Chapter 10:

Tension

Later that same night I searched for Nahlah. She wasn't at Soulier nor at Spa&Soul. I seriously started considering memorizing her work schedule, but knew that was stalkerish of me to do. I couldn't help it, though. She was like a new habit I stumbled upon: fun and addictive to marvel about and explore.

I really liked KK's Klub. Once you slid through the entrance, it led to an inside balcony and spiral staircase. I overlooked a huge dance floor with an enclosed square-shaped bar at its center. People were scattered here and there in their chatting, drinking groups. A small stage presented a singer and her band.

I descended the spiral staircase, slipping shyly into the maze of citizens. I wasn't really used to being in such a huge crowd, especially when I felt enclosed, slow, and vulnerable. Jostling by dancers and couples were awkward, but I had to adjust in order to feel normal and appear normal.

Cutting through the crowd cautiously and studiously, I looked toward the bar.

Nahlah wasn't there, just a guy and two other female bartenders. It was a busy night. Customers flooded the bar stools. A group of friends chanted and cheered on two competitors drowning themselves in alcoholic beverages.

I turned around, eyes searching heavily and darkly through the cushioned atmosphere of sweat, liquor, and heat. Feeling out of place, I stood near a couple of girls, folded my arms uncomfortably, and stood there as I attempted to listen to the band.

You'd think by now I had adapted to the rich life and would socialize and make new friends in this new life. But Project Icarus was a job, not a life. I still felt misplaced. It was a free feeling, yet still restraining and burdening as if I was a sin standing there.

I couldn't take it anymore. I figured maybe if I asked around someone was bound to know a girl named Nahlah.

Returning to the bar, I asked a coffee-skinned guy for Nahlah. He nodded, turned, and hollered over the blasting music, "Hey, Na-Na!"

Cute.

No wait, SHIT. I froze, caught off guard. I was seriously anticipating a "No, she's not on duty today. At home". Instead, my eyes reluctantly yet intently followed his voice to the brunette dancing with some friends.

Nahlah's back was turned, but she looked over her shoulders at her co-worker, then saw me. Though nobody could see or hear, I felt my swallow was loud and obvious. The moment our eyes locked, I looked away, not knowing how to face her, but I looked back and she was already walking toward me.

"Hey," she howled over the music, a wine glass in her hand.

Damn, standing right there in front of me, as if we were old-time best friends. One elbow was cocked on the bar counter, while the other held her wine glass. She took a huge sip and smiled at me. Was she drunk?

I blinked, unable to feel anything, specifically my vocal chords. Finally, four seconds after she initiated the greeting, I smiled weakly. "Heyyy . . ."

"What are you doing here?" she bellowed again.

Before I could answer, she excused the question with a wave of her hand, planted her drink on the counter as if it was garbage, and pulled me along as we left the borders of booming reality. It surprised me that she left her shift just like that. It happened so fast, yet in a slow-motion blur as I tried to recollect myself; we climbed the spiral staircase and left, out into the open, predatory night.

It was warm. Actually, perfect.

We faced each other; I stuffed my thumbs into my pockets, shoulders propped up as they protectively tucked my head as it leaned to the side, looking away. She was just as quiet in thought as me as we kind of stood there.

Finally, she spoke, "So . . . Look, I'm really sorry about all that . . ."

I looked at her speechlessly, noticing that she was not drunk, or not to the extreme.

At that, she looked at the street next to us, few glowing cars passing.

". . . Canceling our meeting," she continued in a swaying, uncertain, timid tone. "I'm really sorry. Were you mad—I mean, when I tried to stop you earlier in the streets, you kinda gave this look . . ."

I looked at her, unable to speak. To this, she stared at me as if something was wrong with me.

". . . Are you okay?" she began timidly, but I shook my head and smiled.

"No, no . . ." I began in a whispered manner.

"Huh—?"

