All we have lost

Ch. 3 the coffee pot and sympathies

   Mercedes took her stash of booze and followed Jackson up to the hotel room. On one of the beds was the wolf, and sitting on the other was Jackson and Mitch. "Is the wolf going to be okay"? Asked Chloe, "yes but.... as soon as we took the bullet out" Jackson said and peeled back some of the bandages, "this smell...." he gagged. Mercedes turned a bit green, the smell was like sulphur but mixed with a hell of a lot of copper. She set the bottles of booze down, uncapped one and took a big sip, trying to chase away the smell of the wolf's infected blood. 

    Mitch went on to explain the properties of how the wolf was already infected. 'Strange' Mercedes though as she leaned back on her feet. Her hyena giggled nervously and strained at the mental leash, but Mercedes was quick to calm her down. 

     No need for another shift after they'd just returned to human form. As if, they ran into trouble, Mercedes would need to be on the top of her game. She really couldn't afford to be tired and dragging like a common drunk. Jackson's light green brown eyes flickered to where Mercedes was standing. He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her outside, "you okay"? Mercedes shook her head, "I feel as though I may" she swallowed, "end up getting sick if I stay in that room too long".

    Jackson nodded as he went back into the room and gave her two of the bottles of booze they'd gotten. 

    "Well" Jackson said, "stay out here then, take a moment" he smiled at this. Mercedes nodded, "I will I will" and slumped against the wall. Hopefully any passerby wouldn't question what exactly Mercedes was doing out in the hallway with two 𝚋𝚒𝚐 bottles of booze. Though to be honest, Mercedes didn't have the spare energy (or, will power in general) to care, let alone answer nosy ish questions. 

     An hour or so and Mercedes's hyena alerted her to Ben Shaffer, the FBI agent, strolling down the hall.

    Both of Mercedes's halves, human and hyena, didn't trust the man. Not one bit. Stifling a nervous cackle, Mercedes rose up and off of the floor to greet him. Her dark chocolate colored eyes narrowed, "Shaffer". She was simply forcing herself to be polite, though she didn't have any obligations to keep doing such. "You're.... Mercedes right"? Shaffer asked. Honestly Mercedes wondered if he saw the predator lurking in the depths of her dark brown eyes, "yes, yes I am". Her Nigerian accent was rather thick today and if one listened closely, you could hear just a dusting of French, too. 

   Mercedes hadn't really met any FBI agents. Though she had fixed a number of their SUVs and sedans as the years progressed. Amongst mechanics, Chevrolet was sort of the "gold mine". Due to their cars deteriorating with the more miles they gathered. Often it was something wrong with the radiator, other times some of the cylinders would be "lagging". Or there'd be a rear axle missing, too. Rear axles and radiator problems often fetched the biggest amount of money. 

    Though with any cylinder problems, those got a pretty Penny too. (This also depended if you factored in the MODEL or year or even brand of the car). (Mercedes had once replaced a few cylinders of a sea blue Maserati Ghibli and the customer had given her a fat load of cash).