There is something strange about sleeping without eyelids or physical eyes. You can’t help but look wherever you’re facing. If I’m safe, sometimes I’ll cover my head with a bnket and get some actual darkness instead of the perpetual half light of Our Fair City. It’s rare that I feel that safe down here though, and this Night Shift is not one of those times. I slept in front of the window, and my mind was filled with blue movement.

  I dream I am walking on the beach on a cool autumn day. In my dream, I can see him further down the beach. He’s older than I remember him. His coat is heavy, and his long scarf is wrapped tight around his neck. I walk towards him, the man I love. I can’t move the ocean from my sight. Wherever I turn, the roiling ocean is right in front of me. The beach becomes a thin sandbar. He doesn’t seem to notice the tide coming in behind. He doesn’t seem to notice me.

  “Gavin...” I say.

  He turns.

  Where his face should be, a skull, the empty eye sockets gleaming. My skull.

  I emerge from the dream like I’m emerging from water. The faint reflection in the window. It hadn’t been his face, only mine. I see that the rain has stopped. I look at the clock which Misty had fitted for standard time. Instead of twelve numbers, the clock was split down the middle. On top of the clock’s face, where the straining hands are frozen at 2:50 was written “NIGHTSHIFT” and on the bottom was written “DAYSHIFT.” It was only halfway through Nightshift, and the face rotated jerkily, since it wasn’t in line with the vibration of caesium-133, which is how they calcute seconds Topside. The part of time that doesn't feel like it can be broken apart. Down here it's more of a vibe. If someone says they'll meet you in an hour, you'll have to take their word for it. Some folks spend their whole afterlife trying to keep track. They don't st long.

  I should get my passport changed next Day Shift. No need to burn time now though. Trail's still fresh. I stretch and stand, grabbing the penny and the disk from the windowsill.

  “Oh, Graves, you’re up.” I turned, disarmed and only in my underwear.

  Sam is framed by the light of the bathroom. He holds a dripping mop in his yellow gloves, a bck dress and the white apron to denote a housework contract, a short sword strapped to his belt and the dark five o’clock shadow he’d died with. His dark hair was in neat cornrows. Except for the cy white apron, he was a shadow. The right hand badge of a kulia was pinned on his apron, the hem of his dress is rather short, showing where his calves meet the ebon wood prosthetic legs, which are quite fetching in this light.

  “You can't sleep and smoke here. All these apartments burned, and they remember burning." His voice is deep and dark, like his eyes. He smirks. "I didn’t want to wake you but I had to put it out. I imagine I can bme you for the rest of this mess too?"

  I take in the room. Sam had shepherded a storm of tidiness after my wild mess. My coat and hat were hanging on the coatrack next to my .357, still in its holster and my gumshoes beneath them.

  “Yeah, I owe you one.”

  “Literally?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure you burned some unexpected time here.”

  “Oh, it’s just my job. But I do accept, thank you very much.”

  “Please don’t give it to Misty. I’m underwater with her as it is.”

  Sam's mouth quirks. “Oh you poor thing. I try to stay banced with her. She isn’t holding it too high over your head, is she?”

  I shake my head, walk to the coatrack and retrieve my pistol, my back to him. “She’s my friend.”

  “She’s a predator. I don’t think she knows what a friend is, Graves. You’re just another asset.”

  "Maybe," I slip into my gumshoes and ce them tight. "But do you know anyone else who she lets stack up the favors?” I put my hat on and turn as I pull on my coat. He’s sweeping the ash from my cigarette.

  “No. Oh, your payment.” He walks back to the bathroom and retrieves a thin bck briefcase. He is elegant on his prosthetics, like a dancer. “You already have the key?”

  I nod, and reach into my inner coat for my keyring, taking the case. I still have the key to Misty’s old apartment back when she used to have a door. I can see that someone had modified the csp so it’ll fit the brass skeleton key. I get on my knees, and unlock the case.

  Sam gasps. I look at him sharply. If I’d known what was inside, I’d have waited to open it. A ream of crisp, white printer paper, tied with a hemp rope in a bow. Next to it, a round red and golden apple.

  “Damn. I carried that thirty blocks. Gd it didnt get snatched!"

  “Fortunate for me that Misty has eyes on information security. Where did she meet you?”

  “She didn’t, it was just our dead drop. You’re working for her?”

  “Yeah. And she knows I need paper. When’d this happen?”

  “Quarter of a shift ago?”

  She’d been prepared for this. “Do you know who handles her capital?”

  Sam shakes his head. “No idea. I just do the cleaning. What’s the case?”

  “Confidential, for the moment.”

  He shrugs, must have been hoping for some juicy and free information. “What’re you going to do?”

  “I’ve got to drop this off now. No good detecting while I’ve got stacks like this on me. Wait till the scene of the crime cools off, see if I can find anything the cops missed.” I move towards the window.

  "I'm meeting someone at the market on the Day Shift. Want to come?"

  "Double date? Should I bring Gale?"

  I shake my head. "If she wants to go. It's part of my inquiry. Don't trust the contact."

  "Of course, I'll be there. And I guess you want to use our old shortcut to the market?"

  I nod.

  He smiles. “You still have the key to my apartment?”

