"Don't you think it's a bit of an overreaction?" Tasha asked. "It's just a car?"

"Tasha?" I responded as I loaded ammunition into a magazine. "There's a globe in my library. Go get it, will you?"

I continued loading the magazine for a Tokarev TT-33 handgun, making sure to be gentle. Sarah had warned me that once I felt the slightest resistance to stop loading. With our vampiric strength, we were far more likely overloading and causing a jam. I opened a fresh box of standard 7.62x25mm shells when Sarah returned with the globe.

"Alright." She said confused. "Now what?"

"Now point out exactly where I asked for your opinion."

That was when she hurled it at me. I naturally slapped it away with the back of my hand before I returning and finishing the third clip. I spared it glance as it bounced before picking up the last empty clip and began loading. I heard Kim's footsteps enter the living room.

"Did you hear a word I said about antagonizing Tasha?" Kim demanded.

"I was at first, but then you got all echoey and distant sounding."

"What?"

"You known, when a cartoon character beings a flashback or gets an idea."

"As your elder, I must agree with Tasha." Kim picked up the globe and examined lazily. "No one like to be robbed, and while I could care less about their lives, you should let it go."

"Let it go?" I repeated as I finished loading the last magazine. "It's like you're speaking Chinese to me."

"But you speak Chinese."

"Not that dialect!" I stood and picked up the Tokarev from the table. "It's a matter of principle."

"Principle?" Kim and Tasha asked together.

"I won't you bore with the details, but suffice to say that my father and I only had three things in common. Breathing and the believe that certain things are off limits. It was complicated, but it boiled down to this : There three things you don't do. You don't mess with another man's woman. You don't mess with another man's ego and, most importantly, you don't mess with another man's property. Or else, the man will mess with you."

"What exactly do you plan to do?" Kim asked.

"Basically?" I slid the Tokarev in my back waistband. "Cry havoc and let slip the hogs of war.

"It's dogs of war."

"I know." I tightened the the buckle to my holster on my thigh. "But I've always found the idea of being tore apart by pigs, specifically boars, much more terrifying."

"Fair enough."

I threw on my coat and slipped my cane in the hidden pocket that ran the length of my back. I donned my hat and adjusted it in the mirror Kim had placed next to the coat rack in the corner by the door. I had on a gray undershirt, which couldn't be seen, under a dark navy blue turtleneck sweater. I also wore a pair of black khakis. Sarah had strongly advised me to wear dark shoes, but all I had were a pair of handmade leather Oxfords that cost more than the rent on my home on Long Island did. So I went with my usual red Chuck Taylor high-top sneakers. I could always say I was opting for comfortably and stealth since they were soft-soled rather than the truth.

I left the apartment, Kim and Tasha finally learning nothing was going to change my mind, and hailed a cab. Once had given us a location, it had been too late to do anything about it. It was moot point. Both Sarah and I agreed that we should take time to supply and map out a plan. While humans they may be, we both would be in for a world of pain and misery if only relied on my sword and double-barrel, without much ammunition, and Sarah's peacekeepers. There were our bare hands, but why risk it. After all, Sun Tzu said "He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight"

I had the cabbie drop me off on the corner of Hooper and Kent in Brooklyn just on the edge of Williasmburg. We had agree to meet there and make our way to the dock warehouse on foot. If knew Sarah, which to be fair wasn't long or much, she would be getting there early to do some reconnaissance and then meet me to discuss any new developments. As to why someone might place a illegal chop shop for car near a dock. I could surmise that who would look for cars near the water. I paid the cabbie and got out. I glanced around casually as I could to see that no one was observing me. Other than the drug dealer on the far corner conducting his business, there wasn't much around except for the human employees in the stores cleaning or closing up.

