The Diplomat
Some things have an odd tendency to look shiny even when you're fully aware that they're about to rip your throat out.
That doesn't include stuff like metal heads.
Luckily, I ain't dealing with metal heads.
Less luckily, at least those bastards are predictable.
Are ya gettin' the idea yet? Lemme spell it out, then. I'm in some deep shit riiight here.
But, y'know what, you can say whatever the hell ya want about me, but I ain't backing down from stuff I've brought myself into. So I'm facin' this now 'cause I chose to. Now don't you feckin' laugh, but I chose it 'cause of loyalty. In my line of work, friends're the only thing keepin' your head outta the waves most o' the time. I've saved my fair share of hairs too, an' gotten my hide warned an hour or minute enough in advance.
So, loyalty. An' I was curious.
And I just love to live on the edge. Though acting the gentleman and answering a lady's call on the minute is prolly less "on the edge" than blowing up the phone.
Anyway, back on track. There I was, like a widdle call boy dashed straight outta Haven and into something jus' a lil' less unpleasant than a metal head den.
Precursors on a stick, this place is way too orderly. Gal's serious about the whole "business" talk.
Underground, of course, so the only light's coming from the lamps. What a lovely bunker feeling this is, for an office.
Yep, a real office down to the desk and book shelves full of neat lil' folders.
If it weren't for the gun collection on the wall I'd be seriously creeped out. Not that I'd let it show, but it's sortof a relief to see something familiar. Disregarding the possibilities of one of them barrels aimed between my eyes, of course.
And she fits the office too, lookin' more like a secretary from the latest soap than a crime lord-ess. Turning from the desk and smiling oh-so-pleasantly. We're talking wine-and-death, here.
I really don't like the way the door clicks when it's closed behind me.
Ah, fuck it. I didn't dance around her father, I ain't dancing 'round her even if she plays the official business game.
"Heya, pumpkin."
May as well go down with a bang, if that's the way I'm headin'. Just what I always wanted.
Her smile widens and she leans back with her palms against the desk, fingers curling around the wooden edge of it.
"Hello, Jinx."
Okay, business tone down to familiarity. That might be good.
"Imagine that," I say, crossing my arms and grinning like a moron. "Lil' kitten's all grown up and running a town. How's the new gig?"
At least she doesn't go shuffling papers while sighing. Small favors, I guess. Still, I don't like it when she plods one elbow in a hand and hangs her head in the other palm.
"Understaffed," she says.
Ah yes. That good luck o' mine lasted for one shiny minute.
Shit, I need a cig. Hope I'll get out of here breathing well enough to have one later.
My turn to sigh. Throw in a chuckle too, gives me a coupl'a seconds more to live.
"Was 'fraid of that," I say, rolling my eyes.
Got a "dead meat" stamp? Gimme. She's moved her chin to two fingers and the smile's going down.
Slick mouth don't fail me now…
"Rayn hun, you want me to work for ya, just point and I'll blow it up."
I wave a hand to underline what I'm sayin', adding for good measure:
"I ain't leavin' you hanging."
"Then, what's the problem?" she asks.
She's got this trick going where she ain't frowning. She looks concerned, 'nstead.
Brr.
That hand o' mine is getting some good wavin' practice. Ol' Praxis' city should be somewhere in that direction…
"Your pals from Haven, y'know? I worked with 'em in the war."
Ain't sure if folding her arms and going "hmm" is good or bad. But there ain't no stopping halfway in this sport.
"They've got too much on me," I go on. "If I work fulltime, they'll note and then we're both in trouble."
Two things may keep my ass from getting fried now – me (possibly) being valuable enough to keep, and her need for eyes in Haven.
Silence getting a wee bit long, if ya ask me.
"I don't plan on clashing with- Haven," she finally says, looking off the side.
Doubt I jus' imagined that pause before "Haven". D'aaw, is the lil' kitten having a crush on someone? Too bad I can't say that or I'll definitely be watching the room from the floor.
Damn, Pretty Boy's a smooth operator whether he gets it into his lil' head or not.
"Grapevine says yer dad said somethin' similar 'bout Kras back in the day, hun."
Bad one. Her eyes cut to me way too fast. I hold up a hand.
"I know the deal," I quickly say. "I ain't dealing. But freelancing's the best I can offer."
Thanks and goodbye, ticket to six feet below just checked out.
I really should've squeezed Pretty Boy's ass while I had the chance. It's the thing I regret the most.
Rayn better be aware of how good she's at that "thinking it over" torture. Because if she's just fakin' the gig, I'll be damn pissed. I don't like gettin' killed by amateurs, and she shouldn't be one. Well shit, not like I'm used ta dying, but I've been 'round this crap for so long I expect to go down by something better than bad luck.
"… alright."
Say jumpin' feckin' what?
From that smirk, I probably look like a pedestrian stuck in the ol' headlights.
"I'll let you off the hook," she says and holds up the dreaded finger, "if you help me on a little project."
I know better than to glomp such an offer.
