Chapter seven heats things up a bit-or just turns people into idiots...

Un-beta'ed, as always.

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Chapter seven: Baiting for Dummies

Scales sat in his office, a large mug of tea cooling by his elbow. A set of blueprints lay on the desk, practically forgotten by the smuggler. He was mentally retracing the events of the past half-hour; more specifically, his meeting with the Cape. It had left a bad taste in his mouth for more than one reason.

For one: he'd been rather crude about his relationship (as it was) with Dana Faraday. There had really been no call for that, and Dana didn't deserve it. Scales sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. No doubt the moth-eaten rag would be keeping a much closer watch over the lovely Mrs. Faraday from now on. Meeting with her would be much harder now…

For another, it rankled that he'd been so easily overpowered in the heart of his territory. He'd always felt more secure—for a given value of the word—in the heart of Dockside than anywhere else, but now… Scales grimaced, taking a sip of tea.

Security was important, for more reasons than he cared to name. The Cape had proven that his security wasn't up to scratch, and now he had to change that—before anyone else decided to take a crack at his territory.

Scales' train of thought was interrupted when Noodle poked his head through the open door. "Boss?" he said quietly. Scales looked up, eyebrows raised. "Chess is on the docks," Noodle said. He withdrew quickly, most likely out of some sense of self-preservation.

No one in Dockside liked Chess; mentioning the man around Scales was tantamount to suicide some days.

"Just bloody wonderful," Scales muttered, rubbing his throat with a wince. "Jus' wot I wanted t' end my day…" The smuggler hauled himself upright and grabbed his suit jacket off the coat rack. He half wondered what that pretentious little wanker wanted now

- - o - -

Chess was surrounded by his usual cadre of ARK troops when Scales and his men arrived. The smuggler snorted in derision when he saw the killer draw back behind his guards. Now there was a man who'd never had to fight his own battles. Pathetic, Scales thought, absolutely pathetic.

"So," Scales said genially, "What's so important that it—"

Chess held up a hand, scowling. Scales noted that the man looked rather annoyed, and smirked. "Quiet, Mr. Raoul," Chess snapped. "I have no desire to hear about your social life. What I'm interested in are my missing shipments and the photographs that seem to have come from your cameras."

Scales shrugged, leaning on his cane. His knee had healed weeks ago, but there was no sense in giving up an extra weapon. "I can't 'elp you there, my friend," he replied. He smirked at Chess, and continued. "Things go missin' all the time down 'ere. An' somehow, I thought you'd be pleased by the information…Faraday."

It was a calculated move on his part. He had no reason to believe that Chess was Faraday, but it made about as much sense as accusing Fleming. (Which was to say that neither option made sense from the smuggler's point of view.)

If Chess was annoyed at being called Faraday, he didn't show it. "I wonder at your intelligence," the man snarled, "if you can somehow misplace a half-ton of some of the most volatile explosives in the world!"

Scales' face froze into an ugly mask. There was quite a bit he could stand, especially in the way of physical pain. Insults, though, were another matter entirely. If that was how this berk wanted to play, so be it…

"Faraday," he drawled, drawing closer to the masked man, "Do I look like I give two shites about your explosives?" He smirked at the ARK guards, who drew back warily. Scales threw an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and drew him a short distance away from the assembled lackeys.

"For another thing," Scales added in a harsh whisper, "I don't give a shite about your personal life either, but I do about your bird." He felt Chess flinch under his grasp, and sighed. This was going to be a long night—despite the fact that something told him Chess had no more connection to the Faradays than a lorry did to a Ferari.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Chess replied in a soft snarl. Scales saw him throw a wary look back at his men.

"Well bugger me," Scales snarled back. "Wot's with leavin' the poor girl 'angin' when she thinks you're dead, mate? Lookin' to kill someone for poachin' your bird, then?"

Chess attempted to draw back, a look of disgust on his face. "Listen here, Dominic," he snarled, "I have no idea what game you're playing, but—"

It was Scales' turn to feel superior now. "Oh, I'm sure you do, my friend. See, your wife is rather distraught abou' your apparent demise, m'lad."

He'd grabbed the idea on the spur of the moment and decided to run with it. The biggest question was whether or not Chess had been Faraday. Was he doing the right thing, riling the psychopath up? For that matter, would Dana and her son be all right if this course of action fell through?

Scales gave a mental shrug. Consequences could be dealt with as they came. Right now, he was going to do what he did best.

"This conversation is over," Chess snapped, annoyed now. He attempted to leave, only for Scales to stop him again. The smuggler grabbed his sort-of ally's jaw and forced the man to meet his gaze. Scales' face was filled with mixed emotions, the most apparent of which was pure, unadulterated loathing.

"No it is not," Scales snarled. He caught sight of his boys keeping the ARK soldiers occupied and made a mental note to give them a bonus later. "Don' try to play games wi' me, m'lad," he continued. "Your bird is missin' you somet'in' fierce.

"Of course," he added with a lecherous grin, "I c'n always keep 'er company for you. Leastways until you come to your senses, you silly bugger."

The look on Chess' face answered all of Scales' question for him. One: Chess was not Vince Faraday. Two: the murderer was about as mad as Norris. Three: he'd just made a right mess of everything. Four: those bodyguards for Dana and Trip were going to be really handy in the near future.

He formed his face into a look of utmost disgust and thrust the killer away from him. "Ge' off my docks, you sick shite, while you've still the go' the means to do so," Scales snarled, pulling his gun out.

His lackeys took their cue from Scales and began herding the ARK soldiers back to their vans. After they had left the docks, and only the faintest glow of their taillights was visible, Scales turned to Kazzie.

"Yeah boss?" Kazzie asked, straightening up imperceptibly.

"Contact those silly tits from the Morrison job. I've go' a business opportunity for 'em."

- o – o -

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