novacid
word hustler
“...and they lived happily ever after. The end.”
A woman's hand brushed against a small boy's head, feeling for a fever that was still there; one that would not go away, not until he passed. With a smile, he gently took her hand, holding it to his heart, “Thank you Miss Liane,” and the woman choked back the wave of empathy that rushed over her. With a calming breath, she squeezed his frail fingers.
The swift opening of a door brought her attention to the two men walking through it. They looked satisfied, “Boss, we caught the son of a-”
She cut them off with a cold stare and waved them out quickly.
“Listen little Patrick, I have to go, and I won't be back until next week. I'll see you then?” her words were heavy with accent, though it was clear she was covering her true voice.
His grin was bright, “Of course.”
Liane stood, grabbing her hat and jacket, knowing that the boy would likely not be here. After planting a kiss on his forehead, she made her way out, walking through rows of beds, full of children as sick as Patrick. She nodded them, and many gave her a wave, but few barely managed a smile. When she pushed through the door, the pair was waiting for her. She threw on her jacket and hat in one swift motion and followed them outside, then several blocks away down a nondescript alley.
Two figures loomed in the semi-darkness.
The woman closed the distance between them and quickly grasped the man's chin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Who did you tell?” she whispered in a voice that was more threatening than any shout.
“N-n-no one, I swear! I followed you here, by myself, four days ago. No one else knows. No one. I swear.”
Her eyebrows raised into her hairline, and she smiled, sickeningly sweet, “Oh good... I was scared I'd have to kill your wife and orphan your three little girls. That is if they survive the trauma of watching their mother die in front of them.”
The man's face paled, “Lee, I-”
Her fist pummeled into his mouth, splitting his lip. Her other fist followed, knocking out a tooth. She railed on him until the grown man was in tears.
“You disappoint me. I'll ask one more time. Who did you tell?”
“Joe! Okay! I told Joe!”
Another horrifying smile spread over her perfect lips as her fingers crawled to a gun at her side. She threw her goonies a look, one laden with specific intent. They took off, no doubt to find this Joe. The man on his knees stuttered, stumbled, spat out blood, tried to stand and run, but was knocked down, “I can't let you live, Charlie, you understand. This is my legacy, my only joy in life, and you're about to ruin it. Your family will want for nothing, you have my word.”
Before another plea fell from Charlie's lips, the gun went off. Its shot was eerily quiet. Liane, or rather, Lee, took a breath, removed the silencer and slid it into the inner pocket of her jacket then holstered her gun. For a moment, she considered properly disposing of the body, but the chances of her getting caught increased at an alarming rate the longer she lingered around this corpse. Without another thought, she turned on her heel, heading back towards the hospital.
Inside, she took a straight route to the administrator's office, where she closed the door and locked it, “Dr. Yves, you'll need to triple security. Right now,” Lee went to wall where a large, intricate painting was displayed. She pulled it forward, betraying its hinges and the small, locked safe behind, “It's likely a fluke-” once it was opened, she removed two stacks of banded cash before closing it again, “-but we can't take any chances, not with every bed full. Do you know how long our enemies have been searching for this place?”
The older gentleman behind the desk kept his hands folded and his head nodded politely as she spoke. It felt like dejavu, but what could one expect when a crime lord builds a children's hospital? She built it with her own blood, sweat and tears, and she would defend it just the same. He took the money she set on the table and thumbed through it. More than enough.
The rest of the day was spent doing damage control, and by the end of it, Lee was near defeated. The one man Charlie let spill about the hospital was dead before her minions got there. Overdosed, or made to look like it. Which could mean a variety of things. Her footsteps rang out in the night as she walked, eyes ahead, but mind gone. Did Joe tell someone...did they kill him for it? Did he tell someone, and overcome with guilt and fear, kill himself? Or did he simply overdose, without speaking a word of it?
Expressionless, Lee walked through two glamorous club doors being held open for her.
She was greeted with loud, boisterous welcomes, grins, smiles. Surrounded by approval, she let herself revel in the glory of being boss. Letting a smirk cross her blank face, she slid out of her jacket, handing it and her hat to the doorman then raised her arms, pulling a loud cheer from the crowd. Once she'd exchanged a few pleasantries, she remembered the reality of the day and withdrew down a small, nearly hidden hallway. Six steps down, she turned to her left and pushed on what seemed like nothing.
The wall slid aside, revealing a long staircase, lined with small lights. Down the steps she went, her low heels clicking against the polished wood until she reached the bottom and knocked. An opening slid open, showing two pairs of eyes. It closed again, and the door opened.
Inside, the smell of luxury and gluttony flooded her senses. The red velvet walls were lined with intricate gilded patterns and two opulent gold chandeliers practically dripped from the ceilings. The bar was a beautiful, dark mahogany, and every stool had a patron. Almost every table was full, except for one plush booth in the corner, where Lee took her spot. A man joined her almost immediately with several shot glasses.
“What's the word, Stan?” Lee asked, after taking one – two shots. The false accent finally dropped, revealing an extremely distinct Irish brogue.
“No one's said anything. Can't go poking around and give ourselves away. Hospital's fortified, then?”
“Very,” she sighed, picking up one more glass then setting it down, “We're down two pawns.”
“Auditions?” the man said, with a sick edge of excitement.
She nodded, “We'll make them quick. Start them out with three days in the warehouse, no food, no water. Last day – no lights. Most will leave the second day, but we should get five, maybe six, then bring them to my villa. I'll handle the rest.”
Knowing she'd be busy with the new recruits, if all went well, Lee used the next three days to handle any loose ends and delegate tasks. Once home, she prepared. The villa was simple, but elegant. The fountain in the front was small, but necessary for her status, as was the staircase in the foyer. The three story house held many mysterious rooms, considering the woman lived by herself, save for her staff who stayed in the maid's quarters. The yard was mostly fruit trees, no flowers but some shrubs.
In the kitchen, Lee watched over the cooks making dinner. Stan had informed her that five recruits had made it through the warehouse, and she'd had him send them straight here. Disheveled, at the end of their rope, starving, dirty – this is when they were at their most raw. This is where you saw what people were made of.
This would be the most lavish dinner many of them have ever had, and the most brutal. Three would be dead by the end, but such was the cost of finding a trustworthy crew. With one hand wrapped against the railing, she stood waiting at the top of the staircase, the perfect image of luxury and crime.