Catching of a Piece

[Due Machiavelli]

"What does it say?" One brother was looking over the other's shoulder as he opened the envelope. They stood in their office, examining the piece of paper that had fallen into their hands which they had not predicted to. The brother holding it unfolded it and they read in unison what James Owen had written.

Dear Jennet,

I do not know how well you remember me, our interaction had not been much when I took up my station at the Widow's Spoon. Word has come to me about you being the owner and manager of Rogues Tavern. I could scarsely think of anyone else better prepared for the job.

In my travels I have often thought back to our hometown and have wondered if the new detective is doing a better job with it than I was. I'm sure by now you know the disappointment I had been, I was hoping by leaving the office that someone better suited for the job woudl step in.

I write out of concern. I was in Carthage Harbor and noticed a boat called the Hive and it made me think of you and the town. Have things gotten that much worse or was the name of the boat only a coincidence? I hope this letter finds you well, I hope for your correspondence.

Sincerely,
Detective James Owen

After reading it one brother grinned at the other. One sat down at the desk while the other sat atop the edge of it, looking down at the paper as the other prepared to write. The oil lamp was adjusted so that the light burned more fiercely.

"Write neatly, brother. He's seen our handwriting before."

"You're right," it took the great concentration of his mind to force his lettering into something like a version of it that was unrecognizable. It seemed that they held their breaths, excited by the deed.

James,

I do recall you from those years ago, you often visited the tavern and the people were grateful to see you. However the situation is as you feared, it has not improved since you left but gotten worse.

It would help a great deal for you to return and help the city. You must come. Please meet me at the Widow's Footstep in a week's time. I will have one latern lit to tell you where I am, waiting. It is best the brothers not know you're coming. If you do not arrive that day I will take it as a sign that you had other matters, more important than helping this town, which kept you.

Jennet

"It sounds informal enough. She carries on with all the merchants like they are her brothers."

The toher brother tilted his head to the side, "Does Jennet's signature really look like such a scrawl?" The mirror reflection nodded but seemed indifferent about being precise. James did not know Jennet well enough to spot even the most obvious of forgeries. After having created it they paused as if unsure with whom to give the task of delivery. There couldn't be any screw ups with this one and Clive had started to look shaky the past few days.

The brother sitting at the desk reached over to dim the oil lamp, "Let's give this one to Aaron, he has done decently so far."

The otehr brother grinned and got to his feet, opening the door. The office door, a story up, opened to the moving, loud warehouse guts of the Hive. Men were nailing up boxes and taking them apart. There was booze and tobacco crated up, being shifted around along with some textiles. It was their current annoyance that they had to purchase it through the vendors who were the middle men that marked up the prices. Oh... the money that was to be had in cutting them out of the financial equation by owning them. It was enough that they could start buying up more of the properties in town.

"Aaron!" The Brother's voice bounced like a shot off the walls, "Bring me Aaron Black!"

[aaronblack]

"Keep your head down and keep your eyes and ears open. Learn all you can about their operation and report to me once a week." The instructions were simple enough to understand, and seemed easy enough to follow. Getting into The Hive and becoming a part of the operation wasn't that difficult; Aaron just seemed to be at the right place at the right time. He had ran from the scene of a brutal murder with more than a little blood on his hands. Ran straight to where he'd been instructed to go and delivered the news to who he was supposed to tell. It was that simple.

Since then, he'd become one of the more trusted runners within the organization. From one day to the next, he never knew where he'd be going or who he'd be talking to; and that did not bother Aaron in the least. There hadn't been much to report that his boss didn't already know. At least, not until now.

When one of the brothers yelled his name, Aaron didn't even think twice. He jumped from the game of cards he was in the middle of and tossed a silver piece onto the pile of coins in the middle of the table. With a grin, he ran over to where the brother was standing. Aaron stood a bit straighter than usual, as if at attention. His arm was bent at the elbow and his hand opened, waiting for the missive.

[Due Machiavelli]

"Good, Aaron," The brother leaned on the rail way of the Hive, looking down at the man with a small smile on his lips. The letter was held out to him and his voice dropped, making his tone grave and flat, "This is an important letter you must deliver. The man to receive it is James Owen. Do you remember him?"