I pretended to stretch before, just in case I was being watched, I disappeared in a blur down an alleyway like Barry Allen. To the human eye, it would appear as if my body simply vanished. The alleyway lead to a small square with two entrances just large enough for supply trucks to enter from the east and north with a two dumpsters shoved in the corner against each other. I began looking around for Sarah when a pebble bounced just a foot to my left. I looked up and saw Sarah on the roof of a building. She pointed to a fire escape and I nodded. The ladder was still up, but it didn't matter. I leapt up and pulled myself onto the railing. Rather than walk up, I leapt to the next level and then the next until I reached the roof. The whole process took less than a minute.

Sarah and nodded to each other before she began leading me towards the water. The buildings were relatively close together, so close that humans practicing parkour wouldn't have much trouble, so jumping one to another was like a game of hopscotch. For those far apart, all a vampire needed was a running start. Perhaps I should have said the average vampire. Along the fifth long jump, I miscalculated and landed on the very edge and slipped. While I might have easily survived the fall, it would left me unable to continue until the next night. However, just as the sense of weightlessness hit me, a strong hand grasped my forearm and yanked me onto the roof. A ghost of an amused smile appeared on Sarah's face before she pointed to a little sniper's perch where a long rifle sat on a stand alongside her guitar case.

I sat down as she peered through the scope after handing me a pair of binoculars. "I've been noting their coming and goings."

"Anything we need to worry about?" I asked.

"They have converted a small warehouse into some sort of mechanic's shop."

"It's a chop shop."

"Chop?" Sarah repeated. "As in cuts of meat?"

"No." I explained. "They steal cars from off the street and strip them down. They sell the parts for cheap and the rest for scrap.

"Then surely your precious Carrie is no longer."

"They tend to keep the more exotic cars for themselves or for sale after. At least, that's what I'd do" I said. "And don't call me Shirley."

"I didn't."

"I take it you've never seen Airplane."

"Of course I've seen an airplane."

"No, I mean – you know what, it can wait." I peered through the binoculars. "According to Mr. Moto we're dealing with the Irish Mob. Didn't think they were still around."

"How so?"

"Well the Irish immigrated to America during the potato famines from 1845 to '52 and eventually organized themselves to be a powerful group in the criminal underground. Then came the Italians, starting from 1880 to 1910, fleeing poverty of Sicily and southern Italy. For whatever reason, they pushed and pushed until they controlled everything and left the Irish with scraps of scraps."

"It would seem they have made a resurgence." Sarah observed.

"Considering the government is finally using the RICO laws correctly, being the smaller fish has its benefits. All they have to do is stay under the radar and watch then they can prepare a careful takeover the market left by the government's take down of the Italian Mafia." I looked to Sarah. "How do you want to – "

Pfft – pfft

Sarah looked up from the rifle's scope. "The two guards posted at the door are dead. We have two minutes to reach the door."

We both dropped to eh ground from the roof. To eliminate the risk of breaking our legs and sound, we each landed dropped from the top lever of fire escape to the first and then to the ground. A quick glance to see no alarms had been raised and we ran to the door where two bleeding bodies were slumped against the wall by a door.

"Time for a quick snack?" I asked.

Rather than answer, Sarah picked up one of the bodies, which was the size of giant, and bit into his neck. I did the same. After all, I was hungry and all this excitement only made it worse. After a moment, we dragged the bodies out of site and making sure no blood left a trail.

"Now what?" I asked wiping my mouth.

"Here." Sarah handed me metal cylinder. "Screw it to the barrel of the pistol I gave you."

"A silencer?" I realized doing as she instructed. "Thought you were the type not to care about who hears."

"This isn't a barn miles from the nearest house." Sarah drew a silenced Tokarev from insider her duster and checked it was loaded. "I'd rather avoid dealing with the police."

"True." I held up the pistol. "I'll go in first and you come in ten seconds after me."

"If you say so." She laid flat and drew another silenced pistol. "Just remember that pistol has no where near the same spread of power of that double barrel."

