FicWad

Author’s Note: This is the second part of the three part series. I had intended for this be a one-shot, but you know how it is. It’s not done until it’s done.

The super sonic engines whirred to life. The engines spit fire and turbulence and the noise cracked against the ear drum. It pushed harder, faster, stronger, like a screeching banshee. Papers and thrash flung across the hangar and peppered the walls. A man, dressed in a full mechanics uniform, covered his eyes with his cap as the power sent ripples across his fur. Bracing himself, he stretched an arm out, giving a thumb up to the pilot. In a moment, the engines cooled and the screaming silenced to a hum.

The feline mechanic put his hands to his mouth and hollered, “It sounds good! No problem at all!”

“No. It just doesn’t sound right.” A light brown vulpine head popped out from the cockpit. “Not enough of that deep bassy roar. Not getting enough power.”

“You’re just being a perfectionist!” the mechanic called, “looking for problems that don’t exist!”

“A perfectionist huh?” the fox questioned. He jumped down from the cockpit and stepped toward the man. “Well, what would I be if I weren‘t?” He patted him on the shoulder.

The feline chuckled, “Well, if you’re going to look for a problem, you’ll have do it on your own. I got lunch in about 2 minutes.”

“Not a problem. I know how to work on my own ship. I think I’ll take a look at the core, see if the superconducting rods aren’t burnt out.” the fox said.

“Hey listen, Fox.” the mechanic came up him, his voice barely a whisper, “Now, I don’t want to sound pushy or anything, and I know you’re a straight laced guy.” Fox exhaled and rolled his eyes. The cat continued, “But we’ve done a lot of work on your ship and you’ve built up quite a tab. We’re going to need to see some money if we keep going like this.”

Fox waved his hand in dismissal. “I know, I know. Once I get a solid job, you’ll get your money back with interest, Mike, so don‘t worry” The feline was not relieved.

“Just giving you a heads-up Fox. You’re a good friend and all but this stuff doesn’t come for free.” he pointed to the modified Arwing. “We dumped a half a mil into that thing already. It’s an old plane and I understand it’s got sentimental value. But we will not go bankrupt over it. Not even for you, Fox”

Fox put on an empathic smile. “Don’t worry, a jobs comin’ up soon.” he pumped his fists, “I can feel it.”

The feline formed a puzzled expression, “Well, I got lunch now. See you in an hour.”

Fox waved, “See ya Mike.” The mechanic waved back and left.

Fox turned back to his ship. Getting to the rods was tricky. The simplest way would be to cut through the fuselage behind the canopy and work the wires from there. That would require welding the damn thing back together, though. Some other way, some other way. Stretching his arms to the sky, he waltzed out of hangar doors and into the bright sun light.

It was a warm spring day. Cloudless. The smell of heated tar filling his nostrils. Rows of hangars stood single file, their metal exteriors glinting brightly in the noon day sun. The heat left blurry reflections on the ground and all sorts of flies and bugs buzzed across the environment. The aging fox took the sight in. He pursed his lips and moved back in the hangar. He had an idea.

Climbing over the cockpit, he planted his feet on the back of the Arwing, feeling along the surface, he found two distinct depressions on the hull.

“There we go.” he said out loud. “just pop these suckers and I can pull out the core. Simple enough.” He moved down to grab his tool box from the cockpit. Pulling two flatheads from box, he dug them into the two depressions and pushed his weight down on them. The panel snapped open with an audible crack and he flipped it open with a dry squeak.

In front of him a large black handle sat indented around polished metal. The encasing for the Power Core. He grabbed the handle, flicked off the locks, then pulled. Nothing. Frustrated, he whacked it with a screw driver, sending a hollow metallic reverberation through the Arwing. He placed both feet in the depression and grabbed the handle with both hands. He pulled again.

It came free, flying out the Arwing and hammering him square in the face. He tumbled backwards, sliding down the sleek fuselage before crumpling on the hard concrete floor. He lied motionless for a moment, his eyesight blurring around the edges. Rubbing his eyes, the aches and pains of the fall returned as he regained his senses. He looked up to see an odd shadow taking up his vision. It hung partly on the edge of the fighter, rolling back and forth like a mesmerizing pendulum. It stopped. Fox furrowed his brow at the unusual object. It was cylindrical, smooth, and reflected light with strong radiance. “Oh, the core.” Fox said to himself. He must have dropped it.

