heh-heh I really like this chapter. You'll probably guess why once you're done reading it.

Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter Twenty Six

Sequere Pecuniam

A week later I found myself hunkered down in the rafters of an old warehouse in the Meatpacking district.

No, I was not allowed to be here.

No, this definitely wasn't legal.

And no, Matt did not ask me to take it this far.

But what could I say? I was a rebel of the highest order. James Dean, eat your heart out.

Matt had sent me to do some low-level investigating. Just your classic tail; pretend to be some innocuous citizen and listen in to the target's conversations, notate their phone calls, mark down the places they visit. Detectives got paid to do pretty much the same thing, although I imagined they had to deal with cheating spouses more over shady business dealings.

This specimen of moral degradation was called Hank Jenson, and he was a fine piece of work. Officially, he was a banker at Kings & Sons; unofficially, he may or may not be running an underground betting ring.

Matt and Foggy had taken on a client, a boxer by the name of Willy "Cotton-Ear" Baxtor, who apparently had a deal with Mr. Jenson — prize money as a down payment for an apartment in Hell's Kitchen — but when he decided he wanted out, Mr. Jenson reneged and took all his money. Now Willy was looking to sue.

And our firm was the only one in the entire city willing to take up this utterly crazy case. No one else wanted to confront Kings & Sons; no one wanted to try. I had no idea what Matt and Foggy would do if they actually lost.

But Matt seemed so sure of it. He was convinced that if we could find some dirt on Mr. Jenson, proof that he was double-dealing, that Willy could get his money back.

And now here I am. I couldn't believe it, but Matt was probably right.

I first started following Mr. Jenson after he left his apartment in the morning. He didn't go anywhere strange, just picked up a coffee and donut and went to work. I would've done a stake-out if today wasn't a school day, but luckily it ended before his shift did.

After he left work, he didn't go straight home. Instead, he back to the same cafe that morning — this time I noticed him and the owner talking for a while; they seemed to be just good friends, but when they shook hands, a wad of bills passed between them.

I had a camera with me, lent from Foggy. He hadn't been too excited I asked, but there was no way I could take Peter's — or any of his broken ones.

Besides, I could take good care of it.

Granted, the casual exchange of hard cash didn't really mean Mr. Jenson was some hotshot bookie, but it was still pretty suspicious. And, along with the other pictures I took today, it just served to prove him guiltier.

I had several more shots of him making similar exchanges with other people across town: a baker down on West 47th Street; a guy in a fancy suit from Wall Street; and a woman walking her dogs in Central Park.

That last one was particularly good. I managed to climb a tree about twenty feet away, getting an aerial view of them talking, as well as a close-in shot of the man's notebook, which he kept taking out with each conversation. He clipped the dollar bills inside the pages, marking out different sections.

The picture was clear enough to read — names and number and short-hand scrawl. I didn't know what it meant, but it definitely didn't seem like normal banker stuff to me.

I wanted to know more, but that wasn't really what I was here for. I was just supposed to get information. It was Matt and Foggy's job to decide what it meant.

That didn't mean I couldn't go the extra mile.

Mr. Jenson's latest stop was here. I had no idea why, because aside from the piles of boxes, there was no one in the warehouse. The man wandered around for a bit, checking the tags on the

"You look like you're having fun."

The voice made me jumped. I clapped a hand over my mouth to cover my mouth. Then I had to restrain myself from punching the idiot thief who snuck up on me almost ruined this entire endeavor.

I spun around, glaring at Smoke, who was leaning against a metal column like it was totally not weird or anything. "What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed, keeping my voice low. Things tended to echo in here.

"I could ask you the same question," Smoke said with a shrug, then flashed me a white smile. It practically shone in the darkness. "Aren't you trespassing on private property?"

I squinted at him, trying to figure out his play. This was definitely not good. "Never stopped me before. Why are you here? It's not because of me."

I knew this was a fact, but Smoke didn't confirm right away. He tilted his head, curious. "How would you know? Maybe I'm just checking up on my favorite girl."

I rolled my eyes and took another picture of Mr. Jenson, who was now checking the shipping manifest and writing something down. "So there are others then? I'm so flattered."

Smoke made a noise of annoyance and I failed to hide my smirk. I didn't always get under his skin, but when I did, it was priceless. "Come on, dove. I'm not that kind of guy.

