A/N: Hey guys. Foolishly, I've decided to start yet another story. Bear with me please, being a student is a full time job and I don't have much time for writing. Well here it is, enjoy!
Trust never should have been a part of the equation. It was true though that Ariadne had trusted them. Some part of her couldn't help it, they had been her constant companions for almost three months, and she knew unequivocally that they had her back. But most of all they had been there for her when she needed help with her plans, or when she didn't understand part of the dream share. And she had thought that they might just stick around. But trust was never supposed to be part of the deal.
When she entered the warehouse and found it empty, she wasn't shocked or surprised. Rather, she skipped right past shock and went to crushing disappointment. All her hopes of continuing the dream share she had fallen in love with went flying out of her as she stepped through those doors. Her head dipped and a long, trembling sigh escaped her. Ariadne absolutely refused to cry though, because if she cried, she would never be able to let them go. That, she was sure of.
Suddenly, as if renewed, she lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. She strode to the doors and, pausing only a moment to look back, she strode through them.
On the Upper East Side of New York City a bar is hopping one Friday night. A bouncer menaces guests who look suspicious and everyone inside has had at least one drink. The lights behind the bar shine through the harshly colored liquor bottles, bathing the people sitting at the counter in artificial, colorful light. Ariadne Castellanos - or Julianne Howe as she's known now - flips her short brown hair behind her ear and slides through the crowd up to the bar. She takes a seat next to a clean cut businessman enjoying a scotch and the bartender. She orders a double malt whiskey, aware that she has the man's eyes on her. The drink serves a double purpose, it's an attention getter and she actually does like to drink whiskey. The bartender brings her drink at the same time at his.
"Put her drink on my tab please," the man says, shooting Ariadne a sidelong glance.
"Thank you, ah, Mr.?"
"I'm Brian Robertson. Please just call me Brian," he says pleasantly.
"Julianne," Ariadne replies pleasantly, confirming that he is her target. Head of IPCO, a minor league food distributor.
"I've never met a woman who likes whiskey," Robertson says conversationally, turned towards her with his right elbow on the bar.
"I'm not most women," Ariadne replies playfully, and it is true. She strikes up a conversation with him, asking, never answering.
"What business are you in, Brian?"
"I'm actually the president of IPCO, y'know, the..."
"The food distributor right? I've heard of it." She watches carefully as he downs yet another drink in three gulps.
"So what exactly do you do in your company?"
He describes his duties to her, finishing off more drinks along the way. Ariadne has to press him harder to get answers.
"So both of these jack-asses are pressuring me to choose," he slurs, leaning drunkenly toward her.
"What did you decide?" Ariadne asks eagerly, slipping lithely away. She has only drunk half of her first whiskey so she has all of her wits about her.
He wobbles over and drunkenly pins her against the wall. Her small frame is trapped beneath him and she objects.
"Aw c'mon, what do you care about my dumb business? I just want you Julianne." She tries to wriggle out but his arms are locked around her like an iron cage.
"Stop playing hard to get," he mumbles. Ariadne rolls her eyes. She's done with the charade that has gone on too long. She reaches down and takes out the Beretta from her thigh holster. Robertson, mistakenly thinking she is giving in to his wishes, moves in on the slight brunette.
"Not so fast hot-shot," Ariadne warns, pressing the gun against his forehead and effectively stopping him in his tracks. "I need you to tell me who you're merging with now."
Robertson stands, with his mouth hanging open.
"Spit it out, I don't have all night." She waves the gun threateningly to make her intentions absolutely clear.
"I...I...I'm going to go with Langdon," he stammers, sweat beading on his forehead. Ariadne smiles the smile of a shark and removes the gun from between his eyes.
"Thank you Mr. Robertson. And if you're lying, you can trust that you'll see me again."
Outside the crowded bar, Ariadne spots Carmen leaning against the brick wall in a small pool of lamplight. With her trench coat collar popped and her head ducked, Carmen looks the very image of someone waiting to exchange information. Ariadne guesses that she chose the spot purely for that reason and a sneer curls her lip. As she approaches her employer though, her face becomes a professional, indifferent mask
"He decided on Langdon," Ariadne says in a clipped voice.
Carmen writes it down on a notebook. "How did you obtain the information?"
"At gunpoint, but he won't talk. Even if he does, they can't trace me." Carmen nods approvingly, "Good job Howe. At this rate you're going to practically vault yourself through the ranks."
Ariadne nods in cool acceptance of her superior's praise. Carmen smiles insincerely down at her.
Ariadne walks home to her apartment, thinking about the not-so-subtly-veiled promotion offer. If she moves up she can start dealing with customers, rather than just being an information jockey. That sort of a leap can turn a member's life around. This could be her ticket into the fast track. She goes to sleep after promising herself that she'll make sure she doesn't fail on her next job.
The next day, sunlight slants into Ariadne's room through the cheap blinds, waking the petite brunette. She stretches and looks at the clock. It's 2:30; she still has an hour to get ready for work. She takes her time, actually stopping to sit down and eat, and has time to pick out her outfits and expertly apply her daytime makeup.
