Butcheree Cliffs
Brazilian Cherry – the flooring was a favorite of her mother's. It was all over the mansion before her death. In spite of how young she was, Rayn could still recall the thick accent softly reprimanding her in the kitchen. The floor was so red, it was like treading through blood. Whenever little Rayn spilt her breakfast juice on her mother's prized floor, there was a brief instance of relief, short-lived until her mother wiped it clean.
After her mother's death, she watched her father, a hundred pounds lighter; rip it up in a blind and heartbroken fury. The pieces snapped and cracked loudly, echoing through the hollow halls of her 600-acre home for days. The small girl with unbraided hair held a knitted Croca-Dog to her heart, standing at the doorway amidst the aftermath of what looked like the splinters of blood spatter.
Waxed Amazonian Rosewood hinged just right under a pair of running sneakers. It was eighth period in the west wing gym when the team would play.
Whenever she was able to dodge her studies after classes, the Krew Heiress would manage to watch a few games from the sidelines. The other girls rose shamelessly, allowing their pleated skirts to parachute as they cawed like a flock of crows. Rayn could only tolerate an hour before the squawking of the girls and the squeaking floors reminiscent of gurney wheels got to her.
When mother could no longer scold Rayn for pinning her eyes to her feet, her father took her place in tapping her chin, "Cor blimey, lift your chin girl. You're a daughter of Krew, ey."
Perhaps, it was the reason Rayn took note of not only the flooring beneath her toes, but her environment in general, absorbed it all like a sponge, even at twenty years of age. Old habits die hard, after all.
And now as she wobbled along broken concrete that threatened to topple her heels, she was back in the gym again. Almost three years ago, as a ripe high school girl returning from the refreshment of summer, Haven shopping sprees and shoot out range included. Just as she was debating between watching the game or putting up those curtains in her dorm, she turned to find her shoulders caught by one of her classmates.
"Rayn! Rayn!"
"What?" She snapped, startled by the rough gesture that had almost knocked her from her feet. Had she not been amidst a lover's quarrel, as some would call it, the Heiress would have been in a much more social mood.
"Quick! Behind the old building! It's James!"
Asphalt - a range of color and texture that can be found almost everywhere and therefore difficult to avoid. Rayn had her personal qualms with it, and daily, she confronted that anxiety in ways others were unaware of.
Concrete was cold, hard, and merciless, a discovery she had made all too well when she was a child in Haven and again during her last year of high school.
Rayn pushed through a roaring crowd, abandoning her schoolbooks that were swallowed by the mass and feeling her loose braid yank as she struggled to push forward. The spectators were wild, thrusting their fists into the air and shouting obscenities. When she managed to stumble into the front lines and take a gander at what the big fuss was about, the young woman felt a new anger rise in her.
"James McSweeney! Stop it! This instant!"
Bones cracking and tendons ripping against the concrete was an unmistakable crunch that she found she would never forget. It happened so fast, and the last she remembered, she had reached out with a muted scream. The skull had already blemished the floor, sending all witnesses on their heels from what was now a murder scene.
"James!"
"Are you all right, Miss Krew?"
And she was back again.
When she felt the careful fingers of her bodyguard shadow over her shoulder like the appendages of a tarantula, the woman sucked in a shiver. Swallowing the gravel in her throat, she straightened; Her mind returned from its reverie.
"I'm fine. Thank you. We mustn't doss about."
Her guard tried to protest, but the Heiress walked on. Determined. Unrelenting. Her game face on.
Krew passed through all the proper procedures. In a place like this outside of Kras, there was nothing a low collar and a lot of money couldn't induce to a staff of brute gorillas.
Butcheree Cliffs.
It was a few hours off from the ever-so-lively Kras City. The prison was famed for being one of the worst. After all, only a prison matching in likeliness could contain the men that were locked up here. In a judicial system full of political ringleaders who whipped their beasts through hoops of fire, if an animal was neutered into this penitentiary, he was out of commission.
While Kras wasn't entirely unlawful, popular for it's ritzy shopping areas, media demanding sports arenas, high-end dining, and major international trade, men who were swallowed into the bowels of Butcheree were prisoners of war. And by war, she meant, prisoners of organized crime.
Butcheree Cliffs was a 400-acre facility, soaring atop a plateau in the center of sharp jagged rocks that were then fortified by ocean. There was only one road - one way in or out. Heavily guarded and surrounded by such merciless topography, escape was unfathomable.
Such a place was horrifying for the poor souls who faced their final judgment here. For one soul, however, Rayn surmised that he must have felt right at home.
Razer…
"Where is it, Razer? I demand that you tell me."
The man was confident and Rayn couldn't blame him. She'd practically done him a favor.
While rumor of her rule had spread like wildfire and Mizo's henchmen had either turned in their applications or ran for the hills, this was the one man who was haughty enough to return home after his loss during the Blue Eco Cup. The only reason why he wasn't swimming with the fishes beneath Bloody Hook's bridge was because as soon as he dropped out of touch from failing his mission to exterminate Jak, Mizo had become so irate with defeating the Eco-channeler, that he'd left his business with his lieutenant for a later date. Unfortunately for Mizo, that later date would never come, allowing Razer to escape his punishment and giving Rayn a new thorn in her side.
