Between the stacks of a quaint little bookstore, the owner of the shop was straightening up his inventory. He was of a medium build with mutton chops and short black hair. Despite working in doors, moving mountains of manuscripts kept him in modest shape.
His spine creaked as he stretched. Spending substantial amounts of his day hunched over was stressful on his lower lumbar. Another reminder of his creeping age.
A bell rang. Someone had entered the store. Times like these made him wish he had an extra set of hands around instead of him being the sole employee. Low margins kept him from hiring.
That was not his visitor's fault. Even if he was feeling crummy, he had to put the effort in to make them feel welcome. A happy customer was a repeat buyer. Trying to be warm and inviting, he magnanimously exited the rows of leather-bound paper.
"Welcome to Tukson's Book Trade. Home to every book under the sun!" He addressed the potential client. "How can I-"
Standing at the front entrance was a pale woman with gray-blue hair. Tukson knew she was not there for books. He jittered as she spoke.
"Are we alone?"
"Yes." Was his answer, along with a gulp.
She locked the entrance. Her gloved fingers strayed over to flip around the 'Closed' sign. A considerate gesture on most occasions. Not so much here.
"Do you know what I am here for?"
"I can guess."
Tukson held up his hand for her to see. The woman did similarly. His fingertips stung as his retractable claws became visible. She pulled off a glove, to reveal an unnaturally pale appendage. With a flex, a string of webbing was cast forth.
Heritage confirmed, she placed her glove back on. "It's nice to meet you, brother."
"Likewise. What may I call you?"
"Trifa. Are you fine with Tukson?"
"Aye. Might as well keep up pretenses."
That was not his real name. It was just the one on the deed. His was a manufactured life.
He had taken the fake identity to leave the overcrowding of Menagerie. His job was to blend in with the humans and report back. However, as the years passed, he had taken a shine to the name. Some days, he even forgot that he was more than just the owner of a bookstore.
These kinds of visits always brought him back down to Remnant. No matter how much he pretended to be an upstanding member of society, Tukson could not escape his past. There was no turning away from the White Fang.
"Where are they?"
"In the back."
"Lead the way."
XIX. No-show
Tukson led her around the bookshelves to the far corner. The floorboards groaned under each of his steps. Trifa made no noise while following. He had to look back to make sure she was there at all.
"You seem tense." She said when they locked eyes.
"Because I am. I keep expecting the police to break down the door."
Honesty was an effective way of hiding his true thoughts. It was not just the police that left him uneasy. He could not believe what Vale's White Fang branch was up to. If Trifa saw through the omission, she did not comment on it.
"I do not seek to make your job any more difficult than it needs to be."
No. She did not. It was just incidental.
They came up to a supply room. He fished out a key. While bringing it up to the lock, he did his best to hide his trembling hand from the woman. An excruciating amount of time passed before he hit the sweet spot and the door swung open.
The room usually contained more stock for the shop. Mostly paperbacks, since those were the high-volume sellers. Those boxes had been pushed to the sides to make way for four portable beds. Laying on them were injured men.
These faunus had been part of the group involved in the recent parking garage fiasco. They had not told Tukson as much, but it had not been difficult to figure out. The burns and lung problems were consistent with what he had heard happened.
As the most heavily injured, this small group could not be moved around the city without drawing attention. Instead, they had been hoisted onto the bookstore owner for safe keeping. He was meant to keep them comfortable while they healed.
So, he did. Each day he worked, and at night a back-alley doctor would come by to check on them. Technically, she was a veterinarian, but they could not be choosy. The lady did good work and did not ask about what she saw.
Hiding them in of itself was not the problem. They took up very little space. What nagged on his conscience was the knowledge of what they had done.
Of whom they had killed.
Tukson knew the owner of 'From Dust Till Dawn.' The shopkeeper had been a standup individual. He was a fountain of business advice and had watched over the bookstore on a few occasions.
One time, Tukson had slipped up and mentioned having family in Menagerie. Since only faunus lived on the island, and intermarriages were rare, certain inferences could be made.
