The heat wasn't something she was surprised about. Atlanta's summer temperatures were similar to that of New York City. The different cities seemed fairly similar in exterior. Humid, hot, crowded, and loud. But the most distinct difference was the people who lived there.
Georgia, or the South in general, had their own breed of people. This was the same for the state of New York. Most would imagine that a sudden change of personality to the outside world of moving and working would be unsettling. But surprisingly, Carley enjoyed it. She was a fast-moving woman with somewhere to be and something to go get. Once that was done, she moved onto something else. It was a constant and fulfilling cycle of getting work done, clearing up complications for getting information, and moving on to the next story. And she was craving a distant location change for the longest time.
A job is a job. But constantly being sent an hour from town just for a filler beat-around-the-bush story was giving her second thoughts on the placement of her talents. Luckily, she was recognized soon enough. And the fussy streets made her feel like she was right where she needed to be. To make matters even better, the story was disgusting. It was creepy, questionable, and absurd. That only meant that it was a hit waiting to happen.
"Carley." She smoothly introduced herself while a slender wrist extended to the man in front of her. Her head tilted upwards to view his face, which was perched on a much taller body than her's was.
"Look, I'm not going to do this for long. I've got other shit to do. I don't need to be hounded for answers right now." He flatly warned in his deep tone, roughly pulling a chair behind him and sitting down. A cigarette was firmly held in his fingers, each puff and blow of smoke filling up the small office more and more. The bright signs and car headlights from the street were the only things that allowed the inside of Mr. Wolf's dimly-lit office to be vaguely visible.
Her hand was dropped back to her side after the invitation for a handshake was ignored. This wasn't going to be easy. "That's fine." She muttered, clearing her throat. "About what time do you remember seeing… the scene?" Asking somebody who was personally affected was much more difficult. Not like she blamed the man. Finding the severed head of a loved one on the front steps of your residence isn't something she would feel comfortable talking about either. The fact that it was only a few days after the incident didn't help.
"Around 1:00 or 2:00 AM, I think." The voice answered, dark eyes flickering to the cigarette, to her, and then back to the cigarette. "Do you predict that this was done by a well-known offender, or that it was an act of insanity from a stranger?" The "on" button on her recorder was gently pushed to pick up his answer without taxing Carley's memory, though it was clear that Bigby Wolf wasn't in the mood to talk anymore.
"You know what? I'm not doing this. Ask the fucking police station. Ask Crane. Ask somebody else. I just…"
A calloused hand with knuckles stained in red bruises traveled upwards to run through his dark-brown hair.
"... I don't need to deal with people like you right now." He projected in a loud and aggravated tone, now standing up to hold the door open and show her out.
Carley was a naturally impatient person. She expected things to always go off without a hitch, since for her, things always did. But now was not a time to be impatient. It was a complex story, and getting what she needed was going to be touchy. If anything, maybe making time to interview him so early wasn't a good idea. Success for the evening was hoped for, but she had a feeling that it would end similarly to the way it just had. A job like this required strategy, and she had all of the time in the world to plan it out.
She gripped the handle of the briefcase at her side firmly, and stood from the wooden seat. There wasn't any need to get a coat off of the back of the chair, since she didn't even have time to take it off. At a relaxed pace, Carley walked to the end of the office. But instead of making an immediate exit, she directed herself towards Bigby. He was tensely standing in front of the wooden barrier, holding it open with the weight of his back while his arms were dropped at his sides. Now that a portal to the outside hallway was open, a bright beam of yellow light projected a large rectangle on the floor of the room, as well as onto his face. He looked even more tired, now that Carley could actually see him.
She stepped to the front of him, the beam of light now casting on her face as well.
"Look, Mr. Wolf. I understand th-"
"I don't think you understand anything about this." He muttered, a nearly sarcastic tone matching his unamused facial expression.
"... Mr. Wolf. This isn't easy for you. I can tell. But sooner or later, I'm going to have to hear about the incident from you."
He looked at the woman before him, her petite frame and small height forcing him to tilt his head downwards to make eye contact. He was angry. Not specifically at her, but he was angry. There wasn't any room to be polite at a time like this. Bigby didn't have anything to say in reply, but it didn't feel odd. With furrowed brows, he continued to look at the reporter while she finally turned and made her way into the hallway.
Before he shut the door, Carley turned back.
"Take your time."
And with that, she was heading out of the building. The same petite hand rose into the air, now casually waving down a taxi. After a long day of traveling and moving, Carley wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep in the hotel room that awaited her.
Bigby was back in the stiff chair, a newly lit cigarette now held in his hand. A sharp exhale left his body as visions of Snow's lifeless face began to reappear in his mind. Forcefully, he hit a fist on the wooden surface of the desk out of frustration. Knowing that an innocent woman was killed, and in such a brutal way, was disheveling enough. But in the mundy community, her death was almost completely unnoticed. The only people who seemed to care were the fables in the area, (well, the fables who knew that Snow was dead) and a few members of the police department. A sick injustice like this wasn't meant to be quietly stuffed within the files and files of crime in the violence-central of a city. Her death needed to be acknowledged.
A small blue light cast from a cell phone facing upwards at the white ceiling woke Carley up, even before the loud ringing and vibrating had ensued. Concerned about the possibility of it being an emergency, she scooped the device up off of the bedside table and answered the unknown number.
"Yes, hello, what." She weakly greeted, squinting her not-yet-adjusted eyes.
"It's late, I know." A familiar deep voice replied.
"Mr. Wolf? Shit- what is it, 3 in the morning?"
"... Can you meet tomorrow?"