The restaurant was hectic and lively with rich businessmen with their trophy wives, playboys who looked to pamper their women, and government officials. Tables lined with snow white cloth, an expensive crystal chandelier in the middle of the room. Laughter, cheap talk, clatter of plates, and the scraping of spoons and forks reverberated throughout the dining hall, over the sound of a rather timid piano. The chefs in the back busily labored to prepare meals, with shrimp and lobster sizzling on the pan, along with cuts of beef being seasoned. Two men sat a table on the far end of the room, having a view of all these people gathered to show off what they're willing to spend their wealth on.
"Excuse me sir, there is no smoking allowed on the premises." A waitress turned her nose up at the man with the hat. The stench of tobacco wafted in the air around him. The smoker sighed out the cloud that billowed in his mouth, reluctantly complying. He took out the cigarillo from his lips, burning the end of it onto his prosthetic palm, then crushing it and tossing behind him with little care. The unfortunate woman who was eating shrieked when she saw the ashy cigar had ended up in her filet mignon. The cowboy chuckled. The waitress sneered at him, shaking her head as she walked briskly away, the sound of her heels giving a muffled click against the carpeted floor. The man turned to his partner who tried to ignore the little exchange. His face was obscured behind a tablet, finger flicking idly across the projection, going through meal after meal with a dissatisfied expression. The younger of the two looked down at his own menu.
"You keep that up, and we'll be kicked out before we can get our sights on her", Jack cautioned, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
McCree shrugged, lips curving downwards into a frown. "No smoking my ass…", he grumbles, looking off to the side as he saw others smoking. "Look at half the people in this place, why don't she?"
The soldier can only roll his eyes. "Maybe it's the getup", he suggests. Sure enough, the ranger has his typical crimson serape and hat.
"Hey, I'm wearin' somethin' nice under this", Jesse tried defending himself. He averted his gaze to the tablet on the table, tapping to go to the cocktail and wine menu. "At least I ain't wearin' those stupid glasses indoors."
"Keep it sober, McCree", Morrison grumbled, changing the subject. He finally settled on a rather expensive meal, much to the cowboy's displeasure.
"What the hell, Jack, we're on a budget!", the Western man conveyed his irritation. "What's so good about that stuff, anyway?"
"Shark fin soup is a delicacy in China, been eaten by high ranking officials, emperors, kings and what not. It got into an ecological low some sixty years ago, making it expensive. Since they've sorted it out with fisheries and stuff like that, it's still sold nowadays, but it's still touted as fancy and the price hasn't dropped a bit."
"How'd it end up in France?"
"Beats me."
"How's it taste?"
"Like nothing."
Jesse sighed. "That ain't gonna do me any good. Might as well go with the steak." He looked up from the menu, seeing Jack was looking off to side, looking for their bounty. The cowboy's lips split into a cheeky grin. "Real awful nice of you to be treatin' me out to this date, y'know."
"Get your mind out of the gutter, kid." Despite himself, 76 chuckled. Cherchez la femme. Look for the woman. Eventually, the waitress came by with their drinks. A simple water for the veteran. His face contorted into that of a disappointed look as he saw McCree with a glass of wine. "Jesse, I said-"
"Look, you would want to be drunk here too, jus' look at the people around us." With that remark, he sipped on the burgundy liquid, not really minding much of the taste as he did with getting buzzed. Too bad his blood was liquor at this point..
The soldier sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe it would've been for the better had Gabe just left him. He gulped down the thought away with his water. Jesse was a valuable person, back then and now. Maybe he had his grievances with him, sure, but he had proved himself better, not just some lowlife criminal, but a legendary gunslinger loyal to the cause of justice. Lord knows what would happen to him if he was alone. Probably go out in a blaze of glory.
"Hey, eyes open, there she is."
76 was shaken out of his thoughts, eyes behind the shades flicking over to the doorway. Lo and behold, there she was. Beautiful and deadly as ever, dressed in a simple black dress that complemented her unnatural blue skin fairly well. Stiletto heels tapped on the floor, a sway in her hip as she was guided towards her table. Eating alone. How melancholic.
"Game plan, old man?" Jesse smirked at his fellow bounty hunter.
"Same as we discussed it."
McCree sheepishly smiled.
"Provide the distraction, I'll chase after her."
With a grin, Jesse downed the rest of his drink and got up from his seat, red scarf in tow. He tapped the piano player on the shoulder, whispered something into his ear, and dropped a wad of cash into his hand. Albeit with skepticism, he let him on. McCree looked at the ivory and ebony keys. "Alright, let's see if those days playin' off my tab at the saloon really paid off." He was rusty, but he began to play.