The old man had pretended not to notice. He just casually mentioned understanding why a faunus might want to hide what they were. Even an inclusive kingdom like Vale still had cafés with segregated dining areas.
For these people, his people, to have taken the kindly man's life was unconscionable. It made Tukson think about his choice in association. He had already been having doubts. This had pushed him along even farther.
Towards what, he was not sure. Leaving another life behind did not seem feasible. Yet he felt like he did not have much of a choice.
"Would you let me through, please?"
The arachnid's voice stirred him from his thoughts. "Sorry."
She slid around and approached a bed. The first of the convalescents lay on his back with both arms bandaged. The others were focused on a portable TV set up on a container labeled 'romance/erotica.'
"Good afternoon. I had a few questions about what happened to you."
Tukson was not sure why he stuck around. Perhaps he was hoping to hear something that might change his mind. Yet, as Trifa quizzed away, it became clear that they saw no issue with what they had done.
Her probe revolved around the skirmish at the parking garage. She was very interested in those that had ambushed them. The interviewee did not have much to say on that front.
"I don't know. Everything happened so fast. When that Dust went up, I was too busy putting out the fire on my shirt."
"Everyone was a little preoccupied."
"There is someone here who might know more." The scorched man craned his neck. "Hey Renart! Didn't you get whacked by the intruder?"
One of those watching the news turned to them. He lacked burn marks but had not walked away unscathed. His jaw was wired shut to allow the bones to settle correctly. Trifa went to him next.
While eager to talk, Renart was incapable of getting any full words out. His fox tail bobbed up and down in agitation. Trifa had to lend him a Scroll to write out responses.
"There was more than one of them?" She asked.
'Yes.' He typed.
"A male in addition to the unknown female?"
'Yes.'
"What did he look like?"
He typed furiously at the Scroll. It was a broad subject deserving of a thorough description. Before Renart could finish, something caught his attention. With wide eyes, he pointed at the TV.
On the screen was a file photo. It was a candid of an ordinarily dapper criminal. His soot-smeared face and singed, red hair made him look like a madman. Trifa asked for the speaker volume to be increased.
"-multiple robberies spanning a decade." Announced the identifiable voiceover of Lisa Lavender. "However, it is Torchwick's recent role in a heist getaway that has raised questions. One witness placed him in the vicinity of the East Point Mall disturbance."
A taped interview of a youth with a mullet ran next. "Yeah man. After that van blew through the gate, Torchwick came running up. He pressed me into being the ambulance for a bleeding guy. It was super hardcore! Just wish it was easier to get bloodstains off my sea-"
Lavender picked back up after a rough cut. "Adding to the confusion are reports that Torchwick was involved in a similar robbery related to this most recent one. Could this be a simmering rivalry boiling over into the open? VPD has yet to comment."
Tukson peeked over at Trifa. She was paying close attention. The gears in her mind turned on this latest information.
Analyzing. Cataloging. Judging.
/ / /
"Sir! Could you spare a moment?"
Ozpin was caught as he departed Beacon Tower. He had worked through lunch again and was seeking to satisfy his complaining stomach. Usually, he was much more on top of managing his bodily needs. Not lately though. A slew of unexpected tasks had disrupted his daily rhythm.
Despite being an early riser and a night owl, Ozpin tried to take plenty of breaks to stay functional. Complications occurred frequently to a person at his station. This was not the fault of the one calling his name, so he greeted them kindly.
"Glynda." He hailed as the combat professor approached. "Certainly. I am on my way to the dining hall. Care to join me?"
"I have already eaten but I shall escort you."
They walked with purpose through the center of campus. Students were everywhere, having returned to Beacon to begin the semester. The two administrators received a few waves while others avoided them.
Or rather, avoided Glynda. She was known for calling out infractions at a moment's notice. They rightly worried about drawing her ire at the start of the new scholastic year.
Even without any first-years, this was the busiest the campus would be until the Vytal Festival began. Fourth and third years would soon depart for their externships. This gave room for the freshmen to grow into their own while being mentored by the second years. Such was the natural cycle of academy attendance.
"What is it you need?" Ozpin asked his deputy.
