The sun had set on Tharsis City and with it, the home of Monique Hadid. The guests slowly began to trickle in, one by one, each arriving in a car more expensive than the next. However, none of these guests would be driving themselves. They had chauffeurs, ones that were required to stay parked outside the estate for the entire evening, and, more importantly, don a half-decent black suit and tie at all times.
Hiding in the dark catering van, Fearless and Vicious discreetly watched as the drivers dropped off their guests at the estate’s main entrance and then parked their cars along the edge of the driveway’s synchronized fountain. Each driver then exited their cars and stood by them, where they would remain until the evening was over.
“Look at these guys,” Vicious marveled. “They drive these rich assholes around all day and then have to stand by their cars all night while their bosses party. What kind of job is that?”
Fearless chuckled. “That sounds a hell of a lot like what we do, Vicious.”
“At least we’re going somewhere with our lives.”
“Are we, though?”
Vicious considered this. It was a fair point. So far all the Red Dragon had brought them was a lot of long nights disposing of dead bodies and a brush with death at the hands of an assassin of unknown origin. He cracked his neck. “Alright. Let’s make this quick. Find someone your size. Meet on the mezzanine level. Got it?”
Fearless nodded. He quickly exited the van and quietly made his way toward the long line of high-end cars and their chauffeurs standing guard outside them. He moved along the passenger side of the cars, careful to keep a low profile to keep himself hidden and only stopping to size up the chauffeurs. Too tall. Too short. Too muscular. Too thin. Until finally, he found a match. The driver of a classic black Rolls Royce Corniche. He was just a kid. About Fearless’s age. With a slender build and a shock of black hair. If it was any other night, Fearless thought, perhaps they could have met at a bar. Struck up a conversation. They would have a beer. Or probably three. Maybe they would have become friends. But tonight was not that night. He wondered if he’d ever have a night like that ever again.
The young chauffeur lit a cigarette. He took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke into the Martian night. When, suddenly—
Fearless silently wrapped his arm around his neck, hooking the chauffeur with his elbow and applying just enough pressure to put him to sleep. His body went limp. And he began to snore. Fearless plucked the cigarette that dangled from the kid’s mouth. Took a drag. And exhaled a plume of smoke. Then dragged his body into the darkness.
From the home’s mezzanine level, Fearless and Vicious, now appropriately dressed in their respective chauffeur’s suits, peered over a railing that looked down onto the grand atrium where the gala was being held. One hundred and fifty guests, each hand-picked by the Sapphire Gala’s board of directors mingled about in the event’s required black tie formalwear. A stage anchored the room, where a twelve-piece jazz band played an upbeat, brassy piece while drone-waiters zipped through the crowd with trays of perfectly balanced champagne flutes and bites of caviar. They were taking in how the other half lived from their bird’s eye perch, when an elegant young woman in a flowing, shimmering gold ballgown took the stage. This was Monique Hadid, the last surviving family member of an empire that once ruled the known world. The jazz band’s ditty softly came to a stop as the crowd showered her with praise in the form of a standing ovation. She took a moment to acknowledge them with a polite wave, then stepped up to the microphone.
“Friends, family, colleagues, and all the esteemed guests from across the many industries that continue to make Tharsis City thrive, on behalf of my family, I would like to welcome you to our home in celebration of the one hundred and twenty-second annual Sapphire Gala…”
Fearless chuckled. “Fat Mo. The nickname doesn’t make any sense.” He craned his neck, admiring her figure. “But that dress makes a lot of sense, if you know what I mean.”
Vicious scanned the crowd as Mo continued her speech. His eyes ticked to a man in an ill-fitting suit standing in the corner who discreetly toggled an earpiece. But it wasn’t just him. There was another man by the bar. Two more situated on either side of the stage. Vicious counted at least a dozen of them spread throughout the atrium, then turned to Fearless.
“Apparently, the only thing Fat about Mo is her wallet. She’s got an army of security guards watching her every move. I counted at least six heavies, all of them in constant communication. She never leaves their sight. Not for one second.”
But all Fearless could do was smirk. “Well, we’ll just have to go to her then, won’t we?”
* * *
The sea of guests parted as Monique Hadid descended the home’s grand staircase, her security detail flanking her on either side. Her gold ballgown softly swayed as she made her way through the crowd toward the bar situated at the center of the atrium. As she reached the counter, the twenty-something year old bartender stood stiff with nerves, ready to take her order when a familiar voice chimed in.
