Jase shrugged, glancing over his shoulder before tugging back the blanket further to better reveal the mid-length black barrels. “Got a couple different types – mostly non-lethal, except a few poisoned ones. Bit slow-acting, though.”
Ming shook her head. “No, it needs to be quick. If we can’t make a scene out of it, we need to remove our target from the area and dump their body somewhere noticeable when we’re done with it. It has to be a spectacle – no tottering off to die in a hospital bed seven hours after the fact.”
“You always were artistic.” Ming wondered if Jase’s gut felt as twisted as hers in this conversation. Of course, Ming had been doing this work for years, and, yes, sometimes it came down to some cold tasks. Usually it was blackmailers, though – or abusive husbands, rival drug lords, the seedling members of fascist cells, that sort of thing. Ming didn’t really believe that some people deserved to die, but damn if she was going to cry at any of their funerals.
But a pack of pretty young women minding their own business on a bar hop? Seemed innocuous, no matter what Franklin Blain acolytes might say about the bareness of their arms or the harshness of their language. And all for some slimy council member’s personal gain.
Still, Ming was glad she’d never had to work as a waitress or a factory grunt.
“Can we snipe the person we need with one of these stingers?”
“That’s what they’re for. Those little darts don’t fly well, though, so you need a steady aim and a clear shot.” Jase frowned at her. “Who is this person?”
Ming shrugged, wishing she had a real answer. “I just need any magician. You know that’s not my usual crowd, and this little bauble that eats mana is the only clue I have to go on.”
Jase grimaced. “This is some fire you’re playing with, Roxy.”
“Not any worse than some of the drug runners I’ve dealt with before,” she said, but she wasn’t sure if that was true. This was all new territory for her.
“Well,” Jase said, grabbing the stinger rifle and handing it to Ming, “you got me for backup. It ain’t nothing, right?” Ming only nodded at him. She wouldn’t have entrusted any other person to watch her back in this, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jase how much she appreciated his help. He politely accepted her nod as thanks enough. “So, lethal stingers, or what?”
Ming pretended to consider for a moment. “Non-lethal. That way, if I hit a mundane by accident, the aftermath will be cleaner.” If he could tell that her reasoning was bullshit, he didn’t indicate so. He only wordlessly handed her a box of stingers.
“That’ll paralyze them quick. We can drag off the target once it takes effect and you can do… whatever it is you need to do.” For himself, he grabbed a long-barreled handgun. “For safety.”
“I need you to be particularly trigger unhappy tonight,” Ming reminded him all the same, and he rolled his eyes as he shut the trunk door.
“Right, right. Can’t go off too quickly on my lady. I’ve heard that one before.” He nodded in the direction of the Gin Fountain, as though he hadn’t made a joke at all. “Let’s get going before we lose ’em.”
The Gin Fountain was a bit closer to the universities, hopping with life from students and working class locals. The atmosphere was livelier than Walter’s in both company and decorum. Polished floorboards had been stained nearly white, and crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, spreading light that covered every surface of the soft yellow walls. A brass band played in the far corner, and well-dressed young folks crowded the bars and the card tables. Daisy noticed that, unlike the Stripes’ establishment, there was no billiards table.
“Is it all right that we’re visiting competitors?” Daisy nearly had to holler at Angel over the noise.
Angel chuckled and waved her hand. “There’s no competition in the speakeasy business. We watch out for each others’ interests. Otherwise, we’d all go down. Most establishments have their own strength that appeals to certain interests. Walter’s is a more cozy venue, and the Gin Fountain is more ecstatic. Our own Pinstripes is designed for a more intellectual and academic crowd – people like myself and Andre, who go to meet like-minded magicians. Besides, very few speakeasies do more than operate the venue. Stripes is relatively unique in managing both a club and brewery. And where do you suppose places like this get their own?” She gestured toward the bar, where a bartender was making a show of mixing mana with whiskey for a gaggle of college-aged girls dressed much like Daisy.
