"C'mon, Detective Dunne! Don't you know it's rude to leave a lady screaming in the middle of the road?" said Gabriela while chasing Graham down the street. He had run out of the cafe as soon as the words "Lynch family" were uttered. Her legs were quite short, so she had to walk double-time to keep up with him.

Graham turned his head sideways and huffed like a bull. She couldn't help but find it extremely cute. While he was faster than her, she was more nimble, slipping inside the cruiser just as Graham unlocked it.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?!" he yelled, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

"Well, it all started when I was born, in a town called Sandwich," she commented absentmindedly.

"Look, just get out of my car."

Gabriela tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying her best not to let her smile falter. She was running out of moves--not that she had many. Her only move was being cute until whatever she needed suddenly resolved, but Graham was a tough nut to crack. That's when she thought of a Hail Mary. With the utmost discretion, she tugged her shirt down, making her meager cleavage pop out a little bit more than usual. Summoning the best puppy eyes she could muster, she turned to Graham.

"Can you at least give me a ride to the office? A gentleman like you wouldn't throw out a lady like me to the cold, hard street, would you?"

She could almost see the cogs in Graham's brain move, having an internal monologue, debating whether to take her or not. After a brief, uncomfortable silence, Graham let out a sigh, shifting the stick to the drive position.

"Thank you," she said, content with herself. 'That solves that, but now what?' she thought. He was closed off, and walking a thin line between helping her and dumping her body in the depths of the Charles. She decided to play the truth card. Better than nothing.

"Look, Graham--can I call you Graham?--Graham. You agree with me that things are a bit fucked, right?"

But Graham refused to answer, only staring at the road ahead.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said. "You already told me. We know Skinny Willy is innocent, but now we also have Mr. Prendergast's actions to watch for. The only problem is: He is dead, and William is worthless as a witness. That leaves us with Mr. White, and the Lyn-"

"Stop saying that name!" yelled Graham, braking the car to a complete halt. "Why do you keep saying that name?!"

Nobody had ever yelled at Gabriela like that. She had lived a high-end and very sheltered life. The worst she received as a kid was a slap on the wrist and a stern warning. The man in front of her, huffing and puffing through his nose like a bull, was a completely new territory, one that was beginning to frighten her. Nonetheless, she kept smiling, twisting the hem of her skirt to compensate.

"Because it's the only rational explanation. Even you know that."

"No, I don't!"

Was he really that dense? She thought. Maybe he's just a little loco.

"Fine," she said, casting her eyes to the car in front of them, "I'll explain."

She took a deep breath to gather her thoughts. This was a tough one to break, so she needed tact to ease him into it. "The cover-up was set up by the Lynch-"

"No," boomed Graham with his dry voice. "It was Murray Prendergast. I told you already."

"Wait until I'm done," she said, staring down at him from below. He shrugged his shoulders and continued to drive on.

"Good. Now. I'm saying they set it up because of the evidence. And by evidence, I mean the ones pointing at William. The pliers could have easily been planted by a member of the family."

"Murray could have easily planted them as well," he said. "He was an actual member of William's family."

"True, but then, why wouldn't he pin it on Henry? They were friends. He could've just easily placed the thing inside his house. If he wanted to kill him, but failed, at least he would've just placed the whole turd on Mr. White's toilet."

Graham kept quiet for a minute as they drove. The soft purring of the engine was making Gabriela somewhat drowsy. Wait!

"You know, why would they need a culprit? The whole thing was pinned as an accident in the first place. She had narcolepsy after all. You can't really detect that in an autopsy. It's the perfect killer. Why risk it at all?"

"No choice," said Graham. "They analyzed the crash and-wait...oh, shit."

Bingo. "Yes, shit. The report was forged. The one who requested that case to be open was Dara Lynch. She handled the paperwork; got the search warrants; told you about the tips. Everything in this case was hand-fed to you by that she-bitch."

Gabriela felt as every inch of Graham's body tensed up, eyes bulging wide open. His mouth was going up and down, like a fish out of water, gasping for a squirt of fresh water.

"There is your Lynch connection. If they are covering it up, it means that they are somehow involved in this. It is safe to assume that Murray was also in cahoots with 'em. Don't you love that word? Cahoots. It's like carrots. Carrots. Anyhow..." she began to say, but she noticed two things. The first one being that they were no longer moving, jamming the traffic behind them, who were honking up a storm. The second one was that Graham was unresponsive. He was still fish-mouthed and looking at nothing. "Graham. Gra-ham. Graham Banana," she said while poking him on the cheek. He quickly snapped out of it, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

"Sorry. It's just...hard."