"You steal for a living." I pointed out, creeping along the web of scaffolding so I was crouching almost directly over Mr. Jenson. With the manifest still open, I could get a good view of what he was doing. "You wear a mask. You don't legally exist. Why would something as mundane as a monogamous relationship hold you down?"

Smoke followed me, his footsteps lighter than air, while I had to try hard to make big clanking sounds. I was jealous; how could he do that so easily, when he was bigger than me?

He dropped down in front of me so we were nearly face to face. There was a big fat grin on his face. "So you agree that this is a relationship, then."

I gave him a disgruntled look, and then smacked his shoulder. Distracted, Smoke was too busy wincing and rubbing his arm, and I dodged around him on the beam. He tried to grab me, but I slipped through his arms. "Keep dreaming, lover boy."

"You know," He whispered, following me as I tried to find another shot. "I never did get that thank you card."

"Why does this always happen to me?" I muttered under my breath, then snapped at him. "This is so not the time for this."

"Well, I disagree," Smoke said, staying just outside of punching-distance from me. "The basis of any healthy relationship is communication, so I think we should —"

"I am not discussing this right now!"

Mr. Jenson looked up, startled by the noise we were making. I caught a gasp in my throat and went absolutely still. Smoke, a complete idiot, made to open his mouth, but I lunged forward and grabbed his face, shutting him up before he could say anything. I looked down again, wondering if we had been spotted.

Mr. Jenson's gaze cast about, but he slid over us without another glance. Then he shrugged to himself and went back to the manifest.

As soon as I was sure we were safe, I looked back at Smoke, who just scowled at me while I kept hold of his face. I sighed and said, "Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

He didn't seem convinced, so I rolled my eyes and added, "I'll admit, you can be adorable, sometimes. I'd love to make it up to you, but right now I've got work to do and I really don't need anyone messing it up for me, okay? So could you please not give me a reason to pitch you off this bar?"

I felt him smile against my hand. "You think I'm adorable?"

"I said sometimes, don't you listen?" I snapped then paused and reconsidered this whole situation. "Wait, why the hell are you even here?"

"I got a job." He shrugged.

I dropped my hand from his face, then jabbed a finger at Mr. Jenson. "Who? With him?"

When Smoke nodded, I smacked my head and almost smacked his, too. "Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Go talk to him already!"

"Why, so you can take my picture and give it to the cops?"

"You're wearing a mask, idiot. Besides, this isn't for the cops."

"Then who?"

"The people who come after the cops."

It took Smoke a second to figure it out, and I got to watch as the realization dawned on his face. He nearly gasped, too. "Lawyers? You're working for lawyers? I can't believe it! You sold out!"

"I didn't sell out!" I retorted, wanting to strangle him. Why were we still arguing? It was just one thing after another, and yet I couldn't weasel my way out of it. "I don't even know what that means! And besides, this is the best I can do right now, so excuse me for trying! Now go down there before I make you go down there!"

"All right, all right," Smoke held up his hands in surrender and I heaved a sigh of relief that this stupid fight was finally over. But when he cast me a sly grin, I realized it was only just the start. "But you and I really need to have a talk about being official."

I knew he was only teasing but it still bugged the hell out of me, which was probably why I was such an easy target. Still, before I could even retort, Smoke was already gone, dropping down to the floor below.

I stuck my head out and hissed after him, "We're not official!"

He looked up and put a finger to his lips, smiling as if he caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. I just scowled and stuck my tongue out at him, because that's what mature adults do, of course.

"Jenson, am I right?" Smoke said loudly, his voice carrying easily across the warehouse interior. Mr. Jenson, who hadn't seen him coming, yelped and nearly jumped out of his socks. Smoke just laughed, approaching the man by not getting too close. "Hey, man, relax. You're the one that called me, right?"

"Uh, y-yes," Mr. Jenson stuttered and I found myself unimpressed. For a man at the center of a gambling ring, he sure as hell looked nervous. The man adjusted his collar, glancing around as though he suspected eavesdroppers (but I remained hidden, ha-ha). "You're, uh, you're that Smoke guy?"

"Yep, the one and only," Smoke said, walking around Mr. Jenson with his arms wide open. I had to admit, I was rather pleased to see firsthand how Smoke dealt with clients. I kind of just thought he got a note in the email with a check and directions to his next target, but this was far more entertaining. "Why, is there a problem?"

