3038/Urban Tracking

Urban Tracking
Date of Scene:	22 August 2020
Location:	Bronx
Synopsis:	Frank fills Peggy in on his current investigation after a spirited bout and some minor explosions.
Cast of Characters:	Peggy Carter, Frank Castle

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Peggy Carter has posed:
A rough two days after the mess in the cemetary, Peggy finds herself back in the Bronx. She gave things a little time to die down, the cops to get less worried, and her ribs to not be quite so sore from the two shots she took to the body armor. But she also didn't want the trail of HYDRA to dry up, so she couldn't let it go too long. That means, she's made her way back up to the Bronx, to outside the business of the man she killed. Mostly she's observing, seeing if she can get more names, more faces. Seeing if his open business was related to HYDRA or just his secretive body guards. That means a stake out.

A horribly boring, quiet, uneventful stake out. She's been watching the two warehouses his main shipping business operated out of for hours now with no sign of life. Maybe she's too late. But she wasn't going to give up after this long. At least she'd wait through the night. It means Peggy's camped out well across the street, in a mostly abandoned warehouse on the dusty, rat and pigeon shit filled upper floor. The broken out windows give her a good view of the business and it's at least sheltered from the weather outside. Even if smells. She's in her fresh blacks with a new set of body beneath a dark jacket, her brown hair tightly twisted back against the sides of her head, sharp, dark eyes watching the warehouse through binoculars every few minutes. But the audio bugs she set around the place will probably alert her before anything.

Frank Castle has posed:
*Creeeak*

Was that the warehouse settling or an intruder? Hard to tell in an old place like this. The building's been making noises for hours, and at least a dozen of them have sounded like a footstep or a door closing somewhere in the building. At least once a tagger /did/ actually come to investigate Peggy's chosen stakeout position, though he was far more interested in the broad wall outside than the empty windows on the upper floors. Now? Who can even say anymore. Certainly, with no more than a glance around, she can easily confirm it's only shadows up there with her.

At least until one of the shadows moves...

Frank comes barreling out of far corner of the room with a sudden roar, pitched low and growled past snarling lips. It's an intimidation tactic he commonly employs as he bears down on Peggy in a handful of quick, lunging steps. He's far from unarmed, but nothing's drawn or in his hands when he reaches for her and attempts to get an arm around her throat from behind.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Every creak, every sound, Peggy's moved. Instinctively putting her back toward the wall so she can guard her front, even if it means taking her eyes off the windows for a few moments. Survival is more important than observation. So, this time around, she goes through the familiar dance. Her dark eyes snap into the rest of the room, staring warily at the shadows as she shifts her shoulders to press closer to the wall. She doesn't *see* anything... until she's suddenly hearing it, on her opposite side, and she goes into automatic response.

His growling roar gives her just enough warning that he's definitely not getting at her back, she's too well trained for that. No intimidation here, simply a woman who's going from idle observation to readying for a fight. She doesn't have enough time to get him into a proper arm lock, and he's trained well enough that'd be a fight she might not win, but she does have the advantage of his running momentum. So, instead, she ducks forward, grabbing for his arm as planned but tossing him across her shoulder instead, so his whole body is moving in the direction he was already going and she's bought herself a bit of time. Her injured ribs will hate her for it later, but adrenline makes none of that matter now.

In the two seconeds she's bought herself tossing her attacker into the messy, abandoned warehouse floor, her gun is out and aimed in his direction. Safety off, second hand expertly balancing the weight, sighted straight at him. She's not shooting, but she sure as hell knows how to use the .44 in her hand and she's pointing it like a woman who is ready to shoot any second. "IDENTIFY YOURSELF." Her clipped British accent snaps into the dusty air around them.

She is definitely his target. In that moment of contact over her shoulder, the faint scent of old fashioned rose and vanilla was unmistakable. It was the same in the dirt where the third shooter had fallen two nights past.

Frank Castle has posed:
Broadly speaking, Frank has managed to stay alive on the streets doing what he does for three reasons: He's simply better than many of his opponents, he's ruthless and relentless in equal measure, and he takes advantage of preparation and the element of surprise. He does not have the benefit of the first in this fight, but the other two?