He adjusted now so that both of his hands were on the tops of the railings, as if to bar the way to the office with his body. The smile was not weak though, did not wave or indicate a lack of enthusiasm. Just caution. Aaron knew better than anyone that his hide would be had if he screwed this up but that didn't stop the Brothers from being perfectly clear about the situation. No one would claim that they meandered about the point.

"He use to be the sheriff in town," He said with some amusement, his eyes looking off in recollection, "In some ways he was effective, more than anyone else. But he's thinking of coming back here and I look to re-educate him on the idea. This letter is from Jennet to him," but Aaron should have known what he really meant. It was from the brothers to the detective, clear enough, "it carries with it important details. James seems to be traveling, his address says Eastborough Township. Go to there, deliver him this letter and be quick about it."

The Brother nodded that he shouldn't dally anymore than he had all ready by having this conversation, "Don't come back until it's delivered."

[aaronblack]

With his left hand, Aaron took the letter and pushed it into his coat pocket. To his employer, he merely nodded his head yes to everything. Yes, he remembered James Owen. Yes, he knew that the letter was a forgery. Yes, he knew the implications of failure. And a final yes that he knew where his destination lay. When he was dismissed, Aaron turned about sharply and took off like a shot.

Once out of the Hive, Aaron weaved through abandoned warehouses and down dark streets. He ran past homeless men gathered around a trashclan set ablaze for warmth. Through the town he ran at top pace, his open coat flapping in the breeze. Finally, red-faced and breathing heavily, Aaron came to a slower jog when he reached the outskirts of town.

Once well into the forest that seperated town from town, Aaron veered from the beaten path. He'd finally slowed to a walk, but only long enough to reach the secret place he and his true employer had set out for private meetings and to drop off important documents that were to be picked up by said employer.

He came to a stop by a large tree, and leaned his back against it. Only then did he pull the letter from his pocket. He scanned it quickly, then tucked it back into the safety of his coat pocket. A pad was removed from his back pocket and he scribbled a note to his employer.

"They're trying to lure J.O. in town. I'll convince him to come. Meet us here, two days." Aaron then scrawled the date and his signature at the bottom. The note was torn from the pad of paper and he crumbled it up. Pushing off of the tree, Aaron turned and tucked the note into a crack between the ancient trunk and one of it's lower hanging branches. When he was done, nothing was left to see unless somebody was looking for it.

With a deep breath, Aaron took off running again. Up the path to Eastborough Township and James Owen. An hour later, he arrived at his destination.

"A letter, sir," Aaron breathed out heavily, holding the now crumpled letter out towards the former sheriff. "Should I await your response?"

[James Owen]

East Borough Township, once plagued by a monster, was no more. He had no illusions that this meant the monster was dead. He'd just relocated and he, from Mina's aid, had what was a dim thought as to what the man looked like, who he was. It wasn't a man. Even on vampire standards, he was brass and out of line. That was one of the things James Owen had learned in his travels. Vampires were real and in some areas, the out right majority. For East Borough township they were a rare fable half of the people didn't believe and the other half believed as someone does the monster under their bed. It was a pretty good grasp of what they were, actually.

He had only been passing through. Aaron had shown exceptional luck in finding him here. He thought he would try to see Mina again, if she would let him. These days he found himself adrift, unable to exact justice twice now and wondering when he had become so benign. So ineffective. His exhale left him.

From nothing, from the crowds on the streets themselves as he sipped his earl grey tea did Aaron Black appear. At first he thought he was in the man's way, noticing that he was in a hurry and did not recognize him. When the fellow spun on a heel and presented him with the letter, however, a pause came from him. The tea still a resting puddle in his teeth. A swallow and he nodded to the baker's shop with the long line of people waiting, "If you don't mind, I would like to read it and write a reply. Do you have a pen and paper with you?" It was so unexpected, after all. He did not stand in line for any of the food but sat at one of the tables, inside, breaking the seal and unfolding the letter.

Jennet Shorditch of the Widow's Spoon was writing him? How often had his thoughts returned to that place, the grounds where his initial failure was born, where he wished he could rewrite history? He swallowed another bit from his tea and wondered how it could still hurt so much after such time had passed.

Grave eyes went to Aaron, "Do you have that pen and paper?"