He cried. He couldn’t help it. He sat in his car in the parking lot of Irwin’s apartment building and cried, leaning forward and resting his head against the steering wheel. His shoulders shook just once, and then it was mostly tears and painful breath. Though he knew he was coming back, that Irwin wanted him in his life, he couldn’t help but to hate that they had to be apart for any length of time.

Deep in his heart, he was afraid that he would come back and Irwin would have changed his mind. He wouldn’t have blamed him if he did, but it would kill him if that happened. He had lived a long life, done a lot of good. If Irwin didn’t want him, that might as well be the end. It wasn’t as if he was suicidal, but he would just rather not continue existing.

The truth was, he hadn’t told Irwin that lately his wandering spirit had been crying out for yet another change. He was getting older, slowing down. It had taken him quite a long time to start winding down because of how strict he kept himself—mentally and physically—but now that the process had started, it took a toll on him every day. He was finally ready to settle down. He’d always imagined that place might be somewhere out west, beside the mountains, or even somewhere secluded in Europe; he never imagined that his soul might make its home here in the middle of a city. However, it wasn’t exactly the city that had captured his love. That was all Irwin.

Sighing softly, he straightened up from the wheel and dried his eyes on the back of his hand. The sooner he got moving, the sooner he could resolve this whole thing and come back to the place he belonged.

It was just after 11 a.m. when he finally got around to leaving the parking lot. All his recent investigations seemed to be pointing towards the possibility that Kevin was no ordinary guy. Word was emerging in select circles that he had connections with quite a lot of suspicious people; the people he killed might have been on the verge of finding him out, or had already confronted him. He was becoming more and more unhinged, if other rumors could be believed.

Judging by the rampage at the department store, Dagwood was pretty sure that particular rumor was true. He didn’t know about the rest of it, whether it was some sort of cover-up for something more or less sinister, but his instincts had taken him this far, and he wasn’t about to doubt them this time. He had word now that Kevin was headed towards Albany, New York, that the illegal wrestling ring there was going to provide shelter for him. Dagwood hoped to get there first, since Kevin traveled at a surprisingly leisurely pace for a man on the run.

He had to give the guy credit. Whether deliberately or stupidly, that slow pace was throwing off the cops.

The drive to Albany took eight hours and encompassed more than 500 miles, during which he passed through an astonishing number of states. It seemed like every time he looked up there was another sign to welcome him. New Jersey, Maryland, Pennsylvania; they all looked the same, too.

If it wasn’t a sign welcoming him to the next state, it was a billboard announcing an upcoming toll booth. Some of them were manned, and the people manning them were either bitter as hell or friendly and bright. The other tolls were automatic, requiring him to know exactly the route he was going to take so that he could pay the proper amount for it.

Dagwood hated tollbooths.

Traffic along the way was surprisingly not terrible, for what it was, but he didn’t really enjoy the journey. If he wasn’t zoning out, he was thinking of Irwin or puzzling over the enigma that was Kevin Leery. So many things in this case just didn’t seem to add up, and no one knew why. There was just too much speculation, too much false news to really know what was real and what wasn’t.

Though it was terrible to think in such a way, he found himself wishing that Kevin would wind up dead on some street corner, having killed himself. Though that sort of ending would mean no resolution to the questions involved, at least it would be a resolution of some kind.

He was just impatient for all of this to end.

His first view of the city of Albany was an unimpressive one, and he would remain unimpressed throughout the rest of his visit. He knew he was being too jaded, that his experiences there were soured by his desire to return to Irwin, but that didn’t change the fact that Albany was a crowded dump just like any other crowded city. The silver skyscrapers only looked nice in the distance, and that was at dusk and dawn when the smog couldn’t be seen. Up close, there was nothing spectacular. Rats, trash, and homeless people. He’d seen better and worse things in his days.

In the end, it was just another place.

After checking into a seedy Holiday Inn, where the receptionist didn’t even ask to see his ID, he went out onto the street to get to work. The first day was entirely fruitless. No one he spoke to wanted to speak to him, for whatever reason. One of them even threw his money back at him and told him to shove it up his ass.

Dagwood did nothing of the sort.

Then he made a mistake. A girl in her early twenties sat on the steps leading up to a library, which he had found was a favorite place for the homeless for one reason or another. Maybe it was just that libraries weren’t as popular as they used to be, and therefore the low foot traffic meant that it was pointless to disturb the destitute and weary who came to rest nearby.