Frank's not so green as to hit the ground on his back, spread-eagle and knocked for a loop. Her quick reaction certainly threw a wrench into his plans for a quick takedown and interrogation, but just as he's always done, he rolls with the punches and gets back up. This time, he tucks his shoulder in tight and hits the ground at a roll, already in a three-point crouch by the time Peggy gets her gun out and aimed his way. Fortunately, he anticipated at least passing competency from his prey tonight, and that's why he's made sure to come with a Plan B. In this case, that's the small detonator in his fist and the red plunger he quickly presses with his thumb.

Immediately, a minor bang goes off below the pair, and the already decrepit, age-worn floor suddenly collapses as pre-planted charges take the whole thing out from under them. Knowing exactly what was coming is a benefit, but the fall is still a hard one. Frank curls protectively around his vitals, grunting and barking in pain when he slams into a support beam on the way down. It knocks him out at a wide angle, and this time when he hits the ground it's not with nearly as much grace as before. He wheezes and coughs through the cloud of dust his stunt kicked up, groaning through gritted teeth as he checks his side for punctures and breaks, counting himself lucky when he notes with grim pleasure that he doesn't have a punctured lung.

Peggy Carter has posed:
If she was a bit more paranoid and a bit less careful, he'd have bullets in him already. It's Peggy's heart that lets him get to the detonator because she still has no clue who is *actually* attacking her. From the roar behind her, it could be some over driven meth head whose warehouse she stumbled into, and he wasn't using lethal force yet, so she wasn't willing to either.

It means she's going to quickly regret life as she hears the sounds of the small charges, not quite certain where they are except *below*. But she knew the sound of an explosion. She'd set enough of them in her life, breaking into HYDRA facilities and the like. She's curling in on herself instinctively by the time the floor is going out from beneath them, but this is going to hurt. All she can do is try to take the fall gracefully.

Time slows down in the way it always does in a fight. Picking apart every tiny detail of the situation. Her saving grace is the fact she's right next to the wall and, as the floor falls blow her and she starts to move to protect herself, she sees a bit of beam which doesn't quite entirely collapse. One hand off her gun, the other still holding her weapon, she jerks out to try and catch it. It's going to hurt no matter what.

The sound of her shoulder leaving it's socket is unpleasant. Her entire body jerks down too hard, catching herself a moment so she doesn't take the full violence of the fall on cracked ribs, but now dislocated arm doesn't last. It just means she's got a more gentle collapse into the debris below her, eyes watering with the shock of pain that cuts through her whole torso. Her palm is just slightly shaking as she raises the gun in her off-hand in his direction. "...Unless you're HYDRA I'm NOT here to fight YOU."

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank has the benefit of taking the fall without being afflicted by cracked ribs, so as fast Peggy is to recover, Castle's on his feet just a moment faster. He seems about to advance on her when he notes her gun coming up and is genuinely taken by surprise. Immediately, he rolls to the side and gets behind some boxes for cover -- she can say whatever she likes, but Castle's just a bit too paranoid to stand there in her sights. "I don't care who you're here to fight," he snarls from his position while he searches for a route forward, "I want your employers."

There's no approach that avoids stepping back out into Peggy's firing line, but Frank eventually develops another idea...

With a grunt, he puts his back to the stack of crates he's taking cover behind and begins to shove. His boots dig in, scrambling on the warehouse floor until he gets enough traction while he exerts every ounce of furious strength he has in his limbs. Straining hard, his progress is far from immediate, but after a few seconds of effort the stack begins to creak and lean, and Frank gives one more roar and one more surge of strength before it starts to topple back towards Peggy.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The few feet between where she was dangling and the debris covered ground? They *hurt*, but she takes them like a champion, her knees bending to help cushion her fall and keep low incase he's got a gun on her. The sound of her breath catching is enough to reveal she's probably somehow hurt, that was a breath of voiceless pain, but she's still moving. Adrenaline wins the day, the woman clearly experienced in fighting for her life, as she shifts behind some cargo with her back to the wall. One arm still hangs useless at her side, but she only needs one to fire her gun.

"My *employers*? Hell, this isn't some *gang war*... the man was a Nazi!" If he's good at all in reading voices, Peggy's British tone sounds absolutely honest. She's off guard and on her toes, but maybe she is also that good a liar? Who knows.

