“There is someone out there we wish to find,” the man continues, “Information will be provided to you. You have your own resources and contacts, and you will have some use of ours. We expect you to help us to find this … individual.”
“Do I detain him when I find him?”
“Ah, confidence,” the voice says.
Duilio hears a very low chuckle. He finds it unnerving.
“No,” the man resumes, “You will not be able to do that. If you find him, you will let us know, immediately, and we will handle it.”
Duilio nods.
“We do not necessarily even expect you to succeed, but you may help us to narrow down possibilities.”
“I am to assume, then, that this … individual is one of the ‘special’ entities you’ve told me about?”
“A very good deduction, Inspector.”
Duilio manages to show no response, or he, at least, thinks he controls himself well enough. Though when the other person appears, he does dart his eyes up a bit too furtively, like a cornered animal. He allows himself some relief that the speaker behind him has not seen.
The man who approaches is dressed quite nicely, like a waiter, or perhaps even a butler, though as far as Duilio knows, there is no such person employed here. The man even holds a small tray, upon which awaits another serving of brandy and a small, thin object that looks all the world like an overly-large, though very nice, cigarette case.
The man stops, bending forward from the waist, proffering the tray.
“Uh, thank you,” the inspector finally manages, taking the drink and item.
The man dips his head once, a very slight gesture, very cultured, professional, and without a word, he exits the isolated area.
Duilio has another sip of the liquor, a good one, before he reaches for the case, depressing the small button on the side which allows it to open. It possesses some papers, obviously of a custom size, bearing of neatly spaced text, some photographs, and there is also a data key held in a precise compartment on the right side. He gives the information a cursory examination.
“You want me to go to America?”
“Possibly,” the voice answers, “You have sufficient information there to begin your investigation. If you think your direct presence is needed at the point of origin, then so be it.”
“Do you have reason to think the suspect is no longer there?”
“He is not a ‘suspect’, Inspector Duilio,” the man retorts, “He has entered our world, uninvited, and has already amassed a body count of over a dozen, even killing a Hunter in the process.”
Duilio swallows, finding it difficult to do so, so he picks up his glass, drinking more of the brandy. He really needs a cigarette. He has not been told to not smoke, but he feels, for some reason, that he must wait until this appointment is over before he does.
“And now we shall hunt him … wherever that takes us.”
So, he is to be a beater for their falconry, he realizes. Very well. He will do his best to avoid the talons.
*****
Courses had continued through the summer, though attendance had been lessened in the already somewhat irregular turnout. There had been a short break, for the instructor had been abroad, but now the self-defense classes have resumed. Therese is here again, showing a greater dedication than she had with her original attempt.
The hacker is learning, and she watches closely as Lilja demonstrates various moves, especially how to use them on a larger opponent. Her partner for this is again, as usual, Miranda, the large woman suitable for these examples.
“Learn self-defense for your protection,” Lilja begins, readying to execute the motions, “In a fight, size does matter. Those who say it doesn't haven't ever fought a bigger opponent. Bigger opponent has more mass, more power, more reach. Well, the number one option is always to get away, but assuming that is not possible and you are facing the bigger opponent, you need to bridge that gap between you and their reach and not give them room to act.
“Become a hard target,” and so said, and with a subtle indication of readiness from the instructor, Miranda launches an ‘attack’.
The tall woman rushes toward her teacher, hands extended on out-stretched arms, and the more petite woman lunges into it, reaching forward with her own arms, using her speed to meet the assault. Her hands go inside Miranda’s reach, confusing at her face, then pushing in and out to spread the attacker’s arms even as the shorter woman continues with forward momentum, turning herself and her opponent, using the right arm. A knee shoots up to the now bending woman’s sternum, then Lilja moves behind, hands on the back, up near the shoulders, a sharp, downward kick to behind the knee, taking her opponent down, her own knee placed over the head as she looks about, then moves away.
They go through a few such scenarios, demonstrating the various ways someone may suddenly attack, and Lilja moves through the motions smoothly, efficiently, coming close to but never fully striking Miranda, giving occasional quick explanations, but mainly just showing the actions for now.
“Alright, I am now going to demonstrate what happens in the case your attacker has managed to get you on the ground, and they are on top of you,” she informs.
She then lies on her back, knees up, feet flat on the ground as Miranda moves in, leaning over. Lilja shoots her arms up, pressing back on the larger woman’s shoulders, and the other reaches around, placing both her hands about the instructor’s neck, as though to choke her. Lilja moves her arms, placing them over Miranda’s, crossing them and grabbing her attacker, her thumbs atop her student’s wrists, not around them. She then presses down, trying to break the hold, which the larger woman resists.