"Uh, no, I just..." Mr. Jenson's eye twitched. "I thought you'd be older."

For a second, I thought I saw a look of annoyance cross Smoke's face and I quickly got a shot of it on camera. One for the history books.

Smoke shrugged it off in a second. "Hm, I get it. Think you make a mistake?"

"N-no, I-I need you — specifically you — for this job," Mr. Jenson shook his head, then raised the manifest in his hand. "There's this guy — h-he owes me money. Money that-that I really need or...well, that's not important. I need you to go to John Barzetti and get it back. I need it by tomorrow."

"Wait," Smoke paused, holding up a finger. "By John Barzetti, you don't mean —"

"Yes, him," Jenson nodded, looking about as terrified as Smoke did shocked.

Smoke hesitated, frowning. "...You're messing with some powerful people, Jenson. Something like that is going to cost you a lot."

"You get half!" Jenson said quickly, nodding his head and clutching the manifest to his chest. A drop of sweat slid off his brow. "Half of what Barzetti owes me."

"And how much is that?"

"O-one-hundred thousand."

I nearly dropped my camera. One-hundred thousand?! Holy shit, who the hell bet that much for some lousy boxing? I never even heard of this Barzetti guy before. He must be some high baller to be tossing around that kind of cash.

Even Smoke did a double-take. "Damn, Jenson, just what kind of racket are you running here? You sure don't play around."
"Yes, w-well," Mr. Jenson shrugged, almost in a eh-what-are-you-gonna-do sort of way. "That's w-what happens in my line of b-business. D-deals are made, currency ex-exchanged...and then there are some things you just have to do yourself."

It sounded so ominous, mostly because it was the only sentence that didn't have Jenson stuttering. I frowned at the man who looked like he should be driving his kids to soccer practice instead of stealing from some rich rando named Barzetti. I wondered if something else was going on; well, whatever it was, Matt would find it, and bring it to court.

"Ah, a man who knows what he wants," Smoke grinned, although I wondered if he saw the same thing I did. Or maybe he just didn't care. That was a crap load of money, that's for sure. "I like that. Of course, I'll be happy to help. You'll see your money by tomorrow afternoon."

"No!" the man cried, jumping forward before Smoke could disappear. Smoke stopped and frowned at Jenson, who said in a softer voice, "N-no, I need it tomorrow morning, before — before the stocks open. You have to get it tonight. There's no other time."

"Hey, take it easy, I get it," Smoke gestured with his hands, trying to calm Jenson down. "I can do it tonight, no problem."

"And no witnesses!"

"Well, of course," Smoke nodded, and even from here I could see him rolling his eyes.

"And don't let the cops catch you!" Jenson added.

"My man, I'm not entirely sure you know how thievery works," Smoke said, looking almost pained now. "The whole idea is to not get caught, capiche? Trust me, I've done this a thousand times before, and they all went smoothly. This won't be any different."

"You sure?" Mr. Jenson's voice wavered.

"Sure, I'm sure," Smoke replied with a smile. "You've got nothing to worry about, my friend."

And before Mr. Jenson could make another complaint or bring up another worrying point, Smoke disappeared.

Two seconds later, he was standing beside me, his arms crossed and overall looking pretty confident with himself. He nudged me with his elbow. In a whisper, he asked, "So, what'd you think? Pretty cool, right?"

"I suppose," I said, shrugging as I got a few more pictures in. I had captured the entirety of the meeting on camera, although I wasn't sure how much good they would be for Matt. "Kind of underwhelming to be honest."

"Yeah, his kind show up every once and a while. Broke, desperate, and willing to do anything for my services," Smoke shrugged like this somehow wasn't a big deal or anything. Then he pointed at the floor, asking, "So everything that happened down there...that's, uh, that's off-limits, right?"

"Of course," I said lightly, which only made him frown further. "Mr. Jenson's got other problems at the moment. Things to do with lawyers. Like the kind I'm working for."

"So you're not going to bust in and ruin my day, are you?"

"Surprisingly, I've got better things to do than clean up your messes all the time." I said. Mr. Jenson started moving farther down the aisle and I got up to follow him, but then Smoke grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. I barely managed to smother a yelp before I found myself right up against Smoke.