In spite of his humiliation due to Jak's win, with the threat of elimination gone with Mizo's passing, the retired racer was keen on catching up with his reading while brewing a large mug of Ristretto. And just as he was doing so, Rayn Krew rapped on the door to his loft with an ultimatum he knew was coming.
Rather than submitting, the former champion dog-eared the page he was on. He stood unmoved from his expensive leather seat, because guest or not, Razer did not feel inclined to greet her as she let herself in.
"My, my, miss Krew. It is rather late for a little heart to heart, don't you think?"
"Razer. Please don't make this anymore difficult than it already is."
"You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has explained his trick…"
"Quoting literature in an attempt to stall now, are we?"
The older man certainly liked to play the coy one. Wondrous actor he was at times. If she hadn't known the claws behind that shiny coat of fur, Rayn would have been tempted to tousle his ego with adoration. But the Krew princess had already lost patience.
Two weeks had swept past, the media still buzzing over the mysterious death of renowned reporter G.T. Blitz and his connection to the notorious underground alias Mizo. Rayn was present hours before the reading of his Will, ready to catapult out of her chair with a whopping cheer the moment she heard the magic words.
Minutes were wasted as she listened painfully to every specific belonging - from his grandest vehicle down to his silver tweezers - they were all listed with their inheritors. It wasn't until the very end, that Gervasio Tammaro Blitz had left his most prized possession for last. The ownership of Kras' Combat Racing Franchise that had been in his family for generations, beginning from the 70's back when Rapine X-7's were all the rave out in the East. Not having an heir, or at least one conceived in wedlock, Blitz signed off his very pride to the one man that had been nothing, but loyal to him for almost two decades.
"Hand it over to me, Razer."
"Oh? What's wrong, Krew? Daddy never taught you how to share?"
Nailing her palms, and becoming visibly red, the Crime Lord gathered her wits. The hall of Famer was taking the piss out of her and her fingers, itching to wring his neck. Before the official reading by Mizo's executor, Rayn assumed that the Franchise would be left to someone whom she could easily convince, like the bank. Unfortunately for her, the Franchise was not left idle, and instead, handed to his second command, which was as good as stuffing it into a vault and shooting it into the sun.
Even so, Rayn was an optimist. She prayed that Razer would have the intelligence to just move on after Mizo's era was over. After all, there would be nothing here for the man and such a burdensome industry would do nothing, but wear the retiree out. Right?
Wrong.
Here he was. Two weeks later, the retired racer successfully indulged in his reward without sign of resignation. Carelessly, Razer slouched in his chair as if moments before she arrived, his biggest dilemma was whether to turn in for the night early or shower first.
The woman inhaled and exhaled. Very deeply. With evident dismay.
"The ownership deeds to the racing Franchise, Razer."
"What about them, mein schätzchen?"
Ignoring his blatant attempt to tease her, Rayn stepped forward, blocking any escape he had - not that her body was so wide or her stance so rigid that the man could not have easily removed her just by poking the right roll of flesh - but that was beside the point.
She needed to be intimidating. Threatening.
Although from the looks of it, the angrier she got, the more Razer appeared as if he wanted to pet her. That was okay for now though. The man could underestimate her all he wanted, but fact of the matter was, even if she didn't frighten him yet, she had other means of striking that fear into him. Those other means were dawdling outside and awaiting command so that they could claim their bounty.
"Heavens to Mar, if you don't sign it over to me or sod off, I will make you regret it."
There was a moment of silence. The two suited heavies behind her warily fingered their beam reflexors. The team of Kras Feds beside the doorway glared bloody murder through the egotistical racer whose name had been marked on their most wanted lists for years. Confident that such a large group of men were on the prowl and prepared to pounce at the snap of her fingers, the woman matched eyes with the man seated below her.
When he slowly stood up, Rayn retreated. Stance straight, his eyes now above hers, the Crime Lord was sure she had knocked some sense into him when once again, she couldn't have been more wrong.
His voice broiled her forehead when he whispered.
"A Kras City Racing Champion lives a life of no regrets."
"Miss Rayn Krew. I'm to be expected."
"Ah, yes, Miss Krew. Officer Ruiz is waiting inside."
Arriving at the gate lodge, Rayn was relieved that she didn't have to talk much.
Money. Assets. Access.
Ruiz was the one of the officers in charge of solitary confinement. The man would lead her there just as he had been doing the past 14 days since Razer had been impounded. He was a heavy man, whose shoulders rivaled one of her father's best men, Sig. Tattoos blackened the rock-strewn features of his face. Beside her, she collected two of her finest muscles to accompany her into the depths.
The penitentiary was worlds away from the one in Haven, although the overall aura of it did not change. Haven's cells were solely beneath what had been the Baron's Palace at the time she'd been there last. And while the wretched intestines had winded into acid beneath Haven, in comparison, Butcheree clawed and vanished into the clouds. There were mainly four sections for residents: Psychiatric, Political, Military, and those whose existence would forever remain unlabeled. Abandoned. Sent to the incinerator, at the mercy of anyone who was ready to bump them off on whim.
Razer was at this mercy…
Those who awaited disposal resided in what the inmates and staff liked to refer to as L'abîme – The Abyss. It was the only section that went down rather than up. So, much to Rayn's dismay, she was heading into the basement of the prison.
"Are you all right, Miss Krew?"
She hadn't noticed her pause in the middle of the steps.
