It might have been a risk but Philly stayed in the area for awhile. People left and came back. Cars left and came back. That pretty much confirmed that the place was the gang’s hideout– whatever their name was.

  He camped out close enough to hear the occasional sentence coming out of the place. Hiding across the road, Philly laid down behind a wooden garbage bin belonging to some kind of apartment or living space. Philly couldn’t tell which and there were no doors on that side of the building so he figured he was safe to rest there and spy on the warehouse crew. He kept his pointy ears open.

  One of the goons that Ghost Thing fought the day prior came out, chatting with his friends on how the United States was going to “invade the world”. A little later out came a couple more of them to wax philosophical about football, with one arguing that the more violent the game was, the more of a sport it was.

  Philly had pushed his luck staying around there to make quadruple sure that the place was the gang’s hideout, but he was certain the place was the place and didn’t expect any new information to be surrendered by staking out the joint, so the fox got out of there around noon.

  After school was out, Philly returned with Ghost Thing. Riding in the kid’s backpack, the fox directed the aquatic rooffarer to Short St. The warehouse was still there when Philly returned. It still looked active, too, with a couple cars out front so Ghost kept a cautious distance and put a couple buildings between himself and the gang’s warehouse and pondered how he would approach.

  “If some sees you,” said Philly, “you gotta book it!”

  Ghost rolled his eyes. “I know that!”

  The liquid elemental perched himself on the warehouse beside the gang’s one. He didn’t want to hop on the rooftop in case the noise drew attention. He saw a crane of some sort near the back of the yard, though, that bridged one rooftop to the other. Ghost moved down towards it, gave it a good look to guess it was sturdy, and then hopped on. His watery feet made a clang sound, but not loud enough he expected anyone to hear.

  He walked down the boom and the distance between the gang’s rooftop and the edge of the crane was short enough for Ghost to stretch his liquidy foot out and step over. Not a sound was made. Philly was nervous, taking a backseat to the kid’s attempt at stealth, but he kept his little maw quiet. Ghost Thing looked around and saw a skylight on the roof so he crept over there and leaned down, shifting closer to carefully cradle his head into the window.

  If any amount of eyes were staring back up at him, he would have vanished from the area at speeds unknown to terrestrial beings.

  When he took his eyes inside, Ghost Thing saw a floor with a large structure in the middle. It looked like it was still being built but what Ghost Thing was no architect. He didn’t know what it was nor how far along it was. What was its purpose, Ghost had to wonder as he looked over its craven form. It looked like some kind of rocket ship support, although it was too small for any kind of rocket. It was just a frame of a building or machine, but the liquid cryptid got a bad feeling looking at it.

  Someone had music blaring across the warehouse floor. It sounded like old Metallica. He watched the floor, careful if any eyes rolled upward.

  There was a person in a black cloak stalking across the floor. He looked very out of place in a warehouse in a blue-collar part of town. Ghost had to quell a shiver when he saw a familiar top-hatted gentlefreak enter view. It was the shadow man that attacked him the other day.

  “Is the construction crew done with this display of brutal architecture?” asked the shadow man.

  The cloaked man took a strained breath in and exhaled like he was showing off. “They have priorities elsewhere. They will not be back until the end of the week.” He scratched his head. “Maybe... Maybe I will have you track down those other businesses. So the team is free to bring their workers back here.”

  Petrov. Ghost Thing wasn’t confident his amorphous ears caught the name clearly, but he thought he heard the cloaked guy called the shadow man “Petrov”. Luckily for Ghost, he had a vulpine companion who had much better ears and more confidence in how words were heard.

  Petrov craned his head up and gave a face of sorrow. “Doing your utmost barbaric tasks again? Am I just a sword for you to wield?”

  “You possess a unique skill set,” said the cloaked man, articulating ‘unique’ like it was a blade to be sharpened. “I use it where needed.”

  Petrov flailed his head around dramatically. “It would be a crying shame if I never got to use my charms for the benefit of this fine organization!”

  Ghost was getting uncomfortable with how close Petrov was to taking his eyes upward and spotting the aqueous spy in the window. He ducked away from the window and let himself listen in without exposing his form to the crowd.

  “You overestimate your charms, Petrov,” said the cloaked man with the venom of a viper.

  “Say you,” Petrov’s voice echoed out the window. “Nobody likes to be overqualified.”

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  There was a groan to break the silence. Then, the cloaked man spoke, “I’ll contact you later if I need you.”

  “Very well,” said Petrov. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

  Quiet, and then a creaky door opened and slammed. Before Ghost had time to react, Petrov flew up in the air, as clear as day for Ghost Thing and Philly to see.

  Ghost steadied his panic so that his gelatin tongue didn’t speak a squeak and he slid down the roof to jump down into the alleyway. If he had landed in front of the window he likely would have been spotted.

  The alleyway was no safe enough, though. Ghost felt exposed still and hopped over the fence into the neighbouring warehouse’s property. He ran past the corner and looked back around to see if Petrov was following him. Petrov had his face turned away from Ghost Thing and Philly when he flew up into the sky, but Ghost couldn’t be sure that the shadow man didn’t catch a glimpse of the watery sneak. But Ghost checked around the corner, up above, and saw no danger on his tail.

  “Hey,” said Philly, shaking his head. “Next time warn a fox if you’re going to slide off a rooftop!”