It seems her hiding place isn't going to be good for long. The cargo crates she managed to find cover behind are groaning uncomfortably and she turns dark eyes to look down the walls beside her, figuring out which way is least likely to put her in the most open position. Either way, she's going to expose herself for a few seconds, but then the crates are coming down and she has no choice. She dashes to the left, leaping across a pile of the fallen roof but trying to take cover behind it again. It means she's exposed for at least a handful of seconds. She's just keeping her head down and useful arm in so, if he opens fire on her, hopefully her body armor takes it again.

Frank Castle has posed:
If Frank wanted her dead, his approach would have been drastically different. When she runs out of cover to avoid being crushed by collapsing boxes, gunfire doesn't fill the air. No bullet takes her in the side or tests her armor's quality. Instead, two-hundred and twenty five pounds of angry Punisher sprints from the wreckage of the crates and attempts to shoulder check her into another stack. He's quick to learn his lesson, so he limits any points of leverage she might get on him and even prepares for the possibility of her dropping low and flipping him over her shoulder by getting ready to stop and bring his knee up in a violent strike should the opportunity present itself.

"And what about the judge's kid? Or the Police Captain's wife?" he snarls as he runs, clearly mistaking her for being an agent of the attempted kidnappers, "Or the three people your friends caught in the crossfire when you took the councilwoman's mistress?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
It seems she doesn't want him dead either because, while her gun is still in her hand, she's not yet used it. In fact, the safety is back on. Which could be a fatal decision on her part but she's good at reading a scene and the fact he's used non-lethal tactics so far tells her a lot. That he's not HYDRA and that he's probably not a part of the other team. They'd never hesitate in killing her. So, while those thoughts take but a few seconds, it's enough for Peggy's body to respond a possibly interesting way.

She takes the hit. It hurts like hell but, really, everything hurts now. She does down with his tackle, another grunt of pain escaping her throat whether she likes it or not, but she doesn't fight back this time. She lets him pin her to the ground, her gun-toting arm tucked into her chest so she can level it at his gut even as he pins her to the floor. Her hair's fallen out of the careful rolls now, face flushed and her breath a bit ragged. Her dark eyes are on fire as she stares up at him.

"I don't know *who* you are talking about. I took out exactly one target and, possibly, two of his body guards. Kenneth Richter, son of Wilhelm Richter, known member of the Third Reich and HYDRA scientist... continuing his father's legacy. If you don't know what that is, then you're lucky, but you're also being a bloody fool. I'm sorry the daughter was there. But I'm not sorry I did it."

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank doesn't look much better as he puts his snarling face dangerously close to Peggy's, one forearm jammed tight against her throat while his other hand holds a knife he pulled somewhere in the struggle at an angle to her chest, one shove away from piercing a lung or her heart. It looks like he went twelve rounds against Tyson before he even stepped foot in this warehouse tonight, wounds fresh and old layering over each other with several more lightly bleeding along his neck from the splintering shrapnel thrown in the air by his own explosion. "Gut shot," he assesses, his words low, hoarse, and guttural as he feels the barrel of her gun press to his abdomen, "Fatal, but not instant. Just enough time to open you end to end." A stalemate then, though the dark, empty look in Castle's eye makes it clear he wouldn't consider it any great loss if he died here.

"Cut the bullshit. Your people have been taking innocents all over the city and gunning down anyone who gets in your way. I've killed enough of you to know you're professionals. PMC? What's the going rate for wide-spread corruption these days?" He presses the point of his knife against her as if to remind her of it's existence, all the time unaware she doesn't have the answers he seeks.

Peggy Carter has posed:
If he expected her to be scared, she's not. The look in Peggy's eyes is adrenaline filled, a bit too wide, but the gaze of a consummate professional. She breathes hard against his arm, pulse leaping where he's pressed into her throat, but she's not fighting back yet. Her face looks in better condition than his, not a woman whose often out in the hardships of the field, even if there is a strange sort of timelessness about her. That old fashioned perfume and the fact that she's still wearing red matte lipstick on a stake out job.