The core rocked back and forth, and slowly came to a stop. Then it fell off.

“Shit!” he rolled to the side, the power source smashing the floor next to him with a solid crack. Fox stood up on his knees, a little wracked from the near death experience. “My god.” He shuttered, “It’s like my own ship wants to kill me.” He vice-gripped the core and carefully lifted it from the ground. In the concrete, a large dent mapped the impact point of the fall.

Fox grimaced. If that he would have landed on him, he would have been smashed to oblivion. Slowly, he ascended up the Arwing to the panel. He set the power core down, making sure to jam a few screwdrivers under it to prevent it from rolling off again, then settled back into the depression. Behind the power core was a mass of tangled multicolored rods, each directed to every electrical system in the Arwing. He filtered through each one, checking for any flaw in the superconductive material.

Finally, he found one.

One of the rods had partially melted and hung low like a limp appendage. He slowly fingered it, assessing the damage. “A pretty wicked surge must have done this, holy shit.” He said to himself. He set it down. He would have to pull the damn thing out and put in a new one. He leaned outside and took a pair of rubber handed wire cutters from the tool box. A dull pain crept along his forehead. Wincing, he rubbed the sore spot for a moment. My head hurts from the fall, no big deal. He went back to work.

Lying on his stomach he reached inward and snatched the melted wire. He pulled it taut, getting as close as possible to the opposite end and moved to cut it. A little twirling sensation danced around in his stomach and he felt a little light headed. Stopping for a second, he considered taking a break. Get his bearings back. No, might as well just slice it. He brought his shears to wire and made his incision. Lightning shot out from everywhere.

The crackling electricity sent his fur on end and he rocketed away. He sucked in air at a frantic pace. The sparks continued for a few seconds before snuffing out. “What the hell was that?” he said out loud. It was beyond unusual. He sat in silence, slowly breathing to calm himself. Why was he cold? He glanced down, finding his leg in a pool of liquid. Instinctively he lifted his leg, watching the glinting drops fall one by one on the fighter’s dull gray hull. The liquid followed an uneven trail across the surface. Fox massaged his forehead. It was really painful now.

He crawled along the fluid’s trail, winding up to the lead coverings of the power core. The river of fluid ended and the air was strangely hot. Fox rotated the cylinder in his hand before his thumb hooked into a jagged crack. His pupils dilated in shock. Fox turned over the core, handling the material like a dry-rotted corpse. He gazed into the crack, it was no more than three inches long and inside was nothing but darkness. Air around it swirled with intense heat. His fingers ran furrows along his head and he shook violently.

He was firsthand witness to a nuclear meltdown.

Frantically, he tossed the cylinder like a burning coal. Green eyes wide with horror. His head twirled as if looking for something. He stood, ran, and jumped off of the Arwing. Running, he came to a glassy box, IN CASE OF EMERGENCY pasted in fire red letters. He smashed the glass and pulled the lever. Shutters crashed to ground, snuffing the light and reverberating tinny swashes throughout the hangar. Sweeping red lights illuminated the dim the interior. He stood silently, knowing no soul could enter in and out before emergency technicians arrived. The hanger belonged to him alone.
He stumbled slightly, swaying back and forth before taking a clumsy step towards his ship. Making his way through the uneven light, he climbed to the cockpit and laid his head on the pilot seat. He vomited. Gracelessly, he flopped his arm around, feeling in each crevice along the display. He felt a slick, glossy surface in his fingers. He snatched it and held it in front of him, the alternating lights bringing it in and out of sight. Smiling, he could see the picture of his son, bright eyed and virile, waving wildly at whomever gazed in the photograph.

“There you are.” He said, “There you are.”

--------------------------------------------

“He suffered over a 10,000 REMs of radiation over a short period of time.” The doctor recited from his reports, “Tests show massive gastric hemorrhaging, abnormal electrolyte balance, telogen effluvium...”

Falco shook his head in frustration, “Hey, hey, hey I’m not your med school pupil here, just give it to me straight.” He looked into his eyes, “How is he.”

The doctor stood with unflinched professionalism, “He’s doing poorly. I’ll give him less than a day. We can’t reverse the effects at this point. We’re doing all we can do.”