"Sounds fair," I say, eying her. "What've ya got for me?"
She smiles, going around the table.
"A matter of staff," she says.
Well slap me up the Haven sewers and kiss a crocadog. I ended up laughing.
'-'
And here I go again two days later, stepping right back into the deep shit again. Well, at least this time I'll get to smoke while I'm working.
I could've had my ass outta this mess already if it weren't for the post office being lazy gits. Either them or Grim – I'll have to whack him a good one when I get back. Sheez. Well, I checked the package thoroughly an' he didn't take a peek before sending it off, gotta give'm as much. Guess that worked, the whole hollering over the phone that I'd load his balls into a grenade if he didn't do what I said, thing.
Anyway, I got the delivery to get the job done. Feel a bit sad to use up my pretties, but it can't be helped – I love 'em, but I love to breathe more.
'Sides, not like I can't get more of them. Sigh. It's just that… nostalgia of the first batch, y'know?
Whatever.
Rayn seemed to doubt my claim at having a hidden ace for a while, at least until I got the goods. Then she laughed too. Ah… the good kind of laugh. For me, at least.
Though I swear I saw her nick a couple of my babies. Not like she couldn't do it while I was out, eh? Why do I gotta see it happen, on toppa everything?
She better be good to 'em. Though I know he'll be… and that's even worse.
Aw shit, now I'm getting cranky 'bout this whole deal. Let's get back on track. Them or me, them or me…
Me.
There we go, let's get this show on the road then.
I lit a new cigar before stepping into the scummy light of the bar. This gig ain't no less morbid than the last, but at least this is in a civilized area.
Or so I thought until I noticed the odd light inside. Flowing, underwater feeling if you get my drift. That sort of thing being sorta dreary on my mind lately, I had to glance to the side, o'course.
Who smoked enough seaweed to put a fuckin' aquarium in a window?
Guess the décor should suit the clientele.
Speaking of which… my target's at the bar, relaxed and smoking like he didn't have the premium scum of the crime world breathing down his neck. Man, that coat'll probably shine in the dark like a bright red glow-worm.
Oh, and here's Rayn's little problem; the finest fruit basket in town ain't backing down for nobody. Most o' the rats already scurried off or joined the winning side already, but the new top rooster ain't so easy. He's of that annoying breed on top'a the food chain and knowing it. Rayn put it more prettily, o'course. The guy's the best man around, an' she can't afford to off him. But she can't leave 'im be either, for the same reason.
Second problem, him being the golden rooster he is, he don't need takin' no bribes to live it out like a king, either. That's the catch. Rayn's got nothing on him, and he knows it.
That's where I come in. She's sent others to talk him into it, but they all came back with nothin'. Or didn't come back at all. Yours truly's just a new prod, but I don't think she expected me to have that ace.
Jolly gee, that makes me feel good about myself. Kitten just don't wanna dirty her hands with sewer rat blood.
Ah, what the hell. I got a chance to live, at least.
So there I am, right on the scene. No use sidesteppin' this leopard either.
Judging by the empty space 'round him I'd say people know to steer clear 'less they have somethin' to tell 'im. That explains the sideway glance I get from invading his enormous personal space.
Since I wanna walk outta here though, I plop down one seat away and order a drink. Rooster boy's gotta know he ain't dealin' with a chicken again.
Hmm. I give 'im that he's got some nice eyes and face, but the whole setup about the man is waay too girly. Precursors on pogo sticks.
Though maybe saying "girly" is a wee bit hard on 'im. Ain't changing a thing though. I like my men manly.
Which is real damn funny in this situation. Hehe.
It's the first time I see the man, but he's never been secretive about some issues. And just from the way he rolls his eyes and take a drag on his cigarette, you can tell everything they say about him's true.
It's hard not to grin, I tell ya. Even if he may slice my windpipe within the hour.
Okay, I think that's enough sidetracking.
I've turned my chair around, leaning back with one arm on the bar.
"Ain't you lookin' bored," I say, giving him a leer free of charge.
And all I get is another roll of his eyes and a dainty lil' snort. Cheapskate.
"If you appreciate the ability to breathe, I suggest you run along back to Miss Rayn," he says.
Holy shit, they weren't kidding about that accent. Pure murder, I tell ya.
He takes a sip of his half finished drink as if to make a point. Yeah, right. I sip on mine to make my own.
"Oh, I would," I assure him, "s'just that then she'll kill me instead."
"That's not my problem."
Stuck up bastard.
"Sure is mine, though," I say.
Seems like he doesn't think that's worth the effort for a reply. Pff.
Now let's take a sec to get back on that "fruit basket" thing, while I give this real life situation a minute to simmer. I like me a bit of nice ass myself, ain't hiding that. Oh, an' people talk about "flaming" and "fruity" when they don't feel like speakin' up. But this is Kras City's legendary Razer, and for him ya better tweak the issue a bit. Lessay, oh… a fruit basket flung into the sun.
You should'a just heard the rat going on about it. Now, I wouldn't listen to that lil' idiot, but Jak an' crew agreed – and other sources ain't keepin' it a secret either.
