The first day of suspension always sucks. There is just time and one can only twiddle their thumbs so long in anger while they waited. That was the least of it, there was another dead body and someone needed to pay. Hunter’s phone flashed an incoming text message, some unknown caller sent him a video file. He lazily opened it while plotting ways that he could destroy Jack Vincent. What he saw stilled his heart, because someone sent him a video of a ghost.
Hunter rewinds and watches the video again, for a third, then a fourth time. He shakes his head.
Think this through, this can’t be real, take in the details.
Hunter pours over the video, he notes that it is taken from a surveillance camera dated yesterday afternoon. The number is blocked and there are no identifiers from the file. Hunter considers calling his Homeland Security Contacts, but Jack might be watching.
The last thing I need is having that Asshole stick his nose into this.
Hunter taps into his animal instinct, he feels his visual acuity sharpening, taking into every little detail. First, he recognizes the bricks, it is the main entrance to the Foshay building. He can see the envelop she is carrying, it looks like a financial transaction took place. He nods to himself, that explains the weight of the bag. Someone made a large cash withdrawl from inside.
Carlos Ortega’s financial syndicate makes the Foshay Building its home. It has some significant banking operations on the first and second floors. Rumor has it that the whole place is locked down tight. This could be tricky.
Hunter searches the couple seconds of video again and acknowledges the easiest thing to identify in this whole video. The woman walking out of the bank is his dead wife, Katrinka.
Out of shear frustration at the loss of the girl, his wife and life, Jack took to the sky in order to gather his thoughts. Some people run to relieve stress but Jack flew. He had an idea but needed some time to deal with the shock of what appeared to be his dead wife making a large withdrawal at a known vampire’s lair and headquarters. It was strange getting used to flying and he still wasn’t as good at it as he would like. So he climbed, and climbed until he could hardly breath and then he dove. Eighty miles per hour and the wind rushed at him, tugging his wings, which were held close to his body. One hundred and twenty miles per hour and the wind shrieked in his head and the threatened to tear his wings from his side. He broke his own record at when he hit two hundred and twenty miles per hour. It was the fastest he had ever gone as he approached the Mississippi River, the speed was exhilarating and dangerous in a way that he never felt when he was human. Hunter spotted the bass from a thousand feet and swopped to intercept it.
Later, after a fish dinner, Jack made a call to his contact Moss. Moss was… unique. He was the sort of criminal that had honor of sorts. Moss had tipped Jack off in several cases including the Ripper case and had become a valued, and somewhat trusted ally, who had worked with both the Hunters from time to time. His specialty was breaking and entering, and video surveillance. Jack hadn’t talked to Moss in nearly a year, at Katrina’s wake. The phone rang once, twice, three, times and on the forth ring Jack got a message,“You know what to do at the beep. His voice shaking Jack said the following,”Moss, this is Hunter, call me…It’s about Kat." and hung up the phone.