Falco sighed heavily. He had run it through his mind a hundred times. Their lives were dangerous, he knew that all too well. Before a particularly perilous contract, he envisioned himself speaking a eulogy to a hundred heart-stricken mourners, passing the thoughts of his fallen brother in somber remembrance. Now, all that mental preparation didn’t mean a damn thing. “Thanks for the help. Can I see him?”

“Right this way, Mr. Lombardi.”

The doctor led him through the opaque corridors of medical ward. The silence, broken by the rhythmic clacking of their footsteps, unnerved him. The crypt-like gloom of the cookie-cutter hallways felt ghastly. The doctor stopped on a dime.

“Here it is Mr. Lombardi.” He gestured like a game show host to uncovered prize, “I request you try to keep your voice down while speaking to him. We don’t usually have visitors at this hour.” He whispered.

Falco nodded, “I get it. Thanks Doc.” He reached for the handle. When his first finger tapped the cold metal latch, he reactively pulled back. Visions of a hacked and mangled canid taunted him, and he grew afraid to open the door. He clenched his teeth. He depressed the latch and the door swung open. A long step into a pitch black room. He turned on the light.

A single row of empty beds stretched along the wall. At the end, a linen covered lump rested among IV drips and beeping diagnosis equipment. Falco walked over to it. The person underneath lay hidden, blankets drawn over his head as if to stave off the world. Falco reached for the covers and slowly pulled them back. His jaw dropped to the floor and his knees nearly buckled.

The man he saw was dead.

The corpse lay in a pile of scattered orange hair, its eyes sunken and its complexion cracking and blistered. Its tongue was black and hung to the side, spittle dripping down it’s face. The doctor must have made a mistake. He did not recognize this person. Did he go into the wrong room by accident? He scratched his head and looked away. He took one step back.

“Falco.” The corpse spoke.

Shocked, Falco looked down to see the dead body reanimating, motioning towards him as if beckoning to the grave. “Hey, Falco it’s good to see you.” It said weakly.

He leaned down to greet him, one feathered hand grasping the fox’s, “Hey Fox, how you doing?”

Fox rolled his tongue in and out of his mouth, “Well, I think I’m going to die, Falco.”

“Don’t say that.”

Fox let out a hacking cough, “It’s true, Falco.”

“I don’t care, don’t say it.”

“Okay.” He pumped his hand once in reassurance. “Okay, I won’t Falco.”

They sat in silence for a moment, simply listening to each other breath. Fox closed his eyes, “Remember that time, it was right out when we got of the Academy, we went down to the beach, the breeze was just picking up.”

Falco smiled, “Yeah, it was on a Saturday.”

“Yeah! A Saturday. We were out and we had this huge, um, bonfire out there, and we had all that beer and whiskey and all that other hard shit. Remember?”

“Yeah, Bill was there too.”

“Bill was there too.”

Fox lifted a bony finger to the ceiling, “I remember you, no, we were all drunk as skunks. And you went down on the beach and you tried to hit on that wolf chick, what was her name?”

Falco furrowed his brow, “I don’t remember.”

“Well, you probably wouldn’t, knowing you. But I remember you trying to impress her, showing off and the like, and for whatever reason you tried to surf.” Fox giggled, “and you’ve never surfed a day in your life. But you had to get that girl, so you got on that board and waded out there.” He pantomimed with his hand. “Then you got up there and you stood up, and the first wave came around.” He started laughing to himself, “and you just ate it. You fell over, your face smacking the water, the board all flopping around.”

The canine fell into mute hysterics, “And then you got up, and you were all like, ‘Where did the board go?’ and me and Bill just cracked up, man, we just cracked up.”

Falco grinned slightly, “Yeah, yeah. That’s right.”

“That was great,” Fox said with a smile. Falco looked down solemnly. The memories stung at his eyes.

“Falco?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I have done the things that you did?”

“Like what things, Fox?”

“Like join the military, get a steady job, that whole bit?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not you.”

“Well, of course not, but could you pretend?”

“I still couldn’t say.”

A pause.

“Falco?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you like flying with me?”

“Flying with you, sure.” Falco gripped Fox’s hand tighter. “It was when I wasn’t flying that was problem.”

Fox looked up, staring at the ceiling as if his gaze could pierce it, “I remember, in Area 6, just above Venom, we went through that massive furball. Lasers and missiles like raindrops all over the sky. I clipped my wing on an enemy fighter, I lost control and was barreling towards a carrier.” He held his hand up, moving an invisible stick as if piloting the fighter in his mind. “I jerked around, working the throttle with everything I had, and finally got outta there.”

