“Can you see this?” Chuck whispered into his phone.
Sitting in Whiskers’ car the vid-feed from Chuck’s camera displayed across the interior of the windshield. The feed panned to the right, a battered front door with a sign in gromathi, followed by piles of garbage and a shot down the alley.
“Clear feed,” Whiskers replied.
In the passenger seat, Puddles fiddled with her new frying pan, glancing at the feed every few seconds.
“Did you find a spot to hide?” she asked Chuck.
“I think so, moving there now.”
On the windshield, the feed bounced and moved erratically as Chuck moved. Chuck reached for another handhold in the wall of the building across the street, finding a handhold he pulled himself up onto a ledge. Nice to see the City keeping up on buildings and repairs in Lower Stroud, Chuck thought sarcastically looking around at the debris, exposed wires, pipes, and garbage on the ledge, every building he could see, and in the alley. Chuck spotted a better observation spot a few feet to his right.
The feed stabilized and centered on the alleyway and door.
“Now we wait,” Whiskers said.
“What’s our next step?” Puddles asked Whiskers.
“We wait to see who goes in and out of the chop shop.”
“No,” she began with an irritated tone, “not this favor, with finding the fake Doctor Marlowe.”
“Eth should come through for us,” Chuck whispered.
Puddles shook her head, “Don’t blow your hiding spot, Chuck.”
“Chuck is correct, after Eth finds some gangers to do the work we need, we follow the trail.”
“So…” Puddles paused for effect, “you don’t know any more than I do.”
Two hours passed, “I can’t feel my feet,” Chuck whined for the fifth time in the last few minutes. “I know don’t move,” he finished testily.
“You ready ang?” a rough voice asked somewhere in the alley.
“Come on the doc is down here. He does all our hands,” another rough voice said.
“Hurt?” finished the first rough voice. “What do you think?”
“If you are lucky he will soak your arm in ice first.”
“Ice!” the third voice exclaimed.
Laughter boomed down the alley.
Three gromathi, spiked heads, walked into view on the feed. Two of the gromathi, as they walked into view wore Red Hands leather jackets made for gromathi, spaces over the shoulders for their spikes to show. On the back of each jacket the Red Hands logo, a bloody fist clutched and unclutched with each step they took. Both of the Red Hand gangers had the gang’s trademark mechanical augmented red right hand. The third, obviously younger gromathi wore a red shirt and spent a lot of time looking at his right organic hand.
“Alright kid, we will wait for you in the waiting room,” the first rough voice said as they walked into the building.
“Did you see that,” Chuck whispered excitedly.
“We saw it,” Puddles responded.
“If Eth’s information is correct, an hour from now they should leave,” Chuck said, “Can one of you take my place?”
“I will be there in a few minutes,” Whiskers replied.