"No, I mean, yeah, I'm good—I'm fine," I corrected her with a wave of my hand. Exhaling, I added, "No, I wasn't mad, I mean."

She nodded, looking at me with understanding, but still as if she was afraid of me. She stroked the nape of her neck, coffee-colored skin rummaging through the thick curtains of her wavy hair. My eyes trailed every movement in that split second of a moment. When she looked at me again, I had to figure out the next thing to say, but she interrupted:

". . . Then, what was yesterday all about?" she murmured, as if strictly forbidden to speak aloud.

I looked at her. "No, that was . . . I dunno, it's complicated. Just, I don't know, I mean—just, I'm sorry. I . . ."

My scrambling words were having World War 3 in my head as I tried to sort them. Shortly after my pause, I gestured to the sidewalk: "Do you . . . um, just wanna walk?"

This sudden spark of light flashed in her eyes, her face seeming to spring to life. That split second faded as she bobbed her head softly to the bar. "I've got to work."

Was she ditching me? Wasn't she just dancing?

I was going to speak, but I couldn't, and even before I could try she said, "But I'll go and ask Farid to fill me in. Just for fifteen minutes?"

"How about a half an hour?" I blurted the moment she began to walk inside.

She halted, looked at me, gave it a second's thought, then, smiled slowly but genuinely. "Yeah. Sure thing, yeah."

She slipped in with such timid grace, I found myself staring after her. She was such a maiden. I leaned against the brick building, folded my arms, and stared into thought with disbelief yet excitement. To lock this stirring excitement, I paced a few random circles where I stood, hands on my hips, impatient, yet satisfied.

Nahlah returned, smiling. "Ready? Uh, I, uh, brought you a coat—are you cold?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm good. You can just toss it."

She gave me an illegible expression, then insisted, "I'll bring it, just in case."

What about you—? "What about you?" I blurted, eyes shifting from the coat to her in a tight, black short-sleeved T-Shirt with a rosy scarf dangling from her neck. I also spied her black pants and ankle-exposing flat shoes. It was such a random party attire, but I didn't mind. It suited her.

"Who knows, I might use it," she answered.

We then looked at each other questioningly, completely clueless. What was the next step, a step? We gave another exchange of awkward smiles before joining each other side-by-side as we progressed down the lamp-lit sidewalk. I wordlessly stuffed my hands into my jean pockets, while she clutched her coat wordlessly.

Two minutes passed, until she finally asked, "So, what was that all about, then?"

Dammit, couldn't she just drop it? I shoulda formed an explanation way before ignoring her when she saw me yesterday.

"I . . . I dunno." I shrugged countless times, digging my hands deeper into my pockets as if my fingernails were hoping to dig a hole into the earth so I could disappear. "I . . . guess I freaked."

There was an obvious, piercing pause as she looked at me. Then, she busied herself by hypnotizing herself at the cracks in the sidewalk. ". . . Why?"

"I dunno, I . . ."

She chuckled, but grew serious again. I could see the concern and fighting need to understand me glowing in her eyes as I snuck a glance sideways.

"Did I do something wrong? You sure you weren't really upset that I cancelled?" she pushed.

I had to say something. I didn't want to spend our only half an hour with her prodding me with meaningless questions.

"Don't worry about it," I told her, choking up courage. "Because I had to cancel, too."

She turned to me. Our pace was slower than ever. "What, you too?"

I shrugged apologetically. "Yeah, sorry."

Nahlah looked away. "That's a relief."

I looked at her, silent.

"I was worried I had you waiting there. I'm really sorry, Celeste."

I just stared; God, I had to stop it. I shook my head out of it, insisting, "No, it's fine. I told you, I had to cancel too. Our stupid jobs, huh?"

We chuckled together. I noticed how our bodies were more in tune with each other; we were tilting more to each other as we engaged into better conversation, though our hands were still sheepishly dug somewhere. She clung to the coat like it was her only protection, while I seriously thought I stabbed holes into my pockets.