  “Sorry,” said Ghost, taking a look behind at his fox companion to make sure the fellow didn’t have a busted ear. “I couldn’t say anything, though. Petrov was right there!”

  “Petrov...” said Philly to himself. “I think that’s his name.”

  The two looked over the warehouse. At that angle, the tall walls and large size were monolithic upon the two heroes. Both could still hear the music from outside; its muffled churn like the yawn of a waking giant.

  “This is the place, though,” said Philly.

  Ghost looked over the building, and nodded his head. “Yeah...”

  A few minutes were taken to rest behind the corner but once Ghost was sure that Petrov wasn’t chasing him, he found his way back up to the warehouse neighbouring the gang hideout and then snuck back over to continue some spying.

  He got up there– the same route as last time. And like last time he was careful as he positioned himself by the window, peeking in with cautious eyes.

  The radio continued to blare as the song ended and the radio host came back. “Hey, it’s Mike here on 95.1 Heavy. That was Vixen with ‘Edge of a Broken Heart’. Uh, I think my sister saw them back when Rev It Up was out. She had a good time even if some chick threw up coming down from a crowd surf.” The host let out a belly laugh. “After the break we’ll have– get this: ‘Saint Vitus’ from the band Saint Vitus off the album Saint Vitus.” Mike let out a chuckle. “Keep it on 95.1.”

  Nothing was going on in the warehouse so Ghost Thing and Philly camped out there. Commercials for Pepsi and a local furniture store passed by and most of “Saint Vitus” rumbled out before the radio went silent and someone else entered the warehouse floor.

  He was a harmless-looking individual with glasses. He carried a clipboard underneath his arm. Compared to Petrov and the cloaked figure, he looked like he belonged in a blue-collar environment although he would have fit in at an office more.

  There was a door opening and closing. Not as loud as the others and with a crisper, wooden sound. The man with glasses looked over and said, “Dead Head. Supplies have been located.”

  The cloaked man walked back into view. Was he Dead Head? That couldn’t have been his actual name, could it? Or was that just a nickname the office guy gave him? Glasses didn’t look like he dabbled in nicknames, though.

  “Good.” Dead Head walked over to join the glasses guy by the structure. They both looked it over. Dead Head’s voice shook the walls, saying, “Do we need to wait until this–” He waved his hand at the macabre art display– “is finished to produce the crystals?”

  “No,” said the glasses guy. “We should start as soon as possible.”

  Crystals. It could have either been drugs or something supernatural, and Ghost didn’t like either.

  Dead Head turned to the glasses fellow, then said, “Yes.”

  A door busted open and “Hey, Dead Head!” shouted a sharp woman’s voice.

  Ghost Thing’s water went cold when he recognized the woman’s voice. Sure enough, it was the blue lady who attacked him. Shimmer knew Ghost was intimidated by the lady and looked over to see his watery friend’s face drop with worry as the lady entered view.

  Dead Head scowled as the lady approached. “Out with it, Thrash.”

  Thrash walked out into the middle of the floor and clacked her staff on the concrete. “You don’t seriously expect me to break into a police station, do you?”

  Dead Head wavered his head. “I desired it. I understand if the task is too difficult. There’s evidence I want you to destroy.”

  “I know I got powers,” said Thrash, “but breaking into a precinct? If anyone, you’re the person for that job.”

  Dead Head took his hands behind his back and walked away. “I only considered it. I’m still working with Shimmer here to formulate a plan.”

  Thrash puttered. “Well, it’s going to have to be a master plan for me to even think about it!”

  Shimmer– Ghost assumed that was his name, anyway– craned his hand out formally. “I’m still looking it. I’d sleep better at night knowing the police had as little evidence on us as possible.”

  Thrash narrowed her eyes at the guy and scoffed. “Like you sleep. Vampire.”

  And as she was taking her eyes away from him, she brought them up to the roof. Ghost could have sworn that he and her locked gazes, even if just for a split second. But that was enough for Ghost to get out of there. He flipped away from the window and for a second time that even slid down the roof.

  Philly could have screamed at the kid for what he was about to do again. But the fox kept his mouth shut and wrapped his forelegs around Ghost’s neck, bracing himself for a tumble.

  Ghost dropped to the floor and raced down the alleyway beside the warehouse. He took a sharp turn and ran down the lane a bit, ducking behind a brick wall.

  No one chased him. He kept his eyes all around but no one was following him. There wasn’t even a pedestrian around to see him out in the open.

  Ghost let out a trembling exhale. “That was close...”

  Philly shook his head. “Next time you do that I’m chewing on your leg!” The fox let out a resigned sigh and brought a paw up to slick back the fur on his head. He could have asked why Ghost Thing got out of there so sudden but he knew that the blue lady was danger and understood that the water lad’s shaken nerves got the better of him.

  “Dead Head...” said Ghost Thing. “I think that was his name.”

  Philly chuckled and smirked at his friend. “Weird name for a gang leader.”

  Ghost Thing took another look over the warehouse. On the outside, it was just a warehouse. To most people it could have stored wooden planks or spools of cable. Who would have thought that such a humble building would be the secret base of a supernatural mob.

  “Yeah. Weird.” Ghost Thing took in a big breath, his watery body not needing air but his mind needing to take a moment to think. They had located the warehouse. They knew the headquarters for the gang after Ghost Thing. They knew the name of the leader. The liquid lad let the air back out and held his chin. “Now what?”