“She’ll have a scotch. Something over fifty years old. From Earth. But nothing from a port barrel, of course, which she finds far too sweet.” The voice belonged to Fearless, who leaned against the bar. Monique took him in, impressed with his approach. She glanced at her security detail, who peeled away to give her some private time. Monique turned to Fearless. Her lips curling to a smile.
“Impressive. But you forgot one detail.” She turned to the bartender. “One ice cube—” Then back to Fearless, “To take the bite off.”
Fearless raised an eyebrow. “An ice cube? In a fifty year old Earth scotch? A sin.”
“It’s only a sin if you don’t finish it.”
Fearless called out to the bartender. “Make it two.” Then turned back to Monique. He grinned. That grin. It was electric between them. They held each other’s gaze as the bartender returned with their tumblers of scotch. Fearless clutched his tumbler, then raised it to her.
“To you. To tonight.”
They clinked glasses. And took a satisfied sip. Monique took him. Her eyes narrowed, intrigued by the forwardness of this mysterious stranger.
“I didn’t get your name?”
Fearless took another sip of scotch in order to buy himself a few more seconds. His eyes flicked to a bottle of Johnny Walker perched on the shelf behind the bar. Then back to Monique.
“John. John Weston.”
She offered her hand. “Monique Hadid.”
“I’m familiar,” Fearless said, as he softly kissed her hand.
“And what do you do for a living, John Weston?”
Fearless thought quickly. “I’m in the high-end liquor distribution business.”
She smiled. “Ah. That explains how you were able to pull off that party trick.”
“I wouldn’t call it a party trick. It’s more of a skill. I like to think what a person chooses to drink will tell you a lot about who they are.”
“And what is my drink telling you about me?”
“That you’re going to take me upstairs.”
Monique raised an eyebrow at his cocksure attitude. “Is that so?”
Fearless grinned. “That’s right.”
She took a sip of scotch as she contemplated this for a moment, then leaned close to him in order to whisper in his ear, just out of the range of her security detail.
“Five minutes. The east wing. Past the elevators. Third door on the right.”
Fearless motioned to the security detail nearby. “What about them?”
“Don’t worry. They’ll leave us be. For however long it is we’ll need.” Monique winked at Fearless as she finished off the rest of the scotch, then turned to a nearby guest waiting to greet her. Fearless turned and slowly walked away from the bar. From across the room, Vicious approached and met him in stride.
“Well?”
Fearless grinned. “I’m meeting her upstairs in five minutes.”
“Nice work. I’ll hide in the room. We’ll take her down when she's distracted.”
Fearless cleared his throat. “Yeah, listen, so about that. This chick into me. Like really into me. So, I’m going to go in solo. And I’ll let you know when we’re, uh, finished.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“She’s like the third richest person in the solar system. And she’s hot. Besides, you’re the one who dragged me into this mess. The least you can do is let me have a little fun before we die. Potentially.”
Vicious grumbled. “Fine. I’ll wait down here. By the bar. Don’t make me wait too long.”
“Don’t worry,” Fearless grinned as he continued toward the grand staircase that led to the upper mezzanine. “I will.”
* * *
Fearless took off his suit jacket and set it on the antique four post bed. He ran his hand across the bed’s crisp linens, they were cool to the touch. They felt expensive. He slowly sipped his scotch as he paced around the immaculate bedroom, taking in the twenty foot ceilings and the way the plush carpet felt beneath his feet. He wondered what it would be like to wake up in a place like this every morning. If people like her enjoyed it. Or if they just had grown so accustomed to living in such opulence that it all had become normal. Whatever normal meant to them, that is.
“I see you’ve found it, Mr. Weston.” Monique slowly closed the door behind her. She smiled as she slowly strolled toward him. Fearless took her in. The truth was, something about her intimidated him. Maybe it was her lifestyle. Or her confidence. Whatever it was, it felt different. And Fearless liked different.
“I’m surprised your security detail wasn’t waiting here for me,” Fearless replied.
“Like I said, they give me my space when I need it. Besides, they’re more than happy to stay down by the bar and have a few drinks on the clock. Trust me.”
Monique grabbed Fearless by the tie and softly kissed him. Then, to his surprise, she softly bit him on the bottom lip, drawing the faintest amount of blood. Fearless raised an eyebrow. This was not what he expected. She forcefully pushed him onto the bed on his back. They began to furiously kiss as she climbed on top of him, their clothes quickly coming off in pieces and landing on the plush carpet below. Then something caught her eye. Fearless followed her gaze. She was staring at his suit jacket, the one he had left on the bed. The inside of which was now on full display. Along with the initials that were embroidered inside it.
