And the mission commences... The song for this chapter is "Kill Me" by The Pretty Reckless. Enjoy, and please leave feedback! :)


In the morning, Joan dressed in a pair of skinny dark gray pants, black ballet flats, a pale pink long-sleeve shirt, and a black blazer. She added her "J" necklace, another chain with a single pearl bead, and matching pearl earrings.

Arthur was sitting in that same chair in the lobby, reading a newspaper. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit and a trench coat, and Joan's heart flipped a bit in her chest.

She took a deep breath and walked up to him. "Good morning, Arthur," she said casually, sitting down beside him. He folded his paper in half and smiled at her.

"Morning, Joan," he greeted her. The happiness on his face created a warm feeling in her chest.

"So, to the offices of Bennett & Brookington Real Estate," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to Joan. "Ready?"

She nodded. "Yes, let's go."

They took a cab and got out a few streets early, so they could go over the plan without being overheard.

"Okay, so I'm going to stall as much as I can, so you can strike up a conversation with Isabel. See if you can get her to open up. And don't forget to lift her wallet."

Joan nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear to keep it from flapping in the wind.

"Got it."

"Great. We'll come back late tonight and search for Moreau's shipment records. According to some chatter we intercepted, he hides them in Bennett's office."

They arrived in front of the office. Arthur took a deep breath, then glanced at Joan.

"Here goes."

"Good luck, boss," Joan said with a wink. Arthur laughed, and followed her into the office.

When they got inside, Joan froze. Isabel wasn't sitting at the receptionist's desk. In her place was a middle-aged woman, with auburn hair in a French twist. Joan shot a glance at Arthur. He looked just as worried as she did. He opened his mouth, but then the woman asked for his name.

"Arthur Campbell," he said firmly, turning to face her. "I have a meeting with Mr. Bennett at 11 am."

"Will the lady be joining you?" She looked at Joan, peering over the tops of her glasses.

"This is my personal secretary, Joan; she will wait out here for me. I won't be long."

Joan nodded and sat down on a couch in the polished, well-decorated office lobby. The auburn-haired woman stood up and went around a corner, most likely to fetch Mr. Bennett.

"Arthur," Joan whispered. He made eye contact and gave her a slight nod.

"What do we do? Where's Isabel?"

"We'll gave to change the plan," Arthur whispered. "Still see what intel you can gather. I'll be out in less than half and hour."

Joan nodded, just as the secretary rounded the corner.

"He's ready for you," she said to Arthur. He nodded and smiled, then went down the hallway she had just come from. Joan picked up an issue of Elle UK and pretended to read, carefully eyeing the receptionist. She was a slow typist, indicating to Joan that she was likely a temp; receptionist work was not her forte. The phone rang twice, and both times she answered, she sounded as if she was reading from a post-it.

Joan had to wait a few minutes to find her opportunity. She cleared her throat and stood up, casually walking to the desk.

"Hi," she said with a smile, resting her elbows on the desk. The woman looked up.

"Hello."

"Do you know what time it is?," Joan asked politely, altering her voice so it was a little more girlish and young. She knew the exact time, because she has just checked her phone. When the woman looked at the computer screen for the time, Joan gave the desk a quick once-over. There were several post-its, as she expected. One had coffee orders on it, cementing Joan's theory in her mind. And the girlish voice? All part of her cover as a young American woman who didn't know much of the business world.

"11:36."

"Thanks you." Joan paused. "I'm not used to this job," she confided, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers and lowering her voice. "There's a lot of sitting around, you know? Waiting, taking notes, making phone calls. But it's just temporary, til I can pay for school."

"Sometimes temporary work is what we need to tide ourselves over during the in-between periods," the woman said, looking at Joan and offering a small smile. "What do you want to study?"

"Art History," Joan said, smiling. "Is this your regular job? We were here 2 months ago, and there was another woman here."

She knew that was a risky statement, but she liked taking these kinds of small risks. It gave her an odd kind of thrill, being able to lie so confidently.

The woman nodded. "Yes. The young woman who usually mans this desk is out for the week, and Mr. Bennett doesn't like to leave the post empty."

"Ah." Joan nodded. "Same with my boss. He is so busy, with so many business endeavors, but his last assistant quit to get married. It's been good money for the last year and a half, but he knows that I don't plan to stay. He just needs help organizing things."

"He seems awfully young for such a wealthy businessman," the woman remarked. Joan nodded.

"He comes from money. You know the wealthy types – instead of cars for their 18th birthdays, they get stocks and property," Joan said, giggling. "He's a very intelligent man, Mr. Campbell. Knows where to put his money, and how to make it grow. It's a great lesson in business, actually."

The woman smiled. "Well, it's nice that you can learn and work at the same time."

"Oh, yes!," Joan said. She laughed. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm distracting you. I'll sit back down."

"That's quite alright dear, I enjoy the company."

Joan grinned. "Perfect."

Only a few minutes later, Arthur emerged. Behind in, in the hallway, Joan saw a shadow of Mr. Bennett. She smiled politely and waved goodbye to the secretary, and then she and Arthur walked to the door.

"What do we do?," Joan asked Arthur worriedly once they were a few blocks down the street.

