Embers and Icicles

Chapter Two

The Shadow Slate stalked into the alley, silent as a cat tracking prey. His titanium-diamond flesh–diatinite–gleamed under the dim light of the moon. His joints were still groaning from the sprint here.

He looked around, confirming what he already knew. The alley was deserted. Jenny had been watching, had called him there right when she was supposed to, but the Slate had fucked up. He hadn't gotten there on time, and now Frank was gone.

If only his fucking car hadn't broken down right then, right when he had somewhere important to be. If only he had run faster, had finished the job earlier.

But there was no point in stewing over the regrets. The would have, could have, should haves. He surveyed the deserted alleyway one more time, but the only hint that Frank had even been there was a tiny splatter of blood on the fence in the center of the alley. Proof that Frank had been there, but not a trace left of his captors, and no way of knowing where they had gone.

He had to hand it to Silver; That man knew who to hire. If not even the Shadow Slate could find a lead, there might as well not have been one.

Despite the lack of clues left behind, Slate pulled out his polaroid camera and snapped a picture of the scene. He tucked it away, looking down dejectedly.

"No luck?" Jenny asked. For once, she wasn't chewing her trademark pink bubblegum. Slate shook his head. "What a surprise," her face was as cold as stone. She was upset with him, and for good reason. "I had him, you know. I had him in that bar. I could have offered him the job and gotten us out before all this could happen," the translucent pink of her blobby form grew slightly redder, a sign that she wasn't as disengaged as her tone made her seem.

"I wasn't going to let you take that risk," the Shadow Slate replied. "And besides, we needed to save him to get his trust. If you went after him too soon, he would have been suspicious."

Jenny knew all that, but she wasn't listening. "Is this a sexism thing or a racism thing?" she scorned.

"It's a friendship thing. You work for me–"

"Sure, you could say that," Jenny rolled her eyes.

"But more than that, you work with me. I want Frank, but not as much as I need you alive."

"Whatever. Let's just get going. We still need to do the job tomorrow, and after that we're going to get Frank back. Maybe this time you'll actually let me do my job instead of being an overprotective asshole," Jenny turned back towards the end of the street, where the car she had stolen was sitting.

"Jenny, wait," Slate said, earnesty dripping into his voice. "I'm sorry. I know you can take care of yourself. After ... you know. I just haven't been the same. But I trust you–I should have trusted you. And we're going to get him out of there. It wouldn't be the craziest thing we've ever done," he grinned.

The corners of Jenny's mouth tipped up, too. She was just as quick to forgive as she was to anger. "Alright," she said. "Let's get out of here. If we don't get to the convention soon, we won't get those tickets."

"Sounds like a plan," the screen that took the place of the Shadow Slate's face flashed a grin, and he pulled the car door to the stolen car open. Jenny did the same on her side, her near-translucent Jell-O like pink flesh squelching against the seat.

The second her door slammed shut, Slate hit the gas. Jenny was right that they needed to get to the convention ASAP.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, a cool breeze pouring over them through the open roof of the car. The temperature had dropped slightly when the sun disappeared for the night, and the hoards of people lining the streets had mostly funneled into the various hotels and clubs lining the strip.