“It’s other suppliers that are more likely to give us trouble, though with all the legislation in recent years many in-city moonshiners without the right connections got busted down. We’ve got enough friends in the magic community to keep ourselves covered, and that only leaves a few other suppliers within city limits and the rubes out in the country to contend against.”
Although Daisy had been mostly joking, it was reassuring to hear. Once Angel finished her explanation, she steered the group toward a large table to settle into, but Frisk and Amelia were soon gone dancing, and Regina pulled Daisy after them.
The night passed much better than her first outing with her coworkers. Regina wasn’t talkative, but she was polite to Daisy and thoughtful enough to include her when Frisk and Amelia were too excited or too absorbed in each other. The four of them moved from the dance floor to the bar to the card tables. While they drank and played cards – a gentle game of blackjack this time, joined by a trio of handsome young men from one of the local colleges – Frisk started chatting with Daisy, asking many of the same questions that Angel had on their first night out. As Daisy talked about her education and her family and a bit more about her magic, even Amelia began to warm up to her, laughing along with Daisy’s funny stories about growing up or awkward dates she had gone on during college. Angel and Rudolph joined them after a while, and after another hour of blackjack, their group divided again to dance some more.
The second time on the dance floor, she and Regina split from each other to seek out new dance partners. Daisy hadn’t brought her bronze wristband and had not touched any mana – unlike Frisk and Regina, who were as energized as children after several spoonfuls of sugar – but the vibrancy of the club kept her feeling awake even after nearly two hours of shifting from partner to partner. She was serendipitously near Frisk when she felt exhaustion begin to settle into her muscles and spread an ache down her legs and to her feet. “There a place to rest my feet for a bit?”
Frisk turned away from her current dance partner, a slightly older man in a gaudy powder blue suit. “You mean like a footstool? Yeah, I’ll show you.” She gracelessly disengaged from the man she had been dancing with to take Daisy’s arm and pull her off the dance floor to an opening on the back wall. Beyond it was a staircase leading into a dim hallway above. Daisy groaned as Frisk dragged her up the steps, but the sound of the band drowned out her wordless complaints.
Frisk led her to a half-circle balcony that looked out over the dance floor. People already occupied the couple of plush armchairs set out in the balcony, and several more leaned against the rail to peer below. Everyone here was dressed in nicely tailored suits or longer, shimmering dresses – wealthy students attending local colleges on their families’ fortunes, Daisy figured. Or maybe young-looking businesspeople hoping to awe impressionable young night owls. Either way, not her crowd.
Daisy scanned the dance hall from her vantage, spying similar balconies lining the north and west walls. She nodded to one that was less densely occupied. “There, maybe?” Frisk nodded and they moved to the next balcony over, which was occupied by quiet drunks who all looked like they were waiting for sober friends to come pick them up. There was one armchair available, and Daisy settled in its wide seat while Frisk perched on the arm.
“Having fun?”
“And how.” Daisy tried to keep the wheeze out of her voice, but she had been going full-speed on that floor. “I just need to catch my breath.”
“You’re gonna be useless tomorrow. And not even drunk like thes
e sorry bastards.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Daisy said. No one around her was talkative or even glancing in her direction – she didn’t expect anyone to give her trouble. “I can catch up once I’ve been off my feet for a bit.”
“If you say so. Rest easy, Old Lady Dell,” Frisk said, giving Daisy a gentle shove on the arm before standing and heading off. Once she had gone, Daisy closed her eyes and took a moment to enjoy the music dancing up from the band just below the balcony.
The bouncer watching the door of the Gin Fountain gave Ming and Jase crooked looks as they entered, perhaps suspicious of their large coats. Ming had wanted to try to enter through a back way, but Jase had insisted that would draw more attention than wearing unsightly clothing and literally just packing in weapons. “They never actually check for that kind of thing,” he assured her, and apparently they did not. Still, Ming could already feel herself sweating down her back as they stepped into the dance hall.