"Now you answer me something," I commanded after a long period of thought.

She willingly stared at me, observing my every eye movement, expression, motion of lips, my tucked hands.

"What was that massage appointment all about?" I demanded softly, pinned with deadly, irking curiosity.

Silence, again. Then, she admitted, "It made sense, didn't it? If we were to hang out more often, I mean."

She pushed our appointment to last in line so we were never interrupted by the next appointment? I got it, now. The scheme was silly and playful. Separately, Nahlah and I looked away with restrained, timid smiles.

We turned around. Nahlah announced, "We gotta go. Half an hour's up."

I stared in disbelief, nearly yawning. "This is a late shift for you."

"I'm used to it," she said. "It's rewarding, though."

She smiled at me, to which I returned thankfully and even more sheepishly. As we continued walking, the already playing memory of our exchange of smiles gave me the happy shivers.

"Cold?" asked Nahlah, looking at me.

The mysterious excitement quivered my heart; I refused her offer, but she already wrapped her fur-hooded coat around my shoulders. The very thought of her hands on my shoulders as she secured the coat tightly against my skin brought me back to our first massage. The rest of our walk back was heavy with silence, but a warm one. Once we reached the entrance to KK's Klub, we stood face-to-face.

"Here's your coat," I said gratefully, sliding it off cautiously as if it was sacramental.

She took it, then asked, "How about tomorrow?"

I thought about it, then shook my head with an apologetic, yet bright smile. "Sorry, busy. Got a massage appointment tomorrow at three."

Her answer was in total shocked silence. She blinked and stared. Then, I could see her face gradually absorbing my words, features softening, making me involuntarily think of soft heavenly light filling a room. She smiled, and nodded in total understanding.

I added, "How about . . . something in the evening?"

She played along, still delivering nervous smiles. "Sorry, busy. I'm going out for dinner at Radio Beam around 7:00. They got a concert or something, I don't want to miss it."

I found myself staring, but nodded quickly to excuse it. "Sure, sure."

"Okay. See ya some other time?" Her tone was playful, yet serious.

"Yeah."

"Ok, well . . ."

She looked at the entrance tentatively. Her feet began to shuffle lazily and reluctantly through the door. Next, she paused and looked at me. My arm was supported lazily against the wall while I casually leaned with it; I had been studying her bright eyes, the way they lit up at certain emotional points; how her thin, wide lips parted or tightened whether she wanted say something or not; the beautiful flex of her steep-planed cheeks as they strained nervously.

She caught me looking the moment I caught her looking, then smiled, thanked me, and walked through the door.

--

I slept at Merc's lair again for that same night. When I awoke, he was talking to Drake over their online communicators. Apparently, they had sighted "the white assassin", otherwise known as Reagan. I cursed to myself, knowing I'd be greeted horribly when I'd see the Black Necks.

"Hey, Cel," he greeted hurriedly. He clattered away on the keyboards; I heard beeping, popping, and clicking sounds from the screen.

"What's happening?" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"Pope's killer was seen. I'm sending Kreeg and some other of Drake's Runners after him."

"Him". I nearly grinned, but smothered it with a frown. "I thought you were limiting the number of Runners you were sending."

I looked at the computer. There was Reagan, showing off her fleeing abilities at top-notched speed.

"Well, the more Runners against this one guy, the better," he said through a raspy sigh. "I'm keeping you here, though."

"Why me? Isn't Faith out there, more endangered than all of your Runners?"

"Faith is Faith, I can't stop her," argued Merc. Concern, however, creased his brow. "That kid really scares me shitless. I dunno what to do; the best I can do is guide her."

"I can't help with you imprisoning me here," I told him.

Besides, I have plans with Nahlah.

"You're not going to help," he affirmed low and coldly, "You're only going to help when Faith needs it the most. You're the only person we both can rely on at times of need; you and Faith are our topnotched Runners, after all."

