Seems to Free His Mind At Night [Clyde]

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

There was just enough activity in the dark alley that Locke couldn't focus on just one sound, just one set of footfalls. And they were quiet, anyhow, he would tell himself later. The first inkling he had was a sort of pressure, and then a mumbled apology from a ghost. He just barely saw the figure turn the corner as he stopped mid-stride, forced his boots into perfect alignment. What had just happened? He took a mental snapshot of the interaction, and first went for his coat. Nimble fingers felt up the zipper, but there was no gap up to his collar, which would have been impossibly inconvenient. Next his pockets, but his hands had been in those, and then to his pants.

Oh he was missing something alright, and good luck to the son of a bitch who had taken it from him. He was still gripping the back pocket, palm over his own ass, when he started forward and flexed his fingers. Those blue, blue eyes darkened to the night as he hurried after the criminal, clipping the corner and coming into better light, just enough to see the silhouette and determine that it was a male. A boy who was about to be very sorry he was out of bed at night.

Locke didn't say anything until he was practically on top of him, and he was very quick, but he was certainly not as stealthy. Once he was within arm's reach, Locke cleared his throat, quite purposefully, the annoying sort of sound that came from high in the throat. "Excuse you," he said, and it had all the colors of politeness. "I believe you have something of mine. A little metal container?" And the light was just yellow enough to pick up the deep sea blue of his eyes as he came up on Clyde's right.

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

He could have handled it better. After all, it seemed to be in perps' blood to run when the situation got sticky. Still, he couldn't help a groan and a swipe across his full, satisfied belly. He hated putting leather to asphalt after dinner; it was one of the reasons he rotated of evening duty, even though it was by far the most interesting. Morning was for running, exercising, whatever - before he gluttoned himself over meat from Ten. But, it seemed that he would be forced to add another kilometer to his daily tally.

Locke lifted a slender knife from his belt, so thin it was hardly more than a toothpick, but it worked as a razor. He held the blunt side against his palm as he took off, arms whipping by his chest, his form lean and sharp, perfectly held and proportioned. There was nothing graceful about the way he moved, but rather a precision that could be beautiful. His breathing lifted, leveled, his body ready for another long jog around the track.

Except that he was flying through the night, dodging trash and not exactly dodging the bums. The thief was fast, though, and clearly also in reasonable shape. Locke chased him through the wending alleys, sweat crowning his forehead before he finally came alongside Clyde and shoved him into a wall. "Don't run - just hold up." Locke spoke through the panting, his blue eyes never leaving Clyde, even as he bent to catch his breath.

As he did so, the knife came into the yellow light, glinted gold. "I'll need to see your identification."

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

They were running and turning, the fox after the hare. Locke did his best to mark the turn by visuals, but it was hard in the bleak night to recognize anything. He hadn't been trying to force the prep into a dead end, but it worked out that way, and he'd tell his superior it had been a part of his plan. "Pure dumb luck" never sounded quite as good in the official report, after all.

Locke was grateful to see those bricks, though, that impenetrable wall. He was even happier when the thief rammed into it full speed, although he couldn't say he would have done better, given the low lighting and the adrenaline of the situation. He only slowed when he saw the man bounce back, a sack of flesh knocked around by rock. Locke skirted to a stop, breathing heavily but not necessarily panting. It was an even in and out, a whooshing of controlled breaths from his diaphragm.

That was about the only thing he was in control of, at present. He may have cornered the man but that didn't mean much, given that it was a one-on-one scenario. Furthermore, he had a bit of valuable property. Locke very briefly considered his options, realized he had none, and then folded his arms over his chest. "Matter of fact you actually have my ID in your pocket." Locke nodded at him. "The box contains everything you'd need to know about me. And soon it'll contain everything anyone needs to know about you. Check it, if you like."

And he felt the knife in his palm grow heavy as he held it along the length of his ribs.