That's what she said, Gabriela thought. "Don't worry," she gulped. This was the moment she waited for. "And that's when you come in."

"Me?" he asked.

"You. We need your help to bring the Lynch family down."

"We? Who are we?"

Gabriela tugged at the hem of her dress once again. "We are a group of law enforcement agents who wish to end an end-I'm sorry-to bring an end to the Lynch  super... supremar... control. To bring an end to the Lynch control of the city," she said, trying her best to memorize the line given to her by Estragon in her latest message. She was the one who suggested recruiting Graham to their ranks, but not even Gabriela knew who they were, or it there was a they in the first place.

Graham chuckled under his breath, shaking his head side-to-side. "You don't sound very convincing."

"Your help is crucial to us," she continued without paying attention to his taunts, "because you are the lead detective on this case." She took a second to remember the rest of the message, but was blurry in her mind. "You...the implications...you know what? Screw it! Dude, this is bigger than us."

Graham laughed once again, but his eyes spelled concern. Even while looking at the road, his eyes were glossy and jittery, stealing a few glances to Gabriela. When he saw that she was being serious, his smile dropped to a scowl. "You're shitting me. You really wanna rope me into this?"

"Yes! That's what I'm trying to tell you!" she said. "This ain't about finding a fucking killer.  Half the country are xenophobic dicks who can't even tell an Indian from a Muslim, let alone care about when one of them dies!"

"Hey, calm down."

"No! You calm down, you man-whore!" she yelled. Gabriela was horrified by her own nonsensical spiel, but she couldn't stop. She had to get through to him, no matter what. If honey didn't work, it was time for vinegar. "This case's about nailing that family down. We need to know why they're involved and why. If we answer that, we can get the killer. But we won't go anywhere if the man responsible for the investigation is a little bitch who's too afraid to break a few eggs to make an omelet. So, you are going to help us," she said, running out of breath. That last part wasn't a question, but rather, an order.

Graham kept driving, not bothering to look at her. Gabriela's blood was boiling, How dare he ignore me?

"I said: You will help us."

"No," he said dryly. And that was the end of that conversation.

Gabriela slumped in her seat, taking out the burner phone and typing out a message out of sheer anger. To the avid reader, you will probably know who this message was for.

"He wnt help. Wat do" she sent, refreshing the messages as soon as she sent them, waiting for a reply to magically appear on the screen. But no message came. Not after thirty seconds. Not after one minute. Every second she spent in that car, with that man, was agony to her. To clear her mind, she saw out of the window how the cars passed by them. The new billboards announcing some new movie, or a cologne, or both. She couldn't tell the difference anymore.

She saw a fat lady walking a pug, and a man juggling some triplet babies. The emptiness in the car became more and more apparent as the clock idled by. Graham shifted in his seat, making Gabriela snap back to look at him, and then back to the window. They were getting near the building. She had failed her mission. Or so it seemed, as the unmistakable ring-tone of her burner phone chimed in.

"SEND ME HIS PHONE NUMBER" it read. All caps. In a flash, Gabriela found the contact in her regular phone and sent it to Estragon. Almost immediately, Graham's phone began to ring. Seven Nation's Army. The man has good taste.

"You should get that," said Gabriela with a coy smile. Graham shot her a dirty look before grabbing his phone. She could see that whoever was calling him was using a restricted number.

With a swipe, Graham answered the phone.

"Yes, who's this?" he asked, but as the phone was not on speaker, Gabriela couldn't hear what the voice was saying, but it was definitively female, raspy and low.

The car braked to a halt so fast that Gabriela thought they had crashed. She yelled "Jesus, take the wheel!" before being pulled by her seat belt. After making sure she was okay--only a minor ache in her neck--she glanced around the car for signs of a crash, to no avail. Everything seemed fine until she took a look at Graham.

He was pale as if he had suddenly lost a pint of blood. His lips were white and shivering, trying to find words to articulate, but nothing came out. His hands were shivering, moving the phone everywhere but his ear. The voice at the other end kept going and going until it stopped abruptly. Gabriela saw as Graham dropped the phone to the floor, but his hand stayed on calling position. His eyes were walled, losing focus quickly. Slowly, he moved his hand back to his lap, but the rest of his body stayed as tense as a spring-trap, ready to pounce.

"Graham," Gabriela said in a whisper, but Graham jumped from his seat at the mere sound of her voice. She could see pure fear and agony as he slowly placed a bony finger on top of his mouth. He wanted silence. Like a bat out of hell, he floored the gas pedal, weaving through traffic with ease. It took him thirty seconds to arrive at the prosecutor's office, thirty seconds in which Gabriela's life flashed through her eyes. It was mostly food-related.

