by MM Glenn
"Why don't you tell me about that plasma blade. Every bounty hunter I come across with one has an epic story to tell about how he wrenched it from his opponents’ hands."
That drew a chuckle from him. "An epic tale?" He shook his head, laughing. "Not really, and I'm convinced that the majority of the people who do have one are lying their balls off."
"Oh, I am sure too. Doesn't make their fantastic accounts any less entertaining," Scarlet said, hanging the straps passing for a dress on the inside of the wardrobe, "So you have about ten years' worth of bragging and tall tales to compete with. I've heard all nature of them, from men and women trying to get between my sheets and legs."
Watching her reaction carefully, he ignited the plasma blade and a vibrant white light solidified in the shape of a machete. "See, not all plasma blades are Justiciar weapons. This one, for instance, was manufactured on an IdasTek production line in the Xanrethea system. They manufacture a few thousand a year, catering to a select market." He turned it off, and it took a moment for the afterimage to fade from his sight. "Wanna-be's, mostly. And a few people like me, swordsmen who don't want the bulk of a blade and who see the practical utility of a tool that cuts through most anything."
Another grin. "So my epic story? I headed over to Xanrethea and dropped a couple of grand in a factory. Pricey, but it doesn't come with the recurring costs of killing a Justiciar and waving one of their weapons around." He clipped it back to his belt. "I don't mind that kind of heat from business, mind. But not because I'm trying to save some money."
"Oh, my dear Quinn," Scarlet started, meeting his gaze with one of her own. "the truth? Never go with the truth!" She took up a firing stance now, holding her hands in a mock gun formation. "No, no, you were tracking a daring Justiciar." She pantomimed a run motion, hiding behind the chair in a dramatic fashion. "They had you pinned, every shot you took, reflected back." She made a few firing motions, followed by exaggerated dodging motions. "So you had to outsmart them. You managed to get behind them and..." She flicked her wrist with flair, making the blaster sound with her mouth.
"Besides, it's not like there is much in the way of Justiciar presence, all the way out here," Her voice was soft and her eyes distant, almost downcast. She caught him staring, and her expression softened into a smirk that light up her green eyes. "Now, for telling the truth? I am going to have to rescind that offer of sex. Amateur move there, my friend, amateur move."
"Amateur move?" Quinn protested, miming a hurt expression. "You've been associating with wanna-bes for far, far too long. Honesty is always the best policy, professionally and personally." He tried to hold the hurt expression as he added. "At least, that's what my last girlfriend liked to say. Until I told her about how I wanted a threesome with this hot brunette I'd been seeing on the side..." The hurt expression wavered as a cheeky grin spread across his face. "Turns out she didn't care for honesty." Scarlet joined in with a quick burst of giggles.
He looked around the room. "How about you? Is prostitution just a cover, or a second line of work?"
"What, trying to figure out if you can afford me?" she teased, dropping to the bed.
"Maybe," he shrugged. "How honest should I be, right now?"
She rested her chin on her palm. "It’s a rather good cover. Maybe if I ever retire from this..."
"Not bloody likely," Quinn said, flatly. "People like us, we don't retire. Even if we try..." He patted the blaster on his hip. "This life never lets us go. I'll probably die from a blaster bolt in the back. Or maybe someone like you will kill me if I ever get successful enough."
***
The melancholy note hung in the air, reminding Kaydia about how hard it had been to finally escape the cartel. How she still hadn’t escaped, not really, and how, even if she did, she’d still live in fear of Justiciars hunting her down.
Otherwise, it was easy to be around him. The playful banter, the longing looks, the exchanged smiles. If it were a first date, it would be an unqualified success. Even the awkward silences never seemed to last long.
But it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a casual meeting between people seeking to ease the loneliness afflicting them. It was a meeting of professionals, to discuss the men they intended to kill tomorrow, under the guise of a prostitute and client. Maybe in a different life they could have been something more, something beyond starships passing between the same stars.
