five.
"How is she?"
"She's great."
The line was silent as he gathered his thoughts.
"Great," he tasted the word. "Nothing amiss?"
"Well... there was something a little off about her."
"Off."
"She was more... distant and she kept looking over her shoulder, like someone was watching her." He laughed ironically to lighten the mood.
"You don't think she knows, do you?" Marvin asked. "She couldn't know."
Marco sighed, contemplative as he squeezed his hand into his pocket. He overlooked the bustling city at his feet, his thumb caressing the waistband of his pants. "You ever noticed how big the buildings here are?"
Marvin inhaled and murmured evenly, "Yes. I have."
"I mean, they just go on and on... I bet you you'd need like a special gas mask or something at the top floor of some of these buildings-Christ."
"Marco, you still with me, buddy?"
"Remotely."
Marvin laughed, a soft and hardly discernible laugh. Running a long finger across his chin, he looked out at the equally moving city underneath him and watched the nodding heads bustle about in a hurry to pursue their lives. He noticed the buildings. None of them, no matter how tall or wide, could match the sophisticated complexion of The Renaissance. He stood over all of Seattle, admiring the view of a steadily hustling crowd and staring absently at the growing sky in the distance.
"Hey, Marvin?"
"Yeah?"
Suddenly shy, Marco bit his lip. "What's it like being a special agent?"
Marvin grinned, slightly taken aback; no one had ever asked him that before.
"It's...um..." A wet strand of his hair had fallen and scraped his eyelid, so he swatted it away and sighed, at a loss. "It's...uh... it's consuming."
"But it has its perks, right? You save peoples' lives for a living, man! It must be cool." Marco's low voice registered honesty and pure idolatry. He was truly in awe and made it clear with excessive hand gestures as though there hadn't been a hundred miles between them.
Marvin drew a line on the crisp glass window with his finger, brooding. He stared in the direction of the golden sun, settling his hand at his hip as he went on and on about how being a special agent was not worth the whispering campaign and esteem it got, that although it was notably an exceptional business, there were as many cons-if not more-as there were pros to being a special agent. He sighed after the mouthful and looked up at the ceiling, telling Marco vague tales of times when he'd solved cases and times when he hadn't. He mused the feeling after discovering wide-eyed civilians and described it as:
"'s... surreal-seeing their faces, the injuries. Makes you wonder: what inclines a person to do this sort of thing?" His voice was husky as his mind inadvertently sifted through memories of his darkest investigations, and he'd somehow found his way to his bed, where he lay strewn with his legs hanging freely off the side.
The line was silent again.
"You still there?" Marvin asked.
"Yeah. I'm here."
"So why'd you ask, anyway? You interested?"
Marco laughed, kicking off his shoes and switching on the TV. He slapped the remote against his thigh in an odd beat as the undly large screen pinged and took little time to emanate a soft, inky blue against the ivory duvet.