"Quite all right. Carry on."
Before she could savor the taste of a familiar and unwanted memory, Rayn kept her eyes on the floor whenever she felt the reminiscence, bad habit again.
Concrete.
Resisting the draft licking her calves and the ice creeping under her heels, she followed silently.
Once they'd sunk two levels deep, the halls howled. Metal rung against the vertical bars while indecent and profane humor cheered against her back. The air smelled as if she was face first into a bog.
Remaining expressionless, the Crime Lord discarded her emotions to the cuffs she twisted between her manicured nails.
"One more level, Miss Krew. I know you requested that we confine him as close to the surface as possible, but it was the only spot we had in the hole considering how popular the guy is."
Rayn made an expression that was somewhat of a pout and a cringe at the same time.
"Popular. That he is. Too bad it doesn't serve him well under such circumstances."
As they arrived upon level 3-D, third level descending, Ruiz came to a full stop, abruptly catching Rayn off guard and having her face kiss his shoulder.
"Is there something wrong, Officer Ruiz?"
Ruiz cleared his throat.
"Don't you hear it?"
The woman sighed, straining her ears and squinting down the dimness of the hall that blackened towards its end, the darkness gaping its maw like the jaws of a black hole.
"Nothing. I don't hear anything."
The howling had stopped. The bars were silent, but the floor still seemed to tremble beneath her soles.
"Exactly, Miss Krew. That's the problem."
It was approximately three o'clock according to Razer's internal clock. By this time, he waited in anticipation for his most amusing companion. Bundle of fun that one was.
After all, making a mockery of those inferior to him was one of Razer's favorite pastimes.
Sure, it was nothing nearly as exciting as the wind boxing his ears out on the tracks and the notes of symphony comforting them on a quiet night after the finish line was crossed, but as of late, he seemed to be short on wheels and stereos. And so, this guest was the new highlight of his day. That and when Officer Gianni Accardo, associate from the Accardo Syndicate, came by around eight to slip a fresh box of smokes through the bars.
They were no Haus Bergmann's, but they would do for now.
Razer estimated about another week tops before Krew either bailed him out or left him to rot. If the latter was the result, the racer already had some luggage shoved into a locker at the terminal, ready for pickup after he was done re-paying his sweet, little princess for the vacation she so graciously sent him on. The new Crime Lord was in for a surprise if she thought that she could lock him up and throw away the key.
As if punctuating this very thought, Officer Weasley strolled by, giving the thick steel door a rap.
Razer didn't need to speak. The man already knew he was listening.
"Sir, princess at six o' clock. About twenty cells down."
A thin and unadorned blade was slipped into the small window that only slid open from the outside. The weapon looked as if it had been fashioned from the pieces of steel scraped off the very bars that caged the prisoners. Despite the lack of appropriate material, the skill of a blacksmith was evident in the piece.
"Bane from two cells up sent you this as a parting gift."
Bane was a former acquaintance of his and was known for being a valued member of their pit crew for years. He was famous for sharpening the edges of their vehicles so crisp, a strand of hair floating over their bumpers would instantly split in half upon contact.
Two years after his own retirement from the tracks, Mizo conducted a downsizing of staff. Several cuts and placements were shifted around amongst gang lords and their minions, and Bane, by then, was deaf in one ear due to a Red Eco explosion by the pit lane. The man was forced out of commission at the age of sixty while he still had the arms of a thirty-year-old lumberjack. Unable to live a life without crime-related work, and eager to make profit, the former henchman was suckered into completing a job where his crooked, and rich, client sung like a bird, thus saving himself.
The former Mizo employee was trialed and sentenced to death for a murder he was hired to complete. His client was a big earner for the family and therefore free from the blame due to his connection. Bane's only motive for completing the contract was that he could live no other way, and that way of life would now send him to his demise.
"Send him my regards," Razer slipped his last cigarette back through the window.
The racer could almost hear the astonishment on the other side of the door. Razer did not share his smokes with anyone - especially his last.
"I'm sure he will be very honored, Sir. A splendid treat to indulge in during his last hours."
"Carry on."
The slot closed and Razer waited. Sliding an appreciative thumb over the blade, he whispered, Ruhe in frieden, mein freund, before slipping the weapon into the band of his slacks. Just as he expected from Bane, the knife was smooth and harmless against his back until he was ready to whip its edge against someone's neck.
Tapping his stubble shaded chin, he waited for his esteemed guest. About another two minutes had passed before the clicking of heels became clear.
Razer put on his best grin just for her.
They liked to call this floor, The Abattoir.
It was one below Razer's solitary confinement and was primarily used for interrogation away from the eyes of the law that forbade its techniques. The cells below the prison were damp, without windows and without heat. Entering the interrogation room, Rayn noticed that this area was practically a sewer, tiled floors and walls darkened with rust. A metal desk parked in the middle of the room, between two chairs, and a table lamp. It appeared normal enough until Rayn looked to the left and right sides of the room where white sheets concealed the farthest corners. Arching a brow, she shared a wary look with Ruiz before contemplating to herself.
Interrogation tools…
The Crime Lord had little doubt that what was hidden beneath those sheets were an array of objects competing with that of a twisted surgeon's tool box. The woman inwardly hoped she wouldn't have to resort to such methods. Boss of Kras or not, it was not something she was used to.