"A huntsman lodge near Vacuo passed along a message from Qrow."
"Oh?" That was faster than Oz had expected.
"He is enroute. However, he must first, and I quote, 'see someone about a horse' before attending to our tasks." She let out a huff. "Sir, I believe we need to have a frank discussion about his alcohol consumption."
"Leave it be. He more than earns his time to unwind."
"If this were merely the occasional night out, I would agree. However, this feels excessive. I cannot remember the last time that I was in his presence when he did not reek of spirits and ill-advised decisions."
"Everyone has their vices." Huntsmen especially, for theirs was a damaging profession.
"And it is incumbent upon the individual to minimize any interruptions from such iniquity."
There was a trick to discerning Glynda's mood. A certain tell Ozpin had noticed. Whenever she deployed her high-level vocabulary words, she was upset. Recognizing this did not allow him an uncomplicated way out of such uncomfortable conversations. Instead, he had to ram on.
"What would you have me do? He is a grown man, not one of our students."
Even when he was a student, Qrow Branwen was not of the cooperative sort. It took a full semester to get him to wear the school uniform. How much of that was due to the daily haranguing of his team leader, or just him deciding he had enough fun, was never clear.
"Talk to him. Surely, he would listen to you of all people?"
"Qrow listens, but rarely follows when it comes to his personal life."
The headmaster had been trying for years. However, he could not force help upon someone who did not want it. Ozpin had learned that lesson many times over.
Her fingers on her riding crop tightened. "I despise how nothing seems to matter to him. Precious time will be lost as he gallivants."
"Although Qrow may come across as flippant, his skills are second to none. He is also our best option at settling the matter while staying clear of any political backlash. Unless there is another you would trust with this assignment?"
"None besides myself, which you have made clear is not an option."
"There we are, then."
They had arrived at their destination. He held the lunchroom door open for her. She looked away as she crossed the boundary.
"Yes. But I do not have to like it."
Inside the dining hall, they prepared to part ways. Glynda had conveyed Qrow's communication and now had other matters to address. That decision was paused when they were confronted with a sight they were not expecting.
At first blush, the hall was as it usually appeared. Natural light filtered in from gothic-styled window arches. Four long tables that could seat more than a hundred pupils extended the length of the room. Food smells lingered long after the cafeteria had ceased operations. Ozpin had hoped to grab leftovers now that the feeding frenzy had abated.
There were a number of people still present. Five had taken to the benches of the leftmost table. Included among them was another educator.
"Bartholomew?" Ozpin called. "You are back already?"
Dr. Oobleck looked up. A frown mired his usually excitable face. He was all business as he met his colleagues near the entrance.
"How fortuitous that you are both here. I was about to call for you. We had to cut the expedition short."
"Has something happened?" She asked while looking past him.
Her attention was on the individuals who had remained at the table. Ozpin briefly glanced at them. His tired brain rattled off rapid facts. Team CFVY. Second-years. A promising team with a spirited leader. Prone to landing in trouble with Glynda if he recalled correctly.
"There was an encounter with a swarm of Lancer drones." Oobleck replied before digressing. "Quite odd, that. From my knowledge, Lancers tend to stick to more arid environments such as deserts and tundras. Were they separated from their queen? I will need to confer with Peter to fully-"
"I would prefer that we stayed focused, doctor. How are my students?"
"Oh!" He jolted at Glynda's rebuke. "My apologies. They are all physically fine. Ms. Scarlatina discovered and destroyed the swarm before they became a threat to the rest of the team."
"Quite the achievement for a single huntress." Ozpin praised.
Lancers were known to challenge even experienced huntsmen. It was standard practice to fight them in a team of four. The young woman had to be quite skilled and powerful to accomplish the feat solo.
"That is the interesting part. She was not alone. In fact, the reason she engaged at all was to rescue a stranded individual."
"Who was out there? A civilian?"
Quite irregular if so. Most non-Aura users had the good sense to stay out of the Emerald Forest. Beacon used the Grimm infested lands for training. It was no place for a picnic.
