𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

23

in the late hours of the evening of september 5th, william turner was sat in his office cubicle and staring at the vibrant display he had created for his investigation into the lavigne crime family; photographs, articles cut out from newspapers, and maps, all of it pieced together with thin red string and thumb tacks.

as he sat there fiddling with a pen, eyes fleeting around the board, he thought very carefully about the next steps he was going to take. was he going to get other agents to monitor each person, or should he try to do it all himself? better yet, would he dig up their past criminal records (with details of petty theft, bank robberies, fraud, grievous bodily harm, first degree murder) and attempt to charge them? should he shift his focus to the second-in-commands, such as salvatore marino and michael davis? or should he turn his attention to the ones he would least expect, such as edward's son? maybe his daughter, chantelle? or even the rough-looking russian kid he had recently 'got made'?"

william tapped the pen on the desk in front of him, a tired sigh escaping his lips. he knew he was in too deep. there was no way that he could pass over the investigation now. he had already come so far.

from a few cubicles over, agent rye came wandering over to him, his overcoat on, a scarf around his neck, and a briefcase in hand.

"hey will," rye said, stopping just behind william's desk chair. at the sound of his name, william turned around and looked at him with a smile. "the cleaners are in soon. why don't you finish up and stop being such a kiss-ass?"

william laughed. "oh shut up, jack. i could say the same about you," he said sarcastically, spinning around in his chair. "what the hell are you doin' over there, anyway?"

agent rye shrugged. "catching up on some case files. same old, same old."

william stood up and began to gather his things into his own briefcase. "yeah, you're right, i better get goin'. grace will go mad that i've missed dinner," he said, shrugging his black trench coat on. "i'll have to put it in the damn microwave again."

the other man chuckled. "ah, she'll live. come on, i'll walk with you."

together they took the other elevator at the far side of headquarters, built into a big multi-storey parking lot. from the twentieth floor, the two of them stood side by side until they reached floor four.

"well, this is me," william said. "you coming?"

agent rye dipped his head. "oh, no, i'm parked out front. see ya, will. goodnight."

"goodnight, jack."

william left the elevator, glancing behind him and watching as the doors closed, shielding jack from his view. in the parking lot, the only light was that of the moon, half-visible from a gap in the far wall and the dim bronze lamps that were dotted around the space, casting a dull mustard hue onto the concrete floor. it was rather empty — his car seemed to be the only one on the entire floor, stood right in the middle. his footsteps echoed loudly around the gloomy space, almost making it sound as if there were somebody walking with him.

he stopped beside his ford, the key in the lock, ready to open it, when a quiet clatter suddenly made his shoulders tense and his heart blip. he looked around, his eyes landing on one of the round concrete pillars several feet behind him.

"hello?" william called, turning his head from side to side, searching for any signs of life. when all was silent, he dismissed the noise and climbed into the car.

unbeknownst to him, a man was sat in the backseat, one hand planted on a gun in his lap, the other firmly on his knee. he was calm and quiet, still and unmoving. the anonymous man was dressed head-to-toe in black; a harrington jacket zipped all the way up, the collar popped and buttoned; black trousers, leather gloves, combat boots, and a woolen balaclava, revealing only blue-grey eyes and thin lips.