Hello, everyone! Right outta the gate, I would like to give an unsolicited shout-out to Diagonal Chains for sticking with me so far! That being said, I've come to a point where the story thus far wasn't proceeding how I envisioned it. Sometimes the only way to move forward is to make a left turn. To that end, I've decided to start completely anew. I have cannibalized my chapters thus far, and have reshuffled some of the best beats into the story going forward. Finally, I must warn that the story is very OC-heavy, to the point that it can be argued the story revolves around my original characters, with the Teen Titans as a backdrop. The first two, three chapters will be extremely OC-heavy and set the stage going forward. There will be plenty of Titan-centric POV chapters, the secondary plot of the series being bbrae, and the tertiary being the fallout from the Terra incident. I'm talking a big game right now, and hopefully I can deliver! I've been playing with this story for some time now, trying to find the best way to tell it. In fact, this chapter has been sitting in my composition book for a year!
Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
*I do not own the Teen Titans*
...
Somebody dug the business end of what felt like a snubnose .38 into the back of Levi's skull.
He blinked.
He'd evidently dozed off at some point, sitting there in the alcove of the crummy, hole-in-the-wall bar perched out there over the dark waters of the wharf. It wasn't really his crowd, all pissed-off looking dockhands and stoop-backed stevedores coming off their shifts, just trying to tie one on before they stumbled back to their wives. To be honest, he kind of liked it there, the bar seeming to him like some well-hidden slice of Americana, old-school and unapologetic. He hated the chains, all slick with their focus groups and corporate psychology, their cashdollar feng shui, their chicken wings. The joint was poorly lit to the point of dangerousness, the floors were genuine hardwood that croaked like stepping on bullfrogs, and the entire building was permeated by the stale stench of cigarettes. From what he'd gathered, the place had evidently been grandfathered in when all the anti-smoking kooks huffed and puffed and deemed that a bar, god forbid, be a smoke-free environment. It was charming, really, reminding him of all the roadhouses down south he'd passed on his way west, staggered rows of bikes lining the buildings, beat-to-hell pickups parked in fields of dirt, sometimes gravel. Places like that attracted a certain individual, a way of life, Levi knew. And here Levi was, the big tourist, in a strange city, in a bad part of town, in a dive bar he was too young to drink in, half-asleep with a thin line of drool oozing down his chin.
And then there was the business with the man with the gun.
Levi smeared the rest of the saliva against his forearm, checking his watch, an ragged thing on its last days, the cheap, genuine leather band nearly apart, face scuffed and nicked. He supposed it was a reflection of himself, really; shoddily made, the face overly simple (he preferred words like "clean," and "uncluttered"), and infantile, the numbers so big as to be idiot-proof. He clicked his tongue, taking in the room, which he saw was now empty, the bartender dipping out into the kitchen. Fancy that.
"And I was starting to think you'd be a no-show," he said, aware of that warm twang in his voice, like a playworn guitar string. "I almost called it quits for the night." The pressure against his skull vanished, and the man slid into the booth, just opposite him. He looked vaguely Greek, Levi taking a shot in the dark, head shaved maybe two weeks ago looked like, and starting to come in again. He kept his beard neatly-trimmed, and had, in Levi's opinion, one of the most punchable noses he'd ever seen. He flicked his chin up at Levi in acknowledgment, his proboscis like a divining rod, as if to the well of Levi's thoughts. The gorilla of a man at his side grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and pressed him firmly into his seat, an action Levi felt was a little forward on the first date, but he neglected to voice his complaint so as not to seem impolite.
"Hands on the table," barked the man's bodyguard, or enforcer, or whatever, Levi having little patience for this sort of thing. He complied with the man's plus-one, humoring him, really, although he added a little spur-of-the-moment drum flourish at the end which he felt lightened the mood. The Greek's hands had disappeared under the table, but there was no mistaking the click of the hammer cocking below. Levi looked at him, down to the table, and back up to the man.
"Y'know, I didn't figure you the type to shoot a man yourself," he said, realizing he was rolling the dice on this one. " I mean, that's what the help is for, right?" he asked.
"Oh, no," the man said, motioning to the plus-one. "I'm not above getting my hands dirty. I try not to be one of those guys, too good to open doors for himself or anything like that. In fact, I'm a little offended by your assumption."
Levi half-smiled.
"If I may, it is actually so refreshing to hear that. You would not believe the folks I've had the supreme displeasure of dealing with in the past. Kinda guys that only travel via chauffeur, need somebody to hold their luggage for them, can't tie their own shoes."