"A young Atlas soldier who was separated from his squad. Working together, using his plan and Ms. Scarlatina's armament, they were able to defeat the drones."
Even with the assist, it was still impressive. Atlas infantrymen were strong within the context of large squads but not in isolation. Huntsmen, meanwhile, were the inverse. Strong individually but got in each other's way in groups larger than four.
That the duo could adapt to each other despite the role clash spoke well of them both. And on a stressful first meeting, too. They deserved praise in equal measure for his leadership qualities and her ability to recognize a clever idea from an unlikely source.
"Where is this soldier? I would like to have a word with him."
"That," Dr. Oobleck went softly. "Will not be possible, I'm afraid."
There was a moment before the headmaster understood the implication. He took a longer look at team CFVY. In the center of the four-person team was Ms. Scarlatina.
Despite being surrounded by teammates, she wore a forlorn expression. They whispered encouraging words. In her lap was an Atlas-issued helmet. It appeared as though a can opener had ripped open the top of the helm.
A weary breath escaped from Ozpin. "How did it happen?"
"While their plan was effective, a single drone was missed. It tried to snatch her while they were both recovering. A common tactic for flying Grimm. The soldier interceded and was carried off instead. We did not find a body, but, well…"
Grimm tended not to leave a body. They tore their victims until nothing remained. Whatever was left of the soldier was scattered throughout the Emerald Forest.
"Could you compile their statements into an after-action report?"
Oobleck nodded. "I will also ensure our trauma counselors are made available to them."
A prudent choice. This was Team CFVY's first loss of life while on a mission. Such situations, unfortunately, were not unusual. Most teams experienced this situation around the second or third year.
When faced with this inevitability, students tended to react in one of two ways. They either excessively blamed themselves for perceived mistakes or they withdrew into their own thoughts. Sometimes both. Neither were healthy decisions.
Under the right guidance, they would come out the other side of their grief more resilient. Out of this tragedy would come a powerful learning experience. Better to be taught healthy coping mechanisms now than pick up harmful ones later.
Such counseling had not been around for Qrow Branwen. His team could have used such services. An oversight that weighed heavy on the headmaster.
"Thank you, doctor."
Appetite long gone; Ozpin left the cafeteria. Glynda followed him knowing that she would be needed. Outside again, he led them to a tree away from any listeners.
He then asked. "Could you inform Atlas command of what has happened?"
"Certainly. I will forward Dr. Oobleck's report to them, as well as make available any remains or personal effects we recovered." She paused for a moment before adding. "If I may ask, were you aware that Atlas soldiers were operating in Vale?"
"I was not."
"Should I inform Vale's Council?"
While the two kingdoms were allies, Atlas deploying unannounced assets into Vale was provocative. Respect for borders was foundational to the treaty that had ended the Great War. This had all the makings of a political nightmare.
"For now, we will keep that to ourselves." A dangerous thing to say aloud, but Ozpin had trusted Glynda with far greater secrets. "At least until we better understand what has happened."
"Understood. I shall arrange a meeting with James as soon as possible."
"If you would not mind."
General Ironwood, Ozpin mused to himself, had better have a good explanation. If not, the consequences could be great. The headmaster, over his long life, had seen similar events spiral out of control. He was not eager to see them happen again.
/ / /
"All for us!?"
Lie Ren smiled along with Nora's high-pitched words. Her excitement was infectious. She beamed while zooming about their hotel room.
"Hope it's okay." Jaune scratched the back of his head. "They did not have any singles available. Sorry about that."
"OMG! There's a walk-in tub!" She called from the bathroom, ignorant of what was said.
Ren downplayed the concern. "This is more than satisfactory."
An understatement. It was an impressive room that bordered on obscene. The area was spacious and opulent, with two large beds and an adjacent kitchen. Far larger than any of the various tents, hostels, and shotgun shacks Ren and Nora had shared.
Living on the road made almost any place with a non-leaky roof seem like a luxury. Ambassador's Pointe blew any previous accommodations out of the water. When they had first walked into the lobby, Ren thought their newest acquaintance was playing a cruel joke.
