Thank you everyone for your feedback I really hope I can do this idea justice, especially because it seems so awesome in my own head. I hope I get to keep hearing from you all.
~Vice
Raising the Saints from the dead was busy work. After an agonizing week of recovery, Des finally managed to drag herself off of Aisha's couch and start to get the Saints up and running again.
First, she had to get herself back in murdering shape. Staying at Eesh's place was fine, and it seemed Aisha enjoyed her company but Des couldn't stay forever. That and Aisha probably wouldn't appreciate bullets and blood Des would most definitely add to the décor.
She'd gotten herself a shithole apartment in the red-light district a block away from a shithole gym. Recruiting and intimidating gangsters was difficult when you didn't have enough muscle to beat off, let alone beat someone with a crowbar.
Coincidently it was at the gym that she found her first lieutenant. While it was true Pierce spent as much time staring at himself in the mirror as he did working out, he was the only one who knew who she was from the second she walked in the door.
Pierce Washington was ambitious, he'd approached her right off the bat, he wanted to know what she had planned and wanted in. His only ask was taking out some Ronin, which gave Des the opportunity to size him up as well. That and she got to shoot some Ronin, it was really a win-win.
He was likeable, and more importantly he was competent. He'd be a good fit for the Saints, and Des put him in charge of Dismantling the Ronin, since he seemed to enjoy taking them down.
Her second lieutenant was a harder find.
Des had been looking into a guy for the job but he turned out to be a fucking disappointment, his soon to be ex-girlfriend however seemed to fit the bill. Shaundi was pretty excited when Des mentioned resurrecting the Saints and offered to use her connections; apparently, she had quite a few in the form of a dozen or so exes.
While Shaundi had hesitated in taking on the Sons of Samedi Des had made it clear early on. The Boss' word is law. If the stoner remembered that she'd be fine.
Then there was Carlos.
Des wanted to make him a lieutenant, he was gutsy he was enthusiastic and he reminded her of herself when she started with the saints.
But he was also pretty green, he didn't really have a full grasp on the ins and outs of running a gang, and the prison break proved he didn't know how to plan things out.
To be fair Des had never really been much of a planner either. She liked his tenacity, and that's what eventually made her decision. Julius had given her an opportunity, it was her turn to pay it forward.
Besides how hard would it be to take out a bunch of monster truck rednecks like the Brotherhood?
Having found her partners in crime, the Saints now needed a hangout. Clearing out the old mission had felt like stepping into an old pair of well-worn boots, familiar, cozy, a bit messy. Okay so maybe Des wasn't good with the metaphors. But it made her feel like her old self.
It was strange being in charge, despite all his talk off family and sticking together, Julius had kept her fairly removed from the day to day familiarities of the gang. He'd always said he had more important work for her elsewhere, but now she understood that he was using her, just like everyone else had. She was a tool, a means to an end. Get the job done and stay away from anyone else.
She still felt separate but now for much different reasons.
She was the Boss.
It was the only name the new Saints would know. No one from the old gang had known her real name, even Eesh only knew a nickname. Now more than ever was determined to keep the tradition.
She was in charge and she intended to be better than Julius ever was. She didn't need anyone to be her tool, and she wouldn't run away from the family she was building.
The Saints were hers now and she wouldn't let them fall again.
She had a base of operations, she had lieutenants, and it was finally time to let Stillwater know that the Saints were back. Des left Pierce in charge of the recruiting and canonizations so she decided it was finally time to pay Troy a visit down at the precinct.
The police chief was less than pleased to see her in his office. He tried not to show it but he was panicking. He'd built his career on the Saints fall and she was more than happy to pull the rug out from under him.
Most of her visit had been a string of profanities she'd directed at him, a few vague yet enjoyable threats, a short trip down memory lane, followed by a few more specific but equally enjoyable threats. Well, Des had enjoyed them anyway. She had managed to call him a lying fuckface at least twelve times and she was particularly proud of that.
Despite the entertainment there was to be had messing with Troy Des felt the real cherry on top was finding a new target in Johnny Gat. The Lieutenant had caught her attention when he was asking after Dex on the phone. She didn't lie to him the man was eyecandy, at least once you ignored his shitty haircut. He was well built, even under his boring shirt and tie she could tell he had some muscle. He also had some magnificent cheekbones; those suckers were sharp enough to cut glass. She wasn't usually into anyone with glasses but she was always willing to make an exception.
