It was late, ten o'clock at least. Dean sat in a booth at a diner, stirring the spoon in his coffee and occasionally taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Part of him wanted to return home, but he knew Sam and Gabriel wouldn't let him leave. They were too worried about him, and he couldn't achieve his goals with them fussing over him. He stared into his cup.

"Are you doing alright?" asked his waitress, a pretty girl with brown hair and a charming English accent.

Dean smiled up at her. "Yes, I'm just fine."

"Refill?" She held up a silver coffeepot.

"No thank you, I'm almost done." Dean smiled at her again.

"Alright, tell me when you need the check," the waitress said, accidentally brushing his coat, which was hanging up on the side of the booth, with her hand as she smoothly glided away.

Dean yawned. He hadn't slept in a while, and his exhaustion was catching up to him. He finished his burger and waved the waitress over. "I'll get the check now."

She smiled at him as she took his meal away, then quickly returned with a black checkbook in her hand. She deposited it on the table, then slowly walked away, her hand brushing his coat again. Dean hardly noticed.

When the waitress was gone, he reached into his coat pocket for his wallet. It wasn't there. He frantically searched some more, but his wallet was gone. He looked around for his waitress, but she had disappeared.

Then it dawned on him. "Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, leaping up from the booth, grabbing his coat, and rushing outside.

He turned left down an alley, and found the waitress standing near a Dumpster, toying with his wallet.

"Hello there," she said, smiling in a very devious way. "Did you enjoy your meal?"

"Give it back," said Dean in a rock hard voice, bitchfacing at her and holding out his hand.

She turned away from him. "Oh, no, I don't think so, Dean." She smiled again, catlike.

Dean was unamused. "Give it here, now." He pulled back his coat a little, showing the gun tucked into his belt.

She raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be impressed? Come now, I don't think this discussion requires a weapon."

He advanced. "Who are you?"

"I thought you would know, seeing as you're a detective." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Dean stared at her blankly.

She heaved a sigh. "The name's Bela. Bela Talbot."

Dean nodded in recognition. "I've heard of you. A thief. You give the police a lot of trouble."

Bela smiled again. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I took it as such," she replied. "Anyway, you're quite fast on the uptake. The last man I pickpocketed didn't realize his keys were missing until he found his car had disappeared. I got a lovely Mercedes out of that one."
She grinned her catlike grin again.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. He was getting tired of this conversation.

Bela advanced. "I know who you are," she whispered. "I know what happened to your husband. I know you want revenge. And I can help you get it."

Dean didn't trust her, but he had to admit he was a bit curious. "How?" he asked her.

"Lucky for you," Bela said, "I know all about Chicago and the criminals working under its veneer of wealth and prosperity. I'll help you, but I need payment."

"Like what?" Dean asked.

"Oh, just money. Resources. And a ticket out of the city when this is over."

"And why do you need that?" Dean crossed his arms and glared down at her.

"I have lots of enemies," Bela replied. "Not to mention Lucifer is basically my boss, and I'm betraying him."

"Wait, what?" Dean took a step back. "You work for that bastard?"

"Not technically," Bela said, "but I operate under an umbrella of his authority."

"And you're helping me why? Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"If you can believe it, I hate that man as much as you do, but I can't leave his service without dying. I joined his followers a while back, and it was the biggest mistake of my life." Bela looked up at him, her face stony. "I help you, and you help me. Sound fair?"

"I don't need your help." Dean pushed past her, but he heard her calling after him.

"Yes, you do. I know almost everything there is to know about the criminal underworld of Chicago, and you don't. These people will trust me. They'll kill you."

"I thought they hated you." Dean didn't turn around.

"Some do, but most will trust me, at least partially. You go into this alone, you won't last a day. I help you, you'll be able to kill Lucifer, if he doesn't kill you first.

"I'm willing to aid you," Bela shouted, "and I all I ask for is for you to protect me. It's a fair trade."

"What if you betray me?" Dean asked, slowly turning around.

"That's a risk we must both be able to make," Bela said, stepping closer to Dean. "So, do we have a deal?"

Dean considered it. "Yes," he finally said.

Bela smiled. "Good. Lets seal it." She suddenly grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Disgusted, Dean wrenched away from her, wiping his lips on his sleeve. "God, at least warn me before you violate me with your tongue."

Bela smirked at him. "The deal is sealed," she singsonged. Then she scribbled something down on a napkin from the diner.

"There," she said, thrusting it at him, "that's my number. Call me when you want to meet next. When we see each other again, I'll tell you what you want to know."

Then she turned and walked away from him, into the night. As she left, Dean noticed that she dropped something small and black on the ground. He picked it up. It was his wallet.