Sam watched Terri and Rick walk off and thought they looked kind of nice together. Goddamn Kyle and his Spring Contracts, why couldn’t he have just brought him some Goblin Fruit? Terri had seemed like she liked Sam, and he...he just couldn’t. The years he spent in that mad jungle of traitorous flora and homicidal fauna, trying to get back to her, but he was always caught, wasn’t he, and then the Tiger would come, and smile, and tear him apart, piece by piece by piece by piece by... until he found the Gate. He found his way home, he found his way to her, and he had been replaced. By himself. He doesn’t feel anything, though, not anymore, nothing except anger, sweet, empowering, impenetrable, intoxicating white-hot rage whenever he wanted it.

Right now, though, he needed to think, needed to breathe. Needed a drink, he thinks as he takes one from the flask in his pocket. Yes. Alright. Better. Plan? Yes. We need the Fetch, goddammit. If we let him go to jail, that wet fucker will just sneak in and cut his throat in the middle of the night, then he’ll disappear. And I’m not letting that motherfucker disappear, no way.

He drives close to the Fetch’s building and parks. It’s crawling with cops now. He sees the Fetch led out in cuffs. Goddammit. At least the piece of shit is keeping his mouth shut instead of raving like a lunatic. For a second, Barkley would swear that thing looked directly at him, but, nah, he couldn’t have seen him past the crowd of police and media and whatnot. It’s like a St. Patty’s day parade out here, minus the joviality. He examines that thought for a moment and has to restrain himself from screaming ‘Goddam Spring Contracts!’

He waits until it’s just a few cops and the crime scene guys. He swears to himself that if he finds someone (beside himself, of course) wearing sunglasses at this time of night, that person would get punched in the head. Furthermore, Barkley resolved that if said person also made some witty comment regarding this tragedy, that person will be knocked to the floor and his head thrashed violently against it. Satisfied, and wincing from the still broken ribs, the Hunter made his way to the apartment building next door and ascended to the roof. The divide was treacherously wide, but the little Wizened makes his way across with ease, thanks to a Contract the Sovereign had taught him. From there, he uses a little more Glamour to make his fingers and feet exceptionally nimble, and descends the staircase. He sneaks down quietly and peeks his head in. Two techs are working the scene, dusting for prints, collecting blood samples. “Looks like Calgone took her away,” says one, looking in the bathroom. He’s wearing sunglasses. Barkley grits his teeth.

“Hey, what are you guys doin in here? Someone get hurt, huh? Smile for the camera, ok, guys?” he asks, endeavoring to sound like a jackass freelancer and using his own Court’s Contract to ensure they’re getting angry…

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here!” one yells. They both advance on the Hunter…then the one without sunglasses stops dead cold, using his arm to bar the other from going any further. “Waitasec. ‘Calgone took her away?’ That’s so lame. Why the fuck would you say that? That commercial is at least twenty years old, and, there’s a fucking dead lady in there. And in there," he points. "No, really, why the fuck would you say something like that? And what the fuck are you wearing sunglasses for, anyway? How the hell can you even see anything?”

“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m a superior officer. And I’ll kick your ass.” Sunglasses pushes No Sunglasses.

“Like hell you will.” No Sunglasses pushes back. Sunglasses pushes harder. No Sunglasses hits Sunglasses in the face. Sam smiles. The next thing you know, the two CSI are rolling around the crime scene with wild abandon, like two young brothers on a rainy weekend.

“Give me those sunglasses, you schmuck!”

“Screw you!” No Sunglasses grabs hold of his ears and starts to smash his head into the bloody carpet.

Barkley laughs as he takes the opportunity to sneak back out the window, his Glamour nearly spent. That ought to do the trick. Now, off to the station to wait for the Fetch to get released and collect him before he gets himself killed… prematurely.