Making another quick effort, LIlja raises her hips up as high as they can go and brings them down with force, pressing downwards with elbows onto the choking arms at the same time, adding power from the abdomen into the movement. Miranda’s arms bend from this, and the pressure from the choke is released. Lilja then slips sideways, using a foot for leverage, until her other foot is also against her opponent’s hip. She then shoves hard, sliding the larger woman away, even as Miranda tries to maintain her grip about her ‘victim’s’ neck. She rises up, giving an opening for multiple, fast kicks from Lilja.
Once they have gone quite quickly through the initial show, the teacher gets to her feet, facing the class in preparation for pairing up and slowly going through the various motions in greater detail and tutelage.
Lilja always iterates that the main goal is to escape any threatening situation in which one finds one’s self, mitigating risk proactively. Just disable or thwart the attack as best as possible, then run away. Therese is adept at gleaning information, but not so much when it is directly from talking to a person. It has taken time to not only build trust but to also come more out of her own shell. Still, she has learned more of the generally taciturn and private instructor in the ensuing time.
Lilja is an accomplished practitioner of martial arts and a certified instructor, though she does not presently teach that. This is not a mere understanding and practice of self-defense, though, and the woman’s level of skill is quite apparent if one watches closely. She does not generally participate in competitions, though she has some experience with helping to train others for that. She thinks that the martial arts are better suited for the benefits of health, confidence, and real world applications. This last part intrigues Therese the most.
She doesn’t possess enough information to make an outright accusation. She sometimes ponders just coming out and flatly asking, but then she shies off, thinking even that such would be very ungrateful and rude, considering the vigilante saved her twice last year. Besides, if Lilja is the vigilante, which Therese suspects more and more, why would she admit it?
The young hacker and fledgling detective has generated timelines, and though there was some lagging period, she had been contacted through the usual ‘shadow’ channels about her cyber skills after she had initially taken the self-defense classes
here. That may not prove anything more than coincidence, but the opposite seems more likely to potentially disprove. She is taking that approach – trying to find reasons to strike the name of Lilja Perhonen from her very short list of vigilante suspects.
And then there is this trip abroad and the period of quiet from her contact.
Again, it could be coincidence, and interaction with her contact is not on any set pattern, but there has been an awful lot of quiet for some time, though scant communication has now resumed. She had baited, holding on to some juicier tidbits about the developing situation in the city, thinking that might lure a response. It had worked, and though it had come before Lilja’s resuming of classes, she doesn’t know exactly when the woman returned or what access she may have had while away.
Lilja takes a short shower, now alone in the gymnasium, having done her own exercises after everyone had left. She knows the risk with Therese, but coming up with some sincere reason why the girl should not attend her class would be even more suspicious. The best way to alleviate curiosity is to continue as though everything is ‘normal’, perhaps even boring, and most definitely mundane.
Her life, which already held a rather exciting secret, has gone so far from mundane as to make her time as the masked vigilante seem child’s play in comparison. She continues with that. Tremendous changes have arisen, but there is still crime in this city and that of a sort she will fight as long as she is able. As it had been explained to her so many months ago, the negative energies generated by the human trafficking and sexual slavery had also coupled with the blood sacrifices of the mounting number of dead girls, leading to the opening of the gateway to the other realm, the one they call the Infernal. So, if anything, her new knowledge of this, and her new training as a Hunter of those very demonic creatures, is tied to her double life as the vigilante. Stopping the crimes may help to stem the influx of those monsters. So now she leads a … triple life?
She also thinks of him, and a gentle smile takes her lips. They have now been a couple for a year. She can tell he wants more from her, and he generally takes her hesitancy with some display of patience. She is not as free in expressing her emotions as is he, and she does not have his courage in the approach of such intimacies and bonds. She is clearly growing more attached to him, though, having felt herself to fall into him quite quickly, almost frightening herself into putting distance between them. As she thinks back on it, now, she is glad she did not.
Her hands move over her fit, lithe body, a soapy slickness having been generated by her showering. Her fingertips brush very near to her pubis, completely shaved as she has done so for some time, though he had told her to keep it so once they had grown far enough along in their relationship. She enjoys the Rules, along with the continued and increasing BDSM aspect of their union. Another Rule, one which had also developed later in their time together, would be that she would not touch her genitalia in an erotic manner unless she had his permission. She likes that one, too, as though having given a part of her sexuality to him. She knows that some might misinterpret this as his undue control over her, but what they both know is that she is giving it to him, freely, and what more power might one evince? This is what both of them want, and she could certainly stop it anytime.
She lets more stimulating thoughts of him run through her mind, running slick hands over her toned thighs, passing very near her pussy then along her belly and up to her breasts, massaging them, clutching, her nipples perking with arousal. She has kept up with her missions after all this time, namely his task, another standing Rule, that she take some time out of every work day and masturbate and think of him. She is allowed, of course, to touch herself directly during these times, but she had already done her mission earlier today. She will tell him of this when they talk this evening, and she suspects he will like it. She also thinks of how he might react, what he might desire of her, what he might do to her, and this excites her further. She emits a light moan, then she stops, blinking, looking around, a flush rising to her pale skin. Of course, she is alone, and now that the spell is broken, she completes what had originally intended to be a “short” shower, smiling to herself as she thinks of finishing up and getting home to him.