I nodded and held the pistol in right hand behind my back and knocked. I waited no more than ten seconds before a burly man in white tank top and working jeans and boot opened the door with a confused look on his face. He was overweight and reddish tint to his face, no doubt the result of trying to actively turn his liver into a lump of asphalt if I went by the cheap bourbon around him.

"I suppose asking for a cup a sugar isn't going to cut it?" I offered a smile.

He drew a pistol from behind his waistband and brought it up to aim, but it stopped when seized the barrel with my free hand. We exchanged a look as I drew mine and jabbed it into his stomach. His eyes widened at the realization he had been shot. He might have been taller than me, but I saw more people in the room so I pushed him forward keeping the gun in his stomach and firm grip on his pistol, pulling forward slightly to keep him on his feet and in front as human shield. We were fortunate no one was living in the shop, otherwise we would have required an invitation.

The rest happened in a blur. My shield hadn't lost consciousness and began to resist as I forced him back into the room so I fired twice more. As his body went limp, I yanked his should connected with my left hip. It gave me the chance to fire twice at one of other guard, a short stocky man with thinning hair and baby face. One caught him in the side of the neck, nicking an artery judging by the spray, while other sent him back when it connected with his collarbone. I felt a buzz by my left ear and bobbed my head instinctively just in time to see a bullet hit the wall behind me. I turned and fired twice only to hit a hand, this one belonging to thiny sinewy man with salt and pepper hair and prison tattoos on his bare arms and chest, while the other missed completely. He dropped than snubnosed revolver naturally as fire twice more, the first one connecting with his chest causing him to fall and the second just miss his nose. That left one more who was in the midst of chargin me with a machete, don't ask where he had gotten it from. I aimed and pulled the trigger only to hear it click empty

I had used all eight rounds.

I easily managed to spin to avoid the initial swing, dropping the Tokarev and drawing the double barrel from my thigh. However, the side of his head chose that moment to explode with a loud bang as he fell to the ground. I turned to see Sarah holstering a revolver with an exasperated look on her face.

"When this is over, I'm going to teach you to properly shoot." She said looking at the bodies on the floor. "This is not a human action movie."

"I got the job done." I protested. "Though you can probably –

Suddenly, a door leading to the main room of the warehouse burst open and three men rushed in. Just as quickly, like she had done it a million times which she probably had, drew her revolver and emptied it into the men like Clint Eastwood in For a Fistful of Dollars. The three men hit the floor as she casually opened the cylinder and reloaded like she had all the time in the world.

" – Do better." I finished. "You're sending mixed messages, you know that? This is not a human action movie and then you go all High Noon."

"High Noon?" She repeated. "Oh! I understood that reference. It is a Western film, correct?

"Yes from 1952 starring Gary Cooper." I elaborated. "My point is - never mind. It can wait. Let's get moving."

The rest from there was short work. Besides the guards that we disposed of, there were only six left in the chop shop proper. Between the yelling of the three Irish men barking orders and the power tools used by the workers, from El Salvador judging by the dialects and accents, as they stripped cars for part, no heard a sound as we subdued them. Sarah and I tied them to folding chairs using a combination of duct tape and rags. As Sarah finished with the El Salvadorians, I found a can of spray paint and painted the word "Irish" on the wall over their heads and did the same with the workers and wrote "Salvodiranos".

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked.

"Providing incentive." I responded.

I took the rag I used to gag on of the Irish. He was pudgy, but had a fair amount of muscle. He wore a dark green cabbie hat that matched his work stained sweater along with pair of equally stained and worn jeans and work boots.

"Ya have any idea who yer messin' with, boyo?" He coughed. "Any idea who our boss is?"

"Nope." I made of show of pulling out my double barrel and checking to see it was loaded. "Kinda the whole reason I'm here. Judging by you less than Olympian physiche, I'm going to assume you watch a lot of television."

"The fuck yer on about?!" he sneered.

"Which is why we're gonna play a game." I thumbed back the hammer on the double barrel. "Basically family feud and I'm Ray Combs." I pushed tip right on his left kneecap and said dramatically. "Now, a hundred people surveyed. Number one's on the board! Who has my Trans Am?!"
"Vincent!" He growled. "Van Go-fuck yerself!"

