Good Morning London 2

Corinth leaned back in his chair with his feet up on his desk. His hat rested on his face, keeping the artificial light from the ceiling from getting to his eyes. He wasn't asleep, but he wished he was back in his apartment instead of at the office. The familiar sound of heels on linoleum drawing closer caught his attention.

"Another late night at the TfT? I think you might be enjoying the place now," came a sweet voice with a London accent.

"Hardly," he said in his gruff and muffled voice from under his hat. He moved the hat to its rightful resting place on his head and looked up to see Dalia, his handler looking down at him with her half smile, half smirk. She wore her blue shirt and black pencil skirt, complete with her don't-mess-with-me heels. "You wanted me to tail Jack Stone and that's what I'm doing. Not my fault he spends almost every waking hour at the Tit for Tat strip club. With as much money as he's tossing at those girls, he could have bought the place by now."

Dalia cocked her head to the right, "well get caffeinated up, you got a job."

"Another one?" His boots moved off the desk as he leaned forward, the front legs of his chair slamming on the floor and his black trench coat swaying forward. "I have two already plus following this asshole. I haven't had a decent night sleep in three days and I'm running off sodas, whiskey, cigarettes, and gas station entrees."

She gave him a look that said she pitied him, but she really didn't. They all had their jobs to do and none of theirs were any easier than others. Well...almost not as easy. "Have you read the latest memo from Sonnac? Dropped this morning." She pulled a piece of paper out and handed it to him.

"No," said Corinth as he snatched the paper from her hand and began to read. "San Francisco...Mothman...Ley Lines..." He looked up at her after tossing the paper on his desk. "Doesn't the Mothman live in West Virginia? He's a little far from his hometown isn't he?" Dalia shrugged. "Let the Americans handle it."

An annoying sigh left her lips. "You're an American."

"Touche." "He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and put it to his lips. With a snap of his fingers, a tiny spark lept out and caught the end of the cigarette on fire. He inhaled deeply to make sure it continued to burn.

As quicky as he inhaled the cigarette, it was pulled from his lips and snuffed out on his desk. "You know there is no smoking in here. Every day I have to tell you that." Her London accent was stronger when she was angry. He liked that about her. Probably why he made her mad so often. "Go home, pack your things, and get ready to get on a plane. It leaves this afternoon."

"I'm not going alone. You find me a partner and then I'll sign off on this. You're not sending me halfway around the world by myself to look for a Mothman; a creature known for impending doom and disaster." He grabbed his keys from his desk drawer and dropped them into his trench coat pocket. "Call me when you have someone, until then, I'm going to bed."