DLO.
Monique slowly turned back to Fearless. “I thought you said your name was John Weston.”
Fearless knew she had him dead to rights. Unfortunately for him, their sexy-time had come to a close. And it was time to carry on with the mission at hand. Kidnapping Fat Mo.
“It was. Downstairs, at least.”
Monique quickly reached for her fire red, five-inch Louboutin stiletto. She cocked it high above her head, ready to strike. Fearless clocked it with a slight shrug. Surely, it would sting. But how much damage could a luxury shoe really inflict? When, to his surprise, he heard—
Ching!
A thin, however menacing three-inch blade emerged from the stiletto’s heel. Shit. Fearless barely had time to react, managing to catch the shoe’s heel as the tip of the blade danced over his jugular vein. He gritted his teeth. She was stronger than he expected. Much stronger.
“Would you just chill out?! I’m not going to kill you!”
Mo pressed the heel harder into his neck. “Then what the fuck are you doing here, huh?”
“I was just going to kidnap you! That’s all.”
Mo’s eyes narrowed. “Who sent you?!”
Fearless struggled to catch his breath. “I wish I could tell you, but it’s kind of a need-to-know basis!”
“I think I fucking need to know. Tell me or I’ll bleed you out all over this hand-woven, imported linen!”
Mo pressed the tip of the blade into his skin. Blood began to slowly trickle out of Fearless’s neck, drop by drop…
Fearless gurgled. She didn’t leave him much choice. “Alright! It was Pouncey! OK? Pouncey!”
Just the mention of the name hit Mo like a sledgehammer. She loosened the stiletto’s grip on Fearless’s neck and rolled off of him. Fearless quickly dove off the bed and onto the floor. He scrambled across the carpet on all floors and then popped up to his feet. A safe distance now between them. “Are you insane?! Who tries to stab someone with a shoe?!”
But Mo didn’t react. She just laid flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes began to well with tears. “Why would Pouncey want to kidnap me?”
Fearless furrowed his brow. “How the hell should I know? It was a job.”
“How much?”
“What do you mean, how much?”
“How much did she offer you to kidnap me?”
Fearless winced. “That’s not important.”
Mo slowly turned her head toward him. The way she glared at him would put the fear of God in any mortal man. “Tell me how much. Or I will scream. Then all six of my security guards will burst through that door. And blow you to pieces.”
Fearless took a deep breath. And relented. “Fifty thousand woo.”
Mo let out a primal, guttural cry. The kind of cry that a toddler emits in the middle of a toy store when they don’t get their way. A cry, by design, that is used to alert every human being and animal with ears in a five-mile radius.
Fearless ran to her side. Not to comfort her—but to cover her mouth and somehow muffle the screech that was pouring from her. He pleaded with her, “Will you shut up?!”
Mo continued to bellow through Fearless’s hand. “Iftee owsound ooo? Ats it?”
Just then the bedroom door swung open. And in that moment, Fearless’s life flashed before his eyes. But the images he saw weren’t of his family. Or friends. Or people in general. It was of food. Mostly.
“What the fuck is going on in here?”
The concerned voice belonged to Vicious. He cocked his head sideways, confused by the sight of Fearless holding his hand over a crying woman’s mouth as she lay on a bed.
Fearless breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God it’s you.”
Vicious motioned to Mo. “What are you doing to that poor girl?”
Fearless crossed his arms in frustration. “Nothing! Clearly. Because the past two times I actually thought I was going to get laid I had my wallet stolen and almost got stabbed. So, frankly, I’m a little hurt and also starting to doubt that anyone is ever going to love me.”
Vicious stared back, wide-eyed. “OK, look, we can talk about your… issues later. Because right now, I need you to explain to me what the hell is going on before Mo’s security gets suspicious and kills all three of us.”
Fearless took a deep breath. “Look. I just tried to explain to Mo here that I wasn’t here to kill her. I was here to kidnap her. Next thing I know, she had this super sharp scary shoe to my neck that was also a knife and demanded to know who sent me, so I said Pouncey, and then she freaked out.”
Mo began to bellow again. Fearless sighed. “Like this.”
Vicious approached them and carefully sat next to Mo on the bed. “Look, Mo. Obviously there’s some history between you and Pouncey. Is that right?”
Mo snotted as she nodded her head.
