Rain poured down Valerie Seistucket’s red umbrella, surrounding her in a perfect wet halo in the cement. A bright streak of lightning suddenly bruised the sky a violent cyan, illuminating the café rooftop at which the two had agreed to meet. “I presume you have the video of the Greer boy,” she muttered. A gust of wind blew a strand of her scarlet wig into her lipstick.
“Long time no see.”
“Drop it, Doug,” hissed Valerie.
Douglas chuckled, handing Valerie a flash drive. In the dark of the night, he was almost completely concealed within his black trench coat. “It’s all on there. Every last plunge of the dagger. Maybe now Papa Greer will hand over some of that blood money.”
Valerie sneered and watched as Douglas started to walk away, his moonlit shadow seeming more creature than human.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Douglas stopped. “Next time, find a better fucking place to meet. You’ve turned this whole damned thing into a mafia cliche, and it pisses me off.”