"You're right. We could kill each other here. But if we were going to do that already, it'd be done." She states flatly, her accented voice business like and calm, even as her body still is trying to come down from fight mode. She takes another strained, deeper breath in through her nose, trying to calm her heart, "You are clearly here for information. Information I don't have. I don't know who the other shooters there were. I was deep in the cemetary working as an indepedent party. Richter made a lot more enemies than me, it seems. I work for SHIELD. You heard of them? But this was an...independent side project. Cleaning up some old loose ends. I don't. Touch. Innocents. On my life." And she just, ever so slightly, leans against his knife. Not enough for it to break fabric, but to put home her point. She's risking her life, letting him get the upper hand, in attempts to help him see her honesty.

Frank Castle has posed:
It's honestly not very often that Frank goes up against people who aren't genuinely even nervous around him. That fact alone gives him some insight into Peggy's state of mind and personality. She /could/ be lying when she claims not to know what he's talking about or tells him that she works for SHIELD. Even the bit with the knife -- pressing herself against the edge -- was a fine way to try and stress her vulnerability and the danger she was in without actually causing herself any harm. It'd certainly be a good bluff if it /was/ a bluff, but he's been out here on the streets long enough to know when to trust his gut, and his gut was telling him that Peggy was telling the truth.

Which of course means that he's been wasting his time here...

It's hard to accept, and even harder to separate himself from the aggression and hostility that he wields like a weapon, but oh-so-slowly Frank begins to pull a bit more of his weight off her throat. "Perfume and lip stick on the job..." Castle says slowly, his gaze flicking between her eyes, still searching for any sign of falsehood, any reason not to let up, "Figures you'd be SHIELD." He eventually sighs and pulls back, releasing her from beneath his body weight and flicking the point of his knife out to the side away from her. Palms go up and out briefly, thumb holding the hilt of his blade in place while he makes the universal sign to cease hostilities before he sheathes the knife and sits back on his heels, then further back onto his ass, a hand immediately going to his side to make a more thorough, wincing examination of his injuries from earlier.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Other than that faint press into his blade, Peggy doesn't move an inch. She's doing her very best to project an air of calmness. She can wait out his temper, and that's not really a show. She has the demeanor of someone who is accustomed to needing to let hot heads burn out on occasion. His commentary about SHIELD, however, actually earns him a hint of a red lipped smirk. She looks horribly amused at something, for just a moment. "Not much of one for history, are you?" She asks simply, but makes no apologies for her associations. Or her perfume.

When he finally starts to let up, she breathes in noticably deeper. He'd been slightly choking her the whole time, she just had the grace of mind to not really let it show. Whomever she is, she's a cool operator. She sits up slowly, not entirely hiding the flash of absolutely pain across her face. She can't tell if the ribs or the still dislocated shoulder hurt more, but it's clear her right arm is useless at her side, for the moment. In a show of continued good faith, she double checks the safety on her gun and slips it back into its holster. "...for what it's worth, getting rid of that man did the world a lot of good. And probably broke a generational cycle of violence that's been going on near a century. But... if there is someone else scooping up innocents from these streets, you don't need to track them down alone. Whomever you are. It might even be related. HYDRA..." An expression crosss her features which is just a few hairs shy of hate. "... has a penchant for experimentation on the defenseless."

Frank Castle has posed:
Whomever he is? "Not much of one for the news, are you?" Frank retorts as he lets his jacket slip aside to reveal the splotchy, white skull on his body armor. As his hands roam his side to test ribs and search for splintered shrapnel embedded in his flesh, Castle just grunts at her reasoning for killing the HYDRA executive. "Don't care what your reasons were," he tells her while still looking himself over, "Only care about the kid." He may not have known who Peggy was, but he's done his research on the rest of the parties involved in the recent incident. HYDRA isn't a name he recognizes, but there were enough shady deals and shell corporations linked to Kenneth Richter and his family to give the Punisher a fair idea of the nature of his business. He's not going to lay awake at night worrying about any dead Nazis.

"I don't know what HYDRA is, but I doubt they'd use a third party to take one of their own people's kid. Especially when they're also footing the bill for the security team that helped prevent the abduction," Frank muses as he gives himself a clean bill of health -- relatively speaking. "Someone's scooping up leverage on big names all over the city. Don't know who they are yet, but I'll find them." There's a distinct tone of finality that makes it clear he's intent on doing this his way, and generally speaking that rarely involves working with others. Frank stopped being much of a team player the day his family was killed.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The white skull on his armor gets a single arched brow from her. Peggy doesn't look exactly confused, but she wasn't focusing on his outfit before. "... The 'Punisher', isn't it? I've...come across a few articles." The tone of her voice still isn't scared. Whatever the articles said, there seems to be a hint of grudging respect behind her voice now. She tilts her eyes to the side, just a moment, looking down at her useless shoulder. "Well, Mr. Castle, would you be a dear and help me get this back into place so if something *does* track either of us down here, I'm at least in a better defensive position."