The two officers walked Razer inside and to her astonishment; he gave little, if no, resistance at all. In fact, his beaming grin hinted that he might've been kicked off his trolley.
Speaking her mind, she asked, "Have you finally gone barking or is this sort of thing a fetish of yours?"
Razer huffed, resting his back against the table.
"Just another day, Krew. Just another day…"
"Untie him," she ordered firmly and the two officers obeyed. The prisoner's expression hardened.
"All right, Razer. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You've been trying my patience for days and I think I've had my fill. Where are the deeds?"
No answer.
Silence thickened the air enough that too strong of an inhale would gag any of the persons standing in the room. The Krew Heiress broke the spell when she clicked a few paces until she was standing face-to-face with the Convict in question. Viridian eyes previously focused on his shackle-less wrists, Razer looked up, his wild and untamed hair wafting over his forehead. Standing almost nose-to-nose with the retired champion, the officers and guards alike exchanged looks of either admiration or fear for the woman so bluntly confronting the black jaguar who's triceps tightened as if ready to pounce.
"Razer."
"Krew."
"One last chance."
"I don't accept charity."
"So, it's the hard way, then?"
He whispered so softly, only her ears could pick up his response.
"I dare you…"
She resisted the urge to slam her heel into the concrete as hard as she could muster, (It would be a waste - these were new shoes). Rayn circled away to the mysterious sheets on the other end of the room.
"Get him on the wall," she commanded. Throwing off the sheets, the shelves of metal and steel dully reflected the dim light above them.
Expecting to hear a struggle and averting her eyes from the act, she was a tad worried when nothing of the sort was heard behind her. Feeling her chest grow heavy, she turned.
None of the men had moved. Instead, Razer's haughty expression returned.
"You underestimate me, Krew. Here. Allow me to personally lend you aid."
The men drew back, watching with wide eyes as the inmate removed his shirt and carelessly cast it aside. With nonchalance, Razer turned, offering his own back for her ways. Speaking volumes with this action alone, Krew was infuriated by the insult.
Fingering the cat o' nine tails that she had pulled from the rack, she hissed, "Everyone, get out. Now."
Ruiz moved to object, "M-Miss Krew, are you sure that's a wise-"
Once her threatening gaze had scalded him, the officer dipped his head in defeat, and all three of the men, aside from Razer, exited the room. There was a deafening whine as the door shut and bolted behind them. The racer stood motionless in front of her, his back still in position. Even with the terrible lighting, the scars and wounds across his skin were still visible, the aftermath from his experience out on the circuit and in the Underground.
Her fingers clamped the Cat, eyes unable to withdraw from the tell tale lacerations and lines that blanketed his back so loudly, that not even his tattoos could silence them.
Rayn had to admit, it took a lot of courage to stand so close to him with such a sight confronting her.
"All right. You win, Razer. What do you want?"
Her enemy spun to meet her eyes, his smile gone and his gaze unwavering.
Before she could open her lips to speak, the room went black.
Right before she lost sight, she could have sworn that she heard the voice of her father, shouting her name from his grave…
"All right. You win, Razer. What do you want?"
Razer was not surprised by her surrender. He expected it. Since the very day she had put him in this Mar forsaken place, this was the moment the man was waiting for.
The moment that the Great Razer made Rayn Krew submit…
Facing her, the man searched for the right opportunity in which he could turn the tables. As if some divine power had replied, the lights above them failed. Her short gasp signaled her confusion. The lights had caught her off guard.
He did not fight the darkness. Instead, he closed his eyes. The flares beneath his eyelids would fade and, in the meantime, there was something he needed to achieve.
"You- bloody-"
At the hitch of her breath, Razer twisted the woman's wrists. The joints were fragile inside his large hands, easily behaved by his grip, his thumbs against her throbbing pulse. With all the fight he'd expect from the daughter of Mizo's rival, Rayn did not scream and squeal like a damsel in distress, and instead, wrestled fiercely against his hold, using her legs to kick at his shins. Despite that her hits were connecting, it wasn't enough to free her.
"Quite the fighter, you are, Princess-"
Razer complimented genuinely with some strain, until he had successfully pinned her against the edge of the table, each of her knees blocked by his own. He lifted her with a grunt, approving of the clatter on the floor from her lost heels.
"Razer- I swear-"
The racer laughed as she cursed, hovering over her weight until she calmed. He patiently waited for the fish out of the water to still. Rayn finished her threat.
"-I'm going to kill you."
The lights flickered back on, returning in small intervals of black where in between the Convict could make out the fear in her eyes. Proud woman, she pretended to be, but when blinded, angry tears bubbled her vision - ones that refused to fall. The second time he caught her expression, he realized he was not the source of her tears.
His intention not to break the woman, but to humble her a bit, Razer loosened his grip on one wrist to her back, supporting the head of hers that hung so awkwardly in the air. At first she hiccupped with his touch, and understanding that there was no immediate threat, relaxed into it.
"Good girl," Razer spread over her exposed throat, sensing the cringe she was making above his line of vision. She smelled like the spice of pumpkin cream, and it was rather difficult to hide his hunger due to the lack of enjoyable meals as of late.
With no other choice, but to use her free hand to either clutch onto him or the table for balance, Rayn chose the table. She refused- refused- to touch him anymore than she had to. With one hand crippled by his grip and the other, so desperately clinging onto the surface, the woman growled with venom, every muscle in her body tensing for the chance to stab him with the closest object she could find.
