I believe violence to be the first solution for the lowest minds and the last solution for the brightest minds. So, it was with chagrin that I got into a fight five minutes after walking into the gentleman's club. In hindsight, I should have waited until my mark was finished, but I was on a tight schedule. I busted down the door and caught him two inches deep into a brunette with hazel eyes. I'm not even trying to paint an emasculating image of the fellow, it really was just unfortunate for both of us. Unfortunate for him for obvious reasons, unfortunate for me because his manhood was the only small thing about him.

No sooner was he off the prostitute than was he on me. I didn't even have time to draw my sword or begin visualizing a sigil for a spell. He lifted me by the collar of my long coat and tossed me down the hall. My training didn't necessarily prepare me for being thrown like an annoying puppy, but it kicked in all the same. I landed on the side opposite of my sword belt and rolled to my feet with minimal pain in my hip. My mark stepped out into the hall, uncaring of the heads that were starting to peek out from other rooms.

I walked forward to pick up my pointy, wide-brimmed hat and dusted it off. I sighed as I secured it atop my head. "I hope you know this will become my favorite story to tell at the pub."

"If you live long enough to tell it," he said with a scowl.

The mark was Lucas Bell, of House Bell. The warrant for his arrest had a red wing stamp, meaning it came from House Bell. The reward was substantial, so imagine my surprise when the warrant was offered to a lowly street wolf like me before anyone else. The longer I thought about it, and the longer I stared at Lucas - at his eyes - the more I suspected the whole thing was a prank.

I put my hand on the pommel of my sword sheathed on my hip. "I'll make you an offer. You come in quietly, and I'll let you put on some pants before I bring you in."

In response, Lucas stalked forward, slow and inevitable as a locomotive.

I stepped back and put up my palm. "Stop, you won't like how this ends."

In response, Lucas swung for my head. I swayed back, feeling the wind of the passing fist brush against my nose. Another blow came and I dodged back from that one as well. We continued the dance until my back hit a door at the end of the hall. The next blow was aimed for my nose and I had to duck to avoid it getting broken. Wood splintered as the brick sized fist crashed against the door.

Lucas swore and the couple behind the door screamed. Past Lucas, I could see a crowd forming in the hall. The warrant never stated the need for discretion, but considering the client, it would be best to assume that's what they wanted. That meant it was in my best interest to end this before it could get any worse.

Lucas was open and I was in his reach. My back being to the wall, there wasn't any room to wind up a proper punch to the solar plexus. That left me with only one option for ending this quickly.

It was a light punch with no follow through, yet it rendered Lucas a wheezing, naked pile on the floor.

"You cheat," He wheezed.

"I never drew my sword. I showed you plenty of honor," I said, shaking my head.

He opened his mouth to reply. Vomit came out instead of words. The right thing to do would be to help him get cleaned up and dressed before bringing him to the lock up. Instead, I did the smart thing. I rolled him to his back with my foot, though I was sure to roll him away from the vomit. He gave no resistance as I pinned his wrists together behind his back. I extended my hand to the side and whispered, "Catena."

Points of blue light appeared at the tips of my extended fingers. Glowing tendrils slithered down from the lights until each were several feet long. Gasps and whispers came from the onlookers. Among the curses was the word "Magus."

I paid them no heed. Bind Wires took time and concentration. The tendrils followed my mental commands, wrapping around Lucas' ankles and wrists. Despite the bindings being wire thin and pressing deep, they never broke the skin. They wouldn't so long as I didn't command it.

With the bindings in place and stood with hands on my hips, thinking of how I was going to get Lucas off the ground and out of the brothel. Despite what I said earlier, I wasn't about to bring him in with Little Lucas out where the sun could see him. A solution came to me.

I knocked on the door Lucas punched and opened it. A man and prostitute were holding each other in the corner. I pointed to the sheet wrapped around their shoulders. "How much for that?"

After some haggling, I got the blanket for the low, low price of promising to never come back. I wrapped the cloth around Lucas' waist and hoisted him up onto my shoulder. More whispers came from the crowd. I could imagine what it looked like to them. I was above average in terms of height and build, but would never be mistaken for an athlete. Certainly not someone who could lift a man who weighed 15 stone at the least. Yet, lifting him was as easy for me as it was for a baker to lift a sack of flour. I exited the brothel, minding Lucas' head when going through doorways.

