So there we were – putting fists into the face of nobility and smashing the fine cartilage on their Chelaxian noses into a spraying red mist of snot and blood. Wait – maybe I should back up a bit. Get a little of the foreplay in here. Right – take a drink, settle down a bit. Build up to the good parts.
Marshall wanted us to snatch this suspect, the street artistTrina – a chick I’d known from back in the day of flopping in flop houses and sleeping through hangovers with the rest of the beggars and drunks. Mission itself wasn’t complex – track down the dame, put her in a bag, and deliver her back to the Guard. The problem was in the ethics and intrigue surrounding the mission. See – I know for a good goddamn fact that no way Trina was involved in the King’s assassination. And I can tell Crysidia knew it too, when you get to know a commander you can tell when they’re giving orders they believe in, and when they’re just relaying the party line. The Queen had announced, publicly, that this street artist was wanted for the death of the King – and of course the whole city was up in arms turning over every mansion, house, flat and crate in a back alley to find her. That’s not how you go about things – telling everyone you got a suspect before the fact.
Good thing for Harrows Justice – I knew where this chick slept. No I hadn’t bedded her, but I’d bedded nearby her, if you get my drift. Flop house tenanments like she was in – they didn’t have much of a nightly rate and it was pretty much come and go as you please if you get my drift.
to be continued