Concurrent with: http://www.electricf...-cordelia-grey/
Ms. Peak’s smartphone began to ring. She picks it up with her right hand and continues to drive with her left.
“Hello… yes. I see… He’s in a meeting right now, can I take a message… Who are they sending?... Oh, I see. No, I suppose that is……no I don’t think she’s one of ours, but I’ll ask, and get back to you.”
She turns off the phone and lays it back on the seat next to her. She signals a turn and slowly merges the limousine over to the far right lane of the highway. She presses a small lever on her control panel and the limo’s privacy window lowers. Three men sit in the backseat. Two of them were Chinese ‘businessmen’ out of Kingsport, the other was her employer.
“Sir,” she said, “As always, I loathe to interrupt, but urgent business just came up.”
“I see,” the Broker says.
He grins at his two guests.
“I apologize gentlemen. We’ll have to discuss this matter at another occasion. You’ll forgive me for the lack of courtesy, but for me time is a valuable commodity, and yours has just expired somewhat ahead of schedule.”
The limo pulls onto the shoulder of the Khazan central Highway. Ms. Peak waves her fingers with a discrete swipe and the limo door opens on its own. The Triads just stare out the door and into the dimly lit highway outside. They then look towards the Broker who only nods, politely, back towards the door. They both step out without another word. The larger of the two reaches to close the door behind him, but it swings shut all on its own. The Limo pulls away and they’re stranded on the shoulder of the freeway. Ms. Peak sees them in the rearview as she pulls away.
“How did it go?”
“Not well,” Her employer says, “I’d rather not discuss it, suffice to say that the Triads may soon find their direct competitors with far more ‘fire power’ then they remembered. But enough on that. What exactly was your urgent business?”
“Someone’s taken the remains from the N’hil temple.”
“If I told them once, I’ve told them a million times,” he muses, “we shouldn’t hide it away in a cave, we should put it on our mantle so everyone knows what we can do. Now the Angels have it, and they’ll be far more willing to do something stupid and rash, as is their nature.”
“It wasn’t an Angel sir,” she says, “It was some thief, an unknown element, that’s why they were asking, thought we might have something to do with it.”
“They thought I might be behind it.”
He shakes his head.
“Well I wasn’t before,” he says. He pauses briefly as it all forms together in his mind, “but they don’t know what I know. The kidnappings, the replacements. I’m not behind it, but this must mean that he’s back… He’s been going after the old ones, the ones who retired after the war. The ones who either betrayed him or buried him, and he won’t even give them the courtesy of allowing them to die when he kills them, sick bastard and all… and now he’s found the one thing we had to hold over him. If he gets it back… no that won’t do, simply won’t. We need to find this thief, retrieve the remains, and then crack her open to find where he’s been hiding, if she wasn’t one of him to begin with.”
“There’s a complication to that,” Peak says, she pulls off the freeway and onto a surface street in Uptown, “the Khazan heads are nervous, they don’t want her captured. They put out an open contract, a 100,000 dollar KOS order.”
“Of course they would,” Broker says, then sighs, “why try to learn something useful when you can just break everything. The standard criminal psychology disappoints me these days. What was her name?”
“Dinas Deo,” Ms. Peak replies, she takes a rare look back into the limousine compartment and makes brief eye contact, “With 3rd level teleportation and 2nd level telepathy I could easily find her and bring her back before any average thug manages to track her down.”
“You could,” he says, “and I don’t doubt your ability, but if the rest of our organization wants her dead, it wouldn’t quite do for us to be seen saving her. This needs to come from someone outside the family.”
“There’s a group I used to run with. Very competent, but very pricy. But you pay for what you get.”
Broker smiles back at her and she feels happy.
“Make the call Ms. Peak.”
Rylie could barely hear the other end of the phone over Oleander’s shouts and grunts. Every other second was taken up by some primal outburst or another that echoed through the warehouse.
“What’s that?” Rlyie says, “You’re gonna have to speak up, Olie’s being a little”
Oleander shouts over this word as she lands a roundhouse high into the punching bag.
