Bashir knew Kendall didn't spend all of her days with the tutor - but he hadn't asked too closely about what else she did with her time. It was probably just as well, for his peace of mind (and sanity). Most of the time Kendall dressed in sturdy, well-made clothing and went down to the brownstone building that would hold "Second Chances" - the project with Lirssa. The rest of the time she put on the torn jeans and worn shirts of her former life, and haunted the West End streets.

Such was the case today. It might not look it, but her wandering path had a purpose. She'd covered most of the district (larger on the inside than maps might show), looking for a small boy with a mop of blonde curls. Denner had dropped off the face of things a week or so before, and it was long enough to hit her worry button. Her feet were aching, and she leaned back against a brick wall with a canted glance at the sky. Near sunset and time to head back.

Old habits are hard to break, apparently. But it's possible that Kendall may have been off the streets herself a little too long. Because there were a few things that she's forgotten. (1) There are people who will always be suspicious of the good fortune of others...

(2) there are people around still who reckon she owes them...

And (3) Marx is a greasy little bastard, but he's canny, too. And there's things he wants. Things he reckons he's owed. And weaknesses he knows how to exploit to get them.

"Hey," he said from the alley butting up against the building she was resting against. "Huh. Wouldn't 'ave thought ta see you 'round 'ere today."

Well, frakkin' hell. Kendall's spine went stiff against the brick. She could feel the ridges of it digging through the thin fabric of her shirt. Apart from that' No sign of surprise. Obviously, she'd lost her feel for being watched. From looking up at the sky she swung her head sideways, looked past the alley mouth to the building on the other side. It let her catch sight of Marx without staring at him. "Been around. Got a reason t' think I shouldn't oughta be?"

"No, no reason," he took a step out of the alley to lean against the corner of the building, even with her. Gave him a little better view of the shape of her body, underneath the worn - but (and this is important) clean - shirt and jeans. Verrrrry nice, indeed. "Just, thought yer were done working th' streets, seeing as ya have that John puttin' ya up t' his fancy apartment buildin', an all."

More shape than before, too. She wasn't just skin over bones, anymore. Her lip curled up in a sneer at his words, hiding the flicker-flash of sharp worry. If Marx knew that much, how much more was out for the hearing" "Yeah, rich digs an' all, but borin', roll it' Keep in touch down here, pick up a bit'a this-an'-that." And since he was there. "Lookin' for Denner. Owe him a half-bit an' a shirt, gotta keep things square. Seen him?" She didn't owe Denner anything. But that was a reason Marx would understand.

"Yeah, roll it," there was something greedy and speculative in the way he looked at her, his eyes lingering over the swell of her breasts before dipping down in an intimate slide lower. "An' yeah. I seen 'im. 'e's hangin' at th' Mercy Street dive wi' some o' our boys." He dropped that casually. It was a gang hole, and the boy should have no reason to be there. "Din't know yer had somethin' owin' him. Might make wha' he owes us square. Ya wanna come an' talk 'bout it?"

See, this is where Kendall made a critical mistake. She showed actual concern, personal alarm, when Marx mentioned Denner was at the Mercy Street dive. Hooked. It didn't last long, the wide eyes, but the expression was there. Then she recovered the casual mask, hauled it back on. "Sure, guess might as well. What's th' squirt got owin' you?"

And Marx, the predator, knew he had her. He flicked the butt end of the hand-rolled cigarette he'd been holding onto the cobbles. "Agreed t' do a run fer us, an' dint deliver. Jans is right pissed. Says 'e might make a good rabbit fer the hunt, if we dun get sommat else outta 'im." His smile was at once rueful and nasty. "Jer is tryin' ter talk 'im inter lettin' 'im 'ave 'im fer a cuddle toy, though."

"Ya know 'ow he is."

"Squirt shoulda known better." Hell. Bloody, bloody bedamned hell. She knew how Jer was. And playing the 'rabbit' was only a little better. She pushed from the wall, shoved her hands in her pockets. Small change jingled as she walked, rattled between the fingers of her right hand. "Kinda run he drop?"

He fell into step with her, answered casually. "Flash," the street drug was pricey and stashed small. They liked to use the little ones to deliver, because no one ever suspected them. It'd amp up the urgency level for certain. Jans didn't play around with runners who dropped a payload like that.

Wince. Pale grey eyes slid sideways to Marx. "Denner ain't never taken th' Flash runs before, hardly anything but messages an' Candy, once in a while." She jinked left, through the Tin Pan Alley shortcut over to Mercy Street. Heavy boots scuffed on the packed dirt while she racked her brains. Honesty never the best policy with Marx, but a little bit of the truth - "Ain't got th' glim t' cover a dropped Flash run, an' I don't owe th' squirt that much."

He shrugged one shoulder, crossing between buildings toward the abandoned building they used for a hole. "So leave 'im. Ya dint take th' job. Or we can talk about a run yer can do t' make things square. Not like I care, either way."

The place looked emptier than usual, but it was hard to say this time of evening. Could be they hadn't lit any lamps yet. Sundown was still half a chime off.

Right. Leave the small child to Jer's tender attention or Jans' "rabbit hunt". Denner wasn't more than seven or so, at the outside, and he looked younger. Problem was, not too long ago Kendall would have seriously considered that option. Now she just looked like she was thinking about it. She slid sideways around the building, to the basement door the Makos had pried open. Ducked in, still trying to think of options.

Definitely off the street too long, Kendall, forgetting the basics.

Definitely. He slid in the gap after her, and said, "They're upstairs." The basement was gloomy, and crowded with debris and old crates, dirt floors liberally peppered with rat droppings and worse. It was as it appeared to be - the cellar of a derelict building.

She had her left hand in her pocket, at least, while navigating the barely-clear path to the stairs up. With no lamps and the sun so close to down, it was darker, damper, and altogether more miserable in the basement than usual. So no surprise when she slammed her shin into a heavy wooden crate on the way and hissed out a string of curses in Mandarin and Turkish. "Dove still an item with Jans?" That might be an angle to play.

He barked out a laugh. She had been off the usual rounds for awhile not to have heard that news. "Not 'ardly likely. Caught 'er wi' her skirts up an' 'er legs 'round Beemer's waist twa Saturday's ago. Ain't neither un'a them wi' anyone now." He watched her ass as he followed her up the stairs.

Good thing he couldn't see that wince, walking behind her. She turned it to a mocking laugh, cynical. "Tol' Jans four months back she was a cheapie." Granted, it'd been while she was negotiating passage rights through Mako territory, at top volume and with a bit of lean on her old man's rep, so the circumstances hadn't been the best. But she had said so then. She leaned on the basement door with the upward heft of her shoulder to counteract the sag, swung it open.

This was the moment, because she couldn't be so blind as to not realize there wasn't anyone there. He planted both hands into the small of her back and shoved her with all he was worth, pressing through the door behind her and slamming it shut behind him. The bolt was still there at the knob and he slid it shut. "Reckon ye were right about tha'."