I analyzed him mutely for a while. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Trying to find out more of where she can find the white assassin," explained Merc. "She headed to Team Shard's place."

"The Shard Sisters?" I burst, wide-eyed. I haven't heard from our tattooists for a long time. "What would they know about the white assassin?"

"You forget Miku and Miho used to be Runners, some time before I actually met Faith." Merc grinned to himself. "Remember? Like Faith's parents, theirs died in the protests for Pope's campaign. So, they gave up being Runners and became tattooists for our Runners. It was the least they could do for abandoning their fellow Runners. You knew them—well, at least, over communicators—but Faith didn't by the time she was an official Runner. I didn't tell her about them until now because I wanted to keep their ex-Runner profiles low, in case of threats by the Blues or something. No one knows they were once Runners, except you, Drake, me, and Faith."

"Faith's going to them for what, though?"

"They knew the city blindfolded," he elucidated, still typing. "They would know anywhere."

"I thought you Trackers knew your maps," I reminded him with a jesting sneer.

"We do, but Runners have more knowledge than their Trackers considering they actually do the scoping around." Merc sighed, leaning back into his chair. "I dunno what exactly Faith is asking them, but I'm sure it's to locate a place even I don't have my hands on."

I pondered silently with him, stressed by the thought. Faith was a sneaky Runner who knew how to get to places and definitely knew how to get the information she needed. It was her skill, her style, her living.

I had to stop her.

I was sure the Black Necks heard our conversation and understood the priotority to stop Faith Connors, so I decided not to bother telling them so.

I stretched. "I'm going out for a morning coffee," I declared, stifling a yawn.

Merc spun around his chair as his glare followed me. "What did I just say? You're staying."

"Think about it, Merc," I said with a cocky tilt of my head. "Your Runners are pinning down that white assassin, whose comrades, I'm sure, are exerting all energy on. They won't focus on me; I'll be a casual pedestrian in the crowds down below. They won't bother making a fuss down there."

"Since when were you living 'low'?" He arched an eyebrow at me, staring studiously.

"My friend. She's taught me well." I smirked.

"I don't like that smirk, Cel."

"Learn to, cuz I just want my coffee, Merc." I adjusted my comms on. "Besides, how are you ever gonna get your pizza if you don't send your Runners out?"

He only shot a lean glare. "Celeste, may I meet this friend of yours? That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

What a daddy. I gave an exaggerated exhale. "Fine, tag along. But what if Faith's situations come up?"

"We still have Drake," he said. "Besides, I just wanna meet your friend briefly. Then, I'll ditch."

"Kay, Merc." I walked below our entrance. "When I meet her today at 3:00, you can tag along. Just don't embarrass me," I finished with a goofy grin.

He grinned, but a serious frown hid behind it. "Get your coffee," he said. "Quickly. I have to help Faith, now."

When I left, Pepper and Loraine broke in.

"Don't worry about the Shard Sisters. We'll send Jacknife after these Shard Sisters," proclaimed Loraine feverishly. "He'll get the Blues on them."

"Jacknife?"

Why did that sound familiar—?

"You're on terms with Jacknife!? Doesn't Faith know him personally?"

"The Runners don't know, but Jacknife is kind of a neutral messenger between Project Icarus and the Runners. Ya never know what he'll do. I guess it depends on the money. Is that a problem?"

"No, I'm just shocked that this whole time he was on agreeing terms with Project Icarus," I returned.

Pepper blew the subject off. "Do you know where Team Shard's shop is, Vanity?"

I was running, panting slightly. "Yeah. It's on Palm Lane, called Ink Head."

"Funny name, but suits a tattoo shop," commented Loraine.

"What are you doing now, Vanity?" probed Pepper. She sounded like she was clattering away on research. "Gonna hunt down that friend of yours?"

"No, I wanted coffee, that's all," I told them roughly.

"And don't worry about Faith Connors. We're working on getting her. After your coffee, we need you down at headquarters."