"Hmm." I said in mock consideration looking into his eyes. "Vincent Van Go-Fuck myself?" I turned dramatically to the invisible board. "And survey says!"

I pulled the trigger.

His knee exploded in a thick mist of blood, bone, cartilage, muscle, and the denim that made his jeans. Naturally he screamed in agony. Fortunately for him, I only fired one of barrels. Both at the same time would have taken his leg clear off and he would have bled out in minutes or died of shock, either too soon for me.

"AHHHHH!" He growled. "You- you fuckin' son of biiiiiitch!"

"I'm sorry." I turned to my next playmate. "Only one answer per constant."

This one was slightly younger, judging by lack of graying hair. Or his platinum blonde hair hid them well even with my eyesight. He wore a tanned leather jacket over an off-white collared shirt. He wore beige trousers and leather shoes that matched his jacket. I was mildly impressed as he stared defiantly with robin's egg blue eyes. No doubt he'd kill me at the first opportunity. Couldn't blame him really if he did.

"Number one answer still on the board." I placed the barrel on his knee like his friend. "Where is my Tran Am?" I waited as he continued to stare. "Times up! Need an answer!" He spat on the floor and continued to stare me down. "Well, ya never know what's gonna be on the board"

I fired and it was same as before with the blood and screaming. I had forgotten how fun something likes could be. Then again, I had been busy. What with transforming my mind, my apartment, and my life overall by indulging my new single life in the greatest city in the world – it's a small wonder I overlooked something. I made a small mental note to explore the possibilities at a later time.

"Come on, fellas." I reloaded casually. "That's two strikes. One more and the mechanic get a chance to steal the bank!" I looked over and saw them being to panic. "Oh, relax. I'm assuming you guys don't really know what's going on." I turned back to the third and final, who was the only one who looked stereotypically Irish with bright red hair a collared blue shirt and suspenders. "Okay, kid."

"Are you sure about him?" Sarah asked, licking her lips as she stared at the running down the thugs' legs and pooling at their feet. "A young one like him probably knows nothing."

"One way to find out." I placed the barrel on his left knee. "Name the –"

"Peter Kelly!" roared the first thug. "Ya say one word an' I'll cut yer yellow heart –"

Then his head exploded, courtesy of my double barrel.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Peter half yelped half shouted.

"One answer per contestant." I reluctantly turned back to Peter, using all self control I had not start draining everyone dry, and saw he was sufficiently terrified. "Okay, Peter, listen to me. I won't bore with a long story, but that car –"

"Ya just better kill us, ya fuck!" cried the second thug. You just had to give him credit, although it canceled out with his sheer stupidity. "'Cause if I get outta this, yer dead!" He then shouted at Peter. "And if ya don't wanna share –"

Then his head exploded and I swore I heard something between a moan and growl emanated from Sarah.

Truth be told, I was digging my own grave and the mechanics. Peter better give me what I wanted or Sarah and I were about to go to town. Hell, I would be surprised if Sarah I jumped each other the second we had some time to ourselves. I stowed away the thought of vampric incest along with wondering if was to count as incest if we were two unrelated humans, but shared a maker as vampires. I decided to ask Kim and Sarah when I had to the chance.

Has very lard sentimental value to me." I continued as I reloaded. "You drive right?"

"R-right." He yelped half squealed. "Me first car was 69 mustang me grandad left me."

"And I'm sure loved it." I placed the barrel back on his knee. "Just as I'm sure you love your kneecaps. So, once again, I'm asking who –"

"James Delaney! James Delaney!" Peter cried out desperately. "He runs everything out here in Brooklyn. Numbers, protection, dope, prostitution!''

''Victimless crimes." I said before relenting. "Well, except for protection. I mean, dose he have my Trans Am?"

"Has to be!" He assured. "His body guard's been drivin' 'im all over town in one."