A white Styrofoam coffee cup was at her feet as a request for spare change. She stared studiously down at her feet, while a dingy backpack overstuffed with belongings sat beside her.

She didn’t look like the kind of person who would have information for him, but he had some extra money leftover from the man who didn’t want it. He figured it would go to a good cause here.

As he walked over, she looked up at him. Her expression changed from a half-smile to wariness as he paused in front of her to drop a folded bill into her cup. It was as the money left his fingers that he saw it was full of steaming coffee. She hadn’t been staring at her feet, either. Instead, a book sat open on her lap.

Her wary expression turned to one of offense. He backed away, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry, I…”

What could he say? Sorry I mistook you as a beggar? Apologizing seemed like it would only make the situation worse.

The girl picked up her book and brandished it at him like a weapon. “Get away from me, you freak!”

“Sorry,” he said again and left her alone. As he hurried away with his head down, avoiding the curious stares of others on the street who had witnessed the exchange, all he could hope was that she would fish the bill out and wash it, and put it to good use. She deserved that much for having to go through something so embarrassing.

Only when he was a block away did he finally slow down, though he still kept his face hidden behind his hair because his cheeks were as red as tomatoes. His veins were burning from the inside out, and he felt on the verge of shriveling down to nothingness. The only other time he’d made such a mistake was early on in his career, when he brought the wrong person into the station, only to discover that the police already had the right guy.

But, in his defense, the two men were twins,

There was no excuse at all for this current lapse of judgment. He was off his game, focusing too much on other things and not enough on the job at hand. Being in love was, as it turned out, a major distraction.

He called it quits that night and returned to his hotel room after stopping off at a fast food place. The receptionist at the front desk who greeted him upon his return seemed almost offended at the presence of the fast food bags, but the fact of the matter was that he would prefer heartburn over potential food poisoning. If the kitchen here was as off as the rest of the place…well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

He went to sleep after texting Irwin about his day, though the sleep itself was rough and left him more tired than when he began.

Upon rising, he took the time to sit quietly and reflect on his thoughts. It wasn’t exactly meditation, but it had the same sort of calming effect, as he straightened everything in his mind like he was tidying his house before guests came over. There could be no more lapses like the one he’d had yesterday. There just simply couldn’t be, and especially not if he was doing something more important, riskier. Though he was doing this with the ultimate goal of getting back to Irwin, he couldn’t continue to think about Irwin. That was just how it had to be.

When he got up and went to take a shower, he felt stronger, more solid. He could do this. He had done harder things and come out on top. This was no real challenge. He would chase Kevin to the end, and then the rest of his life could start.

But that didn’t mean it would be easy, and it certainly wasn’t. Albany seemed to be a warier sort of city than Portsmouth. The homeless spoke to one another, left warnings of where to avoid and signs of hope, and now they were speaking of Dagwood; unfortunately, the news about him was not kind. He gathered from one that they had been told he was a snoop, that they should shut their mouth and tell him nothing when he came by with his empty promises.

He didn’t really blame them for their wariness. There was no knowing how many times in the past they had all been betrayed. Or, even worse, taunted. They had every right to be disillusioned and to shun him. When he came across someone who wanted nothing to do with him, he simply let them be.

But despite the wariness and rumors, there were still quite a lot of people who were desperate enough to betray their values. They told him plenty, though very little of it had to do with Kevin.

In fact, most of them had no idea who that was.

Days passed. One week. And then, slowly, the next. The more time went on, the less information there was, but the more people there were willing to talk to him. He accepted this, knowing that the only way this dry run would cease was if he kept going at it. Each morning and each night, he steeled himself against hopelessness and kept working at it.

Through it all, he called and texted Irwin as often as he could. The other man responded less as the days went by, though apparently this wasn’t out of waning interest in a relationship so much as it was a side-effect of Irwin’s renewed job hunt. His hunt was going even more terribly than Dagwood’s.

“They don’t know my name,” Irwin complained into the phone one night. His voice had that sweet, pouting quality that made even his complaints seem adorable. “But they know who I am, so the moment they see me it’s like this light in their eyes dies. It’s just not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” Dagwood always said, because he could offer little else. He had a very radical idea forming in the back of his mind that he wanted very much to propose to Irwin, but it just wasn’t the time for that when they hadn’t even had a solid talk about their future. In place of suggesting what he really wanted to, he offered money.