Ahh, what I wouldn't give to ask the rooster if it was nice to check out Pretty Boy's ass during competition. But since that means the loser'd have to be behind… ah, shoot. Just like Rayn's crush. Unhealthy for me.
Awfully similar, ain't they? Or so I hope at least.
Well, here goes nothin'.
Giving my drink a spin, I glance at Razer again.
"I think there might be somethin' I've got that Rayn didn't have to offer ya, though."
This sounds just odd enough to get his attention again, even if its still bored. Maybe add a bit of disgust too. Did I just get checked out?
Bastard.
I swirl the stool back the way it should be and fire off a grin.
"Y'see, Kras ain't my territory. I work in Haven."
Dainty little glove-clad fingers tighten just the slightest bit around his glass. Oh yeah. Don't think he thought I'd notice. But being the stuck-up he is, he just lets out a cloud of smoke in the direction of my face.
It doesn't mix well with my own smoke, but that shit's second to oxygen for me. He shouldn't expect me to cough. If he did, he gets nothing.
"Now, one of my lil' friends there swore on his fur that somebody in Kras was checking out his best pal while they were here. Not to mention dropping lewd comments."
So shoot me, I hafta tilt my head at him.
"The rat sounded like he'd rather lock Jak up in a safe, somewhere. You'd make half and a chunk o' the world cry for the lost potential."
Just another snort, but I think it's safe to say that he agrees that it'd be a damn shame.
Now for another lil' pause, just to rile him up a little. He won't show it of course, I know the type.
"Ever been to Haven?" I finally ask.
Still not getting much a reaction, but at least he coughs up a reply.
"Long ago."
"Uh-huh…" I murmur, nodding.
Ah, what a sight this gotta be. But my face really hurts from not grinning.
"Did'ya visit the forest?" I ask.
He's offerin' a glare now. Rooster's getting impatient. Luckily for both of us – maybe, for me at least – I'm just about done here. Better go on quickly though.
"Lovely place, really. Air's breathable… nice and quiet, save the occasional metal head o'course…"
During this speech, I fish out a glossy slip of thick paper from a clean pocket in my belt. Just one last look at that baby before I go on, for a moment holdin' it so our fruit basket can't see what's on it.
"… interesting wildlife too, wouldn't ya say?"
And with that, I put the picture on the bar and slip it over to him.
He struggles at first, taking his gaze offa me and to the ceiling before looking. Doesn't bother me; it's his loss of a moment.
An' he feels that as soon as he looks down.
Doncha love it when the I'm-so-indifferent-you-can-see-the-poker-up-my-ass boys get a crack in their faces? Gives me that warm fuzzy feeling. I give Razer as much though, he recovers quicker than the lovely tattooed wonder back home. Not that Torn would react on this other than start filing unpleasant reports.
"I… see."
He picks up the photo. Holy shit, he did it.
And am I reeeal happy I'm not at the receiving end o' that look.
"I must agree, Haven's wildlife does sport a certain… charm."
Oh thanks a lot. I got to be on the end of a smile instead. I'm gonna need a shower.
But at least I can finally grin, tilting my head back and eyeballing him as much as I want. From here out, I think my throat's pretty safe.
"Glad we agree," I say, planting my cheek on a fist, "gotta tell ya something sad, though."
He raises an eyebrow at me. Ready…
"See, I had a whole collection of those babies," I explain and sigh, gazing at the ceiling. "Had to hand 'em over to this very persuasive gal though."
Set…
His mouth twists a little bit more in that freaky smile.
"Ya better hurry up before she pilfers all the best ones," I add.
"Really."
He pockets the photo so gently it could make ya puke, and finishes his drink in one gulp.
"A pleasure doing business with you."
And with that, he hip-swishes across the floor and out the door. He should do a lil' thwirl on the catwalk, while he's at it. But I guess I can live without it.
Boom baby, to quote the token black guy of the team.
I wait a couple of minutes to make sure he's not coming back. Then I slip out another picture and take a look at it. Mmh. Life savers, to boot? Yet another reason to love these babies.
Three years ago, was it? Me and the boys had a job to do in the forest, lookin' for some funny roots to make a happy-brew for the peeps Krew wanted gone. Grim and Mog were off somewhere else, but they got to know afterwards what they'd missed. It was just some days past that whole statue business in the sewer, so I knew Pretty Boy when I saw 'im and his pet. Not that a detail like that matters, with a bod' like his.
Grim said he never thought I'd curse so much about the loss of a camera.
That was the only time I did that mistake, though.
Hehe.
This is one of the… ah, screw it… cuter pics, with Pretty Boy trying to catch the rat climbing all over him. No idea how the lil' squirt manages without tearing Jak up, considering they're both dripping wet.
Yep, the wildlife in Haven forest sure is interestin'. 'Specially around the lake.
Well, my sweet collection is gone into dirtier hands than I've ever got. Too bad.
But I've still got the negatives.
Damn, it's good to be me.