Strak tilted his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his thin lips. He reached into his inner pocket, but instead of a passport, he pulled out a silver lighter. He flicked it open, the flame dancing in his dark eyes.
Johnathan Strak emerged from the shadows of Lane 24. He didn't walk so much as glide, his heavy trench coat trailing like a funeral shroud. Strak was a man of cold precision and whispered rumors—a "fixer" who specialized in making people disappear, one way or another. Run Away, Scene 2 - Casey Flip, Johnathan Strak...
Strak stopped five feet away. The distance felt like a canyon. "And the buyer? You told them I was coming?" Strak tilted his head, a ghost of a
"Vancouver is lovely this time of year," Strak mused. "But there's a problem, Casey. The board members you mentioned? They don't like loose threads. And you, my friend, are a very frayed piece of silk." Johnathan Strak emerged from the shadows of Lane 24