Detective Travis Versoe raced up 14 flights of stairs to get to the top floor loft. He would've taken the elevator, but the damned thing was broken, as usual. When he got to the top, short winded but not yet gasping for air, he paused before reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket to retrieve the identification card he needed to be granted entry to the last flight of stairs.
He pushed the small button,nearly hidden in the brick and slid his card through the tiny reader imbedded in the security camera. The door didn't react right away, but it wasn't long before he heard the loud click of the lock disengaging. He shoved open the door and ,not quite calmly, walked up the last flight.
After what seemed to him to be an eternity, the curving hallway ceased and he could spot the door to the loft. He nodded to one of the guards that The Agency had put at her door. The guard he had nodded to frisked him quickly,and finding no weopans,asked,"Password?"
Versoe grimaced. The damn words always fowled him up. /Okay/he thought to himself, /It's that damn short story...she said she was making a statement./ "Everything's Eventual." he finally said with obvious relish.
The guard nodded and rapped a specific rhythm on the door. The door was opened and Versoe found himself face to chest with another guard. The second guard frisked him a little more slowly than the first and asked him to leave his shoes at the door. Versoe was used to the rules by now, and did as he was asked though he privately thought this whole thing rediculous. The precautions of a guard at the door, and a key carded enterance were all right, but the rest of this shit was over doing it. Just the Key card alone was enough to stop the casual assasin.
The guard led him to a locked bedroom with a camera outside the door. Versoe pushed the doorbell and looked directly into the camera. "Sydney."He said softly. A female voice came from a speaker in the wall near the doorbell.
"What do you want Versoe?" She asked angerly.
"Just want some opinions Syd."
"Quit calling me that."The woman replied enraged, but the door still opened. Standing in the doorway with a bottle of Whiskey in her right hand was a nineteen year old woman. She was very short. That was a kind interpretation. The woman in the entry way stood about 4'5". Being in her presence always made Versoe feel good. It was one of the few times that Versoe,being only 5'7" himself, actually towered over someone.
She looked like an artist's rendering of a porculine doll that had come to life. Her thick, jet black hair hung down to the small of her back. Brown slightly asian eyes stared up at Versoe. She wore tight hip hugging jeans, a black halter top and black leather gloves.
"Are ya comin' in Versoe? Or you gonna stand there all night?"
Versoe slowly entered her domain and shut the door behind him.
The woman stared at him with outright hatred. "Give me the item and go back outside Versoe."
Versoe nodded. "Do you want me to leave the money in here too?"
She nodded. "Give me the item and the money, all fifty thou., and get the hell out."
Versoe dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper wrapped in a plastic bag. He handed that and an envelope to her and headed out to sit by the speaker for as long as it took.

Ten minutes later he heard her voice, significantly weakened. comeing through the speaker. "He did it. He's going to try to look cooprative, and that will be his down fall. Ask him for the January budget folder. He'll give it to you, thinking it unimportant. Inside you'll find his journal. That'll give you what you want. Including the hitman he used for her."
Versoe looked sympathetic. "Who were you that time. Her?"
"Worse."Came the voice from the speaker,"Now get the fuck out."
"Now now, Syd." He retorted before the guard put his beefy hands around Versoe's arm.
"Miss Stark wanted you to go now.", He growled.
"See ya Syd!" Versoe called as he allowed himself to be drawn out of the loft apartment.
As the door slammed shut behind him it occured to him how much harder the Equal Rights Act was going to make it to pound information out of Sydney. She had her posh spot because she cooperated with the Agency. Other freaks had somewhere the same arrangement. Most of them didn't like The Agency though, as part of the arrangement, the freaks allowed The Agency to study their talents.
"Good ole Sydney Stark.", he grinned to himself, "She's gonna get me that promotion." He had one of the highest solve rates on the force and he knew that alot of the credit for that had to go to Sydney Stark. Although Psychic evidence was not admissable in court as of yet, Syd was usually good at getting him evidence he could use. That evidence was often at a high price to herself. She, as far as he understood, actually BECAME the victim, or the crook themself.
He walked down the back alley toward the precinct with a smile on his face. As he turned the corner onto a main road he began to whistle a catchy pop tune he had heard on the radio.

Sydney Stark woke up in the middle of that night to the sound of a door being slammed shut. She sat bolt upright in her twin bed and looked around quickly. The only thing out of place was the vase of white roses on her nightstand. It hadn't been there before. She ran her hands along the vase's smooth sides. No impressions came from the vase. She slept with her gloves off, so the delivery person must have worn gloves or something.
She got slowly out of bed and reached for her ruby red robe. She slipped into it and turned on her light. She scrutinized the roses and was alarmed to see a drop of quickly drying blood on one perfect bud.
She ran to the phone and dialed a 15 digit number that had been giuven her by The Agency. Before the blood had completely dried, the sound of a door opening came to her. A young man walked into the room. Sydney recognised the punk. They always sent this kid to look in on the complaints of the 'gifted.' The kid was maybe all of 20, what a sence of humor The Agency had.