concerned mother seeking to restrain her estranged husband. The last was the same woman, openly crying and confessing about dumping the body of the man previously identified as her missing ex-husband. That case was easy to close, but Cat doubted he’d get a commission or reward for it.
It was the fifth message, which caught his attention. Delambre’s daughter spoke with a tone of emotional absence and analytical precision. When she stated there was material Cat ‘needed to see’, an alarm rang in his head. Angela hadn’t exactly radiated calm the first few times they’d met. He grabbed his helmet and bounded toward the Honda-Suzuki. Creeping back into her shell meant something had triggered her. Cat needed to know if it was a threat, a change or a break in the case. He also needed to figure out if he could trust the crafty medtech, and what extent exactly Angela played in his work.
The quick ride through Downtown was as uneventful as things ever got in Nitro City. Cat pulled the motorcycle into an empty parking space. He had run through a handful of possibilities on the ride over, but few had any real substance. Still, it was better to come off cocky than to let his partners know he was completely at a loss. He stepped into Delambre’s working area.
“What’s the verdict?” He asked.
Angela, as Delambre had referred to her, dropped the control to the video feed on the table and walked away. Her brown eyes offered no depth, a conscious attempt to hide any hint of her internal anguish. It didn’t take an empath to read her concerns. Cat cursed silently for not checking for other telltale signs. It was too late to check her eyes for redness or tears, too late to monitor her hands or posture for signs of stress. Instead, he had a black screen and a remote.
Deciding to pursue her behavior before the video feed, he called across the open room. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want anything?”
Angela slammed the door behind her.
It took almost four minutes to track down any alcohol worth imbibing and another two to find an empty glass clean enough to drink from. By the time Cat sat down in front of the monitor and cracked his neck, Angela was locked away behind who-knew-how-many doors. He wasn’t sure if her feelings towards him were fear or distrust. Either way, she’d called him here without dear ol’ Daddy D to look out for her, which meant he probably had wasted crucial time before viewing the video.
He sighed, poured a tumbler of cheap whiskey, and flipped the monitor to ‘play’.
Instantly, he recognized his own video feed, an eerie out-of-body method of witnessing his recent near-death experience. It was as if he had actually died and was watching his spirit pull away from his physical form, only he hadn’t been graced with the invite to the pearly gates. He was quite alive and dealing with the dizzying images dancing in the frame. It was annoying at first. Before he knew it, he was becoming entertained at the experience.
Angela had slowed the footage, filtering it for clarity. As a result, Cat watched the words mimed on Midas’ gold-tinted lips. Instead of a surprising blur, he was able to track the assassin’s attack movement-by-movement. Midas’ eyes engaged him with the self-important smugness, unaware of the airborne murderer. As the flash entered the screen, Cat witnessed the tearing of the platysma and scalyne muscles, the severing of the jugular, and the separation of the spine from the base of the skull, clear step-by-step features of Midas’ decapitation. He raised a glass to Midas’ cadaver just before it dropped.
“Bottom’s up,” he chided the video feed.
The video returned to standard speed for the next few moments. Cat recognized as he picked up the target, acknowledged its speed and reflexes, and moved in counter-measure. It was just before he turned and leapt through the window that the feed returned to frame-by-frame super-slow motion.
As he backed up, the attacker
It was the fifth message, which caught his attention. Delambre’s daughter spoke with a tone of emotional absence and analytical precision. When she stated there was material Cat ‘needed to see’, an alarm rang in his head. Angela hadn’t exactly radiated calm the first few times they’d met. He grabbed his helmet and bounded toward the Honda-Suzuki. Creeping back into her shell meant something had triggered her. Cat needed to know if it was a threat, a change or a break in the case. He also needed to figure out if he could trust the crafty medtech, and what extent exactly Angela played in his work.
The quick ride through Downtown was as uneventful as things ever got in Nitro City. Cat pulled the motorcycle into an empty parking space. He had run through a handful of possibilities on the ride over, but few had any real substance. Still, it was better to come off cocky than to let his partners know he was completely at a loss. He stepped into Delambre’s working area.
“What’s the verdict?” He asked.
Angela, as Delambre had referred to her, dropped the control to the video feed on the table and walked away. Her brown eyes offered no depth, a conscious attempt to hide any hint of her internal anguish. It didn’t take an empath to read her concerns. Cat cursed silently for not checking for other telltale signs. It was too late to check her eyes for redness or tears, too late to monitor her hands or posture for signs of stress. Instead, he had a black screen and a remote.
Deciding to pursue her behavior before the video feed, he called across the open room. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want anything?”
Angela slammed the door behind her.
It took almost four minutes to track down any alcohol worth imbibing and another two to find an empty glass clean enough to drink from. By the time Cat sat down in front of the monitor and cracked his neck, Angela was locked away behind who-knew-how-many doors. He wasn’t sure if her feelings towards him were fear or distrust. Either way, she’d called him here without dear ol’ Daddy D to look out for her, which meant he probably had wasted crucial time before viewing the video.
He sighed, poured a tumbler of cheap whiskey, and flipped the monitor to ‘play’.
Instantly, he recognized his own video feed, an eerie out-of-body method of witnessing his recent near-death experience. It was as if he had actually died and was watching his spirit pull away from his physical form, only he hadn’t been graced with the invite to the pearly gates. He was quite alive and dealing with the dizzying images dancing in the frame. It was annoying at first. Before he knew it, he was becoming entertained at the experience.
Angela had slowed the footage, filtering it for clarity. As a result, Cat watched the words mimed on Midas’ gold-tinted lips. Instead of a surprising blur, he was able to track the assassin’s attack movement-by-movement. Midas’ eyes engaged him with the self-important smugness, unaware of the airborne murderer. As the flash entered the screen, Cat witnessed the tearing of the platysma and scalyne muscles, the severing of the jugular, and the separation of the spine from the base of the skull, clear step-by-step features of Midas’ decapitation. He raised a glass to Midas’ cadaver just before it dropped.
“Bottom’s up,” he chided the video feed.
The video returned to standard speed for the next few moments. Cat recognized as he picked up the target, acknowledged its speed and reflexes, and moved in counter-measure. It was just before he turned and leapt through the window that the feed returned to frame-by-frame super-slow motion.
As he backed up, the attacker
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