After a chat with the receptionist, and receiving a room key, he knew differently.
"That's good." Jaune pointed to a wired-in communication console on the nightstand. "When you get hungry, you can order food through the front desk. They'll prepare it themselves or bring you fresh ingredients to cook with. Either way, charge it to the room and I'll pick up the tab."
"Ooh! Do they make pancakes?" Nora asked after rushing into Jaune's personal space.
"Uh," He took a step back. "I did not see that as an option on the menu, but from what I remember, they do have crêpes."
"Crêpes?"
"Kind of like pancakes, only thinner and served with savory fillings and fruit toppings."
"Fancy!"
"Is that really okay?" Ren asked in reference to spending their host's money.
There was a momentary twitch on Jaune's face. "Of course! Just please don't go ordering stakes and imported wine with each meal."
"Hey!" She poked him in the stomach. "What kind of hoity-toity type do you take me for, mister?"
"My bad." He laughed. "Are you guys all set then? I got to bounce."
"Leaving already?" Nora pouted.
"I still need to find my friend."
Jaune had left them behind briefly to check his own room. The search was seemingly fruitless. Since returning there had been a restless energy to him. A clear itch to get out there was present with each gesture.
"Will you be heading back into the Emerald Forest?" Ren asked.
"Not today. I'm too beat up. Tomorrow I'll go check out our campsite, assuming I don't hear from her today."
Ren was glad that Jaune was not foolish enough to leave the walls so soon after a near fatal experience. Worrying for another could make people ignore their own safety. Though, that did raise the question of where the fellow huntsman-aspirant was off to.
Nora was wondering about that as well. "Where will you go?"
"Got to see my weapon's guy. My armor took a few licks." He patted the metal backpack over his shoulder. "Then, I don't know, maybe hit up some other places she might be. It feels wrong to just sit around."
"We understand." Ren said before Nora could try to talk him into staying anyway. "Take care of what you need to. Do not refrain from letting us know if we can be of any help."
"Thanks guys! I will. See you later."
With that, he left the room. Alone together, the childhood friends lapsed into an unusual silence. Ren turned to get a measure of her mood. Although still grinning, he knew Nora was pondering over their new acquaintance.
"What do you think?"
She hummed. "He's fishy. Only way he'd be fishier is if he were to grow a pair of gills and swim to Mantle."
"Criminal?"
"Or something. He's got money to burn but doesn't seem all snooty about it."
Both of them had experience with those sorts. The great crime families of Mistral liked to look down their noses at street kids. That, or they tried to recruit them. Nora had been targeted more than once for her strength and other sordid reasons.
To avoid being gang-pressed, the duo had stuck to the smaller settlements. Habit was another reason they had stayed away from the city of Vale as long as they had. It had also put them on guard whenever a deal seemed too good to be true.
In Mistral that was usually the case. And all of this seemed far and away too good.
"If not a criminal, what is he?"
"Some sheltered rich boy who doesn't know any better?"
As good a guess as any. Jaune did seem like someone with more money than reason. That would explain the mech-shift armor. Most people spent more on offense rather than defense. Aura was considered more cost effective.
If Jaune's parents were overly concerned with keeping him alive, they would have splurged on the redundant technology. The cageyness over the mystery woman he had gone to find had been hard to miss. His 'friend' being a bodyguard also made a certain amount of sense as an explanation.
"What's your verdict? Should we trust him?"
After some exaggerated chin scratching, her grin became honest. "Yeah! I think so. Jauney wants to be a huntsman, so he can't be all bad. Maybe he's like us. Looking to turn over a new Beowolf."
"I think you mean 'leaf.'"
"You can't kill a Grimm with a leaf, Renny! You know I've tried!"
He rolled his eyes at her odd sense of humor. Still, he trusted Nora's judgment. She was much better at feeling people out than he was. If she had already picked out a nickname for Jaune, then the boy was already far along on the path to becoming part of their tiny friend group.
It was also a good reminder. They were no longer in Mistral. They did not have to live with their heads on a swivel. He could afford to let his guard down for a bit.
