hopeless wanderer

kekoa walker. xxxii. cop with freaky powers.

[kekoawalker-blog]

isabelle-asadi :

sylviecomtois :

Sylvie wiped her hair away from her face, the sweat causing it to cling to her forehead in a distinctly unpleasant way. After Mexico she’d hoped they’d end up somewhere nicer, and……colder. Perhaps Germany, or Russia, or Belgium. Not another damn desert wasteland. 

But, she told herself, it was a case, and an interesting one, at that, and it was better than copying paperwork in the office all day. Bourke was a strange place. It had a population of around two thousand people and seemed to be a surreal oasis between the outback and…..more outback. “I agree,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m assuming we’re going to approach the people living in the desert? Jasper mentioned that the Aboriginal populations are most abundant there.” 

It’s loud here, louder than she thought it would be. Birds that sounded like they were screaming woke her up at five in the morning and the air sticks to her, not in the way she remembers it in Spain, but with a dry heat that’s uncomfortable against her eyes.

The police in these types of places usually know as much, if not less, than their initial report. Not to mention, thirty years have gone by. People remember, people care, people tell stories that live on – she has to agree. “I believe they’re interspersed in the population,” she comments, looking around the lobby. “Though, our best bet is the edge of town.” She starts towards the door. “If they’ll talk to us at all.” 

He headed off after Isabelle, not looking back but expecting Sylvie to follow. “From what I gather, the edge of town is right.” The air was dry against his skin as he pushed open the hotel door, blanketing him instantly with a warmth that was almost oppressive, rasping against the open surfaces of his arms like sandpaper. Kekoa rolled his shoulders, the movement as much an effort to adjust his black vest as to force his body to adjust to the sudden change in temperature.

“The community leaders are our best bet,” he informed his partners, glancing down the open expanse of road to the left and shielding his eyes from the sun’s slanting rays. “And if you’re worried about them talkin’, don’t worry. If they talk to any of us, I reckon it’ll be me.” Of all the team, he had the most chance of finding common ground with the locals. Hawaiian and Native American weren’t by any means the same as Aboriginal, but Kekoa knew that there would nonetheless be things they shared.

[kekoawalker-blog]

Another case, another vast expanse of desert. But there was something different about this one, something... the word otherworldly had crossed his mind, albeit briefly. It was as though the earth itself was imbued with some sort of power, and the air felt tinged with a sense of the mysterious, the unknown. Looking out at the way the outback stretched on, seemingly into eternity, the earth burnt ochre under the blazing sun, you could really believe that this was the kind of land on which people disappeared without explanation.

After so long without a real case, Kekoa’s hands were itching from inactivity, his bones restless, eager to get into solving a real puzzle. He was glad to find Isabelle and Sylvie in one place, in the small lobby of the hotel that Interpol had so kindly chosen for them.

“You guys ready to go?” he queried, coming to a halt near them. “I made my feelings about this plenty clear in the briefing, I think we should start with the indigenous locals rather than the cops.” It was a statement that left some room for debate, but was nonetheless reasonably firm, bolstered by the fact that he knew Isabelle agreed with him about the fact that the police wouldn’t be especially useful.

[jasonmomoadaily]

[kekoawalker-blog]

isabelle-asadi :

Isabelle sees the humor in it, swirling the remaining liquid in her glass before finishing it and pushing the glass towards the bar. “Next we’ll be talking about the weather,” she comments as she points towards her glass, making eye contact with the bartender. 

“I miss the sea,” she agrees. It’s a sliver of a good memory from her childhood, sitting on the balcony and looking over the waters of the Mediterranean, comforting as they lapped at the Spanish shorelines. It used to sing her to sleep at night. It’s obvious that they’re thinking of very different bodies of water, but she imagines the important things would remain the same. “The Hudson doesn’t really do it,” she adds dryly, nodding her thanks to the bartender who finally decides to fill her drink. 

“I mean, you say that like you’re kidding, but I think I saw some pretty big grey clouds comin’ our way...” He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d joked around with someone else like this, when his conversation had been nothing but light, free of the usual inhibitions and the constant necessity to remain guarded. He was surprised to find that it was quite nice.

