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.”
