The moment the door creaked open, Dom pressed his foot in the gap. He shoved the photo of the werewolf through the crack. "Seen him?"
"What--?" The door lurched, but the man inside recovered fast. He let it fall back a second later as if he never had any intention of shutting it in Dom's face.
Alan Winn arched an eyebrow and ignored the photograph. "Not even a smile or a hello?"
Dom lowered the photo. "Hello." His foot stayed in the doorway.
Alan's pale face was all angles, thinned by the drugs he tainted the neighborhood with and made worse by the shadows of night. Dom could see the glitter of his eyes, familiar. Smug. It made him itch.
The whole fetid neighborhood made him itch, with its boarded-up windows and whiskey stink and the piles of trash hiding feral humans that would curse at anyone who came too close.
Nobody gave a shit there. Nobody believed in anything. That was it's biggest blessing to the people forced to spend their lives there, but it kept the place in an endless pall, day or night, sun or rain.
"So," said Alan, "what brings you to Detroit?"
Opening: Lynn Hall.....Continuation: khazar-khum