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If Connor had learned nothing else when he was hunting, it was how to be methodical. When a new player was in town making lots of noise, you went to where the bottom-feeders lived and worked your way up from there. Sooner or later, someone was going to know something.
His current 'interview' was about to come to a disappointing close, and the Destroyer ducked under a roundhouse kick before tackling the vampire he'd braced and pitching both of them to the ground. Some people, you just couldn't negotiate with.
Snap! Dust. Connor coughed. Maybe he should invest in one of those masks they used in hospitals.
He brushed the remains off his shirt, checked his watch. He'd hit a couple more familiar Vegas alleys, then grab some sleep in the all-night diner he'd located while wandering. He'd find something, provided there was something to be found.
Agent Daniel Sparrow hated Las Vegas. Too brightly lit, for one. The number of hotels, tacky souvenir shops, bustling tourists. Too many places to hide, attack from the shadows, or snipe from rooftops. Give him the flat, sandy lands of Iraq; back there he held everyone suspect, trained his rifle first and asked questions third.
He didn't so much put war behind him as to the side. Even when honorably discharged he stood ready in case his country needed him again, and sure enough they came knocking. Now the burly man war a different uniform and patrolled a gaudy landscape, looking for a different kind of insurgent. Like every night for the past two weeks, the clean-cut, terse soldier walked the same streets, figuratively wearing a size-twelve shoeprint into the sidewalk. Senses tightly focused, filtering out the laughter and traffic, until he could pinpoint a fight in progress just down an alley he'd just passed. Sparrow doubled back in time to witness a young man turn his opponent into dust.
( Hi, There )
Sparrow fished out a few bills and dropped them on the table, ensuring a healthy tip for the waitress. He reminded himself to set up surveillance at Ernie's. "Limited time offer, son," he reminded. "We're here to help the good guys. You strike me as someone who knows right from wrong."
He stood and replaced the badge into his back pocket. Another cigarette was in the offing. This time it wasn't to make him look ordinary. "I hope you'll give this the consideration it deserves, Connor.
And for the record, it's Agent Sparrow."
"Agent Sparrow. Sorry, sir."
A reflex action, if only because the older man had kept calling him son. Connor felt like he had bugs under his shirt. He watched Sparrow leave, then took the card out of his pocket again to stare at it broodingly. Nadine came over, picked up the cash that had been left behind, refilled his coffee cup. He drank it absently, lifting his gaze briefly to look out at the street through the hair obscuring his eyes.
Homeland Security also meant you could get in serious trouble for not cooperating. He'd read all about Guantanamo Bay. Yeah, he was going to have to tell somebody.
He just didn't know who.
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