Irwin didn’t like that suggestion, and he never made it again.

However, like it or not, they were on a time crunch, here. He’d listened to Irwin explain his current plight, outlining all the various options he’d looked at, and it was quite clear that no decision could magically make more money appear out of the air. He needed to get Kevin and come back to Irwin before his limited funds ran out.

But despite the impending deadline, he worked slowly, methodically. An error would only fuck everything up and make this whole endeavor last longer.

It was when he had been in Albany for two weeks and three days that he came across a very important character. It was an old shifter, a panther with a grizzled edge to his appearance. His nose looked to have been broken more than a few times, leaving it a shapeless knob.

Dagwood crouched down beside him, a little wary himself for once. Though it wasn’t true for everyone, canine shifters and feline shifters tended to have a bit of an unfriendly rivalry. No one really knew why. It just meant he was going to have to be extra careful with this one.

“Hey, old man,” he said.

The panther glanced at him. Despite his rough look, his amber eyes still glistened with sharp intelligence. “Hey, pup,” he growled. “What can an old cat do for a dog on this miserable day?”

It was pretty hot outside, bordering on muggy. Dagwood’s shirt was sticking to his chest.

“Want some water?” Dagwood offered. He held out a fast-food cup to the old panther. It had previously contained ice when he got it, but the hot day had done its work.

The old man accepted the cup but didn’t drink from it. His sharp eyes narrowed. “You’re the cop who been going around asking too many questions. Right?”

“Well, I’m a bounty hunter, but yes.” Dagwood shrugged. He dropped down onto the sidewalk beside the other man and folded his legs. Resting his hands on his knees, he said, “It’s all the same to me, though. Call me what you want.”

“I’m gonna call you stupid, because you’re chasing a fucking daydream.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Pup, they used to call me the Litterbox.”

Well, okay, then.

He asked politely, “Why was that?”

“Because I used to make my opponents feel like shit after they messed with me.” The panther laughed, and immediately started coughing. Speckles of black—tar, or perhaps dried blood—sprayed against his arm as he covered his mouth. Based on this, Dagwood felt pretty safe in guessing that the man had lung cancer. His heart ached for this destitute soul, who was probably in a lot of pain.

He waited until the panther had done coughing before asking, “What do they call you these days?”

“Well, the name’s Roy but let me tell you. You are barking up the wrong tree, pup.”

“Explain to me what you mean by that.” Dagwood offered $10, but Roy just waved him away.

“Don’t need any of that shit. I don’t exactly want to prolong this existence of mine, since them cops took away my only reason for living.”

Dagwood stuck the money back into his pocket. He stayed silent, though his heart was skittering in his chest. He felt light, but not at all in a good way. Something very bad was about to come. He just knew it.

“See, pup, Kevin ain’t here.”

“Where is he?”

“Dunno, but he never been here. Sometimes I like to sit next to electronic stores so I can listen to the television and the radios. I know all about the hunt for that Kevin shithead. And he ain’t here. If he’s involved in fighting, he ain’t here.” Roy started coughing again and the sound was like he was being stabbed in the throat over and over. Dagwood sat and waited throughout the entire episode, though it seemed very likely to him that Roy just might run out of breath before it was over. And he was very, very close to some answers.

When Roy could speak again, he said, “I used to be a fighter. In real, legit amateur rings. ‘Cept I was so strong they thought I was on drugs. Even when I showed them my results from the drug test—nothin’ but smoke in me, even back then—they said they didn’t want me anymore because it wasn’t fair. Not fair? It’s fucking boxing.”

Boxing? I thought it was wrestling.

“So I went underground. And when I lost my home ‘cause my wife left me, took my kits, I kept goin’ ‘cause it was the only way to stay alive. But, there is no underground ring here anymore.”

“What?” Dagwood whispered.

“I keep my ears open. I’d like to die in the ring. One punch right to the chest should do it. I’d be out like a blessed light. But there is no ring. About twelve years ago, the cops abolished it. Just damn broke it apart, arrested everyone involved who knew how it worked. Except for Miss Hemlock, she got away. I bet she’s still out there, dealin’ with money, cheatin’ everyone like she always did. But you see, pup, Kevin can’t be hiding here because there’s no place for him to hide.”

No place for him to hide.

Boxing, instead of wrestling.

