Agent with a History

His words though weak were clear enough, "I'm not telling you anything nigger!"

His blatant racism wasn't anything new. I'd dealt with it in one form or another all my life from both sides, black and white.

I ignored the hatred in his eyes and said in an effort to get him to talk, "Well, if it makes any difference, I'm a half-breed, so maybe you could at least tell the half white girl side of me something?"

He shook his head resolutely and muttered out, " I should have listened to Flint. I shouldn't have stayed. I shouldn't have…."

He was fading fast. I leaned close, "Who is Flint? Did he send these men?"

His eyes opened briefly in comprehension and he shook his head no.

"Was he the man that met you at the warehouse?"

He nodded yes and then slumped dead on the bed as he exhaled out his last breath. I leaned back up from the bed as EMTs came rushing through the broken door. I moved away from the bed to stare out the window at the glittering lights of the city.

At least now I had a name. That was something right? I really wasn't sure anymore. I needed sleep. The hit to my head had only made my headache worse. I wasn't going to be able to function much longer at this rate. A passing EMT saw my cheek and stopped to work on it. She pulled the split and bruised skin back together with some butterfly stitches and then gave me a reproving look.

"Those eyes of yours tell me you need to see a bed ASAP and I suggest you stay there for the next ten hours or so."

I nodded, got up and headed for the door.

Rafferty held my gun out to me and I took it gratefully, just as I was grateful to have him here to back me up.

"I'm going home to bed."

"Good, I'll drive you there."

"Okay." I said softly, being unusually passive.