Without shutting the engine, Graham bolted out of the car, with Gabriela following behind.

"What the hell, Graham?" she yelled, but before she could continue, Graham placed a hand on her mouth. She clawed at him to let her go, but he kept his hand steady.

"Shhh, please. They are listening," he whispered after a particularly nasty claw broke through his skin, letting go of Gabriela.

"Who?! Who is listening?!"

"The Lynches. The car is bugged."

Gabriela watched as Graham grasped at what little hair he had, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. She was taken aback as well, but not quite as him. She knew the Lynch mob would knock at her door eventually. But still, she felt curiosity. "How did you know?"

"The voice," he said, sporting some brand new watery eyes, "she told me. She told me about me. About what I do. About what I did. It knew."

"Knew what?" she asked, closing in on him.

"She...just knew, alright? She played some audio...from inside the car. Shit. And she told me they know. I'm fucked. I'm fucked. And you're fucked too!"

Graham waved her away, heaving wildly while supporting himself by the knees. Whatever he was thinking, it came through all at once. He flapped his mouth open for a minute flat before breaking the silence. "Okay."

"Okay? Okay, what?"

"I'll help," he said. "I'll help you take the Lynch down."

"You won't regret it, my amigo," she said while grinning. He gave her a dismissive look before riding off into traffic.

Gabriela reached for her burner phone, but she failed to realize that she left her purse in the Cruiser which was too far away to pin down.

She also failed to realize that the green car that was tailing them also disappeared in the traffic.

Darkness enveloped Adrian, but her senses started to return, little by little. First, the feeling of the toes as they touched the cold ceramic of the floor. Then her hair, as it swayed gently under the drafty air. Then the smell of musk and confinement, followed by the dry stench of coldness. She could feel the ropes eating her hands as she tentatively moved them around. The cushioned seat under her butt made her ass sore and numb. The dryness of her mouth couldn't be quenched even with saliva. It was hell. A dark hell.

Her eyes were wide open, but nothing entered her sight. Moving her face a little revealed a piece of cloth wrapping around her temple. A blindfold.

She could pick the sound of high heels on ceramic approaching fast. When they were right behind her she felt a hand grab her roughly by the blindfold, scratching her with long nails, and ripping in away from her head, along with some strands of hair. Light pierced Adrian's eyes as she adjusted the blurry shapes all around her. It took her quite a few blinks, but a room came to life in front of her. A small room, painted in gray. No furniture, no windows, and most interestingly, no doors, at least none that she could see.

"You're finally awake," a voice told her from behind. It was a female voice, or at least that's what Adrian thought. Her neck was killing her, and she couldn't crank her neck up to see.

A hand caressed her cheek slowly as if mapping the contours of her face. "Hush, child. I'm not an enemy."

The hand felt cold and clammy. It wasn't a nice touch.

Adrian tried to talk, but her throat immediately closed up. It was very dry. She tried swallowing some saliva and tried again, but her voice was hoarse and rusty. "Who...are you?"

The figure chuckled under her breath, patting Adrian twice on top of the head. "You offend me, don't you recognize me?"

Adrian shook her head. She didn't want to talk.

"That's a shame," the woman said. Adrian felt as the figure walked by her right side, moving right in front of her. For a moment, Adrian saw her backside: slender, with wide hips and long hair, almost as long as her's in fact. But it was fleeting, as the figure turned around and showed her face, or lack thereof. She was wearing a theater mask-a comedy mask to be more precise-with a wicked grin and slit-eyes that did little to nothing to prevent the cat-like stare of two yellow eyes staring at her. At her very soul. Adrian froze in place and felt a chill down her spine. Something animal inside of her told her to run, that the person in front of her was dangerous. Something about the uncanny smile made her want to run for her life, but she was bound to the chair. It was impossible.

The woman released a low chuckle, almost a growl that resonated in the mask, making it sound more like an eerie drawl. "I'm the devil that comes when called."

That sent Adrian over the edge. She began to wiggle and worm her way out of her binds, but she only managed to fall to the ground-chair and all. Her shoulder shot up with pain as electricity coursed through her very bones. But she was still in danger. Her brain was screaming for her to run.

The figure crouched right beside her and touched her shoulder, which was red and swollen, with her fingers. Adrian winced at the pain.

"You shouldn't hurt me. I bruise easily," the figure said.

"I don't know you," said Adrian in a whisper, but the figure grabbed her by the chin, forcing it to look at the sunken eyes of the mask.

"But you do. After all, you are me and I am you," she said, removing the mask with the other hand.

And Adrian came face to face with herself, as she was the one under the mask. The same resting-bitch-face she saw every day when looking in the mirror.