Sunset

The bloodshot sun falls from the sky. I sit in my apartment, a not-so welcome change of scenery, and watch the hazy sky turn from deep blue to violent red. The sun glows brightly, darkly, agonisingly, leaking blood into the falling skies. The redness flows along the crest of the distant rise of Hollingdean, spreads out and across Lewes Road, and inches towards Moulsecombe and myself, sitting in the dark, watching the desperate death of the day.

As I watch the sunset - so powerful and beautiful in its bold and terrible colours, so slow and dramatic in its stark artistry - I am reminded that everything bleeds.

I still haven't heard anything from K. I'm beside myself, outside myself. Did she betray me after all? Worse, was she captured? I can't understand my obession with the woman; beyond the arrogance, power and grace in that slender body, something about her has claws in me. I make a silent oath to my whiskey that if she gets hurt in this even Thornton won't stop my thirst for revenge.

I've tried to keep myself distracted during the day. I've gathered up everything I have on Seth's over-acheiving cousin. I've collected all the accounts and the family historys. I've found the areas that are just too clean. I'll give that to Seth as a start. The guy is beside himself now. Last time I saw him he was practically shacking with the anger and humilation of his cousins' higher position.

But even as I work through the details of the investigation, I keep one I fixed on the door, the window, the phone, anything which might betray some hint as to K or Thompson's whereabouts.

Henny's

The Thompson Project has exploded again. I don't know where to go or what to do. But the clock keeps ticking, and it's only a matter of time before things start to burn.

I head into town, find a nice quiet joint called Henny's. It's a nice place to lie low and think things through. There aren't many shadows in that clean, white café. Besides, the serving girls there always have a nice smile for me.

Henny's doesn't sell whiskey though. I make do with a coffee, and tell myself that if it was the kind of place that sold whiskey to guys like me, it wouldn't be the kind of nice quiet joint where I could think. Doubtless the watiresses wouldn't smile so easily either.

I write out a note for K. I tell her to leave a message for me here, tell her not to come back to the office. I don't like to think that she crossed me deliberatley yesterday. It woudn't be the first time a pair of glittering eyes had deceived me, but K didn't fit the pattern. I warn her that Thompson might be onto her.

All I can do is leave the note with the nervous barman at The Bridge. I almost feel bad for not folding the thing into some work of art. I seal the envelope and leave the barman with some instructions and some extra paper notes. God knows whether K will ever see the message, but I have to try.

Fire

I head out to Pevensey in the car. Rain hammers on the metal roof, screaming in my ears as the vehicle roars down the highway. The cacophany of nature and machine makes a tense, hissing soundtrack as I consider the encounter ahead.

K tells me I'll see Thornton in Pevensey this afternoon. Seems he has some sort of business in The Crown in the town centre. I still don't know if K is to be trusted. Just the scent of that perfume makes my head spin like some horrific theme park attraction. Only enter if you are this emotionally insecure.

I park the car around the corner from the pub, and walk inside. I keep to the walls and circle the place, trying to avoid notice. Why is it that being deliberatley inconspicuous always attracts suspicious stares? But there's no sign of Johnson. I'm just about to leave when I detect a trace of perfume in the air. My stomach lurches. K was here. A shadow moves across the room and slips out the back door, heading for the beer garden. An inconspicous shadow. I reach inside my jacket and settle the Twins, flicking off the safety switches.

I open the back door and look out over a courtyard garden. A children's play area sways in the slight wind. The rain has stopped, so I step into the courtyard to get a better look around.

That was my mistake. The shout was theirs.

Everything happened at once after the shout. Movement came from either side of me, shadows seperate from the sides of the building. Instinctively I drop to a crouch. My hands cross my chest, draw the twins, and fire a single round either side of me. A shadow drops to the ground to my right with a scream. But the other shadow keeps coming. I rise to meet him, and we struggle backwards, locked in a voilent embrace. I twist and push, sending him tumbling over a wooden bench. My foot stops him rising. My fist sends him into darkness for a while.

All this voilence makes me thirsty. I head back into The Crown and order a whiskey from the bar. It was a trap after all. The question now is, did K set me up deliberatley, or was she discovered? I'll find no more answers here, Thompson will be long gone.

