Heather rapped her knuckles against the worn door. Sighing, knowing it would take Sothe his sweet time to answer the door, she turned to look out through the slums.
Even during the middle of the night, the presence of the city was no less there. Cars drove by. They often drove far quicker through the slums in case of trouble. Heather didn't blame them, Melior only looked its best in the sun. And the shadow it cast was long.
Again, she knocked on the door, growing more impatient.
Depending on where you lived in the slums, it meant gangs. Heather had gotten off easy with her partnership with Sothe. As much as the man was a coward, no one was interested on infringing on his investment. Not when there were far more profitable avenues to put time into. Plus Sothe provided a reliable service of scoping out drop points for drugs.
Another knock.
Her eyes narrowed. Was he ducking her? Heather tried the door. Locked.
Fishing in her pockets, she produced a ring of keys. Growling to herself as she flipped through the bits of metal in the dark, she found the one she sought.
With a final insult towards Sothe, she opened the door.
As she walked in, Heather heard the TV on. Figures Sothe wouldn't hear her knocking as he watched some shitty soap opera. Or whatever it was that he watched.
Heather walked down the hall like she'd done so days prior. Her shoes clacked against the poor quality wood, reminding her of a tap dancer.
When she turned the corner, there was no Sothe. Just a few empty chairs and the flickering television. Heather frowned, her hand going to where she kept a switchblade at her belt.
Click.
Heather froze, hearing the sound of a gun's hammer clicking back. Moments later the cold barrel pressed into her back.
"I'm just looking for Sothe," she whispered.
"Were you followed?"
"Sothe?" She started to turn around.
"Were you followed?" he repeated, this time with urgency.
"Uh, no?" she responded.
Sothe swore and pulled the gun off her. He gestured for her to follow him and walked to the kitchen. Heather followed, now with her knife in her hand.
"Sothe, what is going on?" she asked, staying in the doorway of the kitchen as Sothe pranced around quietly. He seemed to be staying out of the window's view at all cost.
Crouched up against the wall and peeked through the shuddered blinds. For a few moments, he looked back and forth along the street.
Sighing, he turned back to her. He gestured for Heather to follow him again as he walked out of the kitchen.
He went and took a seat in front of the television, turning it off, finally killing the noise. Sothe set his gun next to the remote and popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Then, at long last, he gave Heather his attention.
"What did you need to see me for?" he asked.
"What the fuck was all that?" Heather asked, gesturing towards the kitchen.
Sothe took a drag, blowing smoke out in a long puff. "Just being cautious."
Heather sat down across from him. "That was not being cautious. That was you being scared chickenshit."
He nodded, not disagreeing with her. "You know that guy we met with the other day? The Fireman?"
"Yes, that's what I'm here about. They broke into my apartment and left my next payment there."
Sothe chuckled, but it wasn't full of mirth, but rather sounded hopeless. "I'm not even surprised. That Fireman…well, I did some digging. Found out that moniker is pretty well known among the underground. Apparently we made a deal with the best assassin in the world."
"Assassin?" croaked Heather, feeling her limbs tense.
"Assassin," repeated Sothe, taking another hit. "They say he'll do anything. No code of ethics, just a desire for money."
"What does this mean for us?" Heather pressed, feeling herself lean forward in her chair. Inching ever so slowly off the piece of furniture.
Sothe laughed. "We're fucked. Whatever the hell we're messed up in, they'll kill us if we fuck up, or after when we know too much. The shit they're having you do is against the Queen, I ain't the smartest man around, but I can tell we've dug our grave on this one."
Heather drew back in thought. The money she made was going to come in handy. She could flee the city, fake an ID, go out and live near her mother. Get out of Melior.
Except that her mother was hardly covert. It was likely they, whoever they were, knew about her mother.
"Fuck," she whispered. Sothe raised his cig as if in toast to her realization.
Could she fake her death? If they could break in to her apartment, then no doubt something like faking her death would be seen through. The Fireman, or someone, had to be watching her.
She didn't blame Sothe for his paranoia now.
"Heather, it was nice knowing you, but I feel like we had some good times. If we make it through this mess, let's get coffee." Sothe grinned hysterically. "But for now, don't come back to me house. My best chance is staying as far away from you as I can."
"I'll call if I need you," Heather said, standing up. She eyed the gun on the table. "Let me know if you find anything else out."
Sothe held up his cig in a salute.