She could feel his words trickle down her thorax, his loose hair teasing her skin.
"Good girl…"
"Your attempt to flatter me with cooing is failing. Horribly."
The hostility gone and the racer simply subduing her without hurting her, he apologized.
"Hmm, Miss Krew. No need to be so spiteful. After all, you asked for it."
Not being able to counter that, she agreed reluctantly, "You're right. I suppose this is a small price to pay for sticking you in here. But I still want to kill you."
He nodded, "You would not be Krew's daughter if you didn't."
The lighting steadied and Rayn found her hammering heart slowing down. It was a naïve mistake on her part - allowing some childish phobia of hers to interfere with her business. Now she was enduring the consequences. Reaping what she had sown.
Taking the time to breathe deeply, she knew that the racer would allow it and so she eased up. His unyielding structure currently filled the gap between their uncomfortable embrace, her stomach flush to his chest. Even when she felt his fingers unfurl from her back and slowly draw up her inner thigh, Rayn was as docile as a newly born Muse.
As he cautiously reached for the pistol she had tucked into the violet garter around her right thigh, Rayn could not resist a phony smile. Razer reacted the same, their eyes competing fiercely as he wrapped his hand around the grip and removed the weapon.
"I see metal detectors are not what they used to be these days."
Victoriously, she bragged, "Money. Assets. Access."
Rayn watched as he thrust the firearm across the table until it fell and slammed loudly into the steel chair beneath it. As he returned to support her back, she rolled her eyes, "Are we done here now that we're all unarmed and harmless?"
"Unarmed I may be, but I am never harmless."
The woman felt that half cringe, half pout thing happening again before he gestured at her hands. It was either she held onto him or it was going to be a bumpy ride.
Nice day to wear a skirt, Rayn.
Razer released her wrist, securing her knee instead. Feeling her weight yank backwards, Rayn threw her arms around his neck, but not without resentment. The woman locked gazes with him as he slid her forward, careful to keep her skirt from riding up as he landed her on the ground. Once she was on her feet, it was time to get to work.
"What do you want, Razer? Women? Money? A new car or something else that tickles your fancy?"
"No, no, nothing so arbitrary, Krew-"
"Rayn. Just call me Rayn. We're not exactly too formal now, are we?"
Her smile was wry as she patted the leg over where her garter was hidden. Amused, and clothed, Razer settled into a chair.
"All right, Rayn. I want you to fulfill three requests of mine before I tell you where I have hidden the deeds to my Boss' Franchise."
"Late Boss-" She stressed before he wagged a finger.
"Do not tempt me into changing my mind."
A pause before the racer resumed.
"Three requests. They shouldn't take long. Anywhere from a few days to weeks depending on how swiftly you complete them."
"And why should I fulfill these requests rather than just having you executed and turning your loft upside down?"
"Because you're an intelligent woman and unlike my late Boss, you prefer the use of bribery-"
"Negotiations-"
"-over force which is how you managed such a team of financial and useful friends. If you kill me, there is a chance that you will never find the deeds. I also have my own Testament and Will prepared for the day I decide to leave this wretched planet and believe me, you will not like who I leave the business to anymore than you liked Mizo leaving it to me."
"Why, Razer, I hadn't the slightest idea that such an invincible man was prepared for his own death."
"I'm always prepared. For anything."
Winter was bitter every year in Kras. Walking along the Seaport Strip mid-season had winds hard enough that they threatened to ground him. If that wasn't enough, Razer always felt like he had to slouch forward to keep his heels on the concrete once he neared the Loading Docks.
The aroma of the salty ocean numbing his nostrils was a bittersweet indulgence. The racer did not fold himself to shield from the cold. In comparison to his home country where the temperatures were usually below freezing point at ten degrees below zero, the balmy thirty degrees in Kras felt like a summer vacation. It was the blasted wind that aggravated him.
"Scheiße!"
Cursing himself after his fifth attempt to keep his cigarette lit, Razer walked briskly past the last strips of shops before the docks appeared. He always hated dealing with Mizo's imports. A few of his own would meet him there, but apparently, Boss always designated him as the main mediator because of his uncanny talent to negotiate with men calmly without wanting to kill them- at least right away.
His communication skills serving more as a burden than a talent, the racer inwardly wished his fellow thugs would someday learn a little sociology. It would pay off to teach them how to handle these meetings on their own without a brawl breaking out between the bloodthirsty racers and the foreign ship crew- but unfortunately that belief was nothing more than wasted optimism.
When Razer spotted a small group of men standing by the lamppost, he nodded.
"Has the ship arrived yet?"
"Ship's already unloading the cargo, Boss," huffed Edje, his words fogging the air.
Edje, Shiv and Cutter followed Razer wordlessly and obediently. UR-86 was usually not involved. Seemed the piece of artificial intelligence made the foreigners wary. The first and last time they brought him along, they tried to accuse Mizo for installing a camera into the bot. This actually wasn't true, but considering how well built UR-86 was and how he was treated as another person rather than a machine, the pirates were less than hospitable to it. And so, on escort missions, because they had to work in four man teams, the android would join them as their rear guard later, after negotiations were complete.
"Ahoy there, lad!"
"Hallo, wie geht es dir?"
