Richard
The precinct lights hummed behind me, casting long, sterile shadows across the cracked asphalt. Byron and Axle materialized from the gloom just then, both with that grim, tight-lipped expression I knew all too well.
"What's the situation?" I spat, the metallic tang of apprehension heavy in my throat. "Where's that double-crossing rat?"
Byron jerked his chin towards his car, parked discreetly half a mile away from the official lot. "The bastard almost blabbed the whole thing right there at the front desk," he growled as we walked. "I managed to drag him away with promises of giving him whatever he wants. Turns out, the weasel wants thirty grand to keep his yap shut or he will tell the sheriff that we work for Elliott Mason, and we framed him and wanted to arrest him for drug possession. We are lucky I was still at the precinct when he showed up."