Even better he was assigned to catch her. There was always something entertaining in playing a game of cat and mouse, especially if the mouse considered himself the cat. The look on his face when it dawned on him that she'd taken that stupid photo was well worth the trip to the precinct.
It was a shame she'd probably end up killing him. She was Stillwater's reigning cop-killer, unless someone up and took that title from her while she was laid out in the infirmary. Either way she'd have fun while she could, what else was life for.
All in all, Des had been quite productive since her breakout and she'd figured it was time to reward herself, take a load off and relax.
Which meant strippers.
Technically Legal had a certain charm. A sleazy, under decorated yakuza run sort of charm. Actually, to be completely honest Des was slightly disappointed in the place. Despite having some of the best dancers in Stillwater it didn't really know how to put on a show.
There was no razzle-dazzle. The lights were on a basic timer, nothing set to the music and it rarely changed from dancer to dancer. The stage itself was often boring, leaving the girls to make up for it with their costumes.
She'd be sure to revamp the décor once she took the place from the Ronin. For now she'd have to settle for half decent drinks and some good dancers. At least they hadn't skimped on the stripper poles.
She'd been trying to get to know the dancers, most gangsters didn't realize how advantageous it was to know strippers and streetwalkers. These girls knew all the dirt around town and being in their good graces came with a few perks. Sometimes she could even get one of them to help out with her own pole dancing routine.
But amateur night could wait, for now she was content with a cold beer and gyrating hips. At least, she had been. Right up until she watched Lieutenant Johnny Fucking Gat walk through the door.
It had been one hell of a week. After his impromptu meeting with the Playa he'd felt roadblocked by every avenue of investigation. It wasn't any different than it had been before her appearance but now it was twice as frustrating. He kept replaying her final taunt in his head. She blew him a kiss, and he was all the worse for it.
He need a break, a chance to relax. So he'd made his way to technically legal, hoping that watching some of the strippers could release some of the pent up tension he'd been holding on to all week.
He walked in picked an occupied pole to sit by and ordered a beer, hoping perhaps he could forget the frustration that his job had saddled him with.
Des had an idea it was a wonderfully awful idea, and with a bit of luck and a wad of cash she wouldn't be banned from Technically Legal. Not that a ban would ever stop her but why make life harder than it has to be?
It came to her when she realized that he hadn't seen her. Johnny had entered the club and sat down facing away from her. He was clearly distracted and that's when it came to her. She'd need some help from a few of the girls but it was a devilishly wonderful idea.
Des had money in her pocket, an amazing idea and best of all, no-one to talk her out of it.
Johnny had been slightly suspicious when the girl had told him he was getting a private show 'on the house' but apparently one of the new girls needed some practice. It probably didn't happen often so he wasn't going to refuse, it wasn't every day you get the chance for a free lap dance.
Chastity one of the girls he was more familiar with led him to the small private room, sat him down and made sure his wrists were in those little leather loops to keep men from touching the dancers.
"Angel will be out soon. You two have fun." Chastity giggled as she exited through the door behind him.
About a minute later he heard the door open and close and a pair of heels clicking slowly towards him.
"You must be Angel." the woman stepped around the chair to stand in front of him posing for his benefit. Her stance was one of dominance, the effect was enhanced by the pinstripe jacket, tipped trilby and booty shorts creating a sexy 1920's gangster look.
As he looked her up and down John had to admit he was into it. She was a bit bulkier than your average stripper but after eyeing her particularly muscled thighs he did not mind at all.
She took leisurely steps towards him oozing confidence. She had a smug satisfied smile and he couldn't help mirroring it as she placed her knees on either side of his own. Something about her seemed familiar but he was enjoying the show too much to worry about it.
She leaned in breath ghosting across his ear making the hair on the back of his neck raise.
"I'm not really an Angel, I'm more of a Saint." As she said it he felt the cold press of a knife against his neck. "and I'd really appreciate it if you stopped following me Johnny." She said with an exaggerated pout.