Razer always greeted him in native tongue.
The fence gave him a healthy slap on the back, the gray in his wiry beard yellowing from all the grog and his cheeks rosy year round. He was also a designated mediator for his captain. They dubbed him, "Anchor".
"I see you've brought ye hoarde of bilge-sucking landlubbers with ya- as always."
Responding to the obvious discontent of his companions, Razer reminded, "It's only a safety precaution, Anchor. You already know the procedures. We'll be in and out of your hair as long as the cargo checks out."
This was the reason why it was necessary for Razer to tag along on these trips. Had his men come on this mission without him, that comment alone would have triggered them to unlock the safety on their pistols. Razer, on the other hand, didn't let Anchor get to him.
It was just business. As long as Mizo got what he wanted and the crew received proper payment, he could care less what some group of salt-water loving misfits with missing teeth had to say about him.
"No worries 'ere lad. Loot's in shipshape on the docks - Cap'n's orders."
Anchor limped into the shadows of the loading docks where the storage sheds piled as high as six story buildings. Razer continued to fight with his lighter against his smoke. Edje, Shiv and Cutter trailed behind again, their hands in their pockets and their frozen faces tucked into their collars.
"Smartly there, men," Anchor remarked at Razer's companions, who were falling behind. The racer glanced backwards to lend them a sharp glare as a reminder to behave. None of them reacted. They knew better.
When they reached their shipments and Razer was confident that all their imports were prepared, Anchor stopped him abruptly.
He beckoned for Razer, "A moment of yer time, m' boy."
Obediently, the racer gave his men one last eye before following the sailor to one of the crates.
"Ya' see, we've been conductin' our business with Mizo for some time now, ey?"
Razer hummed.
"It's been nothin' but good times- the sweet trade, that is. So I thought I'd throw a bit of extra swag into the merchandise this time around-"
With a grunt and what looked like a threatening gesture, Anchor commanded his men to scramble and open the crate. It took some time to get the doors open, the hinges stiff because of the weather. Struggling against the wind, the doors opened, revealing a sleek new model of Havoc from across the seas.
Curbing any temptation to run his hands across its shiny, new fender, Razer stood true to the mission, "What's the occasion?"
Careful to tame the man's suspicion, Anchor shook his head, "No occasion, matey. Just a bit' o' friendly loot between buckos."
"All right, then. If there is no occasion, what's the catch? Pardon my pessimism, but merchants of your kind are not known for giving away gifts."
Anchor laughed, revealing the holes in his gums and holding the pouch of flesh leaking over his belt. "That's what I like about you, lad. Sharp as a gulley."
Just then, Anchor pulled out a lighter from his pocket, and held the flame to Razer's smoke. When the racer took a drag, his nerves relaxed and his ears opened.
"You have my attention."
"Closer, lad. The winds howl."
Closing the distance between himself and the sailor, the criminal could distinguish the rum along Anchor's breath. Despite his red shot eyes, his words were in all seriousness.
"I've been keeping me deadlights open 'round these ports lately. Seems there's some scuttlebutt floatin' 'round about some unknown ships making port here- packed full of Lobsters with loot of their own, ya savvy?"
"Hmm. I see."
In other words, someone other than Mizo was making business here. Ships that the sailors were not familiar with were docking with merchandise that they were unaware of. The problem was, that Kras' Underground was essentially controlled by the Mizo family and it's allies. Mizo knew what came in and what came out. For new ships to arrive that did not belong to the government and did not belong to the Underground - it was mysterious indeed. Where they were coming from was just as odd.
Troubling, even. Mizo would not be pleased.
"So, I assume the extra trimming on our import is to secure us as customers? What's the matter, old man? Fearful of a little competition, hmm, hmm?"
"Never! Avast, m' boy. Whatever's stirring the waters is heading right fer ya. Don't say I never warned ya."
"I understand. I'm sure Mizo will be appreciative of your loyalty. Business will progress as usual."
"Arrr! Good to hear," Anchor punctuated with a rough slap to Razer's back. The movement caught him by surprise and snuffed out his smoke. The Champion cringed.
"All right, ye scurvy dogs, weigh anchor! Handsomely now!"
The seaman turned back to Razer, "Fair winds, Lad. Fair winds."
The racer watched as the shady group of robbers growled and grunted, stuffing and stomping into their ship as loudly as a military march. He monitored as his men called in the trucks. The racer was left only with his thoughts until the last parcels of import were being hurried onto their vehicles.
A scuffle was catching the attention of civilians a few feet off. A small crowd congregated and disbursed as fast as it had formed, and two blood-faced men scattered at the wail of sirens.
Razer turned to the trucks in time to see Cutter shy away from the familiar scene.
"Die Bullen kommen."
Razer gave Edje the signal. A police car was at least a mile away. They'd be here in less than five minutes, so it was time to move.
The knife wielder sprinted to aid in yanking down the back door. As Edje and Shiv instantly split to get to their vehicles and escort the transport safely from rivaling criminals, Razer commented to a hesitating Cutter.
"Homesick, Cutter?"
The henchman grunted under his mask, fog filtering from the bars over his mouth. He wasn't usually a talker, but when he did speak, he was simple and to the point. Razer favored this in the former street fighter.
"Boss is waiting in the East Side warehouse."