"Oooh," the man winced. "Got me on that one. Mick here is actually my chauffeur. Although that's just one of his many talents." He gave the gorilla a practiced nod, some kind of system they had invented to bridge language barrier, Levi figuring he could pick it up pretty quick. Nod like this, guy's arm get broken. Nod like that, no more guy.
The man grunted, peeling back his poly-blend blazer to reveal, twin .45s holstered 80's detective style under his jacket. From the look of the man—220 pounds of muscle and violence stuffed into a cheap men's Big&Tall—it wasn't that much of a stretch to think he preferred to let his knuckles have the last word. Still, Levi now knew what the man was packing, exactly what he was capable of. The man was revealing his hand, one card at a time, and by the looks of things, there was no ace up this joker's sleeve.
"Easy, Mick," Levi said. "This is just a friendly conversation. No reason to bring out the toys." The Greek shifted restlessly in his seat, placing his left arm on the table. His right still remained hidden.
"Who says this isn't a friendly conversation?" he asked, a self-satisfied grin on his face, looking to his bodyguard as if he was expecting a giggle, Levi thinking he would pay not to see that.
"Well, you are pointing a gun at my crotch," Levi confessed.
"You rather I point it at your face?" the man asked, smug as all get-out.
"Well, yeah, actually," Levi said. "Though I'd rather you not point it at all."
"That depends on you, doesn't it? On how friendly this conversation stays?"
"I'd say that's about the measure of it, yeah," Levi said, reaching for the drink he'd been ignoring all night. The bodyguard eyed him coolly, wishing he'd try something. It was simply water; no one had given him any fuss when he'd entered (at least not until he had started to grill the bartender, ask him to get the head honcho over here), but he was still a ways south of twenty-one, and didn't feel the need to push. The ice had melted, which he didn't mind. He hated ice in his drinks, felt like it watered down a perfectly good soda, as well as taking up perfectly usable space. He finished his pull and clinked the glass down a little harder than he'd intended. "So, as you've probably heard," he said, reclining lazily into his red pleather seat, "I've got some questions I'd like to run by you, Sal."
"Shoot," he said, Levi not helping but smiling at the man's choice of words. "I mean, I get a call this afternoon, got Tony babbling in my ear, saying some little punk's asking questions after me. Gets me worried, right? With the Titans cracking down lately? Crazyness."
Tony the bartender, Levi remembering. Cat with the grey hair and half-rim glasses. Probably even now hiding in the kitchen, listening to their every word.
"To be honest, I was counting on him to call you up," Levi said, grabbing his glass again, polishing it off. "Though, I did expect a speedier response. My sleep schedule's been so out of whack lately, I musta zonked right out. Pretty embarrassing."
"Yeah," Sal agreed. "'Specially when I got your gun."
"I noticed that," Levi said, feeling the phantom weight of his empty hip holster, now wondering if the man had his own gun pointed at him under the table, which would have been stupid, given it held no bullets, but, hey, maybe he had never bothered to check. Still, it hadn't felt like his piece when the barrel was jammed up against his skull. After all, it had been there enough times before.
"Anyways," he said, "why don't you say what you gotta say, and then I'll say my bit, and we'll see where we stand."
"Groovy," he said, trying to rehearse the little spiel he'd cooked up earlier, and true to form, forgotten. He cleared his throat. "Alright, look. So, it's like this: people are getting cut up out in the streets. Vagrants. Druggies and squatters, mostly. That type. People disappearing. Whispers and such of dark forces in the night, and yadda, yadda, yadda. And this is all taking place in your backyard from what I gather. I need to know everything you know. Names, places, all that smooth jazz." Sal nodded along as he spoke, very patronizingly, and Levi did his best to not lose his cool. Levi managed to finish his speech without punching the guy in the face, which he figured was a victory in his book.
"Alright," Sal said. "Here's my response." He dredged his arm out from underneath the cloth and set it on the table, gun pointed squarely at Levi, center mass, Levi noticing he'd reset the hammer, a good sign. He'd called it earlier: a functional-looking snubnosed .38 special. He wondered where his piece had wandered off to, guessing either he or the gorilla had it, probably stuffed in their pants.
"Cute," he said, eyes narrowing, vaguely aware of how angry this joker was making him. He had to pump the brakes, quick. He couldn't afford to get his blood up, let the demon out.