"Thank you, Peter." I stowed the double barrel and turned to Sarah. "We won't be need them."

"Understood." Sarah drew her pistol and turned towards the mechanics.

"Whoa, whoa." I said. "I meant let them go."

"Aren't they part of this?"

"They don't even know what goes on here." Peter said. "Christ, they can't even read English! All those dirty beaners care about is stealing American jobs and – "

"Hey, relax. Kelly!" I wagged my finger in his face. "It's wasn't too long ago that everyone hated the Irish for swarming here on their potato boats and taking all the jobs."

"Wait, what?"

"And for future reference, and I'm sure they'll explain it to you if you ever learn Spanish, that beaner is pejorative term for Mexicans." I motioned to them. "They're clearly from El Salvador roughly eight hundred miles south of Mexico." I turned towards them. "Estoy correcto o equivocado?"

They nodded desperately and I turned back to Kelly "Shoots your whole can't speak English theory, doesn't it?"

Suddenly a clamorous ringing filled the room. Both Sarah and I turned to the far wall and saw a dirty stained phone ringing hanging on the wall. I motioned Sarah and then to the mechanics and she nodded before dragging them to farthest corner of the room while I effortless less lifted Kelly to the phone. I picked up the phone and held it for him while aiming my shotgun at his crotch. No need for words and he nodded.

"H-hello?" He said.

"Peter?" asked a gruff voice. "Where's Mikey?"

"Bathroom, I think." Kelly covered quickly. "

"Alright," said the voice. "Open the door and get Sean. Me and the the boss are here with the fucking Lupertazzi's. We're ending shit tonight."

click

Sarah returned with her pistol drawn and I motioned to the yellow box next to the garage door that allowed cars to pull in to be stripped. The buttons were color coded and labeled. Green to open while yellow and red were close and stop respectively. I lifted Kelly and carried him to off to the side. I reloaded the Tokarev and checked my shotgun before signaling to Sarah to open the door. The door slow rose and I hear the sound of doors opening and closing along with footsteps and shouting.

Three men with arms tied limped under the door. I saw they were bleeding and had bruised faces like they had just been ina fistfight. They clothes, a mix of shirts and jeans, were torn and bloodstained. Their breath came out in ragged wheezes and small cloud as the cold air came in contract with their warm breath. Another man came in with a gun drawn behind them, clearly their guard. With Sarah covering me, I dashed behind him and twisted his neck with a soft crack. He fell like puppet whose string were cut. The captives saw me and put a finger to my lips just as I heard four quick gun shots quickly followed by four thumps.

I whirled behind me to see the door had been opened completely revealing the snow was beginning to float down in flurries. Four men laid dead around the head of a large van, thankfully not running and no light to attract attention. In front of the van, closest to the door, was Carrie, my Trans Am, without a scratch on her and shining like she'd been recently waxed.

"There is one still alive." Sarah informed me as she reloaded. "Their boss, judging from the way their were protecting him."

"James Delanly!" I called out as I joined Sarah. "Walk out here and face me like man!"

"Is that supposed to be joke?" A voice demanded.

I heard a faint whir and then I saw what it was. James Delanly was an old man in a electric wheelchair with thick blanket over legs and oxygen tank conncected to his nose by a clear plastic tube. He didn't have a single hair on is head and had glasses thicker than a brick. He was also smoking a cigarette.

"And just who yer supposed ta be?" He demanded. "These dago goombas' trump card or sumthin'?"

"James! It's me, your old pal!" I put a fake smile. "Shamus McFuckYourself!"

"Sorry, Delanly," coughed the larger of men. "He ain't one of mine."

"So why the fuck are you interfering?" Delanly demanded.

"You stole my car." I pointed to Carrie. "That Trans Am is mine."

"So you tracked it down and killed my men, all fer a fuckin car?"

"It's American icon!" I snapped. "You philistine!"

"You must be bravely stupid or stupidly brave."