Amused at Cutter's obvious change of subject, Razer nodded as he started his engine, revving his turbo to max in preparation of making a hasty and smoky exit.
"Then it would be best not to leave him waiting."
As he drove off to lead the trucks to their destination as their point guard, Razer chewed on an unlit cigarette to think. Edje and Shiv flanked both sides of the truck, the bot, as scheduled, showed up behind them. In this diamond formation, Razer was in charge of leadership and offense, and together the team would cover all sides at a 360-degree angle to assure a safe transport.
Razer spotted their halfway point.
"Half way to the drop off. About fifteen minutes until our destination."
"Roger, Boss." The others responded sequentially, all except Cutter.
Smirking knowingly to himself, Razer used the remaining time to ponder about the words he had exchanged with Anchor.
Ships that did not belong to Mizo only meant one thing – that there was someone other than Mizo who had enough influence to dock their shipments of illegal merchandise in Kras and yet, still manage to dodge law enforcement.
At that time, while Razer had a hunch due to the other presences at the port, he was not confident in his theory. Whoever it was that was responsible though, his hunch right or wrong, they would be a force to be reckoned with.
That, he was confident of…
Razer removed the blade he'd hidden in his slacks and twirled it in his fingers. He watched as Rayn Krew's throat bobbed with a dry swallow.
He could have killed her from the moment the lights went out. One swipe of his hand, and it would have all been over. With Weasley on his side and the others, he could have either easily persuaded or killed them off, he could have been walking out from Butcheree Cliffs a free man in minutes.
Razer was not trapped here. He was allowing himself to stay here. The reason why no one had tried to break him out or assassinate Krew was because he was in control.
"How in Precursors did you obtain a shiv?"
Finding amusement in her shock, he answered, "The same way you entered the penitentiary with a pistol."
Keeping face, she agreed, "I see."
These past few days had merely been child's play. No. Before then - before he was even hired to come out of retirement to swap paint with the rumored Dark Eco Channeler, Jak.
It was probably about two years ago. After keeping an eye on the unidentified vessels parking on the Loading Docks, it wasn't until the papers announced Krew's death, that Razer had found some significance in the mysterious ships. The last remaining Krew power had faced his demise in an explosion rumored to have been caused by one of his own subordinates. Business in Kras had reached its economic boom afterwards and while Gervassio must have spent months lavishing in drunken celebration due to his most feared rival being gone, Razer was in the shadows planning.
After some research, deduction, and a little painful persuasion with one of the crewmembers from said mystery ships, Razer had come to find out that Krew bore a daughter over a decade ago. The existence of Rayn Krew was kept under wraps, due to her father sending her off to a boarding school in another country. As a result, her seed to power slowly set its roots over seas until Rayn was of age and ready to migrate The Office to Kras.
Knowledge of an Heiress to the Krew family was an unpleasant surprise, especially after confirming years before that, that the last known potential, a nephew of Krew Senior, Johan, was incarcerated. And so, this woman was an unfortunate wrench in their plans.
The fact that Krew had an inheritor aside from his nephew left Mizo's death foreshadowed only on the boldest of tongues. And because it was only a matter of time before rights were fought over within The Office, upon Johan's release, the situation at hand was all the more dire. Razer was sure that this new Heiress would do anything in her power to secure her position before that even happened.
It was only a matter of time before the second-in-command had to take charge. Now that the cards had been dealt, Razer only had to play his hand.
"What is it that you want, Razer? Surely, there is more than what meets the eye or else we wouldn't be here fooling for dominance," she almost spat.
Never had she felt so frustrated, so defeated. Once Razer had revealed his weapon, she realized that she was being toyed with. If there was one thing she inherited from her father's genes, it was that they were both complete authoritarians. All her life, whatever Rayn wanted, minus the presence of a reliable and loving father figure, Rayn received it. Knowing that her father was one of the most notorious names in organized crime, she had lived her life surrounded by an air of superiority, and had never favored feeling anything less.
Yet, here she was. About to run around like a yakow without a head, no doubt, in order to fulfill requests for a man who threatened to be above her. A man who had the audacity and the brass to challenge her even after witnessing the finale of the Mizo Era.
Despite her witty and cruel tactics by first throwing the famed racer into one of the most gruesome prisons in the country and then threatening to torture him, signs of fear in this man were nowhere to be found. And while knowing that she'd willingly poisoned an entire team of innocent civilians, her father's enemies, as a means to blackmail them into the deadliest sport in the world, and the act was what eventually forced Mizo into ruin, the racer never showed any signs of intimidation.
And that could only mean one thing.
"Are we ready to strike a deal?"
He wanted something from her - which was fine. That, she expected.
It was the hunch that was wringing at her gut like water from a towel that was bothering her. It was trying to convince her of something that she would consider blasphemy against her pride. It was trying to convince her that the man before her had something vital that she would need to succeed. And no, the ownership deeds were not it. In fact, she still didn't know what it was. But whatever it was, all Rayn knew was that Razer knew.
That was what frightened her the most.
The woman's words were sweetened acid, "I'm listening."
Hostility thickened the air. Rayn regarded the blade as Razer calmly rested it against the table, posing no threat.
"You are a very wise woman, Rayn. I can guarantee that you will go beyond your father's glory because of your willingness to work with others."
"Why is it that I don't feel the slightest bit reassured?"