Left to their own devices, the longtime friends took up different methods of passing the time. Neither gave much thought to the TV in the corner. Nora lay on a bed, reading what looked to be a menu. Ren sat cross-legged on the couch.
Without the fear of Grimm sneaking up on him, he was determined to practice his deep meditation. It was also a suitable time to cycle through some negative emotions. The journey to Vale had been trying at times. His eyes closed.
"Huh, these crêpes do look tasty."
There was some shuffling. Sounds of buttons being pressed, likely on the communication console. Ren paid little attention to those outside distractions. He slowly inflated his lungs.
"Room service? Yes, I would like to order crêpes. How many do you have ready-made?" She listened to the person on the other side. "Sounds great, send them all up!"
Calmly, Ren slipped into the crevasse of his mind. In place of a mantra, he cycled his Aura about his body. Doing so had always been more effective at entering a trance. His soul's essence flowed and swirled. Power flowed to his extremities before retreating to the source.
"Did I stutter? Send them all, please!"
The universal folded around him. He could find it everywhere, within and without. Futures spread before him free and clear and never sold.
"Huh? How old am I? I don't see how that is any of your business, buster." There was more talking. "No, I will not put my father on!"
Ren's breath escaped in a choked snort. She gave him the stink eye as he tried not to dig his hole any deeper. He had to context switch from meditating to mediating before something or someone ended up broken.
/ / /
"We are closed. Sorry."
Officer Hardi Piper squinted at the impeccably dressed bouncer. The sunlight bouncing off their white dress jacket was blinding. Behind them was the glass doorway he had knocked on. Instead of being shown in, the equivalent of a walking brick wall had come out to block the way.
"Not to me. I'm with the Vale Police Department." Piper announced, as was the regulation.
The heavyset man shook his head. "The lobby will accept customers in a few hours. The staff and performers are busy preparing for their show tonight."
"That works well enough. It is them I wish to speak with."
"Apologies again." He grunted in faux contrition. "I was given specific instructions to not let anything interfere with rehearsals."
"I'm on official business investigating a profoundly serious crime. That's a good exception to your instructions, don't you think?"
Civilians usually fell in line when told this. Thus was the power of a uniform. Not this guy, though. He stood his ground. This living hurdle was not going anywhere.
"Did your crime occur on these premises?"
"Well… no."
"Then your business can wait on my instructions."
The policeman ran a hand over his face. While he might have been calmer than others in his unit, his patience was shot. Having a freshly broken nose would do that to a person.
"You see this?" Piper pointed at the badge on his attire. "Understanding the written word may be difficult for you, but 'VPD' roughly translates as 'let me in' before I haul you in for obstruction."
All pretenses of politeness dropped. "I don't care if that said you were the last King of Vale. Unless you have a warrant, there will be no admission."
There was nothing worse than dumb muscle that thought they were smart. The police encountered them often enough. Usually this was the part where they would take such a person out into a back street for a lesson in respect.
Piper could not do so here. They were in broad daylight in an upscale part of town. Someone would complain in a way that could stick. He would have to use other options.
"Look, I came alone to keep things civil. Unless you want me to come back with a whole squad to toss the place, I suggest you let me talk to someone important. Otherwise, there will be no show to rehearse once we are through."
A bluff. Piper did not have the authority to unilaterally conduct a search. The bouncer seemed ready to call him out on it when the door opened and a woman with short black hair stuck her head out.
"What is happening out here, Loco?"
The other man tilted his head. "Some fuzz trying to start some trouble."
She regarded Piper with a hard look before stepping out. "Let me speak with him."
Loco shrugged and switched places with her. There was a thunk as the door closed behind him. The woman adjusted her glasses.
"I am Amyah, maître d' of this establishment. How may I help you, officer?"
Now Piper felt like he was getting somewhere. "As I was informing your doorman a second ago, I am investigating a crime. Specifically, there is a person of interest I seek."
"One of our employees?"
"As I understand it, an associate: Leroy Browne."
Maison Ta-Ta had sponsored the faunus fugitive's release application. It was an odd thing for a business entity to do. Browne must have known someone personally in the organization. Amyah confirmed it.
