Chapter Text
Smoke and Mirrors
by Suzy Reitan
medic@prtel.com
The air was rank with the odor of deep fried onion rings and stale beer. Tendrils of greasy smoke drifted lazily about the room, stirred into frenzied spirals by the couples shuffling around the dance floor as a Garth Brooks tune blared from a jukebox in the corner.
Across the room, a waitress bumped against a table in an attempt to dodge some woodtick's groping paw, dropping her tray of empty beer bottles with a loud tinkling crash. The production was amusing enough to temporarily distract Darien Fawkes from the boredom he was feeling, but not for long.
"My ass is numb," he complained, shifting uncomfortably on the tattered vinyl seat. Not only numb, he realized, but also adhered to the bench by some previously unnoticed substance the waitress had missed in her cleaning duties.
"She said she'd be here. Just chill out, buddy. Eat something," Hobbes replied, his eyes scanning the room as he downed yet another handful of peanuts.
"Thanks, I'll pass."
Theatrically, Darien looked at his watch and sighed audibly, trying not to think of what he might be sitting in. "We've been here almost three hours, Hobbes. Three hours."
"She said she'd be here," the agent repeated, though it was obvious from the tone of his voice he wasn't so sure himself anymore. "You just need to learn some patience, my friend."
"Ten bucks says she blew you off."
"Us," Hobbes corrected. "Blew us off, and no, she didn't."
Darien folded his arms across his chest. "How can you be so cock-sure?"
Hobbes said nothing, just continued eating peanuts and watching the door.
Darien stared at his partner for a moment, then abruptly slid out from the booth. "Right. You wait. I'm out of here."
"You know what your problem is, Fawkes?"
"I can't wait to hear."
"You don't have to, I'm telling you right now. Your problem is you're too damn..." his partner began in protest, his thought trailing off into the haze as his attention shifted to something at the front of the bar.
"I'm too damn what?"
No response. Just that irritating 'shut up, I'm thinking' stare.
"Oh, I'm supposed to guess? Is that it?"
"Uh, you know, Fawkes, maybe now would be a good time to leave."
"What?" He turned to look in the direction Hobbes was staring, noticing two men who seemed severely out of place. Dressed in similar tan suits, they were slowly working their way through the revelers. Apparently, he and Hobbes weren't the only ones who knew about the little exchange about to go down. "Well, this just keeps getting better and better. Now what?"
"We leave. Now we know why she didn't show, someone tipped these guys off. Come on, let's take the back way before they notice us."
Darien followed in silence until they exited the building, but in the flickering, fluorescent light of the alley behind the bar, he decided it was time for some answers. If he was expected to put his ass on the line, he'd better damn well have a reason why. A good one.
"What's the deal here, Hobbes? What did you conveniently forget to tell me?"
"Well, I didn't want to say it in there, on account it might embarrass you but...well, you got a little food right..."
"Hobbes!" His patience was wearing thin. "The chimps in the suits?"
"Oh, them."
"Yeah, them. What the hell did you get us into?"
"Hey, can we talk about this later, Fawkes?" Without waiting for a response, Hobbes hop-skipped down the stairs. "Hang tight, I'll get the van."
"Well, sure...wouldn't want to inconvenience you or anything," Darien answered sarcastically, watching his partner merge with the shadows of the alley.
Suddenly, the door behind them exploded open and the two Armani men burst into the stairwell. One of them, his dark hair slicked back with what seemed an inconceivable amount of hair gel, lurched forward and seized Darien's arm, spinning him around and slamming him face-first against the wall. "Where's the disk, pretty boy?" he asked, his breath a nauseating mixture of stale cigarettes and Tic-Tacs.
"I don't know what the fuck you're-" His response was effectively neutralized as Slick Hair pushed his head harder against the bricks that formed the stairwell.
"Perhaps we didn't make ourselves clear enough," said the second man, his British accent as clipped as his appearance. More slight in stature than his partner, he was obviously the leader of the two. Moving into the stairwell, he let the door fall closed behind him and stepped down into Darien's view. "I'll repeat the question for you, where is the disk?"
"And I'll repeat my answer. I don't know anything about a damned disk." Wham! Against the bricks again.
"You're oh for two, my friend," chirped the Brit with a perverse smile. "Oh, I'll bet that stings, hmm?"
"Yeah," Darien grunted. "It'll leave a mark."
"Has it refreshed your memory?"
"Two against one. Pretty fair odds," interrupted a woman's voice. "Let him go, Greasemonkey."
Darien twisted enough to see over his shoulder, somewhat surprised to see a lanky blonde, clad in grey capris, canvas tennis shoes and a white tank top, calmly perched on the railing.
"And why should he do that?" asked the Brit.
"Because he doesn't have what you want."
The Brit smiled at her, a venomous, serpent-like smile, his hands clasped behind his back. "And so, would I be correct in assuming that you do?"
"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" she answered.
Slick seemed only too happy to oblige and released Darien in favor of the blonde.
Swinging her slender legs over the rail, she dropped lightly to her feet. "All right, Bad Boy," she drawled. "Impress me."
A flash of movement and Slick was laid out on the stairs, his chin bearded with blood before he'd even had time to react. With a childlike sob, he crawled to his knees, spitting blood down the front of his suit. Remarkably, his hairstyle remained intact. "My nose! Christ, the bitch broke my fucking nose," he slurred, his words thick and wet.
"Quite impressive," the Brit replied, a note of admiration in his voice. "Beautiful and quick. But enough of this happy horseshit, I tire of it." Reaching behind his back, he withdrew a small silver pistol, leveling it at the blonde. "I'm through pissing around. I want that disk...now."
End, Chapter One