Three gunshots, stilted and inaccurate in their delivery, yet accurate enough to ensure the death of the subject. One through the collar bone, tumbling on the angle of the sinew before exiting through the left shoulder blade, a savage wound. Another slipping cleanly through the second and third rib, becoming stuck in the lung, no exit wound.
The third was delivered post-mortem, directly through the nose, severing the brain stem. No one comes back from such a wound, at least not to an operable body. Half become permanently comatose, the others simply never return.
The Grizzled Inspector files the crime scene photos, his mouth curled up into a sneer. The victim had been a high ranking officer of the Flowerdene Initiative, a piece of garbage by any and all accounts. In deep with the soup trade and living hand to mouth with The Gardener’s support.
"You stole these, why?" He looks up to the woman seated across from him, her arms folded neatly, distaste evident. "Trying to prove some kind of point?"
"No, only that bullets works better than the petty show of bureaucracy you’ve been putting up." Emblem scoffs derisively. "You’ve been actively steering constables around Spite and even Wolfstack? You afraid of something?"
"You’ve got bad information." The Inspector says coldly.
"Don’t play stupid right now." Emblem steeples her fingers and leans forward. "You’re either with us or against us. You need to decide what side of that line you’re on."
The Inspector stares hard at her, not sure whether arrest her or buy her coffee.
The map unfurls across the table, over the photos of the former crime boss. Emblem stands and starts pinning targets to the board. Locations, addresses.
The personal addresses of Eglantine Fox, the area where The Gardener launders money, headquarters for the Knotted Sock and Fisher Kings within Spite. A detailed layout of the rookeries complex.
Emblem looks at the inspector, a grim sense of recognition, a begrudged nod. "It’s about time we did our jobs."
The inspector reveals his badge. Special Constable, Bazaarine Stability Pact. "The Truth Shall Burn."
Emblem reaches into her jacket, fingers brushing the derringer in her inner pocket. She produces a badge of her own. Special Constables. Deep
Cover. "The Truth Shall Burn. Hail the bazaar."
edited by The Absurd Rogue on 8/15/2016