I spluttered in surprise, trying to step away, but only ended up between him and a column. So not only was I trapped (okay, not really, but come on, I knew what he was trying to do), and now my face was completely red thanks to our totally not school-appropriate proximity.

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave?" he asked with that stupid smirk.

I was about to throw a fist at him, but my other hand was carrying the camera, so I could only clench it in barely-contained rage and frustration. Still, I bit it back, speaking through gritted teeth. I raised the camera. "I have to deliver these pictures."

Smoke plucked the camera from my hand before I realized what he was doing. I tried to snatch it back, but at my height and my position, I couldn't reach it, and he just held it over my head like he was playing a game. "Oh, come on, that can wait, can it? What's a few extra minutes to some small-town lawyers?"

"Just give it back, please!" I said, trying not sound like I was begging and maybe not achieving it so well. I jumped up, trying to get it, but Smoke just lifted it higher, tilting the camera back as he looked through the images on its screen. "Smoke, please, that's not even mine! If you break it —"

"Break it, me? Give me some credit," he scoffed, stopping at a particular image and examining it for a second. "Huh, that's actually a pretty good shot of me, especially considering its not my good side."

"Yeah, I'm not seeing it, either," I said, scowling and leaning back against the column, defeated.

"Well, now that's just mean."

"What do you want, Smoke?"

"I just wanted to talk!" he protested, like I was accusing him of some crime. He handed me back the camera and I snatched it away, tucking it behind my back so he couldn't get it again. "Since we're official now."

I gave him a weird look, trying to think when that happened. "We are not official."

"But we can be!" Smoke said, so earnest it almost made me smile. "Because let's be honest: I like you, and you like me, even though you're too much of a stick in a mud to admit it. So what's the big deal?"

I gave him a beleaguered look. "You know what."

Smoke tilted his head, thinking on it for a minute. Then he frowned and pointed at his face, "What, the mask? That's the dealbreaker for you?"

"I don't know what you look like!" I shot back, wondering why he didn't see how this was such a big deal for me. "Or at least not all of you. And it's not fair, since you already know what I look like. You even know my real name! And I know, like, next to nothing about you. Except that you dress in black and like to steal things."

"And that I'm roguishly handsome."

I rolled my eyes, skipping that point. "Nothing is happening until you take off that mask."

I could pinpoint the exact moment when all humor left Smoke's face. He closed his eyes and sighed, "I can't. And you know why."

"Yeah, I do." I actually wanted him to do it. I didn't know why — did I want...us to be official? Maybe. Despite everything, Smoke wasn't a completely terrible person, he had a sense of humor, I could tolerate him most of the time, and he wasn't half-bad looking either. In an attempt to ease the pressure, I added, "Look, I'm not asking you to tell me your real name. I'm pretty sure 'Smoke' isn't it, anyways. But that's fine. I just want to see your face."

But he just shook his head, stepping away from me. "It's too dangerous. For the both of us. I'm sorry — I know I shouldn't have put you in this position. I know too much about you. Who knows, it might just kill you, too."

"Well, I have a pretty solid record of not-dying, so far," Now I was the one trying to lighten the mood. Go figure. I took a step forward, raising my free hand towards him. "Please, you know I'm not going to tell anyone —"

But Smoke batted my hand away, saying, "Whoa, you are not pulling that Phantom of the Opera trick on me. I'm not that dumb."

"I wasn't going to do that," I said, offended, even though that was exactly what I was thinking. I just wasn't sure if I could actually make myself do it, or if it would even be worth it. I decided that I'd rather keep what we had now for as long as I could than lose everything forever. I pulled back my hand, embarrassed. "Sorry. I just — what do we do now?"

"I don't know," Smoke shrugged, looking back at me. "Part ways and hope for the best?"

"I seriously doubt that this is the last time I'm seeing you," I said dryly.

Then he smiled that old smile again, and I swore it was almost like we weren't just having the conversation we had. "Wouldn't dream of it, dove. Stay alive for me, will you? I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably stop quoting Eighties movies, maybe," I suggested with my own little smile. It made me feel like I was just offering up my whole heart on a platter.

"But those ones are the best!" Smoke said. Then he jumped forward and, cupping my face, kissed me on the forehead. Like a total goober, I laughed, before remembering my dignity and tried swiping him away, but by then Smoke had already disappeared.

"It's still not official!" I called after his shadow.