"What—why? For how long?"

"Training," summarized Pepper.

"You Black Necks are pathetic," I snorted.

"Hurry up with that damn caffeine and high-tail over here," muttered Pepper. Was she in a bad mood or something?

Loraine, the mind reader, answered, "Reagan's being a bitch to us. Ya know the story for today."

"Yeah, you sent her out as me again. Way to go," I protested, jumping rooftops. "She's gonna bitch at me the most."

"She stole my favorite donuts at breakfast this morning," muttered Pepper, again.

"She's not a morning person?" I chortled.

"Neither am I," burst Pepper in such a low tone, "especially when it comes down to stealing my donuts."

"Wow," I mused. Ignoring the comments, I hit the bottom streets and started walking toward the closest bakery I could find. "Well, I'm getting coffee, want me to pick up some donuts?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Hurry, Vanity," urged Loraine. "Training is valuable at this time, now. And we just dispatched Jacknife's team. They're heading for Ink Head."

My heart stumbled. Maybe I won't have to face Faith ever again. It was a relieving thought, a burden off my suffocated heart.

After grabbing coffee and donuts, I rushed to headquarters. There, Pepper greeted me gratefully as she took the donuts while Loraine urged intense training. She and the Black Necks got their training, all right.

After ten minutes of hardcore training, I gave the Black Necks a break. I realized it had been quiet. "It's so peaceful, where's Tony?"

Loraine jeered. "What? Miss him?"

I glared.

"He's ensuring Reagan makes it back safe being you," answered Pepper.

Loraine and I watched after her as she walked to her donuts sitting near the entry. "Those are bad for you, Pep," began the boss.

Pepper waved her words away, savoring the moment as she bit into a cinnamon donut. "Once in a while you gotta savor the things you love," she told us, wiping her mouth with the napkins I picked up.

"Someone's gonna be crying 'donuts!' during training," chuckled a Black Neck. Everyone laughed, getting the joke. Pepper ignored it, finishing the single donut. It was hard to take the quiet and serious woman seriously when she ate donuts.

Later into the training, two Black Necks paced in: Reagan was punching Tony briefly in the ribs.

"That was the last time, Loraine!" she hollered, stepping up to the boss. "I'm sick of playing that bitch. Why protect her ass? She hasn't done anything yet to endanger herself, yet here I am running races for her! Not ALL Blues are on Callaghan's side! Merc's been receiving backup from Blues who were familiar with Kate Connors, all provided by Lietenant Miller, Kate's superior. We're losing the upper hand, here."

Tony tried placating her. "Keep it down, Ray, the place echoes."

She smacked his raised hands away.

"Meow," returned Tony, offended. "What's with you? Jealous, or something?"

Reagan glared at him, trying to keep her cool. She folded her arms freshly and firmly, eyes flaring with an eerie flash.

"Once again, not my fault you guys wanted me," I pointed out.

"We never agreed that involving her would mean bringing me down with the threats she receives!" growled Reagan. "We hired her so she could do the stuff for us—but I'm doing all of that!"

Tony interrupted Reagan's tirade, looking to us. "She's just upset. Merc's Runners nearly got her again; he's been sending more. When she lost them, she and I joined Jacknife's team to put Team Shard under custody. But they weren't there."

Loraine and I stared. "What? They weren't at Ink Head?" urged Loraine. "You sure they weren't on break or if it was a day off?"

"With the search warrant granted," explained Tony, poking the middle of his forehead intensely with a finger, "we searched the shop. We couldn't find anything that traced back to where their residence is. We even checked the phone directory, but that only provides the shop's phone number and address, nothing else. What's their last name, Celeste?"

He turned to me. I shrugged. "I knew nothing of them besides the fact that they were once Runners. We called them Team Shard cuz it was catchy. I don't know their real last name."

"Did you ever meet them personally—so we can identify them?" pleaded Loraine.

