As evening set, the three waited in the police car, breaths bated.

    "Right there," said Abe, eyes locking onto Wilma's figure from afar. "She's heading into that coffee shop."

    Amy straightened herself, smoothing her hands over her casual outfit. "Alright," she said. "Everything good?"

    Mark gazed at a laptop from the backseat and gave a nod. "The taps are working," he said.

    "Go get her, tiger," said Abe.

    Amy nodded, and Abe and Mark watched as she exited the car, crossed the street, and headed into the cafe.

    Abe sucked in a breath and exhaled, calming himself. "Fischbach," said the Detective. "Sit up here so I can see what you're seeing."

———

A bell rang above Amy's head as she stepped inside, and the noise of the cafe rose around her like a wall. Machines whirred, customers chattered, baristas shouted.

    A group of college students brushed past Amy, and she hastily stepped out of the way, watching as they pushed out the door. She huffed at the encounter and returned her attention to her surroundings, searching for Wilma. It wasn't difficult—even with the countless customers flooding in and out and about the place—because Wilma Warfstache carried herself in a way that made her presence stick out through any crowd.

    Amy sucked in a breath, and she headed towards Wilma, who sat at a table by the window, an iced coffee in front of her. Her heart raced in her chest the closer she got, nerves singing at her fingers, and it wasn't until she was at the edge of Wilma's table that she realized she was really going through this.

    Amy cleared her throat, and Wilma's eyes flicked onto hers—a hypnotizing hazel brown crowded by thick lashes. Their surroundings seemed to quiet around them.

    "Wilma Warfstache, right?" asked Amy firmly.

    A look crossed Wilma's face, and she straightened herself, fingers twitching.

    "I don't go by that name anymore," she said with distaste, eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

    "My name is Amy Nelson," said the agent. She pulled out her badge and flashed it at Wilma. "I'm here to ask you a few questions."

    Wilma's brows rose, and she gazed at the golden badge, up at Amy, back at the badge.

    "I have nothing to tell you," she said.

    "I promise it'll be quick," said Amy. "I'm investigating the kidnapping of Dark Edwards. The one your brother is behind?"

    Wilma scoffed, and she wrapped a hand around her iced coffee, pulling it closer to her. "I told you, I have nothing to tell you," she said.

    "Miss Warfstache, if you don't—"

    "Barnum," corrected Wilma, glaring up at Nelson. "It's Miss Barnum."

    "Miss Barnum," said Amy, lashes fluttering in surprise. Well, that meant something. If Wilma didn't want to go by her brother's last name, then... "Can I please speak with you for a few minutes?"

    Wilma narrowed her eyes, and she glanced at the empty chair across from her. After a moment, she sighed. "Fine," she said with a wave of her hand.

    Amy's shoulders fell with relief, and she sat down, leaning forward so the mic in her shirt could pick up their voices.

    "My first question is—"

    "Actually," said Wilma, raising a hand. "I won't be answering any of your questions."

    Amy's lashes fluttered, and she floundered for a response, but Wilma made a closing motion with her hand to get the agent to shut up.

    "Let me make this clear," said Wilma firmly. "I don't like, or trust, people like you. I despise you."

    "Ouch, harsh," said Amy under her breath.

    Wilma set her coffee aside and leaned forward, anger rolling off her in waves. "I don't associate with my brother," she said, her tone sharp, cut-throat. "I don't agree with what he does, I don't stand what he's done as of late, and most importantly, I'm sick and tired of being caught up in his business."

    Amy opened her mouth to speak, and Wilma spoke over her, glaring.

    "I mean it," she snapped. "If you come up to me again, or if any FBI does, I'll kill you. You hear me?"

    Amy swallowed, and she straightened herself with a feeble nod.

    "Good," said Wilma. "We're done here."

    She grabbed her coffee, stood up, and before Amy could even say another word, she stormed out of the cafe.

    Amy cursed under her breath and rushed out.

———

"Schneeplestein," said Wilford into the phone. "I know you told me to call, but I won't be needing your help anymore."

    The doctor made a curt noise through the line, and Wilford's fingers twitched over his phone. God, he could just strangle that green-headed nerd for breathing.

    "I-I, uh—vell, sir, I just, you know, I vanted to tell you zat I—"

    "Well spit it out," grumbled Wilford, glaring at a wall in his bedroom.

    "I found ze poison—ze, kind of poison."

    "And I found out who administered it," slurred Wilford. "I have another task for you, doctor. You remember Celine, right?"

    "Vhy yes, she's a regular customer—"

    "Good, I need you to—"

    Wait a minute.

    Wilford stopped himself in his tracks, and he squinted, pressing the phone against his ear. His brows furrowed.