"Now, what am I supposed to do here? Some punk kid coming into my neighborhood and demanding all kinds of—well, let's face it," he shrugged, "incriminating information about my enterprise?" He laughed, showing off his impressive whites. Say what you would about him, Levi figured, the man kept good hygiene habits. He looked liked he flossed on the daily. When was the last time Levi had flossed? And, God, did he say enterprise? Nothing like a three syllable word to hide the truth. A look at him was enough. Levi could guess the type, thug du jour, an upjumped hood with just enough business savvy to seize a few blocks. Enterprise. A good word to make a man feel important. "Get outta here," he said, in that hokey, mobster voice. Levi snorted.
"Jesus, for a second there I thought you were gonna hit me with a 'fuhgettaboutit.' You really got that whole gangster thing down, don't you?" The plus-one shot the boss a quick look, hungry for the nod to smack him around a little, teach him some manners and such and so forth and so on, he knew the beats of this story pretty well. The nod never came, and Levi pressed on, pretty sure things were about to come to a head. "Sal, I need you to listen up. I'm after a big fish here. Your … enterprise means less than nothing to me. Now granted, I'm gonna be morally obligated to take you down after I sort this mess out, but you're probably good for a week or two. A month tops. That's plenty of time to get packing and get out of town. So, in a roundabout way, I'm making you an offer you can refuse," he said, regretting the words as they left his mouth, figuring for a minute that maybe he was the idiot and Sal was the genuine article. Maybe it really is infectious. "A get-out-of-an-ass-kicking-free card, in exchange for whatever info you got. Info, which—even though I'm sure you don't care—will save a lot of lives. Maybe even yours," he added. "So, I think you're gonna help me. Not to help your fellow man, but to save your own skin." Levi leaned in about as close as he could, the table biting into his gut, Sal's piece shoved into his collar bone. He smiled, which was probably overdoing it, but, hey, he'd come this far already. "So, whaddaya say?"
This time, Sal gave the nod.
The man snatched Levi by the scruff of his neck and wrenched his arm around behind him. He drove Levi's skull into the table, hard enough to cause the glassware to jump and topple over, staining the linen. He dug his forearm into the groove at the back of Levi's neck, pinning him over the table. Sal collected himself, adjusting the lapel of his coat and jabbed his gun into Levi's forehead several times.
"I don't know what it is with this place. You got kids running around trying to play hero. Craziness."
"I know, right?" Levi agreed, looking up at the man. "This whole town is certifiable."
"Something in the water," Sal said, cocking the hammer back again. The sound that followed was not what Levi expected.
There was a crash outside, the sounds of exertion, men—at least three of them—fighting. The gorilla gave Sal some kind of face, and Sal jabbed Levi again.
"They yours?" he asked, what sounded like the tenor of cold panic in his voice. Was that sweat Levi saw building on the man's temple?
"Don't think so," he answered, just a bit more wiseass than he'd intended. He had no partners, no cavalry to gallop to his rescue. He was alone in this world. Outside, the scuffle died abruptly, punctuated by the heavy thud of what sounded like a whole lot of man hitting the dirt. Sal leveled his gun at the entrance. The gorilla was stuck, he knew, pinning Levi down. If he went for his gun, he figured Levi would make his move. A tick-tock minute came and went, their eyes still on the front door. Levi watched the man ghost in from the side door, a clever little entrance. The guy was good.
"Am I interrupting something?" the man asked, cooler than an ice cube. Sal looked to jump out of his skin, and wheeled around to plant his gun on the dude. Levi got a pretty good image of the man, despite his face being ground into the table. He was lanky, rough-looking, on the wrong side of his 40's, Levi guessing. Hair salt-and-pepper and slicked back into a greasy ducktail. His clothes looked slept-in, black slacks and a white button-up, crinkled paisley tie worn loose and haphazard, top button unbuttoned, but he wouldn't fault him for it, doing the same whenever he had the rare occasion to wear one, all of that under a beaten-up camel hair coat it looked like he'd thrown on minutes ago. His face was hard, frown lines chiseled in over the years, eyes like dark, recessed pits. Guy had missed a shave or two, as well. He was also training a 9mm on Sal's sternum, arguably the most important takeaway.
"Yeah, actually," Sal hissed, doing his damndest not to look like he'd just been caught with his pants around his ankles, "but we were just about to finish up here." Sal's eyes narrowed on the man, sizing him up like a menu and he'd forgotten his reading glasses. "I know you from somewhere?" he asked.
