Cui Bono

     The blond nurse lightly knocked twice on the door to Kent Wheelock’s hospital room. After waiting thirty seconds, he pushed the door open, saying, “I talked to the doctor about giving you something for the pain…” Confused, the nurse stepped back into the hallway and verified the room number, before reentering the room and checking the bathroom. When he approached the bed, he found a pile of discarded bloodied gauze and other random medical supplies. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Back at the nurse’s station, he jotted down a quick note about the missing patient as well as a reminder to make a complaint to the Mercury’s Elite Guard liaison stationed in the hospital. He then continued his rounds, nearing the surgery wing where he was forced to jump out of the way of the swinging doors as Doctor Conway angrily shoved through, cussing up a storm.

     “…no right to interfere! I don’t care who he is. That man fucking dies it’s on General Whistler’s head. Don’t think I won’t inform the Kaiser!” Doctor Conway practically shouted over his shoulder at the pair of Regulars who stood just inside the swinging doors. For their part, the two Regulars ignored the surgeon’s outburst and maintained their posts.

Sua Sponte

     A buxom woman sat in the shadow of the Pissing Puppy Statue just outside of Sentinel Cemetery on the edge of the Forum Publicos. From her vantage point she could see the heavy foot traffic going in and out of the forum shops while also maintaining an ever watchful eye on the cemetery passage. She chewed her bottom lip as she waited.

     “I’ll never understand why you’d risk a public meeting,” a man whispered as he sat down in the shadows next to her.

     “The bigger risk is meeting you in private,” the woman answered. “You’re lucky I waited.”

     “I had no doubt that you would,” the Inquisitor laughed.

     Ignoring his laughter she asked, “do you have it?”

     He sat a small beige tote bag on the cement next to her, saying, “everything you need to start over.”

Dum Vivam

     Sergeant Caspian stood in the kitchen of Goldie’s Revenge arguing with the bar owner as blocked the doorway to the basement stairs. The woman stared up at him, shoving her forefinger into his chest. “I know what I heard. And, I’m telling you, it’s going to stop right here and now.” She shoved the point of her half-inch fingernail into his sternum. He grabbed her finger and held it in place. She struggled to pull it back, “let me go.”

     “Ma’am. You will stop,” he practically threw her hand away.

     “I don’t care who’s down there. This is my bar. Not a torture chamber. Either you go down and put an end to it or I will.”

     “My orders are clear. Back away from the door now, ma’am,” Sergeant Caspian ordered, his body tensed.

Fide Indigni

     Pointing to the stolen cargo van, the Inquisitor ordered Jougs to pull in behind it. By way of acknowledgement, Mr. Jougs jerked the steering wheel hard to the left. The Inquisitor gave Jougs a dirty look, but said nothing as the car slammed to a stop near the discarded shipping containers.

     “They’re gone,” Mr. Vorant murmured from the back seat.

     As the men congregated next to the cargo van, the Inquisitor said, “get your boss back on the line. The rest of you, spread out. Find them.” When the loader passed over his silver phone, the Inquisitor said to him, “go.” Into the phone he growled, “we missed them. Explain why you sent us the wrong way.” He listened for a moment, then said, “enough. We’re not your errand boys, Top. As far as I’m concerned we delivered the cargo on time.” Gripping the little silver phone tightly, the Inquisitor hissed, “that’s your problem. I expect payment as arranged. Don’t be late.” He hung up the phone, then shouted, “Misters Jougs and Vorant, attend me.”

Mihi Inimicus

     From the backseat of the Iago Citadel, Commander Dante calmly watched his surroundings. The drop-off center’s rear loading dock doors gaped open, though the dock was completely empty. Lieutenant Musgrove disappeared into the warehouse. A few minutes later, he exited, clothes laden arms topped with two pairs of shoes. When he reached the car, he tapped the backdoor with his foot and nodded. Dante pushed open the door and was nearly buried in the stink wafting off the pile as Musgrove dropped it in the seat.

     “Not sure if I got you the right size, sir. Not a fucking tailor,” Musgrove said.

     Dante grunted. He dug through the offensive pile, holding up various articles before dropping them. “We need a place to hide the car and prep.”

     “Got two options. There’s a bridge with some abandoned buildings west of here. Plenty of privacy, longer walk to Hell Hill. Or, a couple blocks north, there’s a car park, less privacy, shorter walk. Up to you, sir.”

Liceat Mihi

     Whipping the Iago Citadel through Sanctuary City’s evening traffic, Lt. Musgrove watched the mirrors for signs of a tail. He used every evasion method he could recall from his questionable youth, and after 30 minutes of borderline reckless driving, he resumed his regular driving habits. As ordered, he drove into eastbound traffic headed for the Karman Tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, Musgrove hit his emergency flashers and slowed down. At the midpoint of the tunnel, he stopped the car, and popped both the hood and the trunk. He waited for a break in traffic, then climbed out. From the trunk he removed two emergency triangles, which he spaced out behind the car to give oncoming vehicles a warning. He tapped on the rear driver’s side window, nodded to Commander Randle Dante, Sr., and then went about the business of tinkering with the engine. The moment Musgrove’s head disappeared behind the hood, Dante slipped out of the passenger side of the Citadel. The commander walked against traffic toward the nearest emergency exit. While Dante disappeared through the tunnel door, Musgrove recovered the emergency triangles, closed up the Citadel, and then drove off. Musgrove had his orders: drive around aimlessly and in two hours return to the drop off point.