“No, it doesn’t,” he concurred, shaking his head as he contemplated the woeful lack of open water around them. For the briefest of moments, if he concentrated hard, he could hear the roar of the ocean again, could almost feel the spray of salt against his skin, insistent but feather-soft at the same time. His bones ached for it, to be returned to the watery cradle in which he was born. Maybe he’d have to go home, one day. But that was a train of thought for another time, when he was very much alone. “Here’s hoping for a case by the ocean that involves about one day of actual work, and a week of vacation time.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

jaspermorrell :

At his very essence Jasper worked with logic, there may be layers beyond this, diversions, special circumstances, but beneath this, at his core, he ticked with alarming predictability. Like fixed mechanisms in clocks or engines. Even his crass, rude nature, especially that, was forged from pure logic. There was nothing smart about letting people get close to him. There was nothing smart in the complicating cat’s cradle of two people’s strings being tied together. 

“In a life-threatening situation, I am of little assistance to the group. I am physically weak and therefore reluctant to contribute to my full potential because I am too busy being concerned with my own well-being. However if we worked together, I think perhaps I would be more inclined to concentrating on saving everybody else’s life, because I would have more mental capacity available to do so - because you’d be doing the protecting. Do you understand?”

“You say that like protecting all your guys’ asses isn’t already what I do,” he started, fixing Jasper with a sideways glance that could have been incredulous if he’d been bothered to put a little more effort into forming the expression properly. As it stood, he just looked his usual brand of mildly pissed off. Kekoa had only to think for a second, and countless instances of him protecting not just Jasper, but the team at large, sprung to mind. When Morrell had suggested working together better, Kekoa hadn’t quite expected it to turn into a lecture on how to do his job.

“And please,” he added after a beat of silence, shaking his head, “don’t patronise me. Instead of askin’ me to do what I already spend far too much of my time doin’,” Kekoa continued, wondering with some irritation how many more punches he’d have to give and take before Jasper stopped cowering like a frightened rabbit at the first sign of danger, “why don’t you try having some faith in the fact that I’m pretty good at this whole protectin’ thing, and then you won’t need to worry so much about ‘your own well being’.” Another pause, then, “do you understand?”

[kekoawalker-blog]

ucu-ross :

“Cool.” Hunter regards lightly as the elevator hits HQ and dings open. He supposes it makes sense, the gym is a shared space for other agents of interpol, not just the members of the UCU. People already stared at their team enough, whispered about haunting and superpowers. Hunter imagined these looks were only more frequent with Kekoa, it was hard sometimes not to stare - even as his team mate. “Well, see you later man.”

[ . END . ]

[kekoawalker-blog]

nicocassini :

How was it that he had been the one who had been punched and now he was the one who felt like shit for being mad about it? Kekoa’s words had been an emphatic exclamation point. There was nothing he could say to challenge them and nothing he could say to make it better. They had both been caught up in their tempers.

“Right,” he finally said, defeated, and he pulled his feet up onto the bed and lay on his back, touching the icepack to his face again. For a brief moment, it struck him that if Kekoa left, he could at least smoke, but just as quickly, he thought better of it. Kekoa would smell it, and the fight would start all over again.

The word ‘sorry’ danced on his lips just like his cigarettes often did, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Neither of them were the sort to apologize. Both stubborn, both overcome by a desire to protect themselves and their hearts. “I’ll see you at the meeting,” he said, before the door closed. It was just one more barrier between them, just a door, but it was the barriers it represented that broke Nico’s heart. He waited just long enough to not run into Kekoa outside, then stepped out himself, lighting the very same cigarette Kekoa had pulled from his lips just moments ago.

Right now, it was the only comfort he had.

[ . END . ]

[kekoawalker-blog]

ucu-ross :

It was a strange feeling, Hunter stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for their HQ. Over the years many agents had come and gone, some for the first time - others for the last. All of which came from different walks of life and for the briefest of moments he could connect with the unique vibration their soul had left behind. It was over just as quickly as it had began and Hunter leaned into the far corner of the elevator, his body languid as he crossed his ankles slightly. “Do you use the gym here or are you part of a club?“ Hunter had boxed a few times, but he wasn’t very good by any stretch - just did it enough to prove that in a real fight he’d get his ass kicked.

