“Connection,” Cap said without batting an eye, “your best bet is to pretend to be someone who needs their services, but we need a connection with someone inside of that business that wecan schmooze to get information. We need to get closer to their servers for more information, if we can swing it.”
“Or, at the very least,” I said as I stepped out of my corner, “someone who’s willing to talk about what’s on those servers.”
Cap nodded. “Exactly.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and shrugged. “Easy as pie.”
A face flashed in my mind. The assistant from the footage. The one I’d already clocked as wrong for that place.
I kept my mouth shut. If she was the weak link, I’d confirm it myself.
Cap grinned as he raised his hand. “All in favor of sending Ghost in to see what he can accomplish without raising any flags on our end, raise your hands.”
And one by one, each hand of the inner circle of the crew shot their hands into the air.
In my favor.
About time we had some excitement around here.
It’s showtime, motherfuckers.
3
GHOST
A car honked its horn at a convertible at the intersection where I sat. The shadows of the alleyway cloaked me.
A favorite perch of mine.
Not this alleyway specifically. But darkness. I understood Brutus in that regard. The darkness always gave us advantages. It gave me the ability to slink around and witness things that people would otherwise like to keep hidden.
Or, in the instance of the road rage brawl happening in the middle of the street, I got front row seats to a good bit of entertainment.
I grinned as I slipped a piece of popcorn beneath my mask.
I watched the two middle-aged men with socks pulled up to their knees try to throw hands like they were something. The first punch told me everything I needed to know about the man who honked at the convertible. Just another man, trying to prove his worth while breaking his knuckles.
Watching him howl made me smirk as I slid another piece of popcorn beneath my mask.
“One broken knuckle for you,” I muttered.
Only for the man in the convertible to try to punch back before howling and holding his hand.
“And two broken knuckles for you,” I said with a chuckle.
I relaxed back on my bike, my boots kicked up on my handlebars. The sky above was overcast, giving me the perfect cover about ten feet from the entrance to the back alley. My eyes roved over the police officers who showed up to disburse the angry men who honestly needed to get back to their lawnmowers and leave the fighting to the professionals.
It was weird what people considered to be a man nowadays.
When I got bored of the commotion, my gaze slid back to the building behind them. My head tilted back to recount the stories of Langley, Pierceson, and Dahl. Twenty one stories. That motherfucking building was the tallest one in downtown Bryersville. It loomed over everything else, casting hard shadows whenever the sun moved. Its black reflective windows shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting the world back to the people below instead of giving us an inside look at what was going on.
Intentional, to say the least.
Looks pretentious as fuck.
I flipped up my mask and let the wind catch my scars. My eyes fluttered closed before I took another bite of my popcorn. Whoever said scar tissue never regrew sensation was stupid. I always felt the wind on my face.
Doc said it was phantom sensations.
