This part of town smelled like the bottom of a garbage disposal. This was the neighborhood where everyone smoked because it mercifully dulled their olfactory senses so that the lingering tinge of rotting food and motor oil was toned down to a background stench. Not one to mess with a time-tested technique, Elija exhaled toxins through her nose and leaned against the rickety sheet metal siding of the warehouse. It, like many of the people in the decaying city, was one of many and utterly nondescript, empty save for the scattered litter of beer cans and candy wrappers and trembled in the wind that whistled in from the docks. At home in the desolation, Elija lounged against the doorway and took another drag of her cigarette under the overcast afternoon sky.<br/><br/>It had been two months since she had been released from prison. In jail she'd done little more than keep her head down, avoiding prying eyes and fistfights as much as her temper allowed. She had never been high on the totem pole and was the first to be thrown under the bus when the police cracked down on Estavan's gang. It would have been different if she had exploited her abilities, she knew, but becoming well-known as someone with "that" kind of power was a double-edged sword. She was discovering that the hard way.<br/><br/>The cell phone in her hoodie pocket rang and Elija wanted very badly to ignore it. The ringtone was unmistakeable, and damnitall if she was not obligated to answer. She took the thing out, cheap plastic screen lit up with a strange collection of numbers and symbols, and flipped it open.<br/><br/>"Thorne," Elija grunted into the receiver, flicking her spent cigarette onto the pavement.<br/><br/>"Good afternoon," said a smooth-as-silk voice in the most insincere manner possible. "Are you busy at the moment, Miss Thorne?"<br/><br/>"No," Elija said through grit teeth. As if she could tell him that she was occupied and that he should fuck off. There were some things that even she couldn't muster up the gumption to defy. "What do you want, Charikoff?"<br/><br/>Mr. Charikoff certainly noticed Elija's irritated tone, but said nothing of it. She could hear the fake smile in the bastard's voice, see the silk tie and perfectly straight Italian suit as he said, "I am simply checking in to see if you've picked it up yet."<br/><br/>"The fuck you asking me for?" Elija snapped, running her hand through her short, dark maroon-dyed hair. She calmed herself for a moment. "You'd know if I had."<br/><br/>"Would I?" Mr. Charikoff asked in a too-pleasant voice. "Don't forget to take it straight back, if you would."<br/><br/>"Yeah, yeah," Elija grumbled. "I know."<br/><br/>"It would be unfortunate if we had to remind you," Mr. Charikoff threatened politely. Elija glared into the rusted sheet metal wall.<br/><br/>"You won't," she managed through her clenched jaw.<br/><br/>"After what happened to Jericho, I mean."<br/><br/>"I know what the fuck you mean," Elija snarled. "Now you gonna jaw my ear off all day or you gonna let me do my job?"<br/><br/>"There's no need to be unpleasant," Mr. Charikoff chimed smoothly. She could hear a pause as he adjusted his bowler hat the way he did when she snapped at him in person. It was a gesture to show her that he was still in control, still more concerned with minor details than her temper. "We will be eagerly awaiting your call."<br/><br/>"I bet," Elija glowered.<br/><br/>"Do try to avoid damaging the phone, Miss Thorne," Mr. Charikoff said, and hung up. Elija's ear felt hot as she pulled the device away, eyeing the plastic that contorted to fit her fingers as it melted into her grasp. Elija glared and shook the clinging plastic out of her hands as it left spiderweb-like trails from her fingers to the ground. She kicked it away.<br/><br/>Things were just so fucking<span style="font-style: italic">delicate</span>anymore.