"well..." Watch Officer Grande stood and wiped the spatter from his face with a cloth, "isnt that how they always seem to go," he walked toward the exit as his accompaniment checked Cage's body, "leave him, the clean up crew will be here in a few moments. We have the information we need." The tips of latent magical aura lapped about him with dying tinges. "fucking cowboys."
The street was empty outside the pub, the usual onlookers had disappeared with the gunshots, but at the ends of the dark corners of tenement buildings, Grande made out shadowy orphan ghosts leering from within the gloom. Grande zoomed in with his optical nerve; no imminent threat.
"sir," said one of the guardsmen rounding his left side, "was that wise?" Grande choked out a laugh.
"I suppose not," he said, coughing and spitting out a chunk of phlegm, "but he was trying to kill me."
"Yea..."
"Well, I may or may not have known that was the inexcusable outcome of meeting such a dangerous suspect upon what you may call his home turf, but," he gave the escort a wicked smile, "I achieved my overall goal. I know what I need to know." He strode out into the empty anvenue and the guardsmen followed.
"Brecken?" said one of the guards.
"Brecken," Grande said.

Two hours later he was still sitting in the lobby waiting area of the Inspector General. Two bloody hours. The Inspector was known for making a big to-do about using magical attacks on civilians inside the dock, but this was a bit much. One of his escort was sleeping on the wooden bench, the other flipping through a tablet magazine. Grande crossed his arms and tried to look as visibly irritated as possible, as if that would speed the old gizzard up. Another forty minutes passed when the server at the desk, all glistening metal and woven gears, spoke in that tinny, empty voice.
"Im sorry gentlemen," it said, "but the Inspector General has left for the day." Grande pulled the tablet from the guards hand and tossed it at the wall as he stormed out the door, the guards frantically accompanying him. 
"that bastard," he swore under his breath, "that absolute ruddy bastard..."

"where we going?"
They were speeding up the Genoshinka highway in his patrol car, the two guardsmen in the back, his server, whom they had picked up in route, carefully guiding them from the helm, Grande rifling through records and data and photographs and time sheets on his mobile tablet device. He didnt answer for a moment.
"Brecken," he said finally.
"what about him?" said the other guard.
"we know why the Triad wanted him dead, right?" there was silence. He glanced back and the two men shook their heads no.
"Other than he was a low level scumbag and a dealer," said one.
"and a snitch," said the other.
"Look, you were there, you saw his expression when I asked him if he was gonna cause trouble...Cage was hiding something for them, cept he didnt even know what it was..."
"what?"
"it dont matter anyway, hes dead..."
"where are we going?"
"just shut up back there, Server, put on some tunes will you?" the sound of classical 20th century music filled the patrol car. Gilbert and O'Sullivan. One of the guards snickered, but Grande ignored him. They were simple, ignorant, bomb rats who were only ever recruited to fill body bags. Low class and ignorable. He made a mental note to send the snickering guard into harms way as soon as humanly possible.
"take the next exit to China town," he noted to the server, and the patrol car swerved, completely in control, toward the off ramp.
"we going to bust some heads?" asked one of the guards.
"we are."