Ally threw the remains of the BigMac wrapper onto the pickup's dash and dusted her hands off on her pants. She stretched in the seat, pushing her legs to full extension against the back of the firewall until her neck touched the roof, head bent over, and she felt what might have been her patellae settling in place. Feeling slightly more human, she dropped back into the seat with a sigh.
The radio/CD-player in the dash, which was quietly playing Stewart's REM disc, displayed 02:42. The disposable coffee mugs by her knees were long cold and empty, a fact Allison cursed. The warmth would have been appreciated as Stu had insisted on opening the windows a crack to keep them from misting up and the night was unseasonably chill.
Stu, in the passenger seat, was still absorbed in his casebook. When his eyes weren't flickering up to watch the street, he was reading the battered, dog-eared pocketbook by the dim glow of a snake-light attached to the back cover. Whenever Allison glanced over she saw pages covered in his laborious, crabbed hand-writing and careful sketches - glyphs, simulacra, suspects and artefacts. Here and there folding card sheets had been attached to blank pages, hiding larger - or more dangerous - diagrams. She knew better by now not to ask and he never volunteered the information.
"There's our man."
Stewart's head was up, looking out at the solitary figure who had appeared on the street. The man wore a heavy jacket and hurried along the pavement, alternately blending into the night and making stark contrast against the street-lamp spotlights. Ally and Stu watched as he studiously ignored the world around him, the quiet city streets and the street-walker who shivered with her arms crossed over herself he passed on the corner of a side road. He only slowed when he reached a narrow alley and approached the lone non-descript service entrance to Finnegan's Garage lit by a pale cage-wrapped bulb. He knocked, looked over his shoulder, knocked again and the door opened to spill a square of light across the alley. A moment later and the figure was gone, the door closed once more.
Allison took the revolver from the glove compartment. Stu snapped the notebook closed and slipped it inside his coat. As one they stepped out of the pickup's cab and, without a word, crossed the street to the garage.
The radio/CD-player in the dash, which was quietly playing Stewart's REM disc, displayed 02:42. The disposable coffee mugs by her knees were long cold and empty, a fact Allison cursed. The warmth would have been appreciated as Stu had insisted on opening the windows a crack to keep them from misting up and the night was unseasonably chill.
Stu, in the passenger seat, was still absorbed in his casebook. When his eyes weren't flickering up to watch the street, he was reading the battered, dog-eared pocketbook by the dim glow of a snake-light attached to the back cover. Whenever Allison glanced over she saw pages covered in his laborious, crabbed hand-writing and careful sketches - glyphs, simulacra, suspects and artefacts. Here and there folding card sheets had been attached to blank pages, hiding larger - or more dangerous - diagrams. She knew better by now not to ask and he never volunteered the information.
"There's our man."
Stewart's head was up, looking out at the solitary figure who had appeared on the street. The man wore a heavy jacket and hurried along the pavement, alternately blending into the night and making stark contrast against the street-lamp spotlights. Ally and Stu watched as he studiously ignored the world around him, the quiet city streets and the street-walker who shivered with her arms crossed over herself he passed on the corner of a side road. He only slowed when he reached a narrow alley and approached the lone non-descript service entrance to Finnegan's Garage lit by a pale cage-wrapped bulb. He knocked, looked over his shoulder, knocked again and the door opened to spill a square of light across the alley. A moment later and the figure was gone, the door closed once more.
Allison took the revolver from the glove compartment. Stu snapped the notebook closed and slipped it inside his coat. As one they stepped out of the pickup's cab and, without a word, crossed the street to the garage.
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