September 10, sometime after 9:00PM

(Follows on directly from here)


The door slammed open as Dillon strode into the room. Behind her desk the temp secretary to the Administrative Assistant (or more probably prisoner roped in to act as one) jumped in her chair startled from the computer screen. Smearing the towel down his face the man continued through without breaking stride. His destination was the solid wooden door that led into a private office.

The mouse stammered, eyes wide in his periphery, taking in the bright red stains that marred him. Dillon wanted to smile at her but he couldn’t.

“Y-you can’t go in there- Ms Shaw-”

“Yeah? Watch me.”

Wrenching the handle Dillon shoved forward with his shoulder ignorant of the smears left from his hand and clothes. The secretary had risen but the door had slammed between them cutting her out and stopping any possible plans she may have had about intercepting. In the office behind her new desk in her high-backed chair Melinda looked cross at the intrusion. With phone to hear ear and finger twirling through cascading locks she looked less like a figure of authority more a woman caught playing dress-ups. Stopping before her desk he gave due pause for the premature end of the phone call. He wrenched the blood-stained towel from his neck and proceeded to rub his face with it. The sharp clatter of plastic returning to its cradle forced narrowed eyes to snap up. Towel clenched in a tight fist Dillon was still breathing hard from physical exertion.

“What are you running here?” He demanded of her. His tone was rich with accusation. “Clearly you’re not. They are. I just had a fucking gun pulled on me by an inmate. A Kane Davis warning me to stay away from Alviirez… I don’t suppose you know anything about that do you?”

Having said his peace Dillon’s lips clamped shut forming a tight white line. His usual self-satisfied smirk barely made an appearance. Instead his attentions briefly fell to material being bunched up and fisted by fingers smeared in rich scarlet red. In quick agitated gestures he attempted to smear the evidence away. It was clear after a few moments that none of the blood was his but enough had splattered on his face and neck to attest someone else was in a serious state. Pushing out a heavy breath through his nose Dillon sought composure. His breath staggered in the form of a low humorless laugh. Head lulled in a sardonic nod. Raising his eyes to face the woman in charge his expression had altered but hadn’t eased. Danger shone within those heavily lidded eyes and emanated from the ragged nasal breaths still working to slow to something normal.

“Clearly he didn’t bring it in himself so that means someone else gave it to him. If I were you I’d find out. You have a rat in your midst.” A tilt of his head and wide eyes at the implication saw him smirking with barely restrained hate. Immediately his sarcastic tone had dropped to one of flat authority. “Get an extraction team, go down there, and shake it down. There’s a small arsenal down there, I just saw it, and unless you want to lose a few members of your pride I’d do something about it or they will. Now.”

With a flick the bloodied towel landed on her desk causing the woman’s arms to part from their contemplative position palm’s down against polished wood. Her expression was cool but her eyes shone with fire, clearly not used to being told what to do least of all by one who was supposed to be her underling. To Dillon who was starting to regain some forced measure of normalcy he could only snort back without fear. Visions of the night before at the club in celebration came and went without a modicum of emotion showing. Having said what he came to he again moved with the same determination he had upon entering and headed towards the door.

Pausing with pink fingers wrapped around the handle he looked back at Melinda. “Oh, you may wanna… get a mop and bucket down to the Rec room. Someone had an...” he paused to deliberate as though it were necessary. “Accident.” With lips pulling higher in pride Dillon re-emerged through the dark cloud that up until now at least had held him captive. He saw no need to explain his actions in any great detail, relishing instead in the memory and subsequent rush of adrenalin it afforded. Though it had happened some minutes ago now remarkably he was still able to feel the warm skin of the back of the twink’s neck in his palm as he cupped it. A simple kick of his shin and momentum had seen the pretty face being smashed into the nearby wall first once and then repeatedly until there was nothing left to formally recognize – not like it mattered. Raising a shoulder with a half shrug and a contemplative pout he gave his glib justification. “He looked at me funny." The mood was now succinctly lighter but no less colder with another body growing cold for no reason less than fifty meters away.

On his way out Dillon's eyes strolled over the boxes of belongings yet to be set up in the bare little office and suggested that she not get comfortable. “The natives are taking over, Ms Administrative Assistant. You might be out before you get a chance to settle in.”

He gave her a wink as the door closed with a sturdy click behind him.

{~fin}