Special Agent | ✓

Thirty-Three

She knew what she was doing. Knew what she was doing well enough to have stalked out of the bar she'd been at with Kent, intent on getting a head start on the mission itself. To do so, she'd called her closest informant.

Informant, truly, was a fancier word for snitch. And snitch was the best word in order to describe Mr. Malcolm Shakesby's entire personality. He was a spineless weasel, through and through, shivering at the slightest thought that someone borderline uncomfortable would happen to the man.

Toughen up, little guy. World sucks.

Sarraf had texted him, all but demanding the weasel to meet up at their usual spot. It was a dark, dusty corner of Hyde Park, one good people avoided. Criminals avoided it, too, when they saw the glint shine off Sarraf's gun as she angled it at them, their urge to scram growing.

Malcolm stumbled into the small circle of light from streetlight, shivering and snivelling. Sarraf scowled, drawing her dark grey trench coat tighter around herself.

"Imani," started Shakesby in that tone that was too-light for his adult self, " — always a pleasure to be summoned by you."

"I do always enjoy your sarcasm, Malcolm." Sarraf's tone dripped with irony, face entirely devoid of expression, " — thought I didn't call you here for that."

"Figures," said Malcolm glumly, hands fumbling nervously in his pocket.

"I need information." Sarraf's tone was sharp, much like the chilly wind cutting through the trees around them, "On a specific person."

"You know the drill, Sarraf," Malcolm snivelled, sniffing audibly, " — we talking local? Regional? International? Global? Male, female? Criminal, corporate? Maybe both — that's pretty common, to be honest."

Sarraf resisted the urge to shoot Malcolm in his snivelling, spineless arse. Because she would hate to get blood splatter on her new trench, she chose not to.

"Global." Sarraf said, " — and current Agency employee."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm whistled, the nervous fumbling ceasing momentarily, " — the Agency looking for its own people? Bollocks, we talking a kill order here, Sarraf?"

She said nothing. The fear, at first light, spread steadily across Malcolm's face. His palms immediately went up.

"Oh, tits. Imani, don't get me involved in a bloody kill order. Please, Christ, let a poor bugger breathe."

"You don't have a choice, Malcolm. You'll help me do this."

He swallowed, heavily. His eyes darted to the dark expanse of trees behind Sarraf, as if pondering whether or not to make a run for it.

"Do I have a choice?"

"If you want the Fitzroys to know who turned in their entire organization to Interpol, then yes." Sarraf's tone was dry. She'd worn nice, black leather gloves to the occasion, lightly tapping her gloved fingers to the edge of her now visible gun.

Shakesby swallowed again. His knees were practically knocking together hard enough to make noise rivalling that of a proper orchestra. Sarraf could bet his teeth were knocking against one another, too. Probably his two, three remaining brain cells as well, were shaking in fear.

"How about it, Shakesby?"

The man made a strangled sound, then turned tails and ran. Sarraf sighed, pausing for a few breaths to let the man get a head start. It'd do a little good for his ego, really. She took her time shoving the gun back into the holster, then started sprinting off after him.

It took a minute for her to leap onto his back, toppling the man entirely into the ground. Using her gun at this point would be emasculating for the poor man. Wrenching his arm behind his back, Sarraf focused on intently ignoring his whimpering pleas as she tugged his arm upward, the socket twisting painfully.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, owie, Sarraf!" Came the strangled, too-light voice.

"How about it, Shakesby?" She twisted the arm further.

"Ow, ow, you son of a tit! You absolute twat —" The last syllables turned into a high-pitched whine as Imani twisted further.

"Don't make me do this, Shakesby. Would be a bloody shame."

A few seconds went by of Shakesby's face steadily turning more and more red in the hazy dark.

"Fine! Fine. I'll do it. I'll fecking do it."

He sighed, heavily. Imani steadily let go, Shakesby ceasing his straining. As fast as he could, he weaseled out from under her and shrugged himself up to his lower-than-average height, attempting to tilt his chin up at her.

Sarraf raised a brow, "You'll keep an eye out?"

"Send me the info, and I'll put my boys on it." Shakesby's tone was defeated.

Imani shone up, beaming at him.

"Fantastic. Looking forward to our next meeting already, Shakesby."

Sarraf turned around, started heading off.

"Well, I'm not!" He called out after her, watching the Special Agent head into the inky shadows before her silhouette vanished entirely. 

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a/n: heyo! another update. hope you're all doing well. i am, actually, spent practically an entire day in the sunshine so i was very happy today, and i also got this chapter out so ... :)

questions of the chapter: 

1. think quinn can handle getting back into the work?

2. will chief vahid help clear quinn?

3. is there a person working inside the agency helping kent? :O

4. where's gavin lmao

5. hm, think malcolm will hear anything suspicious? 

xo, cleo