Where: Martin Robinson’s House
With: @jmorrow
Under the cover of the darkest hours of the morning, crickets and the crackling of gravel beneath tires were the only sounds he could hear as they pulled up to Martin's little slice of suburbia. Stray wasn't sure what they'd find, if anything at all by coming here, but he'd run out of patience in doing nothing. It was as if all those present at the table had decided to wait for the second shoe to drop before taking action - to just wait and see. To give whoever was responsible for their advisor's murder room to breathe, for the trail they'd left to go cold.
That wasn't his style. If there wasn't a clear target to bloody his fists into, then he was left to figure it out who it was. He'd push forward, he'd dig and scratch and chase down the faintest of leads until someone stood before them, responsible and awaiting the Devil's justice. There would be no rest while an attack against the MC remained unanswered. He’d been kicking himself ever since that night for having ignored his gut feeling that something awful was bound to happen at the ball. Had he just listened to it, had he just been a little more vigilant, he wondered if Marin would still be alive tonight - waiting inside with a bottle of whiskey as they trudged up to his door, three chipped glasses on his table and a serving of wisdom to share with them.
Hindsight was twenty-twenty, though. There was nothing left he could do for the old man now besides play a role in figuring out who was pay for what happened to him. And there was no one he'd rather have at his back than Jasper, especially when it came to something like this, whose approval would be questionable at best by the MC's leadership.
Stray removed his helmet, and left it to sit against his seat, turning to look at his brother as he gestured to the house, "let's kill the circuit breaker first, then see what trail we can pick up inside. There's gotta be something t’ get us goin’ in the right direction with this bullshit."