At 3:15 she leaves for work to start on restaurant jobs. Those are always a piece of cake; they mostly involve sitting, listening and remembering. It's the bar jobs that are harder, necessitating interpersonal interaction and digging for facts. Ariadne is so valuable because she is so good at these. At HQ she is assigned to McCormick and Schmick's, a common place for business deals to be made. She catches the subway to Union Square and walks a few streets down to the venue. In her bag is some cash, a paperback novel and some other menial objects that reside in almost every woman's purse. Not the sort of things one expects of a gangster. But then, Ariadne is not an average gangster.
She is part of the gang called the Hub. Unlike most other gangs in New York City the Hub doesn't deal in drugs. It deals in stolen information. At the bottom of the hierarchy are the expendable information jockeys whose job is to weasel information from important CEO's and VP's.
On the next level up are the intelligence agents or the IA's. This is the position that Ariadne hopes to move to. The IA's receive information from a host of jockeys. Some they sell to the less important customers and some they pass on to the sales reps who deal with the more important customers.
The highest and most exclusive position in the gang is lookout. The lookouts have hundreds of contacts working in major and minor businesses and feeding them news about the workings of the company. They decide who the targets are and pass that down through the ranks to the information jockeys.
There is only one person higher up than the lookouts. To the lower gang member's she's known as The CEO, and her name is Antonella D'Accardo. She is said to be the most powerful woman in the United States.
Ariadne arrives at McCormick and Schmick's. She's there before the dinner rush and has no trouble getting a seat near the business deal. She settles down and appears to bury her nose in a novel. Actually she is using her sharp hearing to catch every word at the table next to her. From what she hears the two companies are planning a partnership in order to better compete against their mutual rival. A smile curves Ariadne's lips. She assumes, rightly so, that the rival in question will pay good money to learn about this before it happens. The afternoon and evening is filled with jobs similar to this, business partners discussing sales, merges and partnerships. She returns to Headquarters at about nine o'clock, wearing bar appropriate clothes. Ariadne is ready to go on her favorite kind of sting, knowing that if she does this job well she could clinch a position as an IA.
She's directed to a bar she frequents for these sorts of jobs. It seems to be a place that businessmen retire to after a long, stressful day. Carmen comes with her and points out the target. Ariadne spots a stereotypical specimen, with a thousand dollar tailored suit and dark, slicked-back hair. She sighs, resigning herself to another night of being molested by a drunken CEO, the only thought that makes her approach him is the promotion looming in her future.
"Jack Daniels, please," Ariadne asks the bartender. She places her chin in her hand and waits for the man next to her to make his move. True to her expectation, he pulls out the battered and long-used line:
"Excuse me miss, but do I know you from somewhere?"
As she resignedly turns toward him the smell of his cologne hits her. That and the shock of his familiar face nearly topples her off her chair. She can't believe that she didn't recognize the clean angles of his jaw, the tell-tale crinkles in his forehead and the surprisingly soft brown eyes.
"Arthur?" she whispers incredulously.
"Ariadne!" he says, pleased. "I thought I recognized you." Ariadne glances over her shoulder and is relieved to discover that Carmen is gone.
"I'm called Julianne now," she says in a low voice with a meaningful look.
"And I'm called Matt," he replies, arching an eyebrow. Touché, Ariadne thinks.
"So what are you doing in New York?" she asks.
"I'm doing some...ah, paperwork, for Croydon Jones." She guesses that he's investigating for a dream share job. A prick of jealousy flares inside her that he continued extraction after leaving her behind like yesterday's news. Her face shows nothing but polite curiosity though. In the past year she's mastered the art of hiding her emotions.
"What about you? Why are you in the City of Dreams?"
Ariadne smirks slightly. It's time for some subtle guilt-tripping.
"Work was a little scarce back in Paris, I thought I'd head back to the land of opportunity. I guess there was nothing left for me there."
She gives him some credit; he hides his emotions remarkably well. But for a fraction of a second his forehead crinkles in a frown. Ariadne is adept at reading people but not many people would have noticed it. For her it's gratifying, she knows that he feels some emotion about leaving her behind.
"Have you heard anything from Cobb lately?" she asks, pressing her advantage.
"Last I heard from him he was with James and Phillipa in Los Angeles," he says and to Ariadne's disappointment no more unchecked flickers of emotion escape.
"Good to hear that he got back to them though," Ariadne mutters bitterly. He got everything he wanted apparently. They both make polite talk about the rising crime rate in New York, the renovations on the subway system and the mayor's latest hollow promises. No personal information is exchanged, which- Ariadne knows- is a good thing. She glances at the time to discover that she's been there too long. She starts to panic, realizing that she hasn't gotten the information she needs to clinch her post as IA.
"I have to go," she says suddenly, standing.
Arthur gets up as well. "Well can we meet again somewhere?"
Ariadne's guard goes up immediately. What is he trying to trap her into? Is he toying with her? She almost turns him down out of spite. Then she realizes that could be her chance to really crack down on him and get the business secrets.
"Sure," she replies smoothly, like she was intending on accepting the whole time. "Same time, same place?"
"Sounds good."
With confirmation in place Ariadne slides through the crowd, her small stature quickly shielding her from view.