Jase scanned the scene as they walked a circuit around the edge of the floor, eyeing perhaps a bit too obviously across the crowd. Of course, he had only Ming’s descriptions of the group she had seen. Ming was more careful not to move her head too much as she shifted her gaze from dancer to dancer. She had not yet seen anyone she recognized when she felt Jase tap her on the shoulder.
“Those balconies can give us a better view,” he said, leaving unsaid the fact that they needed a position from which to shoot, as well. She led them to the far side of the cavernous dance hall where a stairwell led up to a hallway connecting the numerous second floor balconies. The nearest ones to the stairs were busiest, so she led them to the very furthest one along the west wall, which was occupied by only one amorous couple passionately kissing in one of the chairs.
Ming interrupted them by delivering a swift kick to the chair’s leg, sliding the entire thing a half-foot forward. “Hey!” the young woman in the couple said, as they both scrambled to their feet.
“Beat it,” Ming said, and the young woman’s beau sneered at her.
“We’re not just going to move out for you. We were here first!”
Ming ignored his whining, looking instead to the woman. “You noticed those pocks on his chin? Your fella’s got something sickly. That stuff spreads skin-to-skin, you know.”
The woman glanced at her partner, jumping a bit as though she had never seen the marks on his face before. The man lifted his hand subconsciously to cover his chin. “Those are acne scars,” he said, too embarrassed to put any conviction in his voice.
The woman glanced back at Ming and then again to her man before saying limply, “I gotta hit the ladies room, actually. I’ll catch up with you.” She didn’t sound like she meant it, and strode off without her partner. He glared at Ming once before following behind.
“Good thinking,” Jase said when they were gone, and he and Ming got to work setting up. Jase closed the curtains of the balcony entry while Ming arranged the chairs and the single end table to block herself from view from below or the other balconies as much as possible.
“Hey, that one of your targets?” Ming looked up from her task to follow Jase’s line of sight to another balcony on the north wall. The dark-skinned girl from that group sat alone in a chair there, seemingly resting. Everyone around her appeared to be blackout drunk or teetering on the verge of such a state.
“Yes.” It was a damn fine shot – none of the surrounding people were in the way or moving about, meaning Ming could take her time with the aim and not worry about hitting some random mana addict – assuming this woman was not one herself, but although she was small, her cheeks and limbs still had a gentle roundness that was an absent characteristic on mana addicts. And if she was neither an addict nor a mage, why else would she be here?
Ming still couldn’t be completely certain who in that group was a magician, but she wasn’t going to get a better shot than this.
She pulled the large stinger gun from under her coat, fishing around in her pockets for the darts. “Cover me. Once I get a hit on her, be ready to go grab her. Everyone else there looks too besotted to care if someone just comes and sweeps a young woman away.”
“People are more inclined to care when it happens to pretty young women,” Jase warned.
“I suppose I wouldn’t know.”
“Ming.” She glanced back at his uncommon use of her actual name. He was frowning again, but it looked strangely sincere for him. “You know I hate it when you get down on yourself like that.” His eyes shifted back toward their target. “Uh-oh.”
Ming looked back, too. One of the woman’s friends had come to join her, the bony pale woman with straight hair who had been with her at Walter’s. She came around the chair to speak with her resting friend, not blocking Ming’s shot but creating a severe obstacle.
“Shit.”
“She’s not in your line of sight,” Jase said.
“The drunks are one thing, but how I am supposed to take out a magician if one of their friends is hovering nearby to notice?” Ming realized as she spoke that it was a question she should have asked herself to start with. She had known they were travelling in a group.
“Still better than if she was in the crowd, right?”
Ming took a deep breath and loaded up a dart. He was right. It was as good as shot as she was going to get. When she readied her gun, a glint of light reflected off the crystal chandeliers hanging above bounced off the dark, polished barrel. None of the dancers or drunks noticed it, but Ming’s target caught the flicker of light.
The young woman stood abruptly, speaking frantically to her friend and pointing directly at Ming. Although Ming was crouched behind a makeshift wall of furniture, her weapon and unusual posture would still be visible. The furniture blockade was undoubtedly suspicious, as well.