"Mr. Browne is a family friend of the owner. In what regard is he of interest?"
"We would like to verify a few statements he gave."
"I see. Very well. I shall pass the message along."
Now he was back to getting the runaround. "Can I speak with the owner to verify?"
"Madam Amour is not in yet. When she arrives, I will inform her immediately. Do you have a way she can contact you?"
"Here." He handed over a business card before looming over the reduced woman. "Let your madam know that this is important. So much so that we will do everything in our power as a department to get him back. Things that might hinder her business prospects."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"
"Just an observation."
Her mouth thinned. The firm look in her eyes became as solid as concrete. The voice that came out from her lips was smooth and sharp in equal measure.
"I would suggest keeping such musings to yourself. You may find yourself committing to actions of which you do not fully understand the full consequences of."
Piper seized her arm. "Who do you think you are talking to, bit-"
His jaw went slack as an odd sensation radiated from his core. A coldness crept along his skin. But it was not a normal temperature change. His mind knew that the day was still warm even as his blood froze.
This was a deeper chill. It was as if all the happiness in the world had been sucked out of him. All that remained was a hollow feeling in his chest. In that frightening instant, Piper believed he was experiencing a heart attack.
Because of the quick onset, he had difficulty processing what was happening. Amyah was not affected in the least. She extricated herself from his hold.
"If there is nothing else, I shall make my leave. Have a nice day, officer."
Having said her piece, she re-entered the building. Whatever had held Piper's heart seemed to release its grip. His chest heaved as he sucked wind. Frightened, he nearly fell down the stairs as he ran away from La Maison Ta-Ta.
Once a few blocks away, his good sense returned to him. If he truly were having heart problems, he would not have been able to run as far as he had. There had to be another explanation, he reasoned.
Perhaps it had been indigestion.
Laughing at himself for his silliness, Piper turned left down a street. Parallel parked in front of a bridal shop was a black paneled van. Knocking on the side got the sliding door to open a crack. He wedged himself through to prevent anyone walking by from looking in.
Two others were inside. The first was a technician hunched over equipment that took up half the space. He was a pencil-necked dweeb they had borrowed from the support staff. The second was Piper's partner, who was leaning back in a bucket seat.
"How'd it go?" Fiddle asked with his feet up. "Worried I was going to have to go in after you."
Luckily, that had not happened. Fiddle would have wanted to stick around for the peep show. They needed to stay focused.
"A few hiccups but I did my part." Piper then addressed the techie. "Are we up and running?"
"Our SID-catcher is operational. We are successfully spoofing the local CCT substation and routing all local traffic through the analyzer."
"Remind me again how any of this helps us." The mustached policeman asked.
The younger man looked up from his monitor. "By pretending to be the substation, we will fool Scrolls into using our system to connect with each other. With that, we can do things like eavesdrop or ping for locations. This gives us total control over all signals on this side of town."
"Right, so we are hoping that someone will call Browne. Then what?"
"Then we will have Browne's number to track him down no matter where he goes." Piper sat down next to his fellow officer. "Keep up, man. It's not that difficult to understand."
"I don't know. Seems kind of fruity to me. Can't believe there wasn't anyone keeping tabs on this guy."
When they had received this case from the acting commissioner, Piper and Fiddle thought the hard part would be in making Leroy Browne crack under interrogation. Now they knew the difficulty would be in getting him to an interrogation.
Browne had disappeared, having either quit or been fired from his security job. It was not clear which. The high-rise owner could not provide a residence for him nor any pay stubs. Apparently, the faunus was paid in lien cards the entire length of his employment, so there were no bank account transactions to follow.
That left them scrambling for another way to find their man. Asking around the Operations Unit had snagged them their shiny new toy, straight from Atlas: A communications interceptor vehicle.
Being trusted with this kind of power reaffirmed that the duo needed to get results. They could not mess this up. Their careers were on the line.
"That was the hand we were dealt. We sent out some smoke. Now we must wait to see what gets flushed out."
"Brothers, I hate the waiting game."