He sighed and looked at her, the most serious person to ever say the next few words: "I guess we're going to a strip club tonight."

xxxx

They had to wait a few hours, so Joan ordered lunch from room service and sat in her hotel room, reading and waiting. Annie had once said that they did a lot of waiting in their job, and Joan knew it was true. Waiting for the next thing, the next mission or directive.

She waited for six hours before changing her clothes. Black lace-up boots, jeans, a gray sweater, and a black peacoat.

Arthur was dressed similarly when they met in the lobby – jeans, black boots, black leather jacket, navy blue shirt. That was another big part of the job: blending in.

"Ready?," he asked her. She nodded.

"The club she works at is about half an hour from here," Arthur said as they walked out of the hotel. "We'll take a cab to a restaurant close by, then walk the rest of the way."

"Okay. Does she go by a stage name?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. Roxanne."

Joan laughed. "Like the song by The Police."

Arthur turned to her and grinned. "Okay, not fair. A pretty blonde who knows her music, could kick my ass before I even knew what hit me, and acts like going to a strip club is no big deal? Please tell me you have a flaw."

Joan smiled and blushed. "Yeah, sure. I got a D in high school chemistry."

Arthur just shook his head, still grinning. "I knew it!"

They killed some time getting dinner, not going to the club until after 8 pm. It was dimly lit, as expected, and dance music played. Girls danced on table tops and swung around poles, all dressed in tiny black scraps of fabric. Just a typical strip club.

"Let me know if you see her," Arthur whispered to Joan. She nodded and they wove their way to the back of the club, where they each ordered a drink.

It only took a few minutes for Joan to spot their potential asset. Isabel/Roxanne was giving a lap dance to a silver fox with horrible teeth, her hair tied in a sexy bedhead ponytail with a red ribbon. Joan nudged Arthur and pointed her out, and he nodded, a sly smile on his face.

"Watch and learn."

He got up from the bar and sat down at a table a few feet away, casually waving a twenty in the air to catch Isabel's attention. She smiled at him and shimmied over, taking his face in her hands.

"What's your name?," she purred, her face just inches from his. He smiled.

"Arthur."

"Oh, well, Arthur, I'm Roxanne. What can I do for you tonight?"

Arthur gripped her wrist tightly and flashed his sexiest smile. "You can tell me all about Jack Moreau, Isabel."

She widened her eyes and tried to pull herself away. "Who the hell are you?"

Arthur said nothing, just raised his eyebrows. Isabel surprised him by wrenching herself out of his grasp. She didn't even take a second look at him before sprinting towards the back of the club and hopping over the bar.

Joan's eyes widened in alarm and she jumped up from her chair, following Isabel over the bar. She pushed through the door leading to the back dressing rooms, Arthur close behind. They ran all the way down the hallway, but the pair of 6-inch platform heels strewn on the steps leading down to the basement door showed that Isabel had definitely increased her head start.

"Shit," Arthur muttered, kicking the door open. He and Joan stepped into the dark, empty alleyway. Joan groaned.

"Great."

Arthur took Joan's wrist. "C'mon. We gotta find her."

Joan nodded, and they jogged down the alley. Arthur found the back door to a bar 3 doors down ajar, and he and Joan crept in.

The bar was loud and rowdy. Men were clanking beer bottles together, groups of girls were laughing and dancing to the heavy rock music. Joan nudged Arthur.

"Arthur, look."

Arthur followed Joan's gaze to a girl with long, tangled blonde hair. She had thrown a loose gray t-shirt dress and denim jacket over her stripper outfit, and taken the red ribbon out of her hair, but it was definitely Isabel.

They walked towards her slowly, but Isabel saw Arthur and panicked. She pushed through the crowd, and in the process, knocked over a tipsy thirty-something guy in an ugly beanie. He fell into Joan, and her reflexes kicked in. She shoved him forward, and gestured to Arthur.

"Follow her! I'll catch up."

He nodded and ran after Isabel. Ugly Beanie Guy finally stumbled up to his feet, and his friends came to his side, rolling up their sleeves. Joan tried to shake it off.

"Hey, I'm so sorry," she said, in the best British accent she could muster. "I'm a bit of klutz."

"Yeah, bitch, I don't think so. You move too fast," one of the friends growled. He put his hand on Joan's shoulder and pushed, hard. Joan sighed and punched him in the throat, then kicked his legs out from under him.

All of a sudden, it was a full-blown bar fight. Joan against 3 half-drunk men, throwing punches and attempting to aim kicks at the groin. A crowd had cleared around them, and the bartender was too lazy to stop it. She got two down, but without noticing, the other had crept up behind her.

A few droplets of beer rolled down her face as he smashed an almost-empty bottle over her head. Joan stumbled backwards, tripping over a stool. She landed on her back and slammed her head against the dirty concrete floor.

Arthur must have lost Isabel again, because he pushed his way through the crowd.

"Hey, get back! Move!"

He knelt beside her and put his hand on her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered and she mumbled, "Arthur?"

She could only see shapes moving in front of her, and she could barely hear, but she made out Arthur's voice.

"Hey… yeah, you… hand me… the bottle… painkillers…"

Joan tried to shake her head, but she was groggy. "No…. I can't…"

But he didn't hear her. He tipped the pills down her throat, and everything faded to black.