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Night is the best time. And not because someone smarter before us said so - no, like people themselves, there is more to it than meets the eye.
It smiles, and with its invisible hand it erases the boundaries between all the essentials, with the same weightless and dexterous movement, like a big, black, shaggy cat that has hooked a small, ugly mouse by the tail with its claw just for play and pleasure.
In this game it is totally unclear: who catches who in a cat-and-mouse game? The human, ready for anything for the smell of wet asphalt in the street lamps' light or the dark winged night, indulging the little man with a smile? After all, it doesn't matter at all who loses as the sun goes down - not even his own brother will say that, let alone the mentor-life itself.
There hadn't been time for Claire to think it over, though. After all, the taxi had already arrived, and she had just left a notorious club with a fancy name, neon lights, whores and great drinks.
Chris had disappeared again in the middle of the night, which meant the younger Redfield would have to run all over town again to get him out of some godforsaken joint where he was having his notorious leisure time after another bummer at work.
"But that doesn't mean you can't call in, don't come home and hang out at the bar till morning, right? – Claire took a brisk step back toward the old park, where a taxi was waiting to continue her nightly journey. With a disgruntled sniffle in response to her own question, another thought immediately flashed through her mind: "How does he manage to find a new place every time?"
Tucking the loose strand behind her ear in irritation, she sped up, trying to figure out where Chris might be this time.
At any other time, she would have taken great pleasure in stopping and breathing in the freshness of the night, dismissing all anxious thoughts, and plopping down on a bench in an old, untended park at half past midnight, looking up at the star chart spread out in the sky. Which, incidentally, Chris had also taught her to read.
How she wished everyone would just disappear to hell and she'd end up in a warm bed herself. Yeah, that's right.
Which was why she would now take great pleasure in spitting venom at the driver who was parked God knows where, standing between her wild exhaustion and the comfort of her bed.
Finally reaching the opposite side of the street where the car was parked, Claire opened the door abruptly and slammed it shut with force, not taking her eyes off the phone screen, and with a note of annoyance in her voice she threw to the man in the front:
”To McWinn Street, please.” She sighs, stretching out her leaden legs and begins to actively rummage through her pockets for change. ”Why standing there, driver?” With growing anger and a sudden fit of fatigue, Redfield grumbles, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket.
”Are you talking to me?”
Claire flinches in surprise, and suddenly the smell of strong coffee hits her nose, and her relaxed legs suggest that the back seat is too comfortable for the economy class taxi she ordered.
Though the question was asked in a calm voice, the look... The piercing gaze of blue eyes bespeaks the ardour of the hurrying Redfield, making her swallow nervously and feel uneasy, and even a touch of fear at the suddenness.
In the front seat was a girl in a brand name jacket, with a pendant around her neck that gleamed enticingly in the dark.
Redfield wants to go to ground, but she'll do it, of course, after she apologises to this girl. Damn Chris for putting her in this position.
Nervously sucking in a nose of expensive perfume that seemed ready to suffocate her so that this rude and inconsiderate girl would never embarrass herself in front of strangers again, dry lips she asks:
”Car number 2EVL168?”
The driver turns to face her, displaying his feline half-smile, mumbling angrily:
”Almost: the last digit is six, not eight.”
Redfield is doused with heat, which has clung to her cheeks with particular dexterity, and she begins to hastily gather herself, embarrassedly babbling an apology back.
Watching Claire's amused and hasty attempts to fumble for the car door handle in the darkness, she finally fails and laughs amiably:
”Oh, relax, I'll give you a lift if you need it that badly. I'm Jill. Get in the front.” Valentine nods her head at the seat beside her, seeing the startled Redfield, who had given up trying to cope with the door handle, laugh awkwardly in response to her offer.
A quiet text alert on Claire's phone cheerfully informs her that her taxi booking has been cancelled.