Young Writers Society

December 20, 4140

7:30 AM

Harry and Robe were escorted out of the building, with the boxes of cannoli, by a hundred pairs of eyes. Anthony leaned far enough from the booth and opened his blazer, so that they could clearly see the row of weapons. Harry knew that she recognized him but couldn’t quite place the name to the face.

“Like there was any chance I would fight them. Look at all this money, Robe. We never really have to work.”

He wasn’t paying much attention. Robe half wondered if they were poisoned but was also interested in tasting the quality, since if it came from the Fiacre bakery. Depending on who was working on any given day, their pastries would either be fabulous or blood stained. The odds were good for the cannoli being blood free but Robe had had one too many “jelly filled” donuts, to avoid the plaguing thought.

“Robe, look at me, not at the cannoli.”

“Sorry, I guess I’ll drive.”

As they climbed into the car she asked him, “Did you not hear a word I was saying?”

“Sorry, I was just distracted by the cannoli. I’m worried about finding blood and bones in them, like we did in that dozens of jelly donuts down at the precinct.”

“I still don’t see why y’all didn’t report that to the health department.”

“Would you honestly report a mob restaurant to a mob controlled department?”

“Yes but I’m not you. Just drive before they start shooting at us.”

While they drove from the Fiacre restaurant back to the office, Robe hummed a few bars to the ballad of Sweeney Todd. He glanced down at the box on the seat as he sung aloud, “they went to their maker impeccably shaved.”

Harry gave him a few subtle hints to stop, including obscene gestures from her home planet, Nerot. On Nerot, in the city of Tanis, it was never too good of an idea to stick a thumb to one side and a pinky to the other. The gesture assumed the user would have the correct digits, or else it looked like a friendly signal wave, the polar opposite of the intended message.

From the district the Fiacre family resided in (Italia) to where the former office of Roth & Marrow stood in the Ariza district, it was a good hour’s drive by private citizen. And a less bad half hour’s drive by police siren. Perhaps this was a misuse of the siren that hooked into his cigarette lighter, but he had seen cops use it for more immoral things.

As an overall of working for this family, he had seen cops do more immoral things. If there was a scale for how much dirt certain officers were covered in, Robe would only have a light dusting of pet dander and bacon grease. He burned buildings but he certainly never burned bodies.

This lack of conversation, this lack of communication between the two team members was a standard. Each had a personal tie that kept bringing them back, though the money certainly made it easier. Harry still clutched to the relationship she had left six years ago, even though he knew she was proposing to Will in a few days. And Robe, well he hung onto the memory of Ita, when he was treated like a sister rather than a brother.

“Robe, do you ever think that we should maybe talk after these things?”

“Why would you ever think about a funny thing like that? We’re almost back to the office, can’t we talk about this some other time?”

Harry slid up against the back of her seat, straightened the gun belt hanging loosely around her waist and repeated the news she had told him 3 weeks ago.

“I’m proposing to Will on Christmas Eve and I want your serious feedback. Or your serious feedback on anything, like how we just erased all traces of a serious mob hit warehouse?”

“And you want to know if I’m bother by it? Of course, I’m bothered by it but the money and the food helps distract me. Are you going soft on the business?”

The Auburn stopped outside of the main entrance to the 3-story warehouse Harry called her home and office.

“Robe, I’ve been a trained killer, all my life. My species was bred for war. I’m just trying to find something different.”

She picked her leather coat out of the back seat.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“No. I ought to be getting back to the precinct, lots of paper work to file about a new arson case.”

She started to say, “next time”, but he had already driven away.

They always said that they would get to the coffee next time but the past had proved not to mix too much business with pleasure.

It was now 8 AM.

Willard would be getting up now and starting to shower.

Maybe there was a chance for Harry to get something out the morning.

Walking up the long stairway, she pushed the thought out of her head for a moment, trying to remind herself that she needed to switch to a more professional mood. The doors would open, officially, in 30 minutes and her desk was already flooded with case files.

When Roth & Marrow had founded their detective agency, however many centuries ago, they had chosen a district that wasn’t too heavily controlled by one family. There were a few neutral districts that resided within the Delta city and no one was ever bold enough to try and change the status.

Even if they did dare to build up the courage, it wasn’t worth the effort.

As a neutral district, it meant the businesses could trade with any other district, with any other family, and get certain goods to certain people at certain prices. The goods were sometimes referring to guns, sometimes referring to people, but were most often referring to food.

Harry’s mind switched to thinking about all the corruption in the agriculture and food distribution services, once hearing the shower handle screech back to a close. She had spent a bit too long on the job site and missed not only Will waking up, but a chance to talk before the morning rush began.

Will walked out of the bathroom in her robe and gasped at the sight of Harry sitting on the bed, her rumpled raincoat showing the very familiar signs of being a witness to a fire. The smoke from the mixture of fuel and burning wood, had seeped deep into the jacket and no cleaner had ever managed to get it out.

“Harry, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“I told you, I’ll always be home by 8am or 8pm. I prefer for it to be the morning hour though, more time to spend with you.”

In the pocket of the rumpled raincoat, Harry turned a small ring box over in her palm, wondering how long she should wait or if she should just make the moment special now. And then again, memories rushed to her, along with regret.

“You always have the most serious look when you’re thinking and I want to know what’s spinning around in your head.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Harry, what are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna need you to hold all of my calls for a while.”

Harry thought she would be able to enjoy the rest of her morning.

She thought that burning the warehouse had ended all the unpleasantness with Roth & Marrow.

The old guys might not have been exactly on the level but when she got away from the Federation Service, they were the only family a lost little soldier had. Burning the warehouse might have burned some memories, but the image of the man who had killed them was still seared into her mind.

Anthony Vinconni.

The man in the pin stripe suit.