins shaking as his fist slammed against the desk. “Working with a corpse-breath? Ridiculous!” His office smelled of sweat and the lingering scent of food, the crumbs still clinging to plates dashed into the small, metal bin on the floor.

Colin stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, staring just above the Chief’s head so he didn’t have to make eye contact. They’d been going in circles for the past twenty minutes, not a single new thing said since the first two had passed. “She’s the only lead we have at the moment, Chief. She’s useless to us while locked up, and if she does have some closer connection to the pure-blood, then I think it’s better to keep her close than have her somewhere she’s not being watched.”

“That’s all well and good, detective, but you don’t make those decisions. I do!” Falling back into his chair, wood creaking from his weight, Kimball waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever happens with them is up to you, just keep the half-breed out of trouble. If they do anything that reflects badly upon us, I won’t hesitate to throw you to the vultures. You understand me?” He was huffing now, finally exhausted from his current rampage.

“Of course, Chief,” Colin answered, his voice monotone, face neutral. “If that’s all, I would like to get back to my investigation.”

“Yes, yes, get on your way and out of my office.” Kimball shooed Colin out, the detective closing the door behind him. Colin caught only the incoherent mumblings of the Chief as he left, complaining under his breath.

The ocean of cubicles greeted Colin in a somber quiet, the late afternoon meted out by the late-lunch rush, most of the precinct’s officers and detectives out for food. All except for Kevin, who sat at his desk with a cup of coffee and a biscuit coated in butter. Too much butter, Colin thought. “You seem to be enjoying your downtime,” He greeted, making his way across the throngs of desks both messy and clean.

Kevin raised his biscuit in greeting, taking a sip from the steaming coffee in his other hand. “No point in getting hurt if I’m not gonna relax after.”

“Not going to argue with you there... It’s going to be a long few weeks without you watching my back.” Colin slipped his hands into his pockets, rubbing at the rose-etched lighter with calloused fingers.

Kevin took another sip of his coffee, cocking an eyebrow at his partner. “That genuine feeling I hear, or you just worried about your new, little protege?”

Colin couldn’t fight the smile that crept across his face, “It can be both, you know.” Taking out his lighter and another cig, Colin made sure to blow smoke awake from Kevin. “So, where is the little half-breed?”

Kevin tilted his head up, pointing with his chin. “Back up in her cell, why?”

“Well, I can’t collect her if I don’t know where she is, now can I?”

Taking a bite of his biscuit, Kevin bobbed his head, as though he were jogging his brain into action. “A little late to be heading back down to the slums, don’cha think? You should go back home and get some rest, and pick things up tomorrow.”

Colin twisted his cig in the ash tray Kevin kept on his desk, the older detective having never smoked for as long as Colin had known him. “That’s the plan, yeah. Either way, she’s coming with me.”

Kevin choked on his lunch, spitting up biscuit crumbs onto his lap as he coughed. “Excuse me?! You’re taking the half-breed with you? Into the city?”

“Well, there’s no reason to think she’ll trust me if I keep them locked up all night. Need to show that I’m a person of my word.”

Regaining his composure, Kevin leaned back in his chair. “You’re not going to reconsider this, are you?” Holding up his hand before Colin could speak, he continued. “Don’t answer that. I know you well enough by now. Just go grab the half-breed, and sleep with one eye open.”

Colin waved his partner off, turning towards the stairway. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head out now. If I hurry, I might still catch–”

“Damnable Dames, I know,” Kevin harrumphed. “Rots your brain!”

* * *

Caitlin had come along easy, almost jumping at the chance to leave her cell, a hint of excitement coming through for the first time. That excitement had quickly bled away, however, once they were speeding past old brick-and-mortar establishments, leaving the modern industry behind for the stained cement complexes littering the apartment district. “I was expecting something a little more… grand.” She said, sinking into the passenger’s seat of Colin’s buggy, arms crossed and chin pressed firmly into her chest.