“Shit,” Ming said again. She should have known she was too out in the open to pull this off. Just as she lowered the gun and tried to hide it under her coat again, readying herself to flee, there was a thunderous crack from a pistol.
Ming looked up at Jase, catching a whiff of gunpowder off him like it was his cologne. “What did I tell you?” she snapped, not sure if he could even hear her over the shouts that broke out in the balcony and down below.
Jase grimaced and pocketed his gun, bending to grab Ming by the elbow and haul her up. “She was pointing at us, some kind of… You said she was a magician!”
“I said maybe.” Ming didn’t fight as Jase pulled her away from the balcony and back into the hallway. If that woman was a magician, she did not send any magic after them as they proceeded to flee. “We need to hide.”
“We need to run.”
“Then shed your coat.”
“We need to keep the guns hidden.” Jase’s legs were long and powered him (and Ming in tow) quickly down the hall as panic began worming its way through the establishment, as evidenced by increasingly high-pitched murmurs that Ming could hear all around. One brazen young man stepped out from a nearby balcony, hailing them as they ran by.
“What’s going on?” he asked, as though they were any other normal night owls.
Ming’s wits finally caught up with her. “Hooligans. Some kind of fight.”
“Duel got outta hand,” Jase added, even slowing as they neared the questioning man. “Better stay back.” The man nodded along appreciatively, turning to his friends on the balcony.
“Some kind of fight broke out. We’d better relocate.”
One of his even more brazen friends stepped forward, his chest stuck out boastfully. “I can go break them up. Where were–” But another gunshot fired, and rambunctious shouting erupted from the dance floor. Jase resumed his flight at that point, and he hardly needed to pull Ming along.
The lie had been enough to get them back onto the ground floor, where new chaos had overtaken the crowd. The panic from the first shot seemed to have started a number of conflicts on the ground, and Ming saw several dancers now trying to wrestle away a pistol from a young man while onlo
okers either fled, jeered, or began jostling those around them to start new conflicts. That would be enough to cover Ming and Jase as they fled the scene, she assumed, but they were out one magician.
She would have to think of something else, but nothing came to mind as she and Jase slunk toward the nearest exit, unnoticed by the brawlers on the dance floor.
Daisy clung to Frisk, trying to keep her upright.
“What was… Are you hurt?”
Frisk hissed and clutched at her side. “Ah, fuck…” Daisy shook in her efforts to keep Frisk on her feet, and not just from the weight of another human body. Blood smeared all over Frisk’s bone-white fingers. Someone – one of those lurkers in the balcony across the way – had shot her.
“We need… we need to get downstairs. We need to find the others!” Daisy had to shout to be heard over the growing panic that swept up the club. Was there another gunshot? Were there other gunners? Or was everyone getting worked up into a frenzy over a single attacker? But why would anyone shoot Frisk?
Daisy had seen the one shooter crouched behind a wall of furniture, though. She had been aiming at Daisy. That made as little sense, but somehow she was sure of it.
Frisk’s expression twisted in agony. “You… you got a trinket that might–?” She broke off with another hiss, trying to fold in double on herself. Daisy pried her as upright as she could manage before slipping her arm free of Frisk to look at her charm bracelet, wondering if any might have a useful effect. She noticed that one, the dove charm, was gone. Caught in a moment of confusion – it must have been torn loose when Frisk scratched her arm during War – she abandoned the notion of trinkets entirely and grabbed Frisk around the shoulders. “Can you make it downstairs?”
Frisk scowled. “Fuck, Dell.” It wasn’t a no, Daisy supposed.
To the best of their abilities, Daisy and Frisk hobbled to the stairs, pushing past frantic club-goers who were frenzied either in search of a fight or from being jolted out of a drunken stupor. No one stopped long enough to even ask after Frisk’s condition or to assist. Frisk managed the journey to the ground floor with much wincing and few complaints, though.
Moonshine Page 9
