Chicago Noir

Chicago, Illinois. October 9th 1925 1:00 AM

She darted through the shadows, barely slowing to take note of how the flickering florescent light of the jazz clubs and dive bars played with her own shadow. The crowd parted for her and the flowed back together, milling in restlessness or confusion. One didn’t expect someone like her to be on her own at this time of night but she was and it was worth it. Her bonded companion had given her this night to do what she wanted. If only had had turned out better. What she had thought was a simple gathering of the stray kind, had turned sour. And now she was on the run, darting for safety.

She slowed, just enough to dart a look over her shoulder and cursed her limited color vision. It was best to keep running and warn her companion before the copper was onto him.

Down one alley and then a right turn that had her slipping on the slightly icy sidewalk. She recovered just in time, taking advantage of the gap in traffic. The broad was just yards behind her.

Up a loading dock ramp and across the space between while workmen stared at the chase opened mouthed. Chances were they’d never seen a chase quite like this one before. She would have laughed if her mouth and jaw had been formed for it.

She chose to continue, cursing Trixie all the while, this time she doubled back running past the other woman and finally losing the copper as she jumped into the Chicago river, swimming to the other side. The water was cold and she could smell all the chemicals tainting it but her scent would be washed away. A relief to be sure, however temporary.

Rats were the best at gathering information. Small and unnoticed, skilled thieves at that. They could get into places she couldn’t and some of them could even be counted as friends of sorts. Cats, less so. She despised the kind.

Her companion was in an alley, smoke issuing from one of those little packages of paper and tobacco. He dropped it and put the round tube out under one boot before scratching her between the ears. “What is it, Sinead?”

She glanced over her shoulder once more before sitting on the cold ground. Coppers, in particular Trixie.

“Trixie?” He swore, pulling a gun out from his coat pocket. “And her copper? Jesus.”

She ducked her head, turning away. We run?

“No,” His voice was grim. “We bring the two down. Now, and tonight, Sinead. We’ll show those coppers what an Irish Chicagoan can do.”

She bared her teeth in a snarl, silently agreeing with Michael’s sentiment. That terrier and her copper would learn a lesson tonight. Never mess with a wolfhound and her skinwalker companion.