I rubbed my eyes. “Why do they always go in the sewers?”

15

I had what I thought was a decent plan, but first, I had to get to the bank. I had a pretty good hunch what was in that safe deposit box, and we’d need it to survive what was to come. After that, there was no avoiding it. The ghoul and I had to go down into the sewers.

Mo’Lock and I agreed to meet at the drainage pipe a few hours later. After he left, I checked to make sure I was properly armed. Fuck yeah, I must have weighed an extra ten pounds with all my extra baggage. I made sure I had the safe deposit key and the talisman Mo’ had found.

As an extra precaution, I slipped a small leather case that I’d kept for years into my sock.

Everything was in place. I was as ready as I’d ever be. But before I could get out the office door, I had company.

Dan Stockton, that huge prick of a cop, was standing there blocking my exit, with two other uniforms behind him.

I motioned to push past. Stockton blocked my way.

“I don’t have time for this shit, Stockton. Get out of my way. We can fight later.” I made another move, he countered. This time he held up a folded document.

“This ain’t personal,” Stockton said, waving the papers in my face. “This is straight-up official. I’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”

I stepped back. All three pressed forward. I could see that the two backups were taking out their batons. One had handcuffs ready for me.

“Arrest? What the hell for?!”

Stockton smirked. “You had a court date yesterday with some guy you pummeled on Halloween, and you were a no-show. That, my asshole friend, is against the law.”

“Moving a little fast, aren’t they?” I said.

Stockton’s smirk widened to an outright obnoxious grin. “That’s the personal part. I did the paperwork myself.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The scene froze while everybody waited for something to happen. I made it happen by bolting for the door. I broke the blue-boy wall, catching them off-guard. Stockton made a stupid choking sound as I brushed past, as though he couldn’t believe he’d lost control of the situation. Idiot.

I was at the door, almost to the hallway. Once there, I could really haul ass. “I told you I don’t have time for this sh—” That was that.

For the second goddamn time in under a month, I was knocked cold.

16

I woke in a small room that reeked of body odor and cigarettes, handcuffed to a loop in the wall. I was kneeling, facing the loop, with my back to the rest of the cramped room. The only way in or out—a heavy, industrial-strength door—was behind me. The brick walls were spotted with traces of blood that had been lazily wiped off and covered by a thin coat of off-white.

Standard interrogation procedure. They wanted you to see the blood so you’d start shitting yourself before they even hit you. I’d been through it before, but had a bad feeling about this. Something felt very wrong.