I stared into thought, then shook my head. "No. To be honest, no, I haven't. I've only talked to them over our communicators."

"Shit," whispered Tony and Loraine.

"You don't know their last names?" prodded Pepper.

"They're sisters, that's the best I can provide," I described. I turned to Tony and Reagan: "Did you ask around? There can't be many people with the names Miku and Miho."

"It's just them that run the shop, apparently. They don't hire employees or anything. No co-workers. And they're probably under a completey different identification." Tony shook his head in disappointment.

"Fuck that," hissed Reagan stormily. "That was it. No more incognito. I'm not Celeste Post."

"Thank god," chortled Tony.

Even I laughed as everyone agreed heartily. Reagan fired a look at her boss, but Loraine gave her a bossy shake of the head, of disapproval and discontent.

"Figure out the company that approved and supported their shop," I suggested after it quieted down.

"Damn, I really hate research homework." Tony folded his thick arms.

"So, what now?" asked Pepper, turning to the boss.

Loraine sighed, cocking a hand on her hip. "See what happens. We'll have the Blues out on a look to see who enters that shop. And as for Faith Connors, be careful, Cel. What are your leisurely plans for today?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Massage. Concert."

Everyone looked at me, while Reagan glared at me then glared away.

"She's on a date, I can tell." Pepper approached me, standing right in front of me. I realized I was a bit taller than her. "Spill it. Who's the lucky fella?"

Tony was by her side in seconds, jeering. Great, more reasons for him to bother me.

I backed up, vexed. "Get it memorized, I'm not on a date. A friend."

"What's her name—you did say it was a she, right?" recalled Pepper, in thought.

"Marissa," I lied instantly. Funny name to think, but it worked at this time of emergency. They were invading my private life.

"She been going to massages with you?" Tony poked me in the ribs; I nearly grabbed his hand to flip him over me. "Can I come along and see her?"

"No."

"Please? Hey, I'm just as tensed as you," complained Tony.

"Clingy," coughed a Black Neck.

"Lovers," coughed another.

This time, Loraine joined me as our heads whipped around to glare at the Black Necks. Then, Loraine turned to me. "By the sounds of it, your massage will be an hour and a half long. And the concert sounds long, too. I take it you'll be unavailable today."

"Yeah . . ."

"Sorry, but I can't let you go to that concert," disapproved Loraine, shaking her head. I stared, pissed already. "Because tonight I have errands for you."

"Screw errands," I growled. "Why always me? What about the others?"

"No." Reagan inched closer, her movement as jagged as her voice. "You will not be the run-away lazy ass that's been interfering with my own life. We hired you, you're gonna work. Loraine had to do a run for you once, and I had to do millions of runs for you just to protect your assy identity. Do your job, Celeste. No more running away. We gave you the rich feel of life, don't screw on us now."

We ended exchanging the longest, curiously loathing stares for about a minute. My whole skin boiled, crawling with every dark urge to lash out.

"Project Icarus has to continue the training of PKs so we can delete all Runners from business, or even existence if we're forced to," said Reagan, calmer after unlocking eyes with me. "Other PKs are working on Callaghan and his ideals, while the rest of us have to concern with suppressing protests that could turn bad. At this climax of tension between supporters for Callaghan and the dead Pope, Runners are especially needed. We need to run them down, flat."

I stared at her wordlessly.

Tony interrupted, once again poking into my life. "C'mon, Cellie, please?"

I rolled my eyes, turning around. "If I showed you Marissa, would you guys stop trying to monitor my private life?"

"You sound so sensitive about your friend," began Loraine, watching after me. "I guess we can cut you some slack. We'll have Tony come along, just to approve of this friend of yours and to make sure she isn't suspicious or anything."

I whipped around. "You think she's suspicious? You haven't even met her!"

"Not yet. But you being private about her is agitating me," admitted Loraine as she stared at me. "Tony will check her out, see if she's fine."

I left.