The district was a maze of company-owned apartments, poorly-maintained shelters for their employees, each installed with a landline for quick access. Most were made of concrete, some blank, others with their company’s logo stamped upon them in garish displays of ownership. Occasional graffiti would appear from former workers or their families, slandering a company, but these were quickly washed away by men in overalls. If nothing else, corporate image was important.

They pulled up to a complex painted in a desaturated azure, the doors made of steel and emblazoned with the curling wings and sword of the EPD, room numbers on display in burnished copper. Two guards stood vigil at all times in alternating shifts, patrolling the front of the building with rifles slung across their chests. Even with the steel doors, the extra security made it easier for Colin to sleep soundly at night, the security a necessary amenity to keep the apartments and vehicles parked there safe.

“Alright, come on then,” Colin said, parking his buggy behind the building, the private parking lot stained and dilapidated, the old divider lines barely perceptible in the evening light. The hissing steam engine simmered to a stop as he twisted the steel key, flicking the door’s lock and throwing the heavy door open. His boots hit the pavement with a muffled thud, the banging of the buggy’s door ringing throughout the lines of apartments.

The sound echoed twice as Caitlin hopped from the buggy, her threadbare, patched shoes silent as a cat’s paws. “I don’t like this place. It’s so… cramped.”

Her declaration struck Colin as odd. “What’s so different about here and the apartment you were hiding out in? If anything, these are bigger.”

“My hideout was abandoned. Falling apart and scavenged clean long ago, actually. Perfect place to hide. Here though, there’s too many people, too much attention.” Caitlin huffed, glaring at the apartment security as they passed by, tugging at her hood. Their glances were obvious, yet they made no move to do anything.

Together, the two made their way up to the second floor, passing by several identical doors before Colin stopped, Caitlin keeping several paces between them. “Well, we’re here,” Colin declared, sliding a key into the knob of apartment 207. The door turned on squealing hinges, the light switch turning on a flickering bulb that hummed and whined like a banshee.

The small living room that greeted them carried with it a moderate clutter. Dirty clothes spilled from an old laundry basket, the clean ones piled in the corner of the square apartment. Boxes of ammunition were stacked on the kitchen table, a few spare bullets sitting next to a set of iron tools, a bottle of oil and a dirtied rag. A two-person couch, upholstered in brown leather, was set askew beside an uneven coffee table, a cork-made coaster holding it steady. An old radio sat snug atop the small table, the wood’s rings and lines tracing lazily around the furniture.

All around, signs of decay showed themselves as the two moved through the entrance. Though the floor was lined with wood, the floorboards creaked with every step, a light layer of dust covering the dull panels. An air conditioner blasted gusts of wind into the room, yet water dripped from the vents, splashing into tin buckets already on the brink of overflowing. Even the company-mandated landline, hung up next to the entrance, had stains forming from oily fingers. The windows were kept clean enough, grime gathering only on the edges of the panes.

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Colin made his way over to the kitchen table, tossing his trench coat over the railing of one of the three chairs set around it and setting his revolver next to the toolkit and rag. “Well, make yourself at home,” He called over his shoulder, watching as Caitlin stepped cautiously into what could tentatively be called his living room.

“Well, it’s definitely an improvement from the slums,” Caitlin said, placing her hand on the couch, caressing the ancient animal skin.

Colin swore he could have heard a ‘but’ coming, but decided against pushing the topic as she crouched next to the radio, staring daggers at it.

“Does this thing work?” Another strange question from the slummer.

“Of course it works,” Colin answered, grabbing a beer from his kitchen counter and popping the cap on the edge of the nearby table. “Certainly wouldn’t keep it around as a paper weight.”

Caitlin glowered at the immaculate machinery, the only permanent furnishing not covered in a thin layer of dust. Its polished steel dial took up more than half its face, the speaker’s tiny grating laced behind a clover-shaped hole. The metal was without a speck of rust, gleaming like it were fresh off the shelf. Her hand hovered over the dial, her curious fingers reaching close before pulling them back.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t go touching that,” Colin said between sips. Sauntering over, he flicked on the switch nestled in the back of the radio, a squeal of static screaming out before settling into the echoey reproduction of a human voice.

