On the hunt now, Briya gripped the half-charred journal in her hands while walking faster down the sidewalk. The rest of the story was missing, and she wanted to see how it ended.

Business after business, some abandoned, a couple not, she peered down alleyways and into husks of buildings in search of scattered paper. After over an hour had passed, her feet were tired, she'd missed her plane, and there was a rogue on the loose in the area, but she was fixated now. Miraculously, she hit pay dirt at another decrepit building that had obviously been torched. 

It was as if the pages were drawn to these old places, seeking protection from the elements until someone rescued them. Briya collected every piece of paper she could find, but once she'd finished and found a place to sit and read what was on them, she found that this was chapter three, not chapter two. Goddamn it! 

After pouting for a few moments and considering ramping up her search, she looked to the skies. No, it was getting too dark. Accept that this is all you're gonna get and be happy with it, she told herself.

Hello There

Chapter Three

I didn't think, I just reached out my hand and grabbed the other woman's gun hand, pushing it skyward before spinning into her in what would have been a lovely dance maneuver, had circumstances been different. More than a little shocked that the gun didn't discharge into the ceiling, I lost a precious second in wonderment at my opponent's self-control, which gave her just enough time to steady herself too close against me for me to deliver a backhand or rear kick. Instead I re-concentrated on the gun still in her grip, bending her wrist back awkwardly until a sharp intake of her breath prefaced it thudding to the carpet. Her arms now wrapped around me, I jolted backwards, my head connecting with her face before I leaned down and used her arms to lever her over my head.

She was an easy throw; as I said earlier, there wasn't much weight to her, but goddamn, she was quick and wiry. The minute her back hit the ground, she spun and rose back up like she was spring-loaded, and I could swear I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. 

Was she enjoying this? I wouldn't fault her if she was...things were just getting interesting.

Centering my weight, I threw two quick jabs, one glancing off her jaw and the other finding nothing but air as she returned the favor with a right hook that came out of nowhere. I should have seen it coming, but she wasn't a telegrapher...in other words, she wasn't giving off the telltale signs of what was coming. I wondered idly if she was any good at poker before feinting a left and striking out with my right foot instead, catching the side of her knee hard enough to wobble her a bit and allow me to finally land an uppercut that I could be proud of. Instead of going down like a good girl should, she grinned through a split lip and rabbit punched me so hard that I wondered if my liver would still work later, because I sure as hell would be needing it. I took it standing and stayed there, though, trading punches with this wiry dame like we were two boxers that refuse to let the decision go to the judges. At one point I kicked out again- admittedly, it was a bit sloppy but Jesus, I was getting winded. We both were. So when she caught my leg, I simply shifted my weight and we both went down like a ton of bricks, me landing on her and forcing twin, unladylike "OOF"s out of the both of us. I saw her reach for her piece then, trying to spoil the party. Ah, well. Playtime was over.

Lunging forward on elbows and knees, my fingers barely outreached hers, shoving the revolver hard across the floor. She looked at me then, this woman, and I could see her trying to understand why I'd done it. I should have finished her right then and there, left no witness behind. So why didn't I?

It wasn't part of the job, that's why. This wasn't a hit, it was a theft. I hadn't been paid to kill anyone. At least, that's what I would tell anyone who might ask. The truth was something I'd be examining later, in private, while nursing a very large vodka tonic and testing my bruised liver's capabilities.

So instead, I popped her a quick one that I knew wasn't good enough to knock her out for any length of time, but maybe just long enough to give me the minute and a half I needed. Her head snapped to the side and I watched her eyes blur...she had pretty ones, green, you hardly ever see true green eyes...then I snapped out of it and got my feet under me. I'm not gonna lie, I zigzagged to that safe, but my vision was clear enough through an eye cut that I didn't yet realize I had that I was able to get the safe open and the papers out before I could hear the woman on the floor behind me already trying to sit up. Uttering a soft curse word, I nearly threw myself back out the window I'd crawled through, not daring a backwards glance as I jogged painfully, and awkwardly, back to my car three-quarters of a block away.

As I fired up my pinched 1924 Rolls Royce boat-tail Silver Ghost, a waltz flitted up to my ears from the radio as I pulled away from the curb.

"Until We Meet Again, Sweetheart."

***

Briya's head snapped up after reading the last paragraph.

That was HER car. A 1924 Rolls Royce boat-tail Silver Ghost. 

A death-grip on the papers now, she stood and quickly made her way to an intersection in hopes of hailing a passing cab and getting the hell out of Detroit as quickly as possible.

As usual, there were just too damn many ghosts around here.

As Felix pushed open the heavy oak door, a sense of history enveloped him within the dimly lit bar. The air held echoes of whispered conversations, secrets exchanged in hushed tones, and the clandestine rendezvous of a bygone era. He stepped into what was once a notorious speakeasy, a place where high-profile mobsters had once gathered, their influence as intoxicating as the prohibited liquor that flowed.

The bar's interior was a portal to the past – vintage décor, plush leather booths, and an aura of mystery that clung to every corner. Felix couldn't help but wonder about the tales that lingered within these walls, stories of power struggles, alliances, and betrayals that had once shaped the city's underbelly.

Taking a seat at the bar, Felix ran his fingers over the polished wood, feeling a connection to the history that had unfolded here. The bartender, a seasoned presence, slid a negroni his way with a knowing smile, as if acknowledging the significance of this place.

As he sipped the smooth liquor, Felix's thoughts meandered through the corridors of time. The walls seemed to whisper secrets, the conversations of long-departed mobsters reverberating through the decades. He felt like an observer, momentarily transported to an era when the bar's walls had shielded the dealings of the criminal elite.

With each sip, Felix paid silent homage to the spirits of the past, both the notorious and the forgotten. He marvelled at the cyclical nature of life, how a once-illicit gathering place could now host an ex-con seeking a moment's reprieve. The bar's transformation from speakeasy to a different kind of sanctuary mirrored his own journey – from the shadows to the light, from history to redemption.