“Falco,” He turned to face him, “That was one of the best moments of my life.”

Falco shot him a puzzled look, “Wha’?”

“It was. It always that way, Falco. It’s that thrill, you know, that thrill. You just can’t get it anywhere else.” He exhaled. “Not even from Krystal.”

Falco tried to gain his attention, “Fox.”

Fox didn’t listen, “I know it hurt her. When she handed me the divorce papers, I didn’t want to sign them. I loved her, I really did.”

“Fox, that’s over now.”

“I signed it for her sake. She wanted to be let go so I let her. Falco,” He started a hacking cough, blood dribbling down his muzzle.

Falco wiped the blood from Fox‘s chin with an open hand, “Jeez Fox.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Falco, but I need for you to do me a favor.” His eyes were wide and teary.

“Sure, whatever you want, Fox.”

“Tell Krystal to go to the corner of 7th and Main. There’s a storage place out there. Um, EZ storage or Big ol’ storage or something like that.” Fox winced, “There’s a storage container, No. 47, code 050638, my dad’s birthday.”

Visible discomfort wracked Fox’s body and he writhed with some inward pain.
“You okay there, Fox?”

He seemed to settle down a bit, “Yeah, yeah, it just hurts like hell.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

Falco nodded in acknowledgement. He wanted to say he felt some deep hearted compassion for the dying man, but something wasn’t there. The full effect would not come to him. Even as he watched his friend suffer, contorting with death pangs, no tears could come to his eyes.

Fox giggled to himself, as if reminding himself a timeworn joke, “Falco, did you know my son is going to be eight next week? Eight years old, wow.”

Falco shifted a little, still holding on to Fox’s hand, “He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid.” the last words fading to a whisper. Fox’s expression went stoic and he stopped moving, his mouth agape. Falco guessed, no, knew something was wrong. He shook him violently.

“Fox, you still with me?”

Fox squiveled his head with one stiff motion. His eyes blinked a few times, staring at the falcon as if he was an enigmatic stranger. The vulpine leaned away. From his lips emerged a wraithlike utterance, “Noooooo.”. The air grew cold and stagnate.

The falcon sat dumbstruck and the fennec begun to reel in horror. “I know you.” he whispered. “I know you I know you I know you. No I’m not ready.” He tried to pull away.

“Fox, calm down.” Falco pleaded. Fox twisted to get away and his fur came off in sheets. “No, No, I won’t make a bastard son!” He cried. Falco grabbed him and pulled him close, “Fox.” He spoke softly, consoling the overwrought canid. Fox began to shutter, ceasing his resistance and falling limp in the falcon‘s arms.

He looked up to Falco, tears running rivulets from his bloodshot eyes. “Tell me I won’t be like my Father, Tell me I won’t be like my father.”

“Okay, Okay” the falcon said.

“Please?”

“You won’t end up like your father.”

Fox smiled. “Thank you.” he replied.

The canid went limp, sliding down Falco’s forearms and leaving a trail of fur on his jacket. The falcon was wide eyed, shocked and stunned and frozen in time. He leaned forward, peering quizzically at the unresponsive body of his friend. A hand reached out and touched the fox along the cheek. Something wasn’t connecting in the bird’s head.

“What am I looking at?” he said to himself. He sat there, kneeling quietly with his friend. The diagnostic equipment sung a mechanical tune Falco couldn’t comprehend. A soft, sweet voice whispered in his ear, “You have to let him go, you have to let him go.” Reluctantly, he released his friend from his grip. A pair of forces lifted him to his feet. With no resistance, the forces turned him towards the door and ushered him out. The door slammed shut behind him. He blinked a few times, gathering his senses as best he could.

He heard frantic taps of scrambling feet in the room behind him. The doctors have taken over. Falco sat down in a cushioned chair against the wall. Studying his hands, he found thousands of short orange hairs interlaced with his blue feathers. Carefully, he worked on removing them, brushing, pulling, and wiping them away in little orange balls.

A patter caught his attention.

Down the hallway, a blue vixen sprinted into view. Her footsteps creating a rhythmic beat and her unmade hair fluttered behind her. She didn’t even take note of Falco’s presence; she just bolted to the door.

“They won’t let you in there.” Falco said flatly, not making eye contact.