Caitlin pulled away, wincing at the static, her pain turning to starry-eyed wonder as Ricky Norton’s Extravagant Power Hour came into focus.

“...and don’t get me started on the state of the factories upside! Seventeen accidents this month alone have occurred all around Ebonpoint. All because of very preventable mistakes from the bottom rung workers. Would be better off tossing them down into the slums, for all the use they are!” Ricky’s voice warbled and skipped in places, the radio’s performance betraying its wear and tear.

The girl barely noticed the words being said, crouching by the machine and moving her head around it, young curiosity working its charm. “I’ve never seen one that actually works,” she declared. “By the time they make their way down to us, they’re usually just used for scrap.”

Ricky’s booming voice continued its endless string of gossip, but Colin flicked the radio off before Caitlin’s wonder faded off into understanding. “Well, they’re not cheap, so people tend to keep theirs until its insides turn to mush or they suddenly combust.” Scooching past the girl, Colin plopped down into the middle of the couch, sinking between the leather cushions.

“Combust?” Caitlin’s eyebrows furrowed, scrunching up her weathered features.

Colin covered up his smirk with a cough, “You know. Explode into flames.”

Caitlin’s face relaxed, nodding. “Ah, I’ve seen that. Happens a lot, actually. Didn’t know it had such a fancy word though.”

Pursing his lip, Colin asked. “What do you usually say when something explodes into flames?”

She shrugged. “’It ‘sploded,’ usually. Or just call it junk and throw it at someone for their working stuff. Worked a good several times for me.”

Colin took a long sip, pulling the bottle from his lips with careful slowness. “I see. Well, let’s try to avoid throwing stuff at people for the time being. Wouldn’t look good on my record.”

Caitlin snorted, muttering under her breath.

“Alright, that’s enough talk,” Colin declared. “It’s getting late, so you should head to bed. There’s a sleeping bag you can use stuffed in the closet back there.” He pointed his thumb towards the closet, the door’s knob and latch long gone.

“What about you? Too afraid to sleep with me nearby?” Caitlin sneered, crossing her arms, pallid features turning more ghoulish with every fang bared.

“I’ve got a show to listen to. Besides, you’re still young and growing. You need sleep.” Colin emptied his beer, setting the empty bottle down beside him. “Or stay up, it’s your choice. We’ll be leaving in the morning regardless though, so I suggest getting in whatever shut eye you can before morning.”

Huffing, the half-breed stormed off, grabbing the sleeping bag from the closet and skulking off to the kitchen.

Colin didn’t ask why, flicking the radio back on. Shrieking static returned for one second, replaced by the tail end of an advert for Coleby’s Boxed Dinners.

“...oxed Dinners, now available wherever you get boxed lunches! Get boxed. Get dinnered.”

Colin scowled as the terrible jingle ended the advert, Coleby’s tag lines somehow worse than the contents of their food. The bright and off-beat jingle faded out, replaced by the soothing voice of Walter Nightly, station 13.2’s radio host.

“Alright, all my beautiful Ebonpointers. Finally, it’s time to wrap up today’s broadcast with tonight’s newest episode of Damnable Dames. Picking up from last week’s episode, Angelica Bright, played by the beautiful Audrey Finch, finds herself cornered at the annual Nocturna Gala by the cunning Madame Demiona, played by the talented Madalyne Pontley. Will Angelica defeat Madame Demiona in this killer game of wits? Find out now!”

Eerie music came in as Walter faded, the familiar voices of Aubrey Finch and Madalyne Pontley rising above the tune.

Colin sunk into his chair, resting his eyes as the drama played out, the details fleeing as he fell into a dreamless slumber.

He would awake hours later, to the phone’s upbeat ringing.

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