#mister mothman

[smugglers-bible]

№ 1,100 | Mister Mothman

The money moves in unpredictable ways. It swirls from place to place, from investment to account via complex financial instruments. Save the headache. Meet it wherever it's going. Better yet, open your wallet and catch the winning lottery ticket fluttering in on the midnight breeze. Hope you know where to stand.

No. Lose sight of it for a second and it's gone forever. You have to make a deposit. Stick it out, ride the dollar the entire winding distance.

Mister Mothman dials his client. "Let's talk expenses," he says, cool and delicate. "The figure I quoted originally was somewhat deficient."

a story concerning Mister Mothman.

[smugglers-bible]

№ 1,086 | Mister Mothman

Mister Mothman opens the door just wide enough and slides in past the frosted glass and gold stenciled letters. The front desk is unattended. He expected this. Not many firms staff a receptionist after midnight.

The filing cabinets are in a small cubby beside a printer and a shelf of paper clips and white-out pens. The drawers are unlocked, a small blessing which saves some fiddling.

He carries what interests him out to a chair and gets comfortable while he reads, unconcerned with discovery. In his experience, almost nobody believes the security guard who reports a cryptid in the lobby.

a story concerning Mister Mothman.

[smugglers-bible]

№ 1,074 | Mister Mothman

Tuck and dive. Don't think of it as falling. Try to keep your own position fixed. Let the world and all its spinning particles pivot in relation to yourself. The glass shatters, rolls across your shoulders and back, races away in pursuit of the window. Ahead, the sidewalk is picking up speed for the charge.

It's a mental technique. Helps with timing. Spread out close to the midpoint. Too high and you're liable to be framed against the moon (laugh if you want, but people notice that shit). Too low and, well, momentum is a bitch. It's a mental technique.

a story concerning Mister Mothman.

[smugglers-bible]

№ 819 | Mister Mothman

Mister Mothman hears the scream (back side, toward Broad Street, sixth floor) and is aloft in a moment. It is seldom remarked upon, but alleyways provide surprisingly fine updrafts. When conditions are right, of course.

He tucks into a tumble going through the window and lands gently on his feet. Glass is still hitting the floor. Two goons stand near a body, only just beginning to realize what kind of trouble they're in.

Who? one goon begins to say, interrupted as the other blurts out what?

Then Mister Mothman sweeps the lamp off the table, and the light goes out.

a story concerning Mister Mothman.

[smugglers-bible]

Mister Mothman

Everything seems silver in the moonlight. A door opens across the street and a man steps out onto the stoop. He looks around carefully, peering at the cars parked along the street. He shrugs and descends the stairs, turning north toward the city center.

He never looks up. It is very rare that any do.

The man adjusts his coat. Tens of thousands of photoreceptors drink in the motion, sharpen and magnify it, revealing an envelope in his breast pocket.

Plenty of night to spare, Mister Mothman thinks, diving into a glide. As long as he doesn’t take a train.