Vicious continued. “Well, what if I told you, we could bring you to Pouncey—and you two could sort this out on your own?”
Mo chewed on this for a moment as she wiped away her snot. “I’d like that. But, the um, the thing is, my security team won’t let me leave the compound alone.”
“Surely you could sneak out the back?”
Mo shook her head. “This house is covered in cameras. By the time we stepped foot outside, they would shoot you dead on sight. I’m a prisoner here. That’s how my parents wanted it. They want me to be alone. Forever.”
Fearless and Vicious traded a glance. They looked at each other knowingly, as if to say, there is one other option. Vicious turned back to Mo.
“Do you think you’d fit inside a cooler?”
* * *
Just before sunrise, the catering van pulled into the rear parking lot of the pawn shop. Pouncey was waiting for them, arms folded, Bernard at her side. Their faces shared a similar look—they weren’t expecting much from them.
Fearless and Vicious exited the catering van. The bags under their eyes, like their feet that slowly shuffled across the parking lot, were heavy. It had been a long night. Pouncey slowly shook her head.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is. Those aren’t the faces of two men who were successful, wouldn’t you agree, Bernard?”
Bernard slowly shook his head. No. Even the robot was bagging on them. Until, Fearless and Vicious opened either side of the catering van’s rear doors. They reached inside and pulled out the long cooler and set it on the asphalt. It furiously rocked from side-to-side.
Pouncey took in the cooler, concerned. “I told you to kidnap Mo. Not bring me back some kind of wild animal.”
Fearless gritted his teeth. “Well, as it turns out they’re one and the same.”
He kicked open the cooler, and out popped Mo. She feverishly staggered around the parking lot in her gold ballgown, the purple mascara running down her face. She let out an angry, raspy snarl as she directed her rage at Fearless and Vicious.
“What the fuck? You said I’d be in that stinky cooler just until we left the house! Not until we drove all the way to… where are we again?”
Pouncey chimed in. “East Tharsis.”
Mo continued to rage, “All the way to East fucking Tharsis!” But then, it occurred to her who the voice across the parking lot belonged to. “Pouncey?”
Pouncey softly smiled. “Hello, dear.”
Mo ran over to her. They embraced and held each other tight. The two of them stroking each other’s hair and crying in between deep, passionate kisses. Vicious slowly turned to Fearless, absolutely dumbfounded by the sight.
“I was not expecting… this.”
Pouncey turned to them with tears streaming down her face. “Thank you for reuniting us. You see, Mo’s family never approved of our relationship. They said I was too old. Too poor. Not good enough for their Monique. They hid her away in that compound with a team of security guards who were not meant to protect her, but to keep her locked up, and us apart, forever.”
Fearless stared back, dumbfounded by the realization. “Glad we could help.”
Vicious cleared his throat. “Not to sully your star-crossed reunion here, but I believe we had a deal.”
Pouncey smiled. “But of course.”
* * *
Fearless and Vicious watched intently as Bernard took a magnesium oxide torch to the titanium briefcase’s locking mechanism. The torch burned bright blue as his hand moved in a perfectly steady rhythm, unaffected by the heat.
Vicious’s eyes turned to Pouncey, who stood nearby. “You’re sure he’s not going trip that failsafe and destroy what’s inside?”
Pouncey scoffed at the notion. “Of course not. Bernard is the best in the safe-cracking business. After all, I am the one who programmed him. I’ve given him everything I know.”
Fearless grumbled. “Once a shitty robot bartender, always a shitty robot bartender. If you ask me.”
Click. The briefcase unlocked. Bernard slowly backed away. And announced the completion of the task at hand. “Here you are. Next round’s on me, Cowboy.”
Fearless and Vicious traded a glance. Holy shit. The moment of truth had arrived. They slowly approached the case. Vicious took a deep breath. Then slowly opened it. They peered inside. But they said nothing. Neither of them a single word.
Pouncey approached. And glanced inside the case. She slowly turned to Fearless and Vicious.
“I take it that’s not what you were expecting find.”
In a fit of rage, Fearless took the briefcase and threw it against the wall. Its contents scattered across the floor. There were dozens of them. Each identical. Mo slowly bent down and picked up one of the items. She looked at it curiously. It was roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes, with the word BICYCLE written across the top in dark blue ink. Below it, a bright red spade. A hard drive, this was not.
She turned to Fearless and Vicious curiously. They looked as if they had seen a ghost.
“Playing cards?”