She seems to be content that he's not going to kill her, because then she dares pull her eyes away to look across the mess of the other building. Her good hand reaches up, checking to be sure the bugs she had going are still working in the other building. "...Well, Richter's main warehouse for his side business is right across the street. I've got it bugged but, you're right, I doubt he'd have his own people kidnap his daughter." She frowns a bit more, an earnest cross of worry in her dark eyes. "...Did she get...out? I didn't really have the option of sticking around. It was never about her that night. I swear."

Frank Castle has posed:
Sure he's not about to bleed out on his way back to the nearest safehouse, Frank stands and seems about ready to leave when Peggy draws attention to her dislocated arm. He pauses and frowns a moment, clearly debating with himself for about five full seconds before he relents and drops to a crouch at her side. Without much ado, he places a hand on her shoulder and one on her forearm, holding both in a firm grip as he watches her. "On three," he growls, watching her for a moment before he asks: "Ready?"

There's no countdown, just an immediate wrench as Castle pulls her arm forward and straight out in front of her. It's a method he's used hundreds of times over the years, both on himself and others to re-align the bone with the socket and pop shoulders back into place, and it's not about to fail him today. Even after helping her, he keeps his hands in place, firmly rotating her arm through its natural motion to test her mobility while checking for scraping or tightness. "She's fine," he relates after a moment, letting his grip fall away while he turns dark eyes up to her and away from her arm, "Some ex-cop was also there. Helped me finish the rest of the group moving to take her. Security got her out with the mother." There's no hint of accusation in his tone, just world-weary exhaustion, as if he's tired of having to brief people on the well-being of children, tired of it ever being in question, and tired of being the one who so often has to be there to witness it go either way.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Peg has done this a dozen times before, it comes with a life of fighting, but it still hurts like hell, "Just do-" And he is. A momentary, strangled sound escapes her throat, vision going white for a second, but that's the only reaction she has. For a woman who looks like she should be soft -- make up on the job and a body that tends towards far more curves than lean muscle -- she knows how to take pain.

It's still hurts.

She trains her breath for a moment and gives him a mute nod of gratitude as he pulls her arm through the motions. It's going to be sore for days but it doesn't seem she's got any long term damage. She flexes her fingertips experimentally and seems content with that, slowly pushing herself up into standing. She dusts a bit of the debris from the back of her black pants, putting herself back together in the middle of what looks like a war zone. She's so achingly British.

"That's... good news. Thank you." Her expression softens just a bit as she hears his report and, more so, the complete exhaustion behind it. She's often a better profiler than she is a fighter, and it's not hard to see the world weariness in the man across from her. "...Look. I get the impression you are very much a solo operator. But if things really are that bad here... I'm willing to help. I've got resources and people at my back. They don't have to know you're involved, or that I'm doing it at all. But... you don't need to go this alone. I... I'm not just here to hunt down ex-Nazis, not if there's children being taken and this is a wide spread problem."

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank rises to his feet as well, their difference in height and close proximity in the wake of his brief first aid demonstration meaning he has to look sharply down towards her as she offers her help. His expression doesn't so much as twitch from the mild frown he wears, but he's far from still. There's an ever-present energy about Frank Castle that never fades, a shift in stance here, and glance to the side there. It's like he's barely restraining himself from unleashing unmitigated violence at all times. As if the rage that burns away at his humanity never goes out, and even when he's simply standing there listening to Peggy, he can't help but stay slightly mobile.

