Bob smiled to himself as he rolled the case he had just received to the back of the shop, through the large oil stain on the concrete, looking for all the world like a satisfied warehouse worker in his canvas overalls and baseball cap low over his eyes. The loading dolly wobbled a bit on its four wheels, and he noted to himself yet again that some day he would have to tighten those bolts. The crate itself was a heavy shipping box, around six feet wide and twice that in length, almost four feet deep, and weighed close to a half-ton. Well before he reached the back of the shop Bob planted his feet and hauled back, letting the dolly drag him forward until it ground to a ponderous halt less than a foot from the pitted concrete wall. He patted the dolly like a favoured horse that had performed well and glanced up at the HappyCatParty(tm) clock.<br/><br/>"Damn, already that late, huh? Wonder if I should put in an appearance at Dave's." The bar wasn't actually called Dave's, it was called MacGillicutty's, one of the numerous dive bars in this part of the Pits. The bar owner's name was Geoffrey, but Bob called him Dave to be contrary and to amuse himself. It was his favourite place inside city limits, one of the few places where he had learned he could cut loose and relax without constantly reassuring himself that his wallet and his sidearm were still on him. It was only a block up his alley, an easy walk, though there had been gunfire earlier so he thought perhaps he should skip it. He glanced over at the new crate.<br/><br/>"Nah, much too late to unpack that beast today. Beef it is!" He strode over to a set of lockers near the door leading to his apartment and opened the third one, wrestling to get the hard-worn latch to let go of it's fastening. Inside hung various vests for both over- and under-clothes wear. He selected a thin reactive plate and set it aside just as a small brown head stuck itself through the swinging panel in the door and barked at him quizzically. "Yeah, boy, I'm goin' out. Try not to wee the carpet this time, yeah? We'll go for a walk later tonight." The puppy's affirmative bark and disappearance through the panel threw Bob off for a second. "Damn dog is gettin' smarter by the hour, I swear. Now where the hell did I leave my keys at?"<br/><br/>Twenty minutes later saw Cochrain pull the reinforced steel side door of his garage shut and key in the lock and secure code on the panel next to it, now dressed in jeans and a button down grey work shirt. Checking the lock and feeling the buzz from the security system, he nodded to himself and headed off down the alley. Thankfully, he had never had to pry anyone's corpse off of the door, but in ten seconds it would be charged with enough juice to bring down any three people one could name and leave them charred piles of mess on the step. The neighbours would warn officials and whatnot before hand, as would the sign above the keypad, but anyone stupid enough or shifty-looking had to figure it out on their own. Bob's boots echoed down the alley as he ambled along, humming an old Irish folk song as he went.