    "Say that again?" he muttered.

    "Celine Larose, right?" said Schneeplestein, his accent heavy. "She buys my products quite often, we've... had a bit of a falling out because I couldn't produce ze poison I just investigated for you."

    Wilford nodded slowly, running a hand over his moustache. "Who do you work for, doctor?" he breathed.

    "I don't work for anybody, Mr. Varfstache," said Schneep indignantly. "Everyt'ing I do, I do for my family."

    An idea clicked in the back of Wilford's head, and he hummed, circling his bedroom slowly. "Good, that's good," said Wilford. "Listen, Schneep—Celine's been on a bit of a... reckless streak, lately. She might go for your little—possy if she feels like it."

    "Whatever do you mean?"

    "I'm not asking for any favors," slurred Wilford. "All I'm asking you is to keep your business away from Celine for a while... does that sound good?"

    "She insulted my vork last time ve met," said Schneep like an offended child. "Of course zat sounds good to me."

    "And—one last thing. Before I let you go," said Wilford, sitting on his bed. "Give me everything you know about Celine Larose."

———

Blank set a thin, black laptop on top of Celine's desk, his expression drawn back; vacant.

    Quiet weighed about the room as he opened the device, light spilling from the screen and unveiling a digital map. From the darkness, Celine drew her chair closer, scrutinizing the screen.

    "Wilford's location," said Blank quietly, hands folded in front of his lap. He barely moved, but with a slight tip of his gaze, Celine was directed to a red dot on the center of the map.

    "Less than an hour away..." breathed Celine, energy thrumming under her skin. All this time, and Wilford had been so close, so in reach. Her fingers practically itched at the thought of killing that man now, to get him out of the way so she could get to her most-awaited prize.

    Dark Edwards.

    Celine slid the laptop closer and zoomed in on the map, eyes running along roads and locations. When she clicked on the red dot—that little marker that revealed Wilford's hiding spot—it brought up a photo of the house itself.

    Yes, sang the energy beneath her skin, elated.

    It was a mansion, golden, with a sloping metal gate and thick, sand-brick walls. The edges of her black lips twitched at the sight.

    "Now that they know who I am," said Celine, eyes running along the map one more time, "they'll know I'm a woman of careful and meticulous planning." She leaned back in her seat and fell into thought. "Wilford may not be the brightest, but he'll know I won't attack without a plan." Her eyes glinted. "That's where he's wrong."

    Celine's gaze drifted up and landed on Blank's.

"Get a team to scope out the location," said Celine, pointing a finger at the screen. "Give me blind spots, guard counts, schedules of when they go in and out. Everything they can find out within a few days." That energy rushed through her, and she smiled.

"We're going to surprise Wilford with a little visit."

———

When Amy got into the car and slammed the door, Mark grimaced.

    "Well that didn't go well," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Amy. "You okay?"

    Amy huffed, and she nodded. Abe kept his eyes pinned on Wilma's figure, the car rumbling with life now that she was on the move. It was time for the second part of their plan—following her home.

    "She gave us what we needed, though," said Abe. "She's not working for her brother."

    "Yeah," said Amy with a glare, crossing her arms. "Which means she's a dead end."

    "Don't say that, yet," said Abe, merging onto the road when Wilma turned a street corner. "We still have to find out where she's based."

———

"Now as for Larose's location..." Schneepelstein was saying through the line.

    Wilford sat in the study room now, his legs propped up on the desk. He lazily took in his surroundings, and at the steady click of heels, he waited a moment to speak again.

    Dark appeared at the doorway, hands in his pockets, and Wilford's gaze flicked onto him, pinning him there. Energy sparked between them, and the businessman stopped in his tracks. His eyes flicked onto the phone in Wilford's hand, but before he could take a step back to give the mafia boss some privacy, the man tipped his chin up at him.

"Go on," said Wilford to the phone, waving Dark over.

Dark hesitated a moment before walking inside, seating himself in the chair across from Wil. His eyes ran along his figure—taking in the sight of him splayed like that—and carefully inhaled when the mafia boss slid his legs off the desk and sat up straight, facing Dark.

Wilford set the phone on the desk and put it on speaker.

"Alright," came Schneepelstein's voice, filling the room. "Now I'm only giving zis to you because she insulted me, Mr. Varfstache."

"I understand," slurred Wilford, resting his elbows on the desk and leaning forward. Dark caught himself staring at Wilford's chest through his popped-open collar, and he quickly cleared his throat.

Wilford's eyes landed on him, and when he rose a brow at him, Dark sent him a look that said 'What is this for?'