He releases a bark of gruff, but quiet laughter at her suggestion without a trace of actual humor. "Solo operator," he breathes out to the side, echoing her words to nobody in particular before he faces her again. There's a whole lot of history in the look he gives her, a whole lot of pain and anger and vitriol directed at people who aren't Peggy Carter, so ultimately he doesn't comment on it. "You want to help?" he asks her, voice pitched low and gruff, words a bare murmur in the relative silence of the warehouse, "Fine. These guys are taking women and children all over New York. The friends and loved ones of very important people and have been doing it for nearly a month now with no one taking notice. I've been after them for weeks and all I have to show for it is this." 'This' happens to be a lightly cracked smart phone he pulls from a pouch on his side, holding it up in front of her in the scant few inches that separate them. "It's locked down tight and I don't have the equipment to crack it."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Peggy is somehow the near opposite of Frank in her energy levels. He can barely contain the rage, the violence, that keeps him alive and moving. Where as the shorter woman is a monolith of calm. It's like she could pause in time, the way she is. She has no need to rush or force. The only thing that betrays her is the look behind her eyes. There is slightly pinched pain there, probably hurting beneath her body armor more than she'd ever admit aloud, and an exhaustion which goes more than bone deep. She's a woman with a near century behind her eyes, even if that might look strange to someone whose never seen it before. But she's also not scared of his energy. If anything, she seems to understand. She keeps herself more relaxed and open to him, giving him a space to spill excess energy without going off.

As he asks if she wants to help, she dips her head in affirmation, but doesn't interrupt his words. He might stop talking and decide she's not worth the alliance if she interrupts him now. She reaches a hand up as he holds out the smartphone, taking it gently, should he let her, and looking the thing over. "I don't have any way into this on me... but I'm certain there is one back at SHIELD. If you want me to get it cracked, I can make that happen. Just need a way to contact you when it's done...or another meeting location set up." She dares give him the smallest of smiles, "...Just maybe don't blow out the floor, the next time. That was rather unpleasant."

Frank Castle has posed:
"No," Frank says, maintaining a firm grip on the phone even if he lets Peggy examine it, "You'll take /me/ to SHIELD, and I'll take the phone." There's not an inch of leeway in his tone. If she wants to help the kids and put a stop to whoever's assembling a collection of high-placed hostages, this is the only way it's going to happen. The flat look he gives her implies zero room for negotiation and a willingness to go elsewhere if she doesn't agree. Even when he's making a point of holding her gaze and remaining at least mostly still, he can't help the occasional twitch, the occasional flick of his gaze or faint adjustment of his lips into a momentarily steeper frown. She may be a monolith of calm, but it doesn't do much to settle him, even when she chances that small smile.

"If you don't like that, you can bring the equipment to me, but I'm not letting this phone out of my sight," he finally concedes, tilting his head to the side to indicate the door. "That's the best I can do."

Peggy Carter has posed:
There is a flash of frustration in Peggy's eyes as he lays down the ultimatium, but it doesn't actually seem to be directed at him. More her general life circumstances. She's silent a few heartbeats, looking between him and the phone. Finally, she slightly unzips her jacket and reaches one palm into the interior of it, pulling out a single small card. Margaret Carter, Field Agent. SHIELD. A phone number and an email address. White writing on a black card. It looks official enough, even if the name would bring a lot of questions from anyone who knew their governmental world history. "Give me 12 hours. I'll either bring you in or have the equipment to do it. Call then and I'll have your answer. Deal?"

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank takes the card, glancing at it briefly with the faintest flash of recognition when he reads the name. It's gone almost as quick as it came, though. In an instant, the mask of restrained energy falls over his face again and he slips the card into his own jacket pocket. "Fine," he answers, only now taking a step back from her, his gaze flicking briefly over her before he returns it to her eyes, "Twelve hours." His attention then turns to the front of the warehouse, back towards the focus of her ongoing investigation.

"Try not to die." With that, he grunts and slips sideways into the interior of the warehouse, only turning his back on her to jog to the exit once he's sure she's lost line of sight on him.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The recognition may only be half a second, but she sees it. The expression across her face is only faintly pleased, but it's there. Peg gives him the smallest of smiles, as if to say yes, he's got it right now. If some strange twisting of time is actually possible, that probably explains how she's so rock steady in the face of everything. "12 hours." She confirms with a quiet, respectful tilt of her head towards him.

Then she turns to go, pausing only a moment as he gives her that last bit of advice. "Mr. Castle. You keep that up and I might think you care." But she's not trailing after him. She lets him escape into the shadows as smoothly as he pleases. For her part, she has a stake out to finish, and a few new bruises to tend to on top of it.