"Hungry? I can have some food sent up," Kaydia offered, reaching for an excuse to spend more time with him. "And don't worry, I'll make sure to look appropriately disheveled when I open the door." She placed an order of steak with asparagus for both of them.
"So, how has Miruta been treating you? Like the den of lowlifes and crime it's known to be?" she joked, stretching out over the bed.
"Nah," he chuckled. "It's not as bad as all that. Most of the scum indulge in professional villainy, so there's no violence without reason. Been a vacation, really." He gestured skyward. I've done a lot of work on the central planets, and even on Cephoria." A flicker of a smile. "Miruta –even Sherothi and Narzothi– have nothing on the noble houses or merchant princes for lowlifes or crime."
Cephoria. Damn, how had long had it been? Ten, eleven years? She was a different person then, with a different life ahead of her. She would have never met someone like him when she was there. Not like this, while they joked about fucking and killing.
He peered at her, again tracing her figure, stretched out on the bed. "Seems to have done well by you."
Miruta, he meant. She swallowed down the scoff she wanted to release. Real fucking well for me. Junkie, whore, killer. My mentor would be so proud...
Kaydia managed a weak shrug. "Alright, I guess. Not as much work for an assassin who masquerades as a prostitute elsewhere.” Before she could dwell on the direction her life had taken, a knock at the door indicated that their dinner had arrived. So she tossed on her blonde wig and robe –purposely disheveled, as if they’d been fucking– and accepted their dinner from the waiter.
"I think I have a bottle of wine, unless you want something stronger." She poured a couple glasses and took a seat.
"Nah, wine's fine," Quinn said, sipping his drink. "I don't have the most refined of palates, but this isn't bad." He took another sip. "Left to my own devices, I'm more of a beer man. With an occasional whiskey."
Quinn cut a bite of steak, speared an asparagus and tucked it into his mouth. "Now steak? Very much a steak man. And the chef here has done an excellent job." Conversation died down, replaced with the din of metal on ceramic and pleased sighs. Their eyes still met, from time to time, and she was determined to figure out if his were blue or green. Even if it took all night.
Eating a fine meal, drinking wine, gazing at one another in the dimness of the room. It was funny how easily this meeting between them slipped back towards a date.
"All right, I'm gonna be nosy." Quinn declared. He gestured absently around the room with his fork. "This room's a cipher. As much a professional mask as 'Shadi' or even 'Scarlet'. Makes sense, I guess. But... what do you do for fun? Fucking and killing can't be your whole life."
"You'd be surprised. I don't usually have a handsome man to do my legwork." She winced at the admittance, but didn’t correct herself. Men like him knew the effect they had.
“Handsome?” he prodded, smirking the way she squirmed and blushed
"Seriously though,” she continued, focusing on cutting her steak. “Usually I have to stalk my target, learn their schedule and routine, come up with a plan, scout out the place where I plan to kill them... It's rather time-consuming, in reality. And when I am not doing all that? Well, keeping my skills fresh and current is rather demanding as well." She took a couple large bites, chewing slowly. Giving herself time to come up with less depressing answers than planning revenge or wallowing in her addiction.
"Otherwise, I keep up appearances. I party with high rollers, I shop and blow thousands on shoes and clothes and jewelry. I keep up with the gossip and drama of the f
amous and infamous. It, uh, sounds rather vapid, when you say it aloud like that, doesn't it?" She released a sound that was half laugh and half sigh.
Quinn finished up the last of his steak. "It does sound vapid," he agreed. "But, hell, that's what downtime is for. A couple of drinks, a little gambling, some work translating the Mrynnryoth Yal'Vedar from archaic Yarloti..." Grinning, he made a show of covering his mouth and looking embarrassed. "Oops. There I go again, being honest. Does that mean the offer of dinner is now withdrawn as well?"
With a snicker, she pushed her empty plate aside, and filled her glass with more wine. Looking over at the clock, she drained her glass in a single long swallow. "Your time is about up. Unless you wanted to pay for another hour," she purred, her slender fingers caressing his hand. Drawn to him, to touch him. To invite him back to her bed, and spend a few hours forgetting about the mess she’d made of her life.