Miss Hemlock, a distinctly poisonous name. A woman who dealt with money.

“Shit,” Dagwood whispered, as all the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Someone had planted false evidence or else given the police an anonymous tip to point them in this direction. The cops had gotten rid of the underground ring some time ago but for all they knew, there was another one that had formed; except, here was someone in the know, who told him that there wasn’t one at all.

Hadn’t he spoken with a particularly sexual viper, who told him she sent Kevin on his way? And she had said that with blood coming out of her mouth, as the result of a wound that might very well have been the death of her. He thought at the time that she was telling the truth, that no one on the verge of dying would continue to lie, but apparently he had been wrong.

For two weeks, he had been chasing shadows.

Kevin could be anywhere. However, Dagwood was pretty sure that Kevin was in Portsmouth, that he had never left Portsmouth, that he had some sort of connection to underground fighting rings that was as of yet unknown.

He had to go back.

“Thanks,” Dagwood choked out. He stood up and swayed for a moment as yet another realization came to him. He knew Kevin was in Portsmouth now, and he had left Irwin there, all alone, without any sort of protection.

His worst fears were becoming reality.

“You okay, pup?” Roy asked, frowning. He placed his hands on the boiling-hot concrete, preparing to stand up. “You’re looking a bit crazy-eyed.”

“Fine,” Dagwood said. He threw the $10 at Roy, forgetting that the other man hadn’t wanted it, and then he took off running for his car. He’d left it parked a couple blocks away, but now the distance seemed more like a couple miles. Every second he was here was another second Irwin was in danger.

As he ran, he fired off a text to Irwin, though he wasn’t sure at all that it was coherent.

As he jumped into his car and there was no response, he called Irwin instead.

Still nothing.

He’s just busy. Watching a movie. Sleeping. In a job interview. He’s okay. Nothing’s wrong. It’s okay.

But very deep in the back of his mind, he just knew that it wasn’t. Dread churned in his stomach, trailed an icy touch down his spine. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He kept calling all through the process of fetching his belongings and checking out of the hotel, though this earned him a number of dirty looks from every employee who walked pass. He knew it was rude, and he just didn’t care. There were more important things right now.

The thought of taking eight hours to get back to Portsmouth seemed like an eternity, and as he joined in the traffic, he wondered if it might not be faster to just drop everything and head to the airline. But, the more he thought about that possibility, the more it began to seem like that would take just as long. He would have to get checked in, find a flight—and who knew what time it would be at—and then who knew if the plane would be on time.

No, it was best to just keep driving, when he had as much control as possible over the situation.

As he left the city behind, he turned on the radio. “Please call me,” he begged to Irwin’s voicemail. “Please. I need to hear your voice. Call me, dammit.”

Hanging up, he started to call yet again and was listening to the ringing when the music on the radio suddenly cut out. The silence startled him, and he dropped the phone, which slid down between the seat and the center console, into that crack which attracted falling things like a black hole.

“Just an update on the story that’s breaking, folks. Key witnesses are still being interviewed, but so far, descriptions of the shooter continue to match that of Kevin Leery. As we all know, Kevin is…”

Dagwood stomped on the brakes in his surprise. The car behind him had to swerve slightly to avoid hitting him; the driver laid into his horn, but Dagwood hardly cared. Everything inside him seemed to have stopped. All he could do was drift by on autopilot as he listened to some nerdy announcer describe the known details of Kevin Leery’s case.

“And now, we have some identification on the most recent victim of Kevin’s rampages. According to his ID, his name is Irwin Price. Irwin’s family and friends are encouraged to reach out to contact the Portsmouth General Hospital, where he is currently being treated. At this time, Irwin Price’s condition is unknown, but witness accounts of the attack seem to point to some critical injuries. More updates coming as time goes on. This has been your host…”

The worst had happened.

Dagwood let out a frustrated howl, which echoed so loudly in the car that his ears started ringing. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, over and over until the side of his hand turned red and started to swell. When things went wrong, they all went wrong at once. He was still so, so far away from Irwin, from the man he wanted to be his mate.

What else was left to go wrong?

He didn’t know, but if there was anything left, it would.

Though he knew Irwin wouldn’t pick up, though of course it was a lost cause, he dialed Irwin’s number again and listened to the ringing. To the voicemail, he whispered, “I love you. Please hold on for me.”

All he could do was hope that the universe heard him and was on his side.