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“Mornin’, Twilight. Or should I say evenin’.”
“Laugh it off, Franky. Everyone says it now because they heard it from you.”
“They know I’m hilarious, now it’s time for you to see it too.”
“Do you have it for me?”
Franky sighed and pulled the paper out of his pocket, passing it around the corner to Loid. It was Loid right now, really — he would protest, but this was the mild mannered gentleman, the one who only broke out the hair gel for special days. This man wasn’t the best spy on either side of the border.
This man had never killed someone.
“Thank you,” Loid said as their fingers brushed slightly. He wore gloves — of course he did. One day, years ago, he’d admitted that being without gloves made him anxious. The SSS loved to use fingerprints as proof. Franky had pointed out that they would feel just as comfortable fabricating the evidence if they wanted to take Twilight down, and he’d just shook his head and ended the conversation.
“Got plans with the wife tonight?” Franky asked.
“Yor and I are taking Bond to the park with Anya, for a supervised visit with the Blackbell girl’s dog.”
“So you won’t need an informant as backup, I’m guessing.”
“No.”
They sat in that silence. Franky didn’t know if Loid felt as stifled in the noise — in the lack of noise — as he did, but neither made move to break it.
So many years. Franky had always been Twilight’s preferred informant, and part of it was that Franky did good work — no one suspected Scruffy. No one wanted to date him, either.
People at WISE would whisper, even make jokes, but he’d always shrugged them off.
His hand lingered downward, a few inches from the brick, and his eyes drooped closed. Knowing how tired he was, he couldn’t possibly imagine how exhausted Loid had to be.
But before his eyes could close entirely…
Fingers curled around his own, gentle and slow, the practiced moves of a locksmith — or maybe a picklock.
Franky’s eyes shot open wide and his mouth gaped, but he didn’t look over at his friend.
His friend?
And just as quickly, Loid was gone. Twilight, too. Quiet as a ghost, or maybe a shadow.
Franky only shook his head and smiled a bit — he was safe that no one was around because Twilight wouldn’t have done that otherwise.
“Cocky bastard,” he said as he began to walk away, and then he began to whistle.