My horse, a shaggy mare named Belinda, waited for me at the entrance. She was hitched to my cage wagon, an invention of my own making. It was a basic wagon with the top removed and replaced with iron bars and reinforced wooden sides. The only opening was in the back, where a restricting gurney rolled out to secure prisoners. I tried to shoo away some curious street urchins looking at the inside of the wagon, but they were too enamored by what they thought had to be some sort of mobile torture machine. I flashed some coppers between my fingers, which got their attention. I tossed them over my shoulder, and almost got bowled over as the little ones ran past to fetch the coins.

I caught a little arm as its attached hand was almost out of my pocket. A little urchin boy with a smudged face and dark hair looked up at me with a chaginned expression. With a flat look for the boy, I slowly extracted the hand which was still clutching a silver piece. The other children were fighting over the copper pieces and wouldn't hear anything I said. I crouched down, with a pliant Lucas still on my shoulder, and looked the urchin in the eye.

"Go to Mrs. Downing on Luebon's street and give that to her. Tell her you want the Urchin's Special and that Roravan Cross sent you. Got it?"

The little boy nodded and I let go of his arm. He rubbed at his wrist, and stared at the silver in amazement. It was likely the most he'd ever held at one time. He looked up at me, confusion and a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "What's an urchin's special?"

I stood and began fishing the keys to the wagon out of my pocket. "A hot meal, a new set of shoes, and a set of comfortable clothes made to look dirty and ugly. They'll feel like silk to you and no one will ever want to steal them."

The boy's eyes lit up, then immediately became wary as he looked to the other urchins. Their squabbling was ending with the largest girl claiming most of the coins.

"Go on now, before the big one sees it," I said before turning my attention back to the wagon. I rolled out the gurney and placed Lucas on it. The little boy fled into the crowd

"That little turd is going to get robbed by the end of the night," Lucas said as I was tying him down.

"Shut up."

I cinched the strap around his diaphragm extra tight. He'd be able to breathe, but talking would be hard.

The ride back to my lockup was uneventful. As always, my hat and violet eyes attracted stares and whispers, which I ignored. I'll take stares and whispers over the curses and rocks I used to get in the old city.

The lockup was. Two blocks south and you would be in the slums. It was an inn which I converted into a Street Wolf's lockup. It included an apartment, office, workshop, kitchen, and iron cells. What it was NOT supposed to include was a line of women going out the door.

I grimaced as I realized why they were there. I had put out an ad for a new secretary. It would be hard to find a replacement for Kushala, but I would sooner die than do this job alone with no one to take care of the paperwork. Even if that meant going through the pain of finding a new employee. I quickly covered up my grimace with a polite smile as I waved at the ladies.

"Hello! You're all here for the secretary job?"

They gave their assent, though with varying degrees of disgruntlement. An older woman with the biggest spectacles I've ever seen came up to me as I dismounted Belinda.

"Young man, I have something to say to you." Her voice was paper thin, yet still somehow strong.

I glanced between her and the cage. "Can't it wait until your interview?"

"I think not." She drew herself up. "You have some gall!"

I blinked. "Pardon?"

The old woman shook her head. "Having your secretary entertain and manage her replacements while you go galavanting about!"

I blinked again. What in the Yamlao was this woman talking about?

"Missus, my secretary died, that's why I'm hiring."

The woman harrumphed and put her nose in the air. "I have no interest in whatever spat you two are having that is causing you to spew such filth. I only stayed long enough to say that you, sir, are despicable."

Several women in line gave their agreement and they all walked away like a flock of hens. I was left standing there with a confused squint. I felt reprimanded, but had no idea why. I was going to take care of Lucas first, but I had to know what was going on.

"You gonna be alright there, Lucas?" I called out.

"I'm going to kill you when I get out," he called back.

"Uh-huh. Be right back."