“Sometimes the gym, but mostly at home.” He thought of his old, ratty punch bag, then - he suspected it wouldn’t be long before it disintegrated beneath his fists, before the sand came spilling out and he had to replace it. He should have bought a new one, really, but there was something comforting, something morbidly satisfying about hitting something and feeling it come apart beneath his fists, without worrying about consequences or paperwork, or even the concerned stares of his colleagues as they remembered exactly what it was that he could do.

[kekoawalker-blog]

isabelle-asadi :

She does have to agree with him. With all the power of Interpol behind them, they really should be able to weed out the hoaxes. Or, you’d think so. She’s never been interested in how things work, except that Castillo tells them the cases and then they solve them. Nice and uncomplicated, and it seems to be working pretty well for her so far. “I guess you get hoaxes when you hunt ghosts,” she says. “But, it be nice to know someone up the chain actually did their homework.”

She shakes her head, though she doubts they will be in New York long - they never are. “Castillo won’t let us have another loss.” She glances towards the TV playing softly in the background and then back to her half empty glass. “I’m just hoping there’s less desert.” 

He nodded, slowly, admitting that she did have a point. He remembered his mother watching ghost hunting programs on TV, laughing uproariously at every ridiculous incident and pointing out exactly how you could tell it was all a hoax, mocking the presenters for pretending that they knew how to talk to the dead. But they were hardly meant to just be ‘hunting ghosts’ at the UCU, and Kekoa had hoped that their work would avoid such childish banalities like prank calls and hoax cases. “Look at us, complainin’ ‘bout our bosses,” he commented, smirking into the mouth of his beer bottle as he took another swig. “We’re becoming cliché employees.”

He didn’t mind that so much, liked that talking to Isabelle meant they could share the occasional gripe about the higher ups, knowing that the words spoken between them wouldn’t be repeated anywhere else. He had to agree with the desert point; despite himself, he missed the jungle, the ocean. “Mm. The sea would be nice.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

sylviecomtois :

“Of course not!” Sylvie said, insulted, rushing after him in order to keep up. Damn, he had long legs. “You just mentioned that your ability works if someone is trying to break through your defenses. Telepathy doesn’t work on you, yes? So, already, you have an advantage: he can’t see what you’re planning. That’ll probably make him wary, sure, but perhaps he’ll embrace you and your power. Add that to the fact that you look like you could hold your own in a gang, and you can buy yourself enough time to get him alone and get something out of him. I can talk to the rest of the members, but the head…..well, the head is tricky.” She paused. “And then maybe beat him up if he still won’t talk.” It was meant to be a joke, but it almost seemed like a plausible solution when she said it out loud.

She shook her head. He was right. It didn’t matter if the Sicilian Mafia came after him, but it certainly did if he came after Sylvie–she’d couldn’t defend herself if her life depended on it. The best she could do would be to change her face and find a new place to start over, but she sincerely did not want to do that. Not again, not when she was having such an interesting time in the UCU. “I’m not sure how I can make sure he won’t come after me, you’re right. Maybe if I avoid thinking about my name? Keep my head focused? If I don’t have to talk to him during this whole endeavor it might not be as much of an issue.” 

“Just how long are you planning to spend on this case?” he queried, eyebrow raised. “Because the way I see it, you’re lookin’ at long-term undercover work, maybe some stakeouts. This job seems better suited to the whole team than a case you take as a hobby, to pass the time.” Kekoa was intrigued by Sylvie’s proposal, but after hearing her outline her proposal he became unsure as to whether she had thought her plan through. It seemed unduly dangerous to mess with the Mafia, and even more so given that it would be just the two of them. Kekoa had never really been one to care about rules or regulations, had never slowed down or modified his agenda for the benefit of others, but even he couldn’t help but consider the colossal amount of trouble they’d both be in if the operation went even the slightest bit wrong. “I can see this goin’ sideways very easily,” he informed Sylvie, eyes reflecting the doubt he felt. “If we’re gonna play the long game, we have to do it right.”

Kekoa considered her next suggestion, but somehow it still didn’t sit right with him. “You said he could see through your ability, right? So I don’t see how not thinking about your name is gonna help, not if he’ll be able to tell that you’re thinking hard about pretending to be...” he waved a hand, “whoever you’re gonna turn into to get yourself a meet.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

ucu-ross :

Kekoa didn’t give people a lot, but Hunter didn’t take it personally - or mind so much really. He hoped he hadn’t offended, but Hunter had a sneaking suspicion that if he had then he’d definitely know it. Kekoa may be the ‘strong, silent type’ but he didn’t seem to be afraid of action.  Hunter just shrugged as he pressed the button to the elevator while a beat of silence passed between the two of them. “Stuff’s cool.” 