"Oh, it's not a question of whether I want to pay," he answered, winking. "But I've glanced at your rates, and I'm frankly surprised anyone believes I can afford them." Regretfully, he pushed himself back from the table and rose. "So, should I muss up my hair? Maybe try to walk a little funny? After all, you've got a reputation to maintain."
***
Ignoring the glances he received as he emerged from the elevator, Quinn crossed the dance floor and headed for the door. Outside, he waited patiently while the valet brought him his speeder, and then tipped the man generously as a way of apologizing for making him drive the beat-up old junker he owned. The valet –handsome, because the Velvet Spire prided itself on having all of its staff available– nodded and smiled, and Quinn slipped into the driver's seat.
It groaned a little, the worn synthleather of the seats creaking and cracking, and he shoved an empty box of takeout noodles into the cluttered well of the passenger's seat. He'd probably need to clean that out before tomorrow night, just in case. No need to risk blowing a job on a cluttered vehicle. The speeder's engine purred to life without hesitation. Like so many of his possessions, he let it present a beaten and battered mask while ensuring that it functioned perfectly.
"So," he murmured aloud as he moved the speeder into traffic. "The infamous Scarlet is psionic? This puts a whole new intriguing spin on matters."
The Hit
The next 24 hours were busy.
Quinn began with a drive-through of the region surrounding the meet, then parked his speeder and walked around. The small but elaborate scanning equipment in the glasses he wore built up a three-dimensional map of the area and walking let him get a feel for the streets and the layout. Then it was back to Voroth's to negotiate the rental of a better class of speeder from Meriyk. He liked his own transport, but it was utterly out of place where he was going tomorrow.
Then it was back to his ship to plan some escape routes. He and Scarlet were both professionals, so he assumed things would go well. But it always paid to plan for the worst –that way, when it happened, you could cope. Satisfied, he crawled into his bunk and got some sleep. Sleep was unexpectedly fitful, filled with dreams of Scarlet. Some erotically charged, but others tinged with memory. He awoke frustrated and horny, and with the strongest sensation that he knew her from somewhere.
He would have to consider that later, though. For now, Quinn Hale needed to disappear. So he pushed himself into the tiny fresher and let the ultrasonics clean the day's dirt and grime away. Then he spent a profitable few hours altering his appearance. A hair rinse, darkening him several shades towards brown. Contacts that turned his eyes grey. Nostril and cheek pads, subtly changing the apparent structure of his face. Inserts in a pair of black dress shoes, changing his walk and posture slightly. To all of that, he added his best suit, cut loose so he could conceal a number of interesting tools and weapons of questionable legality.
Quinn Hale's career had been long and varied. "Merc" barely scratched the surface of his resume.
At the appointed hour he pulled up in front of the Velvet Spire in a sleek black stretch speeder. Stepping from the driver's compartment, he looked every inch the sort of chauffeur/bodyguard that the Digital Sun might employ. He strode towards the doorman. "Quipan Viss," he declared, using one of the names he'd given Scarlet. "I'm supposed to take Shadi to a party for my employers."
All of which was true. From a certain point of view.
***
Kaydia spent a last few moments as herself, before the demands of the job took over. Before she was forced to wear another mask and take another life, before the killer Scarlet could completely subsume whatever remained of her true self. If Kaydia even were her true self anymore. If she ever had been.
She opted for a dramatic look. Bright red lips, dark, intense cat-eye liner, smoky eye shadow and big fake lashes. Just the kind of dolled-up high-end escort who would be hired to entertain a small meeting between potential business partners. The blonde wig was the last piece to complete the masquerade. She paired the provocative dress with a long leather coat, cinched at the waist, exposing just the hint of cleavage.
The remote speakers in her room crackled to life. "A Quipan Viss is here for you."