*****
They have been partners for many years. They’ve learned much of each other in that time, and so it does not surprise Quain when he sees the burly man standing there in the park along the route he often uses to jog. What does surprise him is why he has chosen to meet with him this way.
“Hey, Alec,” he greets, stopping near the other, shortness of breath evident in him as well as the sheen of sweat on his dark flesh.
“Quain,” the other says, eyes taking careful study of the more athletic man.
“What brings you out here?”
Quain places his hands on his waist, taking deeper, more calming breaths, keeping his gaze on Alec, noting the signs of stress, maybe even fear. There is something in the eyes he does not like.
“What’s going on?” he pushes.
“I met with the new boss.”
Quain nods, still working on gaining a more relaxed respiration. He waits a moment, then realizes his partner has again lapsed into some odd, contemplative silence. He pulls in a much deeper breath, through parted lips, then closes them, holding it before releasing through his nostrils.
“And?” he tries, feeling suddenly like a dentist, “How was it? What’s he like?”
“Kazimir Volkov. That’s his name.”
Quain nods, agreeably, though they both know he did not ask that.
“He scared me.”
Quain wrinkles his brow, then blinks it away after a moment of pontification.
“New guy trying to impress people?” he guesses.
“No, no, it … it wasn’t like that,” the big man dismisses, and Quain spies a motion of the other’s hand as it reaches into his jacket, not to go for a gun, but heading to where he usually keeps his flask.
Alec does produce the metal object, but he just holds it in both hands, fingertips of his right moving slowly over it as though it were some good luck charm that might gently milk it for all it is worth. The index finger teases over the cap, brushing it.
“The whole time I was there, I felt like I might be killed at any moment,” he adds, looking away, as though plumbing the annals of his memory, then his eyes snick to his partner, an even greater degree of intensity to his already serious tone. “He’s a dangerous man, Quain.”
“Gnegon was dangerous, too.”
“Yes, yes,” and again comes the dismissive aspect, “But with Gnegon, even when we butted heads, I felt like I knew where I stood. When things were calm, or even when I didn’t back down as quickly as I should have, I never felt like my life was in jeopardy, or if I was pushing him that hard, he’d take his finger off the trigger when things relaxed, you know?”
Quain nods.
“But this guy … it-it-it’s.” The stammering alarms Quain for he cannot recall a single time he had heard it from his partner. “It’s like any breath could be your last. He wasn’t even that obviously threatening. He even insulted me, and you know how I usually get when someone does that to me …”
And again come the nods, for Quain knows far too well this behavior on the part of his colleague.
“But I didn’t get angry. I was scared, and I tried to placate him. I really thought I was pleading for my life. I was relieved when I got out of there.”
“Then don’t work for him,” comes the flat assessment.
A somewhat snorted chuckle is the response, incredulity laden in the brief expression.
“We’ve been doing this for so long that we began to think we had to,” Quain elaborates, “My eyes were opened after what happened. I’m out. Why don’t you get out, too?”
Alec begins to shake his head, a weight to it, before the other’s short sentence is even complete.
“No, no. I have no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Alec.”
&
nbsp; And another of the single, exhaled chuckles retorts.
The more athletic man looks away, the right side of his mouth curling towards an obvious expression of disappointment.
“You will be happy to know, I think, that he seems to have no issue with you.”
Those eyes cut back over, looking sidelong.
“That’s good to know,” comes the guarded response.
“He respects that you made a choice.”
Quain just adds another nod, his thoughts careening with what this all may mean, but he does not show it.
“So, you haven’t?”
“I have now.”
A larger exhale comes through the nostrils, and then more nods, slow, ponderous.
“I guess we ought to put in a transfer request, or one of us, at least.”
“I like working with you, Quain,” Alec replies, and his eyes again stare, almost as if boring, as if pleading for a solution that works to keep them together as compatriots.
“I like working with you too, man.” Quain grins. “Even if you are a pain in the ass.”
And this gets a good-natured chuckle.
“You’ve saved my fat ass more than once,” Alec admits.
“Hey, we’re partners.”
Alec shrugs his beefy shoulders. “Not anymore, huh?” he finally speaks.
Another audible exhale emerges, this one lengthening into what might pass for a sigh. “Maybe not, but we don’t have to become enemies, do we?”
“No,” Alec agrees, a twist going to his lips, a short, near silent chuckle, “You’d kick my ass.”
“I don’t know, man,” Quain jokes, beginning to bounce lightly, like a boxer, “You’re pretty tough, and you’ve got me out-weighed.”
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