"Said the man to another man holding a loaded double barrel in one hand." I drew the shot gun and aimed the Tokarev in the other. "And pistol in the other."

"Ya won't shoot me."

"Oh?" I motioned to the bodied. "Are the bodies not a clear indication?"

"I've seen your type all me life." He flicked away his cigarette. "Yer still just a kid. Ya got a sense of honor, fair play. Ya killed my men sure, but they were armed. Ya can't do it, boy. I know ya. " He pointed finger at me and Sarah. "So ya take yer nigger girlfriend –"

That was all that he managed to say, before he suddenly exploded. Blood and vicera mixed with part of the wheelchair flew out and severely damaged the van. I instinctively covered my face. When I looked back, I saw he had been blown in half and what remained of his lower body still sat in the remains of the wheel chair. I then saw the bottom three inches of the oxygen canister. I turned to Sarah who seemed to be radiating fury and anger. I wouldn't be surprised if a T-Rex turned tail and ran. It took me moment, but gather Sarah had shot the oxygen canister which caused it to exploded. Even with no shrapnel like a proper bomb, the force was enough to kill Delanly.

"No one call me that and lives." She said to me. "No. One."

"Well, that solves that." I walked to Carrie and opened the door. The keys were in the ignition and the inside was spotless along with fresh pine tree scent. "What do you say we get out of here?"

"What about us?" called out one of the captives. "You're not just gonna leave us like this, are you?"

That was when the sirens began to wail in the distance.

"We should leave." Sarah informed me. "They are none of our concern. We have what we came for."

"You're right." I nodded and considered a moment. If my assumptions were right, I could use a favor from the Italian Mob. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume you guys would like to avoid explaining this to the police?"

"No shit!" said the same captive while the others kept quiet. Clearly he was the leader of the group. "Kinda pointless to save us from these bastrard and just leave us here."

"I came here for my car." I walked to them and ripped the duct tape from their wrists. "You didn't factor in at all."

"What are you doing?" Sarah demanded. "I know you here those sirens as well as I do."

"Sirens?" He cocked his head left to right. "I don't here nothing."

"Ignore her." I reached into his back pocket and took his wallet.

"Hey!" he protested.

"So, here's the deal." I opened his wallet and took out his driver's license. "Henry DiMeo. You might have heard of me as The Ductor, but I know who you are

"Ductor?" Henry repeated and his eyes went wide. "Oh shit."

"Quite." I handed him back his wallet. "I want this car sitting in the alley behind Broadway and Walker without a scratch by tomorrow night."

"Sure thing." He assured. "I'll have one of my guys –"

"Send the Pope for all I care." I walked away and spoke to Sarah. "Come on. Time to head home."

We walked briskly, but normally till we turned a corner and out of sight. Then we used our vampiric speed, becoming blurs to any possible onlooker. We made our way back to the rooftop that Sarah had observed and left her silenced rifle. I waited patiently as Sarah took the rifle apart and placed each piece in its own special slot inside her guitar case. She also stowed her peacekeepers and held out her hand to me. I understood and handed her the Tokarev which she also strapped in. I took a step, meaning to leave, when she clicked at me and motioned to my thigh. I handed her the double barrel and she stowed it away. What she did next impressed me. She lowered what appeared to be an inside lid. Once it closed, it appeared as old and polished guitar sat in place of the small arsenal. Sarah threw me a smug smile before snapping the case closed and threw it over her shoulder. It was a smart move to store our weapons. If we were stopped for whatever reason, especially the police, we had a decent chance to talk our way out of it even if they searched us.