Kekoa afforded the comment a small, wry smile, aware of how uncommunicative and generally unhelpful he was likely being, but grateful that Hunter seemed to understand that sharing was more or less beyond his capabilities today (and every day, really), and that he wasn’t the type to press an issue unnecessarily. The lift arrived, then, coming to a halt with a small ding sound, and Kekoa stepped aside to allow Hunter to enter first, before getting in himself. “It helps pass the time,” he answered, smile not falling from his lips, and then, because he felt bad for shutting down Hunter’s inquiry so completely, added, “I box.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

isabelle-asadi :

She doesn’t bother to thank the bartender, she doubts he’d appreciate it anyways. She’ll tip well though, to make up for the business she’s lost him – she always does. She knows it’s a small compensation and maybe she should start to look for a new bar, but this one is just too convenient and becoming something close to familiar. 

She lifts her glass towards Kekoa, nodding her thanks, the pale liquid sloshing just slightly as she does. Taking a long drink, she spares a moment to just enjoy the taste, she’s been sitting here long enough that it no longer burns and you can just enjoy it for for what it really is. “Mexico wasn’t that bad,” she says, setting the glass on the bar. “Could have been worse.” At least there was tequila. There was also relentless heat and tedious work with no pay off, but it just comes with the job. 

“It wasn’t bad,” he conceded, bringing the beer bottle to his lips and taking a swig. “It was just embarrassing. And a waste of our time. We should be able to avoid fuck-ups like that, but somehow these hoaxes just keep turnin’ up.” It wasn’t clear exactly whose fault this all was, but Kekoa was very firm in his belief that, whoever was responsible for the dud cases that kept being assigned to them, the team had nothing whatsoever to do with it. They were merely foot-soldiers, following orders, and somewhere along the chain of command mistakes had been made.

“You heard anythin’ about any new cases?” he asked at length, having enjoyed a few moments of absolute but entirely comfortable silence. That was part of what he appreciated so much about Isabelle’s company, the fact that she didn’t expect him to speak, and knew that he didn’t expect her to. Polite conversation was so mind-numbingly tedious, and Kekoa was glad to be spared the discomfort. “I reckon we need a win on the next one, take some of the heat off our backs.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

nicocassini :

He had read Kekoa’s file. Skimmed it, if he was honest. Truth be told, the idea of a man who couldn’t be hurt made Nico jealous. If Gio had had those gifts, he’d still be alive. But he supposed you could go around in circles with that kind of philosophy all day. Being invulnerable to harm and immune to everyone else’s gifts made Kekoa a powerhouse, and he never seemed to forget it.

“What an excellent way to ignore the question,” he said, a bitter snicker escaping his lips. “I welcome being punched in the face if it helps the case. But I want to know the person I’m working with actually has my back. Why are you here if you don’t care about anyone but yourself?” It was an honest question, with feeling and genuine curiosity. 

“You don’t think I have your back?” Kekoa didn’t mind when his ability to be sociable or communicative was called into question, or when people assumed that just because he was the muscle, that automatically made him stupid, but the one thing he couldn’t stand was people doubting his loyalty to the team. He was growing increasingly irate, now, incensed by the fact that the work he did at the UCU, for the UCU, wasn’t seen as anything more than self-serving and uncaring.

“Who has your back when you’re in danger then, huh? Who had all of your fuckin’ backs on that Lima case when the perps opened fire on us?” He looked away, teeth clenched, shoulders tensing from the effort of restraining himself from screaming at Nico. “I care.” Oh, he had cared so much, once, and had been punished so severely for it. If they knew what it was he was running from, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him as heartless. “I care about the job I was brought in to do. When the team needs someone to be punched, or someone to take a punch, or a knife, or a bullet, I’m always there, no matter how much you all might piss me off.” Kekoa didn’t feel he had to listen to this. Any longer, and he might wind up hitting the scrawny Italian a second time.