"Look at me," The Southern accent caught the attention of almost everyone in the room. "I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree…"
Seventy Six smirked. The gunslinger had never failed to surprise him. Getting up, he silently made his way to the secluded table where Widowmaker was sitting at. She was watching the cowboy with a passive look on her eyes, sipping on her wine. Jack felt inclined to sit.
"Enjoying the show?"
Her eyes darted towards him. "I suggest you leave, monsieur."
"In vino, veritas, madame."
"And I feel like I'm clinging to a cloud. I can't understand…" His drawl and words were slurred, still buzzed from the small intake of alcohol, but it didn't matter. Most eyes were on him anyway.
The woman's eyes narrowed, and she put down the glass. "Age quod agis."
"Age. Fac ut gaudeam." Under the table, a safety clicked off.
Nonchalance, LaCroix took her glass, sipping on the rest of the drink.
"We'll have a little talk." Jack gestured his head to go outside.
"...I get misty while holding your hand." A small short snippet. The patrons clapped for Jesse. He took a small bow, blowing the ladies a kiss afterwards.
With a vexed face, the rest of the crimson liquid went down. The small glass seemed to crack under her fingers. Amelie got up and strode over to the exit. Morrison followed after her, the barrel of the pistol to her back. As they neared the exit, he paused. The commando steeled his gaze, pressing the barrel up to her head. "Go-" The spider kicked behind into his gut with a stiletto, and began to run, kicking off the shoes. Jack growled, pulling out the sharp heel. He ran back into the restaurant and grabbed the cowboy's hand, to the shock of many of the customers tipping him. "We have to split, come on McCree!"
"Wait, I ain't cashed the tips in yet!"
The two ran off through the streets of St. Denis, Jack fixed on his mask as they sprinted. "Look, I'll get the ride, you keep on after her!" Jesse split off in the intersection, as Morrison narrowly dodged and jumped over cars, pursuing the assassin. The suit jacket flew off, revealing his holstered pistol and magazines, along with a slung rifle. He knew better than to fire into the crowds. Widowmaker threw anything behind her, people, chairs, tables, all of which 76 stumbled through.
McCree's boots skidded as he rounded the corner of the parking lot. He fiddled with the keys for a second, finally getting it to start up. Giving it a rev, the motorcycle roared up the incline and made a sharp turn left, weaving through the traffic. Several shots went up in the air to disperse the crowds of people. She took a right. The bike left black marks on the road, as he turned and followed after her again, driving it near to the sidewalk she was running on. Finally, he jumped off and tackled her, while the vehicle crashed its way into a cafe.
By the time Morrison got there, Jesse in a stranglehold. Widowmaker crossed her arms over his neck gripping hard on his collar to cut off the supply of oxygen. His face was turning purple, struggling, kicking and squirming. He kneed her in the ribs, throwing her back. She kicking to hit his chin, only to be stopped by a hold by her sides, and a sudden throw down onto the pavement. LaCroix groaned as she attempted to get up, scratching the side of Jack's face. The soldier took an arm around her neck as the other one snaked around her armpit and his hand pushed on the back of her head, eventually getting her to pass out. He let her unconscious form fall down to the ground with a thud, and looked over at Jesse, whose hands still grabbed his own throat, heaving heavily. Sirens were coming in the distance. Give it thirty seconds, and the police would be swarming on all the three. Morrison offered a hand to Jesse, which he graciously took. "Car's still back at the restaurant", the ranger said, finally catching his breath.
Morrison grunted, looking around. The tactical visor showed several heat signatures converging on their position. "You take her, I'll get out of here myself. Meet back up at the car."
The cowboy nodded, picking back up his hat and serape, and hoisting an insensate Amelie bridal style.
Jack waited, then faced the cop cars almost crashing into him. He cleared the jump as the cruiser hit the wall, and began running.
The small hum of the engines emanated throughout the lower part of the aircraft. The spider slowly let her eyes open, gasping slightly for air. Her back and arms were sore, strained and tense. Metal cuffs around her hands. Defeat. No matter. Only a hindrance before she can back to Talon. The femme fatale didn't bother squirming. She'd deal with them later.
Jesse sat far from her on the blue padded corner. Morrison was up on the cockpit, adjusting their course. McCree's boots were on the table along with a magazine on saddles and horses in his hands. Cards were scattered. The global map in the middle marked their destination. Lyon, France. They were going to hand her over to Interpol.
"Walk my way, and a thousand violins begin to play…", he softly murmurs. He doesn't seem to know that she's stirred up, until his eyes slowly move to see her. He can't tell if she's glaring, or just astonished.
"Sleep tight?"
"No thanks to your driving, imbécile."
*In vino, veritas: In wine, truth.
*Age quod agis: Watch what you do.
*Age. Fact ut gaudeam: Go ahead. Make my day/Make it that I might be glad.