He pushed his way to the reception desk. The mess of workers parted at the sight of the body bag over Tan’s shoulder. These cowards were even scared of a dead Adrenalite.
The receptionist was a gaunt man with a chin so pointed it looked sharp enough to be dangerous. He didn’t bother to look up at them.
Roman loudly knocked on the desk. “I’ve got an appointment with the Captain.”
“I wasn’t aware that—”
“She requested to see me.” Roman knew that lies told with enough confidence – and a threatening tone – were often more effective than the truth.
“And your name was?” The receptionist finally looked up. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Roman was aware of how out of place he must look, but he felt no shame for his torn black cloak, matted hair and bruised face. These people here, with their clean haircuts and new clothes, were the ones who should be ashamed. They reminded him of who he had been three years ago — the kind of person who wouldn’t survive one week in the outskirts.
“My name is Roman,” he said. “Hopefully, you’ve heard of me. That’ll save me having to explain why you should listen to me when I tell you that I need to see Juliette.”
“And I’m Tan,” Tan casually sat down on the desk and pointed a thumb to Burrstone. “And this here is my mate Billy, wanna shake his hand?”
To his credit, the reception only looked mildly sick when he noticed the black bag. He raised his unnatural chin in defiance. “The Captain is busy. You will have to book an appointment.”
“Can we book an appointment with you instead?” Tan asked. “Maybe later tonight, in a dark alley?”
“I don’t believe that is—”
“Roman!” A call came from behind. “What are you doing here?”
Roman knew that voice. John Edwards. He forced a smile and turned to face his old friend.
Edwards weaved his way to them. A short man with neatly trimmed hair and a matching goatee, his coat and trousers were tidy even by the standards of the other staff. He walked with the kind of stiff, perfect posture that made Roman want to push him over just to see if his back could bend. Roman shook Edwards’ hand. The man’s skin felt unnaturally soft.
Edwards smiled. “I see that you managed to survive another job.”
No thanks to you, was Roman’s first thought. Instead, he replied, “You don’t sound relieved?”
“Mostly just surprised.”
“Seems that Legacy hasn’t finished with me yet.”
“She is a most demanding goddess, to be sure. Good morning Tan, Ruby.” Edwards nodded to them in turn.
“How you doing, chief?” Tan said. “I see your efforts to replicate my sexy hairstyle ain’t been successful yet.”
Edwards grimaced at Tans frizzled afro as if it offended him, running his hand over his own hair as if to convince himself it was still pristine. “And I notice that your labours at understanding the proper pronunciation of our language are still… non-existent.”
Roman gave Tan a glare that pre-emptively silenced his comeback. “John, I need a favour.”
“Anything for a fellow historian.”
I’m not that, not anymore. And neither are you. Now you’re just a pencil pushing bureaucrat. Again, Roman bit his tongue. “I need to see the Captain.”
“Ah… You never did ask for the straightforward things. She doesn’t want to see you. Ever.”
“And I don’t want to see her.”
“Well, problem solved, right? Believe me, I don’t want a part in whatever trouble you two have with each other.”
“You want to ignore any real conflict?” This time, the words left Roman’s mouth before he could stop them. “I can see why you choose to work here.”
Edwards’ smile inverted into a frown. “Fuck you, Roman. We can’t all be so-called rebel heroes like you.”
“Not all of us. But you could have been.”
“I’m not the one who turned his back on everything he believed in, just for his own personal vendetta. So take your high horse and ride it to the slums you pretend to love. I know you don’t care about them. This is just your endless quest for revenge because—”
Roman stepped forward. He towered over Edwards. He couldn’t believe this coward had once been one of his best friends.
“That’s enough.” Ruby stepped between them, placing a firm hand on each of their chests. “There’s plenty of violence in this city without you two being utter jackasses.”
Roman snarled. “He’s the one who—”
“I said, that’s enough.”
Roman lowered his head, suddenly embarrassed. He had let his anger get the better of him before he’d even got to Juliette.
“Now,” Ruby said to Edwards, “I’m going to say what Roman should have said at the beginning: John, this is important, and we need your help. Can you get us to see the Captain?”
Edwards blew out a long breath, looking conflicted. Roman knew what was going on inside his mind: He knows I’m right, and he feels guilty because he’s too weak to admit it. But he’ll only feel guiltier if he doesn’t help us.
Edwards’ shoulders slumped, his perfect posture lost. “Fine. She’s in the interrogation room on the fifteenth floor. Just don’t tell her that I told you.” He slunk off.
“Thanks, Ruby,” Roman said.
“You wouldn’t have to thank me if you just kept your emotions in check.”
“Give Roman a break, love,” Tan said. “We can’t all have the emotional deficiency of Caleb. I personally like that our boss is a spiteful son of a bitch.”
Roman chuckled. “You’re far too kind, Tan. Go get the payment for our dead friend. I’ll go deal with Captain shit-wits. Care to join me, Ruby?”
“For once, the company of Tan and a cold corpse is the preferable option,” Ruby replied. “Have you figured out how you’re going to get her to talk to you?”
“I’ll use my natural charm,” Roman said. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll rip her teeth out.”
The militia guarding the interrogation room looked up as Roman strode down the hallway. He quickly stepped between Roman and the door. “Hey! You can’t be here. This area is—”
“Don’t care.” Roman shoved the militia aside, kicked the door open, and, dodging the militia’s ham-fisted grab, went inside.
The interrogation room had no windows. Of course. In the center of the room an albino man slouched on a metal chair, chained to the floor by his wrists. His face was a hash of cuts and bruises, blood dripping from split lips. He squinted at Roman through one black eye, the other obviously too swollen to open. “Hey, you’re—”
“I know who he is.” Juliette stepped between Roman and the man. “What I don’t know is what the fuck he’s doing here.”
Juliette was a wisp of a woman. Her black suit hung off her thin frame, slender hands hardly poking out of the sleeves. Her face was so gaunt it looked ready to collapse in on itself. She had brown hair cut to shoulder length, knotted in at least a dozen places. Every aspect of her appearance should have made her look small, frail and vulnerable.
Should have. But didn’t.
It was something in the way she held herself, something about the smile twitching at the corner of her lips, the way her hazel eyes scanned Roman. Like he was a dirty stain on her jacket. Like she found him insignificant, irritating, and pitiful, all at once.
And Roman wanted to grab her by that frizzy hair and hurl her face into the wall. This room had probably seen worse acts of violence, after all.