I’m still working–a bit haphazardly to be truthful–but working on the Boston Wolves. I mentioned that Iffy found the stash of espresso and dark chocolate, didn’t I? ANd now there’s this super secret project that has to be finished by the 15th. Anyway, today is Wednesday so there much be words. Last week’s #ThursdayThreads prompt is: **”There has to be someone.”** As it turned it, it was the exact information I needed to get some timeline stuff sorted out and get me back on track with the Wolves. I hate getting derailed and it has happened a lot. Sadly. Also, ARGH! I’m just going to toss this tidbit up here and let y’all run with it…

At twilight, two men sat on a park bench. They appeared to be strangers. One wore a tailored suit, starched shirt, and tie. His leather Oxfords shone from a fresh polishing. The other looked rumpled—coffee-stained shirt, wrinkled slacks, sport coat in need of dry cleaning. The thick rubber soles of his scuffed and dull shoes marked him as a working man. 

The sharp dresser, known as the Fixer, held a phone to his ear and spoke, “The boss is not happy.” 

Rumpled-stiltskin, as he called the other man in his mind, shrugged and tossed peanuts into his mouth with stubby fingers. “My boss is takin’ heat too.”

“So what do you plan to do about it?”

“Make an arrest.”

“When?”

“When we fuckin’ figure out who the perp is.”

The Fixer sighed. It was bad enough that a wrong cop had been murdered in his employer’s warehouse but to have this lazy one drag his feet on the investigation was frustrating. “It can’t be that hard.”

“Gotta have evidence to arrest somebody.”

“Then get some, preferably evidence implicating Ronan O’Connor.”

The cop stiffened. “Your boss is stupid to go after him.”

Putting aside the pretext of having a separate conversation on his phone, the Fixer swiveled and focused his cold stare on the cop. “Do you work for Boru’s Wolves or us?”

“I know who pays my freight but goin’ after the top guy? Still stupid. Ronan O’Connor is as untouchable as Brian Boru hisself.”

The Fixer cringed inwardly. There was no excuse for bad grammar. With infinite patience but in a voice as frosted as his gaze, he insisted, “There has to be someone.”

The cop’s flaccid face crumpled into a sly grin. “There is. O’Connor’s precious baby brother.”

The copy said it with such glee he was almost drooling and licking his lips. The fixer reached for more patience. “You believe he is more vulnerable than the older O’Connor?”

“Yeah. He is.”
                                   
The Fixer stood up. “Fine. Then make it happen.” He strode away without a glance back.                                                          

The cop watched him retreat through narrowed eyes. Oh yeah, Mick O’Connor was ripe for the picking and he’d waited a long time to exact his revenge.

A curious squirrel jumped up on the bench and crept close. The cop wadded up the bag and nailed the rodent right between the eyes when he threw it. Yeah. He was finally gonna get Mick O’Connor in handcuffs. Tomorrow would be a good day.

**Cues the dramatic music** Dun-dun-duuunnnn…. I promise to get back to the Wolves ASAP. Iffy has promised to cooperate provided I indulge her in this secret project of hers. And…wow…I have an actual murder of crows outside in the driveway. There are five of them dining on leftover dog food. Oh. Sorry. As you know, I’m easily distracted. Which is why Iffy is my Muse. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Writers, grab the prompt if it will help your WIP. Readers, do you like surprises? Especially at Christmas time?