Holt City Heist

Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. I leaned against the tree trunk in the shadows from the gas lamp and watched the church across the street. Our Lady of Perpetual Scientific Inquiry stood conspicuous in inactivity, but I got to enjoy the wee hours on a cold, dark morning watching it because the Watch got a tip that someone planned a heist of the St. Otter icon. Fog wrapped itself around me in tendrils like the arms of a damp, dead lover. Hunching my shoulders and turning the collar of my duster up, I wished I had some hot coffee. But the coffee house behind me was still closed, only the neon sign flashing and buzzing, Skippy's Chemo, Skippy's Chemo, Skippy's Chemo.

( The garish light washed over a derelict drunk sleeping under a newspaper tent on the cable car stop bench. )

"What do you know of St. Otter, Zoektochtmann-san?" "Call me Dutch, it's easier. Not much. He was an otter. Someone painted an Icon of him. Now someone wants to steal it." Ofuroyama nodded. "Driver, please to change destination. Please to go to Hobart House." He turned to me as the driver turned the mech at the next intersection. "Someone you need to speak with, Dutch-san. Good thing is now day, though maybe we still wake him." To Be Continued ...