The vixen stopped, slumping down and breathing hard. “Falco?” was how she greeted him.

“Yeah.” He replied. “I was wondering when you’d show up, I figured you would be here before me.” The falcon plucked a few more hairs out of him.

“I..huu..tried.” She said between breaths, “But…I was getting Marcus…from his friends house..when I got the call.” She stood up again. The vixen had changed a lot. Her face had rounded out with a cushion of fat and slivers of wrinkles traced from her eyes. Her hair lay in unkempt locks shooting in every direction, most likely never combed. Her attire was modest, conservative, the kind of thing you would see on virtually any 30 something mother. The biggest change was her eyes. They were sullen and flat, far from the youthful jubilance of old. In fact her whole body just seemed weathered, like a tattered flag waving on a rusted pole.

Falco wasn’t sure whether it was just the single-parent stress or something far more dire,
but Krystal wore the scars. “How is he?”

The falcon said nothing.

“Oh god.”

She sat next to him with her head cupped in her hands, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. “I knew something like this would happen.” She twirled a finger in her hair, “He was always doing something dangerous and wild.”

She turned her head towards him, “What happened to him?”

Falco gazed at her in surprise, “You mean you don’t know?”

Krystal gave a faint hearted chuckle, “I guess.” she paused on reflection, “I guess I never asked.”

He nodded. “The doctor said he has radiation poisoning.”

“Radiation Poisoning?” she said concernedly, “How did he get that of all things?”

“He was working on his ship. They were telling me that the Nuclear Power Core in his ship cracked open. The UHSH coolant spilled out and the core went radioactive. Like a tiny meltdown.” The bird finished, his eyelid tightening slightly.

Krystal’s mouth was agape, “What? Why did he do something like that? And without any safety gear!” She placed her hands on her eyes, “God! Why did he do that? Slippy never did that. When he worked on the core, he had the full biosuit and everything.”

Falco clenched his fist and rested it on his forehead, “I don’t know Krystal, it’s Fox.” he said with a slight tinge of irritability.

The vixen sighed, “I’m just frustrated, that’s all.” She furrowed her brow as something came to mind, “You know, when I first married Fox, I figured, ‘you know once I have a baby, then he will settle down, get some job, then I won’t have to worry.’” She shook her head, “I actually thought he go the safe route. I was so naive. God, I was so naive.”

Next to her, the avian sat quietly, his fists clenched. “Krystal.” Falco said, trying to grab her attention.

“He went out on those missions. One after another. He would be gone for months, leaving me with Marcus.” She clenched her teeth at the memory. “I know, I could have gone with him but somebody had to be at home. I wasn’t going to orphan my son.”

“Krystal.”

“and you would think that after his father died he would try to be safe. I don’t understand it, Falco. Why did he keep going out there? I just couldn’t take it anymore. I loved him, I loved him so much. But I couldn’t let him keep doing it to me. I had to leave.” She rubbed her eyes.

“I used to, to gamble.” Krystal uttered with remorse, “Every weekend I found myself in front of a slot machine, a sports book, a roulette table. I lost so much money.” She looked at her hands, staring darkly as if they were dead vipers. “But, something drew me in, some dark…compulsion. I needed a distraction, from my life, whatever that would be.”

Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, “If only Fox could have…”

“DAMMIT KRYSTAL!” Falco screamed in bloody rage. Krystal gasped, horrified as Falco hurdled his chair down the hallway, rolling across the tile. She couldn’t speak.

“Is this why you came down here?” he said with a sneer, “To whine and cry about how rough it’s been for you? Is this your idea of respect?” He loomed over her now, his shadow completely overtaking her.

She stammered something he couldn’t discern.

“No, no it isn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Falco, I didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to? Didn’t mean to? What did you mean, Krystal? What exactly did you mean?”

Krystal paused, her face a mixture of hurt and shame, “I was just, just, just saying what came to mind. I didn’t really have a reason.” She swallowed in nervousness, “I’m sorry, Falco.”

“Well that’s great, just great.” He ran his fingers over his head. He drew a sharp breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. Something inside gave a little, like a hairline crack in a concrete dam. He rubbed his hands together in nervousness.

The vixen touched his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s dead.”

A pause. “Dead?”

The falcon raised his head, meeting her eyes with as much sincerity as he could give, “Fox died.”

Krystal stood expressionless. “What?” she replied.

He was crying now.