  I jangle the ring of keys. “I'd love to see Gale too. She always seems so busy."

  “I’ll make sure I ask.”

  “Have a good shift,” I say, and put my foot out the window and stop. The bridge to across the street would take me on a path back to the Overhead Passage, and I hadn't seen any reliable ways down en route.

  “Do you, eh...”

  “I do have a rope dder, do you need some assistance?”

  “I’d be much obliged.”

  “I see how you’re in debt to Misty now,” he says, heading to the bathroom.

  “I mean I can owe-”

  “Don’t even say it.” he emerges with the dder gripped in his hand, the metal rungs folded close. He snaps the hooks onto the windowsill and let the twin ropes unfurl to the ground.

  He holds up one finger. “It’s a bastard to store properly. You do owe me for that. Don’t you have something to climb with?”

  “I left my grappling hook in my office.” I’d left in a hurry to avoid the ndlord, and the fire escape had been right there. “Want a smoke?”

  “That sounds rather nice, thank you Gavin.”

  I grab my box of Gaspers and give it a shake. “Menthol?” He nods, and I thumb the cigarette away from the others. He takes it and delicately puts it in his mouth.

  “Fire?”

  I take a bck cigarillo from my box and retrieve a match, striking it on my forehead. He leans close. The yellow light warms his face. He puffs, and smoke leaks from his lips. I use the match to light mine.

  “Listen. This case. I’m making inquiries, trying to find a witness.”

  He searches my static face for some clue. “A crime? Not just something missing?”

  I nod. “That’s all I can say for now. She was new in town. The woman I'm meeting, Torado. She said the woman was st seen wearing sandals.”

  "Torado?"

  I wave my hand. "The contact who I'm going to meet at the market. Not important. Says she saw the victim before she went missing."

  Sam looks out the window while i stare at him. “Sandals?”

  “Sandals and polyester.”

  “Making waves already.”

  I nod.

  He looks meditative “Anything else?”

  “Dark hair, very short. Cutoff overall shorts.”

  Sam sighs. “I didn’t see her footwear, but there was a girl like that a few blocks from my apartment, by Market Square. A bit before this Night Shift started.” The smoke swirls around his face. “I was getting back from my day shift off. She looked lost.”

  “You didn’t stop?”

  “Would you? I barely had time to change into my uniform, and I didn’t see a scrap of finance on her.”

  "Did you notice anything else? Any information could help me"

  He squints, turns to me, and shakes his head. "Can't think of anything."

  I took a drag and shook my head. “That’s very useful anyway, thanks. I've got to trace her steps backwards.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Don’t bother. She’s dead.”

  I couldn't help myself. I try to make a dramatic exit on that note, but it’s a rope dder and more difficult to descend quickly. While I’m trying to get my footing, he looks at me curiously with those big brown eyes. He seems put out that I'm trying to leave the conversation.

  “What do you mean?”

  I sigh, struggling to lower my feet faster. “She’s missing. Probably doesn’t wear sandals anymore, if you know what I mean.”

  He rolls his eyes and goes to the window, kneels, and puts his hands on the hooks of the dder to steady it. He’s only a few feet away from my face. “If you don’t want to tell me, you can just say that. But please don’t made overdramatic statements and then just leave. Again.”

  “I thought the dder would be a little bit quicker.”

  “For someone who trades on their brain, you can be a real idiot sometimes. Hand rungs only. Your feet will get tangled in them, I can rest on the dder if I widen the rope, see?” He hesitates, holds the cigarette in his mouth and pulls the rungs apart into webbing. I gnce down at his curved prosthetic legs.

  "Ah,"

  "Yeah,"

  "Sorry," I say.

  He gently kisses me on the teeth. I pull back, just a little. His eyebrows furrow. “That’s for the smoke. But… The market. Torado. Next shift. You owe me, for the dder.”

  “Of course.” I’ve just been outdone with the dramatic exit. A really good dramatic exit leaves impressions on people and I absolutely can’t stay at Misty’s apartment. My “move” is usually just saying something dramatic and leaving suddenly. Sam knows that, and now here I am utterly outpyed in the dramatic exit game.

  A distant trumpet wails the opening to a jazz melody, and I get to say “Keep shining, Sam.” I start climbing down as fast as I can, using the dder hand over hand only, splitting the thin netting to rest my legs on.

  He leans out the window, leaning his cheek on one hand while taking a drag as he watches me sway and struggle on the dder. “Broken gss gleams like diamonds if it falls in the mud, Gavin,” Sam murmurs.

  I have to strain to hear it, but every word is clear. I look up at him. He’s grinning, an eyebrow arched. "Damn it," I say, and he ughs as I tip my hat and descend at a rational pace. I hop down the st five feet, and he pulls his dder up. After a few moments, he sticks his head back out. “Graves!”

  Really? Salt in the wound? “Sam?”

  “Forgetting something?”

  I pat myself down. Gun, shiv, hat, coat, papers, gaspers, boots. I look up. He’s holding the briefcase from a finger, wide smile. “Catch.” He tosses it down the three stories. I catch it with my chest. I feel my face burning.

  “Thanks.” He sticks his tongue out at me and slowly pulls the dder up, pulling on his smoke, shuts the window behind.

  comments desired!