We reached Hooper and Kent, opposite the corner the cabbie had dropped me off earlier. Now the sirens were deafening and we could see them come barreling down the street as fast as the traffic would allow as they converged from all directions. I lead Sarah down Kent until we reached Flushing Ave. From there, we caught a cab that just happened to be parked as the cabbie returned with a cup of coffee. We then took a short ride to Marcy Ave and took the subway across the East River again, in the reverse direction. It was much less crowded this time around, but Sarah seemed to sort of lean on me much like girlfriend might do with her boyfriend. I did not protest. Part me felt relaxed and realized it was similar to whenever I was around HER. I decided it was the fact that since we shared a maker, and therefore blood, it made sense that we'd unconsciously seek out that comfort. We sat like that until we reached Canal Street in Tribeca. In fact, we did not part and unconsciously interlocked arms as we walked the two blocks to the apartment building where my nest was. I wasn't aware of it until Sarah spoke.

"Are you certain those humans will return your car?" Sarah asked.

"Huh?" I looked and saw how close we were. I decided not to say nothing about it. "They've seen what we're capable of and we know where they live. No matter how stupid humans can be, you can always count on them to act in their own self interest and preservation. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that simply returning the car, however you might covet it, is best for everyone involved."

"Mmm." Sarah nodded and didn't say anymore.

We reached the building and rode the elevator to the nest. Kim let us in without a word. Sarah and I let go each other and I watched as she wordlessly went down the hall. A moment later, I heard the sound of water running.

"Matthew called for you." Kim said.

"What about?" I turned to see her take her place on the couch and Tasha curled up to her and laid her head in her lap. "Werewolves again?"

"No." Kim looked down and began stroking and playing with Tasha's hair like I might with Tux, who jumped into my lap at that moment. "Something happened at the docks in Brooklyn. He wanted to know if that was connected to the car you went searching for."

"What makes him think I was involved?"

"Because when you go searching for something, things tend to get loud and seem to catch fire." Kim reminded me. "Your maker and The Patient Gentlemen for instance."

"Those were self defense."

"Granted." Kim remarked. "But, this time you behaved like a child throwing a tantrum because his toy was taken away."

"Not far from what happened." I held up a finger. "But here's my response to that. There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."

"It's not me that has an issue. Matthew is whom you'll have to deal with" Kim turned on the TV. "There's a letter on the counter. It arrived for you after you left. It is from some art group run by the Trump family. The same group that bought your paintings."

"Wait what?" I looked around and remembered my painting and works had been missing. There was no place to store them and they certainly weren't my room. "You sold my paintings?!"

"Isn't that what artists do in the city? Sell their artwork and such to rich patrons? They were taking up space and one can never have too much money. You didn't ask before so I assumed they weren't much to you. They sold for a hefty sum at an auction I was told. You'll be receiving a check in a few days minus a small fee and my ten percent."

"I don't recall hiring you as my manager."

"Would you prefer I threw them out and leave fifteen thousand dollars floating in the wind?"

"Fifteen thousand?" I repeated. "For my paintings?"

"Not all of them. Just the three they held for auction. The rest is in storage awaiting another."

"Fine." I said still fuming and surprised at the fact someone would pay thousands of dollars that were glorified pictures that I made because I was bored will others poured their souls into. "Next time, ask!"

I stood and retrieved the letter. I yawned as I opened it and began walking down the hall to my bedroom. It read:

Dear Ductor,

Due to the outstanding response for your works, you are hereby invited to our annual New Talent Art Gala at the end of the month held at the Museum of Natural History. Please present this invitation upon your arrival or you will not be admitted. Invitees are allowed only one guest or three members of immediate family only.

Sincerely,

Angelique Farah, Co-founder of NYC's Bushwick Collective.

"Who would have thought." I muttered to myself as I entered my room and laid the letter on my night stand.

I tossed my coat into the corner and sat down on the bed. I removed my shoes and socks. I was beginning to unbutton my shirt when I felt two hands reach around me and a pair of soft lips on my neck. I now noticed I couldn't hear the water running anymore as I turned my head and felt those same lips again, this time on mine. The hands had finished with my shirt and were now pulling me closer. I didn't fight it. After all, I was about to get the answer to question I had saved for later.

Plus, it seemed that, for either of us, it was the closest were ever going to get to having HER back.