The docks were desolate, the cold air whipping off the water. Rusted shipping containers and abandoned warehouses loomed in the darkness like forgotten monuments. A clown in black trench coat moved like a shadow, his eyes scanning the area for his target.
Jakes wasn't hard to find. The man was older, scruffy, and looked like he hadn't seen a good night's sleep in years. He was leaning against one of the containers, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he scanned the horizon nervously.
Classic middleman behavior—always waiting, always looking over his shoulder.
Of course the clown, Riley approached silently, stepping into the dim light cast by the flickering Street lamp.
Before Jakes could react, Riley grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the side of the container.
"Evening, Jakes," Riley said with a twisted grin. "Heard you've been doing a little business with the Nightwalkers.
Care to share some details?"