“Uh huh,” Rylie says, “Yeah yeah I got that Dinas Deo, pink skin, silver hair, tall, medium build, 100 lbs… Oh, so don’t kill her? Good to know, good to know...”
The bag starts absorbing a flurry of punches as Oleander really begins to wail on it. One cross sends it to swing in an arc around the chain it hangs from. Then it swings back like a tetherball on a rope and Oleander kicks it back the other way. She continues knocking it back and forth as Rylie talks.
“Ok, so what’s the payout here?... Oh come on I don’t get out of bed for less then 200… What, your little boyfriend not as rich as he says he is?... Uh huh, fine 350, but that’s only cause I’m giving you the friend’s discount… Ok, buh-bye.
She shuts the phone off and smiles.
She turns to Oleander.
“Hey Olie, knock it off. We’ve got a job to do.”
Oleander screams out and throws a final cobra-punch into the bag; she doesn’t hold back this time, and it breaks from its chain and skids to the other end of the warehouse like a slapshot.
Oleander wipes the sweat dripped blonde bangs from her eyes.
“What’s the job?”
“Bag and Grab for Widow. Some Syndicate traitor or something. Were s’posed to take this chick and a small box she’s got.”
Oleander spits on the floor.
“I hate Bag and Grabs.”
“Well then you are in luck,” Rylie says with a grin, “cuz Widow says we ain’t the only ones going after her, so you can kill as much of the competition as you like.”
Oleander whips her neck to the side with a violent crack.
“Fine. Let’s get going.”
Thump thump… Thump thump… stole his heart, his thumps, his rhythm. Can’t live without the rhythm, can’t live without your beats… but he beats forever, in every different way… noise, noise, noise, never ends, with a thousand different rhythms. We need him dead, no beats, no thumps, that’s what Jack said… I can take her beat and steal back the rhythm.
There she is, end of the hall, behind the wall, she goes thump thump, still alive, still breathing, still beating. But he’s in there too, beating inside the box. Not for long…
Go up the door, knock knock knock. Thump thump.. she turns the knob, time to start the song …
“Wuh-oh,” Rylie says from her little sniper’s nest on top of library.
She could see all the way though Dinas’ glass doors from where she was, able to watch her prey move from room to room, giving her what her Father once called a ‘pervert’s perch’. The plan was that Oleander would rush in, and if the quarry attempted to flee, Rylie would take her out on her escape. The plan did not include a psychopath in a mask throttling their target before Oleander could move in. Rylie snatches the radio hanging from her belt.
“Hey Olie, we’ve got a party crasher. I can see him through the windows but I can’t get an angle on him from here without killing our girl too. Would you mind handling him before he beats our payday into paste?”
“Thank you Darlin’.”
The figure lunges, Dinas jumps back. She slices for his throat, and misses. He bends back as the knife grazes the tip of his mask, and spins round to place a foot against her gut. It feels like a bull just rammed her in the gut; she flies back into a coffee table and then skids off and topples sideways into her loveseat. She slowly gets to her knees, breathing calmly and trying to focus. The figure grabs the back of her neck and lifts her up like a doll.
“Time to go crack, crack, CRACK, little bang… here, we go: Crack, crack, CRA— ”
Oleander rushes through the plate glass like it was a paper door. She charges, and her fist collides with Dub’s sternum, punting him back through the door he came from.
Dub hits the wall. Oleander throws a roundhouse for his head. He slips down beneath the kick; she throws an elbow a half second later, and it ends up smashing into the wall where Dub used to be.
He jumps over her and brings down an open palm; Oleander blocks, but the telekinesis behind the blow pushes her back across the hallway. She never loses footing and immediately returns to her practiced fighting stance. Dub flexes every joint and slouches down into his own stance.
“Little blonde bang, playing assassin…Rhythm: check, Pacing: check, but you can’t hear the beats. No check for style,”
“Call me ‘little bang’ again, and the last thing you’re gonna hear is the sound of someone ripping your ears off with their bare hands.”