This whole predicament being nothing, but a carnival for the trained killer, the Champion smiled. Once again, his untamed hair, due to weeks without maintenance, added all the more ferocity to his fangs.
"Don't be alarmed. You will reap your benefits, after you have completed my requests."
"All right, all right, let's get on with it then. I have a meeting this evening-"
"It's regrettable that attending that meeting will only make this longer for you."
"Ah, not exactly. You see, the purpose of this meeting is so that I can convince the others that I have kept you alive for a very valid reason, or have you been under the impression that everyone fawns over you?"
"They do, Miss Krew, they all do. They just don't know it yet."
The Krew Heiress did not conceal her lack of humor, and instead crossed her arms and stopped feeding his remarks. She was irritated enough and her chitchat was only starting a migraine.
Sensing that she was ready for negotiations, the prisoner straightened in his chair. Motioning for the cigarette in his ear only to return empty and realize he'd given it away, he cursed silently to himself for the habit.
"All right, Rayn. This first request should be very simple…"
The woman perked her ears as she felt the beginnings of what would be her heart at the pit of her stomach.
Simple, he says.
Whatever he was going to ask of her, she was sure that whatever it was, it was anything but simple…
Seven years ago…
"Looks like the bread is done," the nurse announced as she watched her patient search frantically for the potholders. The small Kras apartment was warmed with the scent of Zuchini and there was no better way to mark milestones than to bake something good.
Vera had finally gotten full use of her arms. After her casts had been removed, being able to flex around was a fresh difference. Her nurse, Ruby, had taken notice of the added cheer in Vera's hum as she went about the housework. Vera's husband had driven them to the hospital before leaving off to the Circuits and although he was never known for being a talker, she recognized his subtle gestures of affection: The way he silently opened the car door for her and looked after them heading into the building before driving off.
From her time spent here so far, it seemed that the couple didn't converse very much. Despite that conversation was in the doctor's orders, it was obvious how unsure Vera was, and her husband, hesitant and fearful.
To Ruby, who'd been secretly assigned by the Mizo family to protect Vera, should an enemy come after her life, it almost seemed as if the spouses had trapped themselves into their own bubbles. They could see one another clearly, but neither was willing to collide and pop this denial they were sweetening their lives with. But, marriage counseling was not was she was hired for, and so all the nitty gritty details, they'd have to sort out themselves, even if a small part of her hoped that they would patch things up sooner than later.
"All right, let's see if I still have it."
With the redhead's back to Ruby, she missed the proud smile. While her patient might have been fuzzy on things ever since the accident, if there was one thing that she learned that Vera was always confident of, it was her culinary and craft skill.
"Looks perfect!"
Ruby made a mental note to write this progress in her observation journal later. While Vera still had trouble accepting the world around her, she still had plenty faith in the recipes stored somewhere deep into her memory where harm did not reach – the same recipes that were fed to a man who barely spoke a word, but would give his life for her without hesitation and any words needed.
Glossary:
Call in/Drop out of touch: The act of ordering - without explanation - a made man to report to his superiors. Mafiosi might be called in so they can be disciplined (murdered). Once the order is received, the made man must report as ordered. So, mafiosi in trouble with superiors will sometimes drop out of touch to avoid receiving the call.
Mein schätzchen: My Dear (German)
Bump Off: Mafia term to kill
Haus Bergmann: Brand of cigarettes (German brand, I believe)
Ruhe in frieden, mein freund: Rest in peace, my friend
Big Earner: One who generates income for a Mafia family. Higher levels of income are generated by "big-earners."
Kicked off your trolley/gone barking: Gone mad, looney, crazy etc.
To take the piss out of someone: Making fun of someone or making a mockery of him/her
Cat o' nine tails: A kind of whip
Scheiße: Shit
Hallo, wie geht es dir? Hello, how are you?
Deadlights open: Eyes open
Scuttlebutt: Gossip
Lobsters: Brits, don't ask, go google it
Die Bullen kommen: The cops are coming (German)
The Office: British Mafia
James McSweeney: No, you aren't imagining this name. I totally stole it off that hot UFC fighter with his awesome accent…
You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has explained his trick: A Sherlock Holmes quote
A/N: All right, Happy Holidays and New years to everyone. And surprise to my lovely and awesome beta reader (Luv2Game) for she has no idea that I've finally had enough of this mammoth that I've been keeping from you for over a year and have decided to unleash the beast. And Blackfire18, shout out to you also for the couple of tips you gave me for this chap. Here's to hoping this revives your RazerRayn love.
I swore to never write a multi-chap fic again, and this was born many, many months ago. An idea that should have been one or two chapters have become six instead. The story is complete. I'm tired of being a perfectionist, and so hell, have at it. This fic was my baby for a long time and not only did I put a lot of research into it, but I've changed up my writing style a tad and tried some new things. Hopefully they pay off. It's not mastery, but I enjoyed the journey and it's time that it ended. I think I've finally come to terms with releasing it or else I will be here for eternity changing words and adding commas.
I don't want to look at this thing anymore. If some points are unclear, the subtle hints, the random character in the end with her nurse, it will all be clear soon. I will say though, that over the course of writing this, while my intent was to write for Razer and Rayn, another under-appreciated character crept into my heart and thus, that scene in the end of this chap begins.
I'll upload with the next chapter in a week or two because of the holiday. Enjoy.