"Maybe I just have one of those faces," the man said, letting his hand drape over his hip. He casually drew back the flap of his coat, revealing a dull, gold JCPD badge clipped to his belt. This is getting interesting. The plus-one definitely saw it, his eyes betraying him. Sal played the stoic. The mystery pistolero tread deliberately towards them, closing the gap between them to only a few feet. Sal started to step back instinctively, fear reaction most like, but caught himself, not wanting to show weakness.
"One of those faces, huh?" Sal said, to himself more than anything. "So what happens next, Mr … ?"
"Lupino," the man said. "Detective Lupino," he added, the word seeming to fill the room. "You put down the gun, let the kid go."
"Kid?" Levi mumbled, rolling his eyes.
"Follow my logic here, detective," Sal began. "See, I got this gun in my hand. And I'm pretty sure if I don't plug you full of holes, my guy here'll do that for me. That's pretty much a no-win scenario for you. You see where I'm coming from?"
"I can see why you'd think that," the man answered. "But I'll put you down deader than dead you go for that trigger. And by the time that happens, I doubt your man there will be even able to hold a gun with the broken arm he's about to get." That brought a worried look from the bodyguard, who tightened his grip on Levi's arm, shoving him down harder. He was starting to spook, it seemed.
"How do you figure that?" Sal asked behind a purely for-show smile.
"Well, all these super-powered teenagers running around the city. You know what they can do. I got a fiver in my pocket says your boy is holding onto one of them right now. I can only assume this won't end well." Levi ground his teeth. This guy was blowing up his spot, taking away his element of surprise. The bodyguard's grip tightened even harder, Levi not imagining the sweat on his hands as it began to form, dripping onto him. Sal shook his head angry, fed up.
"So I'll just have to get both of you then," he said. Levi was starting to lose control of the situation, he could see. Things were about to turn.
"Wouldn't do that," Levi and the detective said in unison.
"Why not?!" Sal hissed, his teeth clenched. He'd turned his head slightly towards Levi, and that was all it had taken.
Lupino surged forward, clearing the distance between them in a step. He wrenched the gun out of Sal's hand, and it slid across the floor. He shoved the barrel up under Sal's chin, coaxing it upwards, the man frozen, doing his best not to stare down at the barrel of the gun.
"Because I'll put a bullet in your brain the second you try it," Lupino said. The bodyguard was still, his whole body clenched. Levi clicked his tongue.
"Y'know," Levi began, "this might actually be my first Mexican standoff. Cool, huh?"
"It's pretty cool," the detective drawled, never taking his eyes off Sal, the discount gangster's flesh practically sizzling from the heat of his gaze. Levi wasn't even sure he'd seen the man blink yet. Levi felt the weight of the bodyguard shift just slightly, carefully. He was going to go for his gun. Levi wouldn't give him the chance. He shot the detective a conspiratorial wink.
Levi made his move, throwing his supernatural strength back against the man. He bucked hard, slamming the man back against the wall hard enough to splinter the paneling. Sal freaked and tried to juke left, Lupino backhanding him with his piece, causing the man to drop like someone had cut his strings. Levi slipped out of the booth and got his hands on the bodyguard's wide shoulders. He shoved him out onto the floor, the man colliding with a table and toppling it over, before he caught his footing. Levi took a step towards him when the man burst out from behind the bar with a shotgun. Tony, looked like. He was racking in a load when he glanced up to see Lupino already on top of him. He pawed the barrel away as the man managed a single, wild shot that struck the liquor shelves behind them, the bar exploding in a shower of glass and booze. Lupino finally got control of the gun, yanked it away, and bashed the guy hard enough in the temple to make Levi wince. The bodyguard didn't know when to quit, thinking he'd try him one last time. He threw all his muscle into trying to tackle Levi, who for his part, merely sidestepped him, glassing the man with a half-drained (he was a pessimist fancying himself a realist) pint glass as he went. He went down hard, falling into a heap of himself as he stopped. Meanwhile, Sal was trying to slink away, scrambling over an overturned stool. Lupino gave him a good kick to convince him otherwise, the stool going out from under him.
"Going somewhere?" Levi asked, removing the pistols from the seemingly unconscious man's jacket. His piece was nowhere to be scene. "Because I'm pretty sure you were going to answer some questions for me."
"I thought that was my shtick" said the detective, now half-soaked in booze. Somehow, Levi got the impression that it wasn't such an uncommon occurrence.
"I guess we can play nice for the time being," Levi said, wondering what the dude's deal was. "Now Sal, back to what I asked you before all this. Folks missing, dead. Your territory. Any of this ring a bell?" The detective shot Levi a cool, level glance. It was obvious to see the red flags as they popped in his head. He was trying to reckon Levi's place in this business, and from the passing look he gave him, Levi took it to be somewhere in the center.
