Headlamps shone off wet tarmac, dazzling white and yellow. Kane took a last drag of his cigarette before tossing it into the closest puddle and jerking up the collar of his jacket. Despite how he huddled against the wall, the odd gust of wind still drove rain against him.

The approaching car slowed and then turned so its passenger-side window faced Kane.

He walked up to it, hands in his pocket.

A nearby street lamp glistened off a pistol’s barrel as its shadow-shrouded owner pointed it in his direction.

Kane lifted both hands, letting out a low chuckle. “I come in peace,” he said, his voice bursting with repressed laughter.

The pistol lowered, but only an inch. “Where is she?”

Kane stepped forward, bending at the waist so he could lean his elbows on the rolled down passenger window. Someone moved inside the sedan’s cab before a dull orange light illuminated the interior.

Two men, both Caucasians, stared at him. The driver watched with blue eyes, while the man holding the gun narrowed dark eyes in Kane’s direction.

“Where is she?” the man holding the pistol repeated.

“Think she’s going to be out here, in this miserable weather?” Kane held out a hand, catching a few raindrops on his palm. “With that expensive haircut of hers?”

The passenger barked out a laugh, turning to the driver as if sharing a private joke. “Don’t doubt that for a second,” he said.

The lilt of his Irish accent was stronger now, as if he tried to suppress it when speaking with strangers.

He turned back to Kane, gesturing with the pistol. “So you’ve got the money?”

Kane gave a small shrug, glancing away down the road. It was empty this late at night; deserted because of the shitty weather. “I’m afraid there isn’t any.”

“What?” the man growled. He stuck the pistol against the side of Kane’s throat. “That little bitch promised us—”

“Victor,” came the quiet voice of the driver. “Put it down.”

Victor gave the driver a confused glance, but he lowered the gun anyway. Kane dipped his head, studying the driver as the man shifted in his seat to face Kane.

“Do you have our drugs?”

“No drugs, no money.” Kane gripped his elbows, leaning deeper inside the car so he could better communicate with the driver. “But La Sombra did tell me to send you her sincerest apologies.”

Blue eyes studied him, catching a strange light thrown from something outside. A flicker of red and blue.

“Her apologies won’t satisfy our boss,” the driver said. “He’s expecting a shipment of heroin. At least, the return of our money, with interest.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kane asked. “I’m just the messenger.”

“How about we shoot the messenger?” Victor barked. “Huh? Send a message of our own. Let that fucking bitch know who—”

“No,” the driver said calmly. He wore leather gloves that creaked as he adjusted his grip around the steering wheel. “Your name?”

“Simon,” Kane said.

“Get in, Simon.” The driver gestured toward the back door. “I’m sure my boss would like to discuss this matter with you.”

Kane gave a reluctant shrug. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” the driver said, tugging at the hem of his glove. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you have a few seconds to mull it over.”

The back door clicked as the driver opened it. Kane slid inside, slamming it closed behind him. The driver met his eyes in the rear view mirror as the inside of the cab filled with the insistent drumming of rain.

“Say, whatever happened to that cocky kid of Martin’s?” Victor asked as the driver put the car into gear.

“Neo?” Kane shrugged and turned to look out the window. “Last I heard, he had his tongue cut out for being a snitch.”

The driver tsked as he pulled away and guided the car down the road. “By whom?” he asked casually.

“La Sombra, of course,” Kane said, with a laugh in his voice. “Right before she lit him on fire.”