Krystal grabbed his shoulders and shook him, “But, how can that be? They told me he alive. They told me he was alive!”

“Not anymore, Krystal. He, He died in the room a few minutes ago.” He pushed her hands away. “It’s weird, he just went limp in my arms. Like, like some TV soap opera.” He held up his arms, pantomiming the dead body in his hands. “He didn’t deserve to go like that. Nobody deserves to go like that. He was supposed to go down in fire and glory, like a pilot.” His arms fell to his sides. “It was horrible.”

Two blue eyes, bloodshot with tears, stared into his and Falco looked away. He wrung his hands and a single tear cascaded to the floor. Without a word, Krystal embraced him in a tight squeeze. Slowly, Falco embraced her as well and waited there, quietly listening to her sobs.

“How can I say goodbye to him now, Falco, how can I say goodbye to him now.” she said.

He didn’t say a word.

Eventually, Falco heard the shuffling of feet on the floor. Looking up, he saw an open door slam shut behind a doctor, pulling off a surgeon’s mask. Krystal caught a glimpse the man and released Falco from her grip. She ran up to him, “What happened?”

The doctor looked at her with a stock-still expression, “Are you the patient’s wife?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“I am…I mean…I was. I’m his ex-wife, recently divorced.” she responded.

“Okay. Your ex-husband suffered from a range of complications from the radiation. The severity of which caused internal gastric hemorrhaging. Eventually the cell death in and around the stomach released toxins into his blood. His kidneys soon after.”

Krystal frowned, she knew fox’s fate but the details made a more visceral impact, “So what are you trying to tell me, Doctor?”

“Matthew, Doctor Matthew. I’m saying that your former husband passed away 10 minutes ago. I’m sorry.” He finished. It struck Falco that the doctor was straightforward but not entirely insincere. The doctor made for the door, “If you wish to see him, I can lend you a few minutes before the coroner arrives.”

“That will be fine, thank you.” she looked over the Falco, “You want to come?”

The avian waved his hand in dismissal, “No you go on. There’s nothing for me in there.”

She nodded and went inside, the doctor closing the door behind her. The man turned to Falco, a slight look of displeasure downturning his features. “I knew him,” he started, “I read about him in a magazine a long time ago. I still remember the cover, it had these large letters, I think they were red or orange. They read, ‘A New Breed of Hero, Mercenaries on the Front Line’. And below that showed Fox McCloud, plastered with a hero’s flourish.”

Falco nodded.

“You were in there too, on the second page.” the doctor continued. “They couldn’t find a recent picture of you so they posted something from a high school yearbook. You looked like you were sixteen at most. I remember thinking what a trip it would be to meet you guys.”

Falco gave a lazy stare, “So what’d you think now that you’ve met us? Not what you were expecting?”

The doctor shrugged, “Maybe when I was back in college I would have said yes. But I know better now. I really didn’t expect any different, I just wish I could have met you under better circumstances.”

The avian didn’t care about this, “Well, thanks for the help, doc. I’ll be going now.”

The doctor showed him the way out, “Well it was nice meeting you. I’m not sure how you arrived, but almost all public transportation is closed at this hour. You’ll probably need to take a cab.”

Falco turned up an eyebrow in confusion, “At this hour? What time is it?”

“Around 2:30 AM.” The doctor replied.

“No shit? Wow.” The avian said. He caught the glisten of a stray tear on his face and wiped it away.

“Is there something wrong with that?” He asked.

The falcon threw up a hand, “No, no, it isn’t. I have my own car.”

He nodded, “Well, it‘s easy to get lost out here so if you need any directions, just tell me where you‘re going and I can tell you.”

“Easy to get lost, huh?” Falco laughed, “Thanks, doc, but you’ve done enough for me already. I can find my out.”

“Okay, goodbye Mr. Lombardi.”

“Just Falco, please.”

“Okay then, Falco.”

Falco turned and walked out into the dull night air, shutting the door behind him. Ahead were dots of vehicles reflecting orange rays from the streetlamps. The parking lot was black and not a soul could be found. He stretched his arms to the sky, lost in thought. Where was he going? It hadn’t crossed his mind. Home? Maybe. No that’s not it.

He looked up to the sky, “050638.” The number rang in his head. The combination to the storage locker. What did he have in there? And why tell Krystal about it? Suddenly, Falco was moving unconsciously, heading to the next destination.