The reception area of the lock up was a rectangular, little room with doors leading to the important areas. I kept the door to reception unlocked during the day. Women occupied all the chairs I'd set out earlier that morning. Only one woman stood, yet she was no taller than any of those sitting. She approached me as I walked through the door, a ledger in her arms.

The woman had pale, blue skin, marking her as one of the Yillens. Her hair, tied up in an elegant bun, was thundercloud gray and her eyes were the color of clear skies. Those eyes were big enough by themselves, but were made even larger by her round glasses. Make up was minimal and she would have been pretty or cute, if that face had any expression at all. She wore a navy dress of modern style, meaning low neckline, tight in the midriff, with a skirt ending at the ankles. She wore a doily-like blouse beneath, covering up her considerable cleavage. Though the top of her head barely reached the middle of my chest, she looked me in the eyes as if we were the same height.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cross," She said, adjusting her glasses.

"Um, good afternoon," I said with a confused frown.

The other women looked as displeased as the rest, though they must have still been interested considering they were still there and not actively chewing me out.

The woman flipped through her ledger. "While awaiting your arrival, I took the liberty of organizing your interviews." She held up the page containing a numbered list of names.

I took the ledger and admired the hand writing. It was elegant and readable. I would have settled for just the latter

"I've also taken the liberty of going through some preliminary questions for each of the candidates. These questions and the answers from each candidate can be found by following the notations on each listed name."

Sure enough, each notation led me to detailed notes on each candidate.

"This is uh… very thorough," I said, still amazed.

She nodded with grace. "Thank you."

"And how did you order this list?"

"At random, to create an equal playing field."

I considered the woman for what would have been an uncomfortably long time for most people. She simply looked back with a polite, yet distant, professionalism.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Daora Kusanali."

"Are you comfortable with my line of work?"

Daora clasped her hand before her. "Respectfully, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. I've also spent two years as a secretary at the fifth precinct."

That caught me off guard. The fifth precinct covered the Slopes and was considered the worst posting amongst the constabulary. Not just for the coppers, but anyone. And she lasted two years there.

I closed the book and handed it back to her. "One last question. How good is your coffee?"

A hint of a smile played on Daora's lips. "My roommate is an apprentice at Cafe Lemoux. I help her prepare drinks on some weekends."

I regarded her for a moment longer, trying not to smile like I've found a 100 crown bank note on the ground. I looked to the rest of the women, who were scowling, and said, "Thank you for your time, ladies."

They moaned and complained as they left and I was soon left alone with Daora who stood where she was.

"The pay isn't great," I said, turning back to her.

"It is acceptable," She replied.

"The paperwork is heavy, tedious, and requires precision."

"I am precise and have a high tolerance for bureaucracy"

"I can be mean sometimes."

"I understand your job is stressful and will be patient, though I will expect an apology should you ever express unwarranted anger toward me."

I regarded her with a stoic expression, before it broke into a smile. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Living my own life, Mr. Cross. Am I safe to assume you are offering this position to me?"

I snorted and gestured to the empty seats. "Can you start immediately?"

Daora smiled and seemed to release some tension. "Of course."

I grinned, blessing my luck. Never would I have expected it to be this easy. The work wasn't done. I was going to dig into her background and find any holes in her story. I doubted she was a spy for some rival Street Wolf agency or some prank set up by someone who hated me, but I wasn't going to take any chances.

"There's your office," I said, pointing to the door at one end of the room. There was a barred window separating the secretaries office from the waiting room. "Some of Kushala's stuff - she was the secretary before you - is still in there. You can set that aside. In one of the drawers is a Warrant Fulfillment form. It's called a W5 or something like that."

"W6," Daora corrected. "It's supposed to be prepared with an PI3, or prisoner identification form. I assume you have ink for prints?"

I grinned again.

Daora returned a reserved smile. "I'll take that as a yes. I can begin filling out the basics. Who are you bringing in?"

"Lucas Bell."

Doara raised an eyebrow. "As in, House Bell?"

I clicked my tongue and nodded my head. "The warrant should be on my desk upstairs."

"I'll get right to work then," She said, already making her way toward the secretaries office.

I watched her walk away, still smiling. Though, I felt some anxiety. You see, there's this saying about things that are too good to be true…