“Unless you have anything else to say to me, I’m out of here,” he barked in Nico’s direction, heading for the door, voice low and as menacing as he could make it. “We’ll go to the meet tomorrow as planned, but until then stay out of my fuckin’ way.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

sylviecomtois :

Sylvie grinned, outright ignoring the morbid comment. Being morbid was kind of her specialty, and working in the UCU nurtured that side of her. Probably because their main focus was murder cases. “I know. Too bad most of them end up in an arrest.” 

It’d been a case she’d pulled out of the archives a few months ago. Castillo had…..discouraged her from pursuing it, since it was technically in the FBI’s jurisdiction more than anyone else’s. But since most of its members were undocumented Italian immigrants, she’d justified her following the case to the head of Interpol. They’d let her try her luck at infiltrating, but the head of the gang had found her out in three seconds flat. 

“The files are in my office,” she said, gesturing her head towards the door. “They’re called the Mala Del Brenta, a branch of the Sicilian mafia that appeared in New York about five years ago. They recruit young men, put them through intense initiations, and then kill them if they can’t keep up. I need a confession from the head of the gang–the problem is, he sees through any disguise, any attempt at extracting information; it makes me think that he has some ability similar to Captain Castillo’s. You can’t get shot and you are strong, yes? Maybe with your help, we can finally take him in.” She paused. “And if you can help me, I promise, I will buy your drinks for the next week.” A risky proposal, but she’d be glad to finally get this case closed. 

Kekoa nodded again, still evaluating the proposal she’d put to him. On the surface, it seemed like a fairly safe, unproblematic endeavour. He’d go in, find some mafia punks to interrogate, and report it back to Sylvie. It was unlikely he’d find anything, which meant that they could archive the case and forget about it, and if they did then it’d count as a good win for the team, something they desperately needed.

He mirrored her gesture, indicating the door. “Lead the way, then.” As they walked, he listened to her brief summary of the case, making no commentary and not reacting other than the subtle nods and frowns he gave at various instances to show that he was listening and absorbing Sylvie’s information. When she reached the part about the gang leader, however, he stopped abruptly in his tracks, and fixed Sylvie with a stare. “What, so you want to march in to the mafia, grab their leader and beat the crap out of him until he tells you that he killed a boy?” He chuckled, then, the sound wry and cutting, and shook his head, taking care to keep his voice low to prevent the rest of the team from overhearing. “That’s never gonna work, and you know it. Do that, and we’ll have the entire Sicilian Mafia coming after us. For me, that’s not a problem. For you... not so much. You wanna do this, you have to be smart about it, make sure that he can’t come after you when we’re done.” Satisfied he’d made his point clear, Kekoa resumed walking, assuming that Sylvie would catch up.

[kekoawalker-blog]

mai-sato :

Mai felt no nervousness– save for her own embarrassment– stepping into Kekoa’s office, although she knew the same could not be said for everyone; he had a bit of a reputation around the department for his quickness to irritation. However Mai was not afraid of him. He towered over her in a way that was almost comical when they stood together, but she had never felt threatened by him, and even enjoyed his company. She also had great amounts of respect for a warrior, or simply anyone who could throw a solid punch. As she crossed the office to deliver her apology cookies, her curious gaze caught sight of the paperwork poised beneath his pen–the aftermath of Mexico, if she had to guess–and she made sure to set the tupperware down on the corner of his desk so as not to interfere.The small smile she got in return for her actions was not missed, and the fact that she had made Kekoa smile lit up her own face as well. 

“Of course,” Mai nodded, chuckling in response to his toughness comment. “I suppose if I had to accidentally hit one of my teammates it was lucky it was you. Not that I would wish to hit you either of course,” she added quickly, realizing how the words had sounded the moment they’d left her lips. After a moment Mai began to speak again, adding an explanation if only to change the topic. “I used to train to fight with wooden swords. Holding that broom made me nostalgic, and careless. I’m glad you were not injured.” At his offer to sit she was caught off guard, having planned to beat a hasty retreat back to her own office. However the prospect of returning to her own pile of work was enough to compel her to nod and fold herself into the chair across from him. She rested the heel of one foot on the floor and the other on the edge of the chair, hugging her knee towards her chest as she made herself comfortable. “Are you working on paperwork from Mexico?” she asked, nodding towards the waiting papers.