That's when it clicked, she was familiar because he had seen her less than a week ago blowing him a kiss as she skipped out of the precinct.
"Shit."
It turns out the girls working at Technically Legal were more than amenable to Des' idea. The small wad of cash she'd given them had helped but they also insisted they get to dress her up.
At first Cherry had recommended a thief outfit she had, but when Des saw it she had drawn the line at looking like a slutty hamburgler. Keeping on theme Dallas had a gangster costume with fewer sequins and a bit more coverage. The outfit had come with some wingtip styled stilettos and Des had given Dallas a couple extra Benjamins when decided she was keeping them.
Des was more than willing to go along with it. It was so rare to have someone so completely embrace one of her more extra plots and the girls were having as much fun dressing her up as she was going to have threatening a cop.
Now that she was here practically sitting on his lap holding a knife to his throat, she supposed the extra fuss was worth the look on his face.
"You know Johnny I've got things to do, people to kill and I just don't know if I have any time left for you."
"What do you want?" Despite having a particularly sharp hunting knife pressed to his jugular John was pleased with how nonchalant he'd managed to sound. The straps binding his wrists to the chair weren't particularly tight but he doubted he could remove them without this knife wielding maniac noticing. By all accounts he should be dead already. The playa wasn't known for playing with their marks.
"What I want, is for you to back off. You're not going to find anything, and I'd hate to have to cut up that pretty face of yours." She emphasized this by adding a slight pressure to the knife, and John resisted the urge to swallow.
"Are you telling me to stop doing my job so you can play pretend at being Scarface?"
In a split second she'd removed the knife from his throat and slammed it between them millimeters away from his crotch. Her intent was clear and he winced. The blade had come far too close for comfort.
"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny" she tilted her head and grinned wickedly "I'm threatening you to stop doing your job, so I won't have to kill you while I build an empire." She grabbed the base of his skull and leaned in close to whisper "Because I am so much fucking worse than Scarface."
She stood up backing away from him with the same leisurely pace she had entered the room. She'd left the embedded into the chair. Now she appeared to be twirling a gun. John's first thought was 'this bitch is fucking crazy' his second was 'damn that's hot.'
Rather than mull over the implications of his traitorous brain he had to know something else.
"Then why don't you fucking kill me right now?" this woman rarely had trouble mowing down civilians let alone cops. The fact that she seemed to be letting him go with only a threat seemed to be counterintuitive to her usual MO.
She pressed the gun against his forehead, he ignored the conflicted feelings of fear and arousal in an attempt to seem unaffected "because you're pretty." She then a made a boom noise while pretending to fire the gun. Then casually sauntered towards the door. "But mostly I promised the girls I wouldn't get blood on the floor"
With the clicking of her heels and the slam of the door she was gone. Johnny let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. Holy shit that woman was sexy, in a scary sort of way. It must have been the outfit. He was basically programmed to find anything in a stripper costume attractive.
He hadn't even seen where she'd been keeping the gun. He slipped his hands from the leather bands and carefully removed the knife from the place it had been wedged into the wood.
He debated the pros and cons of having to submit the weapon into evidence, they already had the Playa's fingerprints but they didn't have any name to match them to. That and he'd have to explain how he'd gotten the knife, that he'd let his guard down for a stripper. He'd never hear the end of it.
He tucked the knife into his jacket and habitually patted his underarm holster, only to realize it was empty. Suddenly the appearance of a gun in the playa's hand made a whole lot more sense, because it was his gun that she had lifted while threatening him.
He cursed, that was twice she'd managed to steal something right out from under him.
The only saving grace there was that it was a personal handgun and not his police issued Glock. Another embarrassing explanation he could avoid back at the precinct.
He began patting himself down to make sure she hadn't robbed him of anything else. While he still had his wallet, he found something in his breast pocket which he hadn't had previously. It was a polaroid, of her, the Playa. It was dimly lit but there she was holding the hunting knife sporting a wicket grin the fucking pinstripe trilby sitting jauntily on her head.
He flipped the polaroid over and on the back, was a word written in sharpie. 'Call me Boss' punctuated by a gold fleur de lis.
"Fuck me."