"Sounds like you already know everything," Sal finally said, looking up at them.
"Humor me," Levi said. "I know one of your cookhouses got hit."
"Down on the wharf?" Lupino asked, chewing on that for a moment. Sal nodded.
"Time I got there," Levi explained, "place was infested. Teeth everywhere," Levi said, the very vivid images intruding into his thoughts. Maybe the room grew colder, or maybe it didn't, Levi imagining. "Your guy were turned. Changed. You must've heard something secondhand from one of your boys that escaped. Let's compare notes." Sal listened intently, seeming to grow paler. He finally spoke.
"People have been disappearing for weeks," he said. "Not just my guys, but homeless, too. Street people." Folks with no one to miss them, Levi knew.
"So, what's the word on the street?" Levi asked. "Any heavy-hitters roll into town lately? Bad-news guys with stories behind them?" The man grew even paler somehow, like the words were choking him coming out.
"I've heard things …" he said, not looking at them anymore.
"What kinds of things?" Lupino asked, hard to read.
"There's this … guy," he said, the word cautious, like he was afraid uttering his name would invite the demon into the room. And knowing the guy in question, that was a very real possibility. "Supposed to be this real scary dude. Mixed up in all kinds of … occult shit."
"Does this 'scary dude' have a name?" Lupino asked. Levi realized he'd been holding his breath.
"Ash," Levi whispered, the detective giving him that sidelong look again. "How do I find him?" Levi growled. He was close.
"I-I don't know!" Sal blurted. "I only know he's supposed to be in town! I don't know anything else," he said, trying to crawl away from him.
"I don't believe you," Levi said, advancing on the man. "Give me something I can use," he said, or rather thought he said, the voice somehow a stranger's hiss, a cobra's promise.
"N-n-north!" Sal said, like a fish flopping on the deck now, aware of its fate. "The old c-c-cannery on the north side!" he screamed at Levi, as though the words were a physical buffer between them, a shield that would protect him. It wouldn't. Levi took another step forward.
A hand grabbed him firmly on the shoulder. Levi stopped, Lupino stepping out between them.
"That's all, folks," he said. "You got what you came for," he told Levi, who didn't argue. "I'll call it in," Lupino said, producing his cell from his coat.
"My gun," Levi said, moving towards Sal. Lupino stuck his finger out, a warning; Stay the hell away from him. He crouched down, opened the man's blazer, and found Levi's revolver tucked in the man's pants. Levi nodded, and the man snatched it. He broke the action open, seeing it it wasn't loaded. It never was. Satisfied, he tossed it to Levi.
"Damn thing's not even loaded," he said, eying the the Schofield's seven-inch barrel with disgust, Levi almost feeling embarrassed by his choice in gun, a kid playing cowboy. "Ridiculous gun."
They hadn't seen the bodyguard moving, hadn't paid attention to where Sal's gun had landed earlier. The man surged to his feet, pointed the gun at them. Levi didn't hesitate, extending his own piece at the man. Before anyone could react, he shot the gun out of the man's hand and put one in his arm for good measure. The man crashed backwards into another table, pulling it down with him. Lupino didn't react, didn't do much of anything, just stared Levi down incredulously.
"Magic fingers" Levi explained, holstering his piece.
They were five minutes outside the bar when Lupino spoke up.
"That business with your gun," he said, conjuring a pack of Marlboro Reds, cigarette blooming in his canines. He watched the man thumb his lighter, an old silver thing he slammed shut with a flick of his wrist. He took a long drag, as if searching for answers at the end of his smoke, "What the hell was that?" he finally asked, exhaling a cool nimbus that died in the wind. He took another pull, and before long, he was already down to the filter.
"Gun's just a conduit for my powers," Levi sighed, not looking to play twenty questions. Hopefully the detective was a good listener because he couldn't stand to repeat himself. "No bullets, nobody gets killed. No muss, no fuss. Gun helps me focus my energies, juju, whatever you want to call it." Lupino nodded, but didn't seem particularly satisfied by the explanation. It was Levi's turn, now. "Why'd you crash the party at Tony's Bar?"
"I was thirsty," he answered, the artful dodger. "Why the gun? Anything else work?"