He dismissed her explanation with a gentle wave of the hand, not seeing the need for her to justify her comment. “It’s okay, I get what you mean.” It was lucky it had been him. After all, in Mai’s hands the broom handle had only reached his torso, but for many of their shorter colleagues an encounter with Mai that day would have meant a hard smack to the face. Kekoa doubted whether some people would have been able to cope with such a blow. Especially not Wren, who might have found herself sprawled unconscious on the floor and with a bloody nose, leaving everyone else to clean up the mess. So she was right. Of all the team, Kekoa knew he was the one best equipped to take a punch.

He always found himself surprisingly calm in Mai’s company, free of his usual worries about being asked questions he didn’t want to answer, his fear of people prying into the things he hoped to hide. Her curiosity, if there ever was any, came from an honest place, and she somehow managed to respect his boundaries without him ever having told her where they were drawn. “You looked pretty good to me.” A compliment. Rare, but she deserved it, she’d looked quite adept with the broom. “If that’s you bein’ careless, then I can’t imagine what bein’ careful looks like.” Grace was something he respected greatly, a quality he aspired to but had always lacked, due to his height and size and the fact that when he moved, he did so with his whole body. Everything about him had always been large, dramatic, and it was nice to see something different, to witness the hidden power that small, slight people could have if they trained their bodies correctly. He nodded at her question, casting a dispassionate eye at the paper in front of him. “Yeah.” Paperwork was the bane of his existence, and he’d done so much of it recently that he’d almost memorised the layout of the forms, filling them in mechanically and without even a milligram of genuine interest. As he answered her, he finished signing one of the forms, casting it aside with some relief. “Apparently it’s not enough that the case was a fuckin’ disaster, now we have to put that in writing as well.” He’d half considered going to have a word with the director, asking him exactly what he was thinking sending them into such a messed up situation and having the audacity to blame them when it went wrong.

[kekoawalker-blog]

ucu-ross :

Hunter flushed a little, despite himself. “Well I can’t speak for everyone…” He said, looking down at the ground as he did before finishing, “but yeah basically.” He smiled lightly before he found himself asking, “so what do you do for fun then?”

Kekoa shrugged. “Could be worse, I guess.” At least they didn’t think he was off beating people up in his spare time, or worse, doing something that could actually be construed as fun. The next question caught him somewhat off-guard, although he didn’t show it except for the slight frown that crept onto his brow. “That’s...” The words none of your damn business were on the tip of his tongue, but they were having a civil conversation, and for some reason he felt like there was no need to be unduly harsh, remembering what Jasper had said about cooperation. “Stuff.”

[kekoawalker-blog]

isabelle-asadi :

“I’ve had the gin, I wouldn’t suggest it,” she half-jokes, ignoring the look of the already irate bartender.

She feels a sort of freedom when she’s around Kekoa – a lightness that she can’t find anywhere else – he’s the only person she’s ever met that she can say whatever she wants and there’s no permanent consequences. She doesn’t need to worry about the far off look in his eye or the sudden stop of conversation.  It’s the simple pleasure of telling someone to shut up and them not listening.

Not that she would need to tell him to shut up.  That’s another thing she appreciates about Kekoa, he understands the virtues of silence, of privacy, of not having to wear your whole life out on your sleeve for everyone to see. For these reasons she doesn’t mind for him to join her, she almost welcomes it.  Of course, she’d never mention this to him.

“I always ask nicely,” she drawls, feeling the effects of the alcohol as she slides her finished glass towards the bartender.

He smiled imperceptibly at her words, the expression soft, wry, private, the kind of reaction you’d expect to a private joke. He had an infinite amount of respect for Isabelle, for her bluntness, her drive, and her determination not to be sucked into the sappy, cyclical rituals that made up so much of people’s lives. He’d thought before coming to New York that keeping the world at arm’s length was a talent only he possessed, and had been infinitely pleased to find someone else who was similarly configured to him.

“No gin. Duly noted.”

Reverting to the kind of silence only two fundamentally solitary people could feel comfortable sharing, Kekoa waited for the bartender to serve him his drink, inclining his head in gratitude when the beer bottle was finally slid across the surface of the bar. Mutely, he watched the resentful-looking man pour Isabelle another whisky, before holding out his bottle in her direction, a silent invitation for a toast.

“Are we drownin’ our sorrows after that shit-show in Mexico, or just drinkin’ for the hell of it? ‘Cause I’m good with either.”