Anticipation fluttered in her stomach, a giddiness that stood in contrast to the job that lay ahead. She looked forward to seeing Quinn again, and that thought thrilled her far more than any plot for revenge. But she needed to focus on the job, so she donned her wig, and became Shadi once more. Swallowing the communication lozenges he’d given her yesterday, she prepared to meet him.
“Quipan Viss” made eye contact with her outside, and opened the backdoor of his vehicle for her. He wasn't quite the handsome man she shared dinner and banter with the night before. Underneath it all, he still was, but he was different enough that most people wouldn't pick up on it if they didn't know. She might not have picked up on it, if she didn't know. If she didn't have a reason to pay attention.
Who was Quinn Hale, and why did she get the strangest sense of déjà vu around him? Surely she would have remembered meeting him before, as attractive and charming as he was. Pushing the concern from her mind, she relaxed back into the leather, getting herself into character. The detached disposition of a stone-cold killer, overlaid with the playful personality of a working girl.
Layers upon layers upon layers.
The meeting took place at a safehouse, where these kinds of clandestine meetings always took place. Bribing bureaucrats, intimidating law enforcement, colluding with politicians, and, apparently making deals with rival cartels to divert shipments their way. At the right price, of course. That was Shadi's job, to make one side so senseless the other got the better end of the arrangement. People –men in particular– were stupid when it came to sex. Which was why she wore the Shadi mask most often.
Outside the house, two men stood watch, and leered as she approached. Stepping into Shadi's skin, she smiled at the closer man.
"I do believe your boss is expecting me," she purred, meeting his eyes. Trying to at least, but his wandered down her figure and drank in her cleavage. She didn't need to look at the other man to know he was also gawking.
"I imagine he is," the bodyguard said when he finally met her gaze. Lust and jealousy flared in his brown eyes, yet his thoughts circled back around to the fact that she could be bought. Even by a man like him, if this deal went through.
Of course everyone could be bought, if one possessed the right currency.
With a nod, she was let in, and, in the living quarters, she came face to face with Balish Klynt, a thin man with sharp features and dark hair, while Vouru Kiash, thick with fat and muscle, and greasy brown hair, sat with his back to her.
"You hired some entertainment?" Balish asked, eyes takng in the skin exposed by her dress.
"Yeah, to celebrate our deal!" Vouru declared, holding up his half-full glass.
"We haven't come to a deal yet," Balish reminded him, but still continued staring at her.
"Well, we should get back to it, then," Vouru suggested, draining his glass. "Or we could take a b
reak from talking and enjoy the lovely company of..." He turned to face her, and trailed off. For a brief moment, his brow furrowed, before it relaxed, replacing his expression with a broad grin. "What is your name, hun?"
"Shadi." She giggled as the Vouru pulled her into his lap. Despite his actions, anger and fear welled up in him at the sight of her, and the mention of her name. This wasn't good. "Could I get a drink? Maybe a whiskey?" she asked, activating the communication pill, to alert Quinn in case things went south in here.
***
Quinn settled back into the soft leather of the rental speeder as he watched Scarlet walk towards the building. Any other time he'd have been content to simply watch her move, as there was a sensual grace in the sway of her hips and the movement of her legs. But this was business now, and he maintained a professional detachment as she chatted with the door guards and then passed within.
Big and intimidating. The kind of muscle you hired if you wanted to look like you had hired muscle. He figured he could kill them both, if he had to. But, he reflected as he started the speeder up, it would be better if he didn't have to. Quiet, clean jobs were much nicer jobs.
The speeder slid away silently. No need to alert the thugs at the door that he was more than the chauffeur. He parked a half kilometer away, watching the front entrance through the feed from the microdot camera he'd left the previous evening. The resolution was grainy, and the images black and white, but they would serve.
Cracking open a bottle, Quinn poured himself a cup of tea. This was going to be a long night.
After a bit, his earpiece crackled to life. Scarlett's voice came through, along with the voices of the others in the room. All were flat and mildly distorted, a side effect of the compression and decompression, but something about the tones made him set his mug aside and listen more intently.