"Gee, never thought about it before," Levi drawled at him, not appreciating him sidestepping the question like a beggar on the streets. He was expecting a snapback from the man, which never came. "Don't rightly know," Levi finally answered, burying his hands in his pockets. "Just feels right." Lupino spared him a glance over his shoulder as they walked. Levi was relatively tall at his age, scraping six feet in his shitkickers, but the man still looked down on him by a few inches.
"You were playing a dangerous game back there, kid," he said. And here it comes. The speech, Levi thought. He figured he'd jump right out in front of that particular train, drive his shoulder into it, see if he could derail it.
"I'm not the only one," he said, almost absentmindedly. The detective took the bait.
"Hell's that supposed to mean?" Lupino asked, hard to read.
"Back there in the bar, you didn't call in anything on that cell of yours, cheap little flip-phone. Burner if I ever saw one. Methinks you're not a cop," Levi said, perhaps more harshly than he intended. If the comment had registered with Lupino, he gave no indication. Maybe he'd put a toe over the line on that one. People weren't really his forte. "At least, not anymore," Levi said, backpedalling.
"We're here," the man said, ignoring him, them turning the corner. Levi guessed immediately which car was Lupino's.
"Think I'll just walk," Levi said, trying to get a rise out of him. Levi's car was two miles in the opposite direction, but the "detective" had insisted they talk, said he'd drive him to his own car, which he was pretty sure would make the man raise an eyebrow. He'd said sure, still not quite sure what to make of the man, a feeling he was sure was mutual.
"Wife got the Rolls in the divorce," he said, producing the key fob from his coat pocket. "And I changed my mind. We're taking a spin around the block."
"Shouldn't there be a 'please' attached to that?" Levi said, crossing his arms.
"You can put a cherry on top for all you want," he said, "but you're riding with me. I've got more questions for you," he said, heel grinding his spent filter into the asphalt.
"Questions like what?" Levi asked, leaning into the passenger side, watching the detective clear him out some room. Lupino's ride was a late nineties sedan, an ugly tan-gold that reminded him vaguely of his grandmother. The car was stuffed with boxes, luggage, clothes on hangers strung up from the side handles, the entire backseat off-limits. As he stared at the inside of the car, the picture suddenly grew a lot clearer. The best lies often held a grain of truth. The detective had never so much as ridden in a Rolls, but it was clear he was living out of his car. He looked at the man again, not able to shake the feeling he was seeing a reflection of himself, the features warped and blurry, but still recognizable. The detective was looking at him now, seeing the scene play out behind Levi's eyes. He felt vaguely guilty now, felt like he should say something, offer his condolences, for whatever it was worth.
"Nice place you got here," was what came out of his mouth. He slid in shotgun, kicked his feet up on the dash. Lupino gave him a level, annoyed look, but said nothing. They were on the road when he finally spoke.
"What are you doing in my city?" he asked. From another person, the words might've sounded like a threat, a line drawn in the sand. From him, it was just straight, no-nonsense question. Levi didn't owe the man anything, he knew. He'd had the situation completely under control before he'd arrived, ostensibly saving the day. His business was his business. But still, if you asked him at the moment, yeah, he kinda liked the guy. He wasn't about to share his life story, but he could play ball for the next five minutes.
"I'm looking for somebody," Levi said, pressing his temple against the glass, watching the buildings pass by.
"They lost, or just don't want to be found?" Lupino lit another cigarette, rolled his window down.
"Suppose it's a little of both."
"This 'Ash' guy of yours?" That name. Levi clenched and unclenched his fist, not looking at the detective. "What's he to you?"
The cigarette in his mouth had wilted by the time Levi answered him, his words careful, dredged from the darkest trench of his soul.
"A ghost," he said finally. Lupino was having none of it.
"How wonderfully vague," he muttered. The man was tired, Levi realized. Tired in his bones. They made quite the pair indeed. "You going to follow up that lead about the cannery on the north side?" he asked.
"Yes," Levi answered. "You going to try and stop me?"
"Nope," the detective sighed, easing up on a red light. He spared him a look as they idled there, one that asked Do I need to? Levi looked away.
"My car's just around the corner," he said, pointing.
...
Chapter one! Much of chapter two will be centered around my female OC, the second major POV character. One of the main reasons I decided to start over is because I felt like I wasn't doing justice to her, as she wasn't originally a POV character. I kept thinking about an It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia commentary I had seen many years beforehand, and how they admitted they had mishandled Dee early on, and (and I'm quoting from memory here) "fell into the familiar trap of writing female characters." That really struck me to the point where I decided to give the story a massive overhaul. Hopefully it all pays off. Thanks for reading!