part 3

The van is old and ugly as sin but it drives, and it’s got the Bureau’s name on the side, so folks know it’s ours. John parks it along the curb and climbs out. He’s a wiry guy, tall, thin, excessively well groomed. Little round spectacles perch on the end of his scarred up nose, and his white plastic suit crinkles as he moves yanks open the doors on the back of the van. A couple more guys climb out, mops and industrial strength solvents in hand. John pulls out the bodybag and helps Robert down out of the van. Robert took a fall at SeaTac when he got here a couple weeks ago, on those metal salmon plates they put on the floor. Broke his ankle. He’s been gimping around in an ankle boot since he got here.
He smiles at John and thanks him, hobbling off towards the bar. He waves when he sees me and I return the gesture. Robert’s not a bad guy, for a yuppie necromancer spook. Used to be off with the feds in DC, but after the clusterfuck that went down this August it’s no wonder he transferred out. He won’t talk about it, but the word around the office is he was pretty close to the guy who did it. Anyway, we needed someone with some actual juice, and we got Robert.
“Hey Mitch.”
“Sorry to get you out of bed, Robert. He’s in the back.”
“Sure, sure, no worries. Better than a –“
He gets cut off as John sees me and charges towards us, bodybag swinging from his left hand, the vision of sleep-loving fury. He snarls.
“Where?” His face is livid. I point towards the back and he storms into the bar with long, crinkling strides. Robert grins sheepishly.
“Sorry, he’s my ride back later.” I wave him off and he limps after John. I should stick around to fill out the paperwork, but I’m exhausted, and it’s raining. I lean back against the wet building, letting myself get soaked. I need to sleep. John might give me a lift, but after the mess I made in there, it seems unlikely. I stand up, glancing around the street. The clean team has scattered most of the local color, but here and there a few people have come creeping out again. A couple of kids glare at me from the mouth of an alley, but I glare right back. The people in this neighborhood know me, and they know not to fuck with me. It’s a long walk, and the sky is just beginning to lighten as I scuff my way up the steps to my building. The rain is starting to lift, the fat drops trickling off into a light drizzle. Fucking Seattle. I go inside.