A split second’s head start is plenty in quarters this close -- the man in black’s caught fast, stiff through the wrist, grip bit down like a wolf on a throat around Teddy’s piece.

He grunts -- pushes and twists -- slow, testing resistance. Doesn’t take more than an initial failure for him to settle into stalemate low between them. Keeping his claim without wasting more energy than it's worth.

“Whole lotta innocent bystanders out for a walk in the rain today, Teddy. Sidewalks all slick and clean.”

Salt rakes coarse in his appeal -- primed for rubbing in raw wounds at a lazy remove. His eyes are marble grey in the gloom, watchful for familiar stirs of weakness. Minimal effort.

“You wanna hold hands, there’ll be plenty of time for that once I’ve seen what we’re working with.”