She let out a shriek and instinctively slammed her elbow back into her assailant, but the person was built like a mountain and barely flinched. She reached for the switchblade in her pocket, fumbled, and slammed her elbow into her assailant again. Again, harder. The man let out a pained oomph before snatching her by her hair and reeling her back in.

"Keep quiet!" he huffed with what little breath he had left. His voice was ragged and raspy. "Trying to help you!"

He yanked her backwards. Her heels scraped against the gross alley ground. He threw her down and quickly tossed something — a sheet? — over her. And not a moment too soon. The sirens were right on top of them now.

A door opened and slammed shut. Heavy boot steps in the rain.

"Evening, Quincy." The voice of an official. Professional, clipped. Cold.

"Evening, Dave."

"Thought I saw you duck into the alley. Why so skittish?"

The officer didn't see me clearly! He thinks he saw Quincy!

"Just that kinda night," Quincy offered. It was clear in his voice that he didn't intend on saying anything more.

The officer didn't care. He continued, "We're looking for a suspicious individual. Short hair, about your height, wearing a mask of some sort. Like a Japanese demon mask. Seen anyone like that?"

"Can't say I have."

"Hm. There's a sturdy hundred in it for you, if you have."

"I'd take it," Quincy said, "but I honestly haven't seen anyone like that. I'll make a ruckus if I do, though. Say, have you heard from my kid? It's about time for a check-in, you know…"

The officer, Dave, grunted. "You know the deal. Next week, I'll let you know how she's doing. You just keep eyes on the guy who's been breaking into liquor stores for me."

There was no goodbye, no fond parting words. Just more heavy boot steps, the sound of a car door slamming, and the patrol car speeding off into the night.

Quincy let out a deep sigh of relief and yanked the sheet back. He stared down at her — and Celeste let out a sharp gasp.

"It's you!"

The homeless man's grin spread from ear-to-ear. "It's you," he shot back triumphantly. "Thought so. Wasn't sure until you pulled the mask off, though."

It was the man she'd given a burger to, what now felt like years ago. He reached a hand down to help her up.

"You've been watching me the whole time?"

"Not sure what 'the whole time' would be. But I recognized the way you walked from across the street a few minutes ago. Not to sound too creepy," he said quickly, and she could hear the abashment in his voice, "but you move like you never really know where you're going. Most people who haven't been in the city too long move like that."

Celeste rolled her eyes. "It sounds creepier when you say, not to sound creepy. But I never told you I hadn't been here long."

"No," he said with a shrug, and then flashed her another knowing grin. "But you stopped to help me. Nobody who's been here long would do that. You on the run from the cops?"

Should she tell him the truth? Celeste quickly decided that the truncated truth was better than a lie. "I'm not as concerned about them, but there's someone else after me. Think you can help get me to the monorail?"

Quincy shifted his weight uncomfortably. "This time of night? I mean sure — but…this time of night?"

"I need to get about a mile away from here within the next half hour, without anyone seeing me. It's my best bet."

He scratched his beard. His fingers made a distinct crunching sound, and Celeste wondered when he'd last been able to properly wash it.

"Not too keen on going that far out, myself," he said. "Dangerous city this time of night. But I think I can get you to the monorail, sure. Ever ridden in a shopping cart before?"

"Um, not since I was little, no."

"Well," he said, gesturing toward a rusty old cart hidden behind a dumpster, "say hello to your getaway vehicle. Throw a sheet on top of you, and nobody will bat an eye."

"Even the cops?"

"Cops and I have an understanding."

Quincy gestured toward the cart. Getting inside was awkward. She had to tuck her knees up to her chest and get into a tight fetal position to not be seen. What rain didn't seep through the thin, dirty sheet made heavy plunking sounds against it that drowned out most other noises.

She could see the sidewalk through the bottom of the cart. Crumpled soda cans, a few shards of broken glass, wet cigarette butts. What all had she stepped in or on? God knew how many shots she'd need, now. But that could wait until later. The dead weren't exactly lining up for tetanus shots.

"This is where you stay?" Celeste asked as they rolled through the storm, lifting her voice to be heard above it.

"Most times," Quincy hollered back between bumps in the sidewalk. "Same cops patrol this area. Makes it easy to move around if people already know you."

"And you give them information on criminals in exchange for money?"

"That, and updates on my daughter. Not allowed to see her. It's a lot to get into, but the cops will let me know how she's doing from time-to-time, so long as I help them out."

"Information for favors is a good business to be in. You know, I'm something of an information broker myself. Kinda how I wound up in this mess," she said with a dry laugh.

They turned a corner. The cart hitched on a slab of uplifted asphalt. Getting it up and over the ledge was hard work for Quincy, but he managed after a few minutes. Celeste felt terrible being carted around — literally — but leaving the cart would only make matters worse.

"What sort of information?" he grunted as he shoved her along.

"Anything you can think of. You ever heard of the Black Cat Café?"

"Yup. Not much of a coffee person, though."

"Well, stop by there some time. I'm the night manager. I can return the favor, so mind as you don't mind dancing with a few devils."

"You?" he guessed.

Celeste started to say no. But then she paused. Was she one of those devils, now? She'd been referring to the night clientèle, but how different were they from her? She hadn't done anything particularly bad, hadn't hurt anyone. Even breaking into Bhasvah's house had only been to get information, not steal anything of value. Had he not sent men to kill her, she would have been more than willing to talk things out.

But then again, wasn't that exactly what Morgan and the others did at night? Try to talk things out so that they didn't resort to killing one another?

Quincy's laugh caught her off guard. "Sorry. Did I hit a nerve?"

"N-no. Just…thinkin', was all."

The cart came to a stop. "We're here," he said.

Celeste threw the sheet off. A winding stairwell led up to the monorail, whose lights she could see not too far away. She hopped clumsily from her carriage and squeezed Quincy's shoulder.

"Thank you. Stop by the Cat tomorrow night — I promise I'll make it up to you!" she said, and tore off up the steps, taking them two at a time.

The monorail would be here in less than a minute.

Quincy called something out after her, but she couldn't make out what it was over the roar of thunder. She paused once she reached the top and looked over the railing at him, but couldn't see his lips from here, much less read them.

"Don't…back!" she thought she heard Quincy yell.

Don't come back? That doesn't make any sense.

There was no time to try to decipher his words. The monorail had pulled to a stop now, and the doors opened.

The inside was empty, save for a lone swimsuit magazine that sat on one of the seats.

Celeste ran into the dark tube, glad to be out of the wet and cold. She took the nearest seat and squeezed her shirt out onto the floor. Several of the interior lights flickered, casting her into complete darkness for several seconds at a time.

Almost there, she thought and breathed a sigh of relief. The doors slid to a close. Almost to Nancy. Almost home.

It was then that the door to her left opened, and two figures emerged: a woman about her height with a pink pixie cut and leather jacket, and a mountain of a man with a short green mohawk and nose ring. The two took one look at her, and the woman nudged the man in his ribcage.

"You were right. Guess I owe you ten dollars. That's definitely her."

"Told ya."

"We bringing her back alive, or no?"

Celeste's stomach dropped. Her legs turned to gelatin as she attempted to move off the bench and toward the back.

You've gotta be kidding me. No way. No fucking way.

"Nah," the man said as he approached, "too much trouble. Kill her now, take a pic, and we'll get our pay."

"Sounds good." The woman gave Celeste an almost apologetic smile as she, too, approached. "Nothing personal, lady, but we gotta kill you. We'll try to make it quick."