Wilford merely tapped his ear to signal he just listen.

"I don't know ze exact address," said Schneepelstein. "Celine alvays made sure to confuse me on ze vay there." He paused. "It's a manor on a dead street—avay from everyt'ing else. Real quiet."

Realization crossed Dark's face, and he scooted closer to the desk.

"The place, it's... abandoned."

———

The air in the police car was heavy as they followed Wilma, Mark's and Amy's eyes sharp on her to make sure they wouldn't lose her.

    The city was thinning, stretching into trashy housing editions and rundown buildings, and the crowds of people grew less and less. Pavement grew cracked and ignored, street signs tilted and walls streaked with graffiti.

    Wilma continued walking.

———

"Ze manor," continued Schneepelstein, "used to belong to her husband. Some... actor who died."

    "Markus..." said Dark under his breath.

    "It's hardly livable, zat place," said Schneep, and he made a shivering noise. "But she insists on living there. Other than zat, zat's all I can say about her location."

    Wilford glanced over at Dark, watching as he ran a hand over his mouth. He had a feeling the businessman knew exactly where this manor was.

    "That's good enough, doctor, thank you," said Wilford. "Is there anything else you know?"

    "The guard," said Schneep quickly, like he was scared at the mere thought of the person. "She has a bodyguard, a man named Blank. He scares me more zan she does, I'll tell you zat. Just looking in his eyes..."

    "Does she have any other guards?" said Wilford.

    "In zat house alone?" chimed Schneepelstein. "Only one group. But I know she has others around ze city."

    Wilford nodded. "Thank you again, Schneep," said the mafia boss. "Really, this time."

    The doctor lightly laughed. "I don't think you've ever said zose words to me before."

    "Don't ruin it," growled Wil.

    "Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Varfstache," said Schneep quickly. "If, if you need anything else, please just c—"

    Wilford hung up, and he set the phone aside, steepling his hands beneath his chin. He gazed at Dark expectantly, raising a brow at him.

    "Well?" he muttered, searching the other's face. "Do you happen to know where this manor is?"

———

Wilma turned another corner, this time down a quieter street, and Amy put a hand on Abe's shoulder before he could follow after.

    "Wait," said Nelson, meeting the Detective's eyes through the rear-view mirror. "It's not busy enough around here. If she looks around, she'll know we're onto her."

    "What do you want us to do, walk?" said Abe, idling in the middle of the street.

    Mark kept an eye on their surroundings. "That'd be our best bet," he said. "I still can't walk very well, so I can keep track of the car—"

    "No," said Abe. "It'd be too dangerous if we—"

    The noise of the car door opening and closing echoed down the street, and Abe jumped, looking out his window. Amy was already walking down the street, purpose in her every step.

    Abe rolled down his window.

    "Nelson!" he whisper-shouted, sticking his head out. "Jesus—Nelson, you idiot, get back here!"

    "Do we go after her?" said Mark, searching the street again. Cars were starting to come up on their tail.

    Abe cursed, and he sent another look at Amy before driving off to a parallel street.

    "We can't risk our cover," said Abe gruffly, "but we also can't leave her alone." He glanced at the rear-view mirror before turning, the police car rolling through yet another desolate street. "We'll drive around, stay in the area." He waved a hand at the laptop in front of Mark. "Activate those taps again just in case. She might be giving us clues on where she is."

    Mark nodded, and he pulled up a software with audio files and a red, flashing dot slowly moving on a real-time map. When he clicked open on one of the live files, Amy's voice carried through the speakers.

    "She'll recognize me," Amy was saying, "so I'm staying far back." Abe and Mark could hear the gravel crunching beneath her feet—the noise of half-life in the neighborhood. "I might lose her."

    "That's okay," said Abe under his breath, wishing they'd given Nelson an earpiece so they could properly communicate, no matter the distance.

    Abe drove the police car slowly, following the red dot on the map from a different street. Amy was beginning to slow from what they could see, and the Detective mirrored the motion, eventually pulling over to a stop on the side of the road.

    "Oh shit," came Amy's voice through the speakers—then the muffle of clothes against the mic and a rustle of a bush. "She's going into a house now, but it's..." A pause came through the line. "It's abandoned."

    Unease settled over the car, and Mark and Abe looked at each other.

    "Guys..." came Amy's voice. "I think this might be a trap—"

    A door slammed shut, the bushes rustled, and then Amy's shouting filled the speakers. The mic screeched and pounded with feedback, and Mark and Abe jumped in their seats, startling to life.

    "Fuck," cursed Abe, and he slammed on the gas, speeding towards Amy's location. "We messed up big time."

...

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day!

Love, Vic xoxo