The barman asks after the fresh swelling on my face. I give him a stare that sends him skuttling across the bar to a fresh batch of customers, and walk out.

Smoke

I walk into the office today to be suprised again. Another paper crane sits on the only blank space on my desk, a tower of calm grace among a chaotic litter of papers and files. I try to slow my heartbeat. It's a time bomb, I remind myself. Sooner or later, this will end in blood and tears. It always does. Still, my hand trembles slightly as I reach out - gently, as if any sudden movement might scare it into flight - and lift the crane from the desk.

I unfold it, fingers fumbling in haste. My only lead in days, and chance to get closer to K. I can barely contain myself. But I can't lose myself now. I stop, put down the crane, and steady myself with a glass of whiskey. Its fire at the back of my throat helps burn off the nerves. Strange how I can only think straight when my mind is swimming.

The crane is from K alright. She wants to meet with me again, at the Bridge. I walk out of town right away. The gentle exercise gives me time to think and collect myself. But the sun is too bright. Too many days inside pouring over bits of paper. My tired eyes wince against the light. Eyes to the pavement, I walk.

I get to the bridge and wait at the bar. I eye up the joint: balding men hide behind thick puffs of cigarette smoke. The place stinks of nicotine and stale beer. She gets the drop on me again, her perfume a kick in the nuts as soon as I taste it. I don't say a word as she takes a seat by my side, save to catch the barman's eye and order a glass of red wine. She takes my whiskey and throws it back. I order another before the barman skuttles away.

K tells me that Thompson is hiding just out of town. Seems he'll be in Pevensey on Thursday afternoon. I accept my whiskey with a nod to the barman. I don't know how to play this, it reeks of a trap. But if she wanted me dead for Thompson, she could have had me at any time in the past week. I ask her where she'll be on Thursday. She just gives me a cool smile, and leaves me alone with my alcohol and the cigarette smoke of strangers.

Searching

Nothing makes sense. The walls are closing in again. Thompson is out there, but where? Where? And all the while I'm driven round in circles by the hint of a scent of a womans perfume. Damn Blue, you're getting in too deep already.

I've been over everything I have today. Every contact, every file, every old clue and every memory in the dark corridors of my mind. Nothing has brought me any closer to Thompson. I have half a mind to march in on Thornton and demand to know what he knows. Or to offer my services, to punish Thompson for his failure. I even take my long coat from the door and rest Faith in her holster. But I know it's foolish. Thornton would have me shot on sight if I went anywhere near him. K made that perfectly clear.

So here I am, shouting at the walls and kicking over furniture. It's cabin fever and there's no way out, no-where to hide. I need something new, something fresh. Seth and Baltam are forgotten, I have to track down Thompson.

Or have the rules changed while my back was turned? Some instinctive fever for revenge and vindication courses through my veins like hydrolic fluid, burning oil tearing through an engine, red hot flames chewing up a building. I begin to think that it's not Thompson who lit this fire though. Why does it now burn so brightly, and so hot? No, there's something more to this.

K stands always over my shoulder, just out of reach, a glowing cigerette in one hand and burning match in the other.

Blinds

The meeting with K has had me all mixed up, scattered my thoughts like ashes on the wind. I can't understand why she's helping me. Might just be my winning smile, but I don't like the taste of that biscuit. No, she has some sort of motive. Could be that she's working for Thompson herself, to gain my trust and put me off the scent. But why go to the trouble? Why not just kill me and have done it with it?

To top it all, everytime I turn my head I get a faint taste of that perfume, and it all comes rushing back in an arctic breeze.

Lights off, whiskey cradled in my hand, I gaze through the blinds of my office at the world outside. It's cold tonight, no-one moves. I try to decide whether to sleep here, or head home to my apartment. These days, the office is more home to me. Besides, the flat has dreadful views. I feel trapped there, stuck in the dark, waiting for the alcohol rush to pass and a new day to dawn.

None of it is getting me anywhere. I still don't know where to find Thompson, and I've still got nothing on Seth's cousin.