Chapter Nine: Jazz Hands


"And what do you suggest?" Spy asked, sitting up and lighting a cigarette. Thankfully, his headache had mostly dissipated, thanks to the aspirin and his partner's handy advice.

"Well...do you like jazz?" Pyro inquired, tapping her fingers together.

"Very much so."

"Marvelous, I know just the place. Follow me!" The woman grinned excitedly and started towards the door; upon reaching it, she held it open for the Spy. Before following suit, the Spy decided to grab his Ambassador and take it along with him as a sort of afterthought. A proper Spy could never be too cautious, even for just a night on the town.

The two stepped into the elevator and after the quick ride down, cut across the lobby and exited through the hotel's ornate doors. Once again, they silently began walking the streets of Park Avenue. They made their way through Manhattan towards West 42nd Street arriving at an area with which Spy was familiar, though not nearly as familiar as the Pyro. Suddenly, she stopped short in front of a lively, bustling bar.

"What are you doing?" Spy asked as he quirked his brow and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Watch me."

She squatted, opened the unlocked metal doors from the sidewalk, and quickly beckoned for her partner to join her descent down the dimly-lit staircase, making sure to close said door above her.

"Now may ask what exactly we are doing down here?"

"You shall see. My, my, so many questions," she joked, in mimicry of the Spy. He rolled his eyes.

Pyro knocked on the heavy-duty steel door that was a bit further into the basement, garnering an answer from the man behind it.

"You the cat's pajamas?" came the gravelly voice from beyond.

"Nope, the bee's knees," she answered confidently. There was shuffling, muttering, and rustling before the door creaked open to reveal a towering black man that looked as though he were the love child of the Demoman and the Heavy.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here! If it ain't Little Miss Babs from Queens! How long has it been now?" he asked.

"About five years, I'd say! Good to see you, Fat Cat. How's the club doing, how's life treating you?"

"Mmm, Lord knows I can't complain. My, have you changed! Why, I barely recognize you. Guess you got tired of frequentin' the club with combat boots and yer hair on fire."

"Not exactly," she snickered, "Gotta act ladylike for a certain assignment, gotta stay on the DL. Meet my partner, he goes by 'Spy'. Fat Cat, Spy, Spy, Fat Cat."

The two men firmly shook hands.

"Bonsoir, pleased to meet you," nodded Spy politely.

"Likewise. Say…you from New Orleans?"

"Non, I hail from France."

"Oh, a bona fide Frenchman! Guess you don't stand on a corner of the French Quarter in a beret, eatin' beignets and jammin' out on the sax."

"Sorry to disappoint you; I am an accordionist," Spy informed him, tapping the ash from the end of his burning cigarette.

"You are, now? Well how about a good ol' jam with our guys here tonight, whaddya say? New faces are always welcome, and lucky for you, we could use an accordion guy."

Spy glanced at the Pyro, who smiled. Randomly jam with a bunch of people he didn't know, in front of an audience—for free?

"Go for it," she said in encouragement.

"And what about you?" Spy asked.

"Well, I don't know," she said, chuckling. "Would Fat Cat let me jam tonight with the big boys?"

"You know I can't never say no to a lady, now can I? Come now, we're about to have the jam of a lifetime!"

Fat Cat led them both towards a crowded room filled with people waiting for their show to start.

"That's yours for tonight, brotha," Fat Cat pointed a lone accordion out to Spy, "And you know the drill, Little Miss Babs."

"Phoebe O' Brien for now," she corrected. "And he's Fabio. They're our aliases."

"Gotcha, Phoeebs."

"You have performed for free?" Spy asked the woman next to him, as he doffed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He hadn't laid hands on an accordion for the longest time; he'd only hoped his skills hadn't dulled too much.

"Yeah, many times. I do it for the love of music, not for any profit," she replied, carefully turning the guitar's machine heads to tune the strings. "Besides, we're just jamming out, having fun. Not really playing anything set in stone, you know?" She slung the guitar strap over her shoulder and readied her position.

Spy used to perform with his instrument on the street when he was much younger, before he began professional spying, but always for a profit. He'd never thought of performing for free, or simply for the sake of playing music for or with others. His train of thought was cut short, however, as Fat Cat began banging on a cowbell to call for the audience's attention.

"Attention, lovely guests! We have our usual lineup on this fine evening, but let's give a warm welcome to our guests Phoebe O'Brien on electric axe, and accordionist...uh, Fabio!"

The crowd of roughly forty guests clapped quietly, anxiously awaiting their dosage of jazz.

The drummer started off with a steady beat that immediately set the Pyro to work on a cadenza. She spouted off jazz chords and several riffs with grace notes thrown in for kicks. It was not long before she was joined by the saxophonist, the Spy's accordion, and the rest of the jazz ensemble.

Spy realized that the muscle memory he'd lost quickly returned to him. It'd been so long since he'd laid a hand on an instrument, and now here he was, jamming away. Meanwhile, the Pyro went back and forth with the electric bassist. At one point during one of Pyro's solos, she made eye contact with the Spy.

Does she want me to..?

The Pyro nodded and smiled as if she could read his thoughts. She finished her solo and the Spy took over with jazz chord arpeggios, quickly segueing into the song's melody. His fingers moved with a brisk alacrity. When he finished, the crowd applauded and the saxophonist took over. He looked at his partner from across the stage and noticed that the smile she gave him was unlike any he'd seen before from her. This was one of pride; she seemed thoroughly and genuinely impressed. Spy could tell and in that moment felt like a teenager again, one who had impressed a girl he crushed on for the first time. A new invigoration coursed through his veins; he was determined to play his absolute best.

For several hours they carried on, taking requests from the increasingly-eager crowd and testing out new types of playing styles. White-hot stage lights rained down on the performers and covered them in a thin sheen of sweat as they jammed the night away on their small stage. Unfortunately, time had flown particularly fast that night, and it had gotten late before they'd realized it. Pyro checked her watch in between sets and stood up reflexively.

"Oh my God, what? It's already three in the morning! Sorry, but I gotta split, my man."

"But the night is young, Littl—I mean, Miss O'Brien. There were times you wouldn't leave until the sun rose!"

"Damn it, as much as you know I'd love to, I can't stay that late. I'm expecting a big visit later, and I've gotta be prepared. You dig?"

"I understand, I do. You be careful, now, ya hear? Make sure Fabio here's gotcher back!"

"I'm not worried about it," she laughed, facing the pinstripe-clad man who was putting his jacket back on. "Ready to go, Fabio?"

"TOTALLY, SWEETCHEEKS!"


The walk back to the hotel felt longer than the walk to the underground club as they, unbeknownst to themselves, were walking at a much slower speed. The pair had wanted to enjoy each others' company for as long as they possibly could that night; it was brisk out and the two were running on performers' highs. Pyro broke the silence.

"Damn, I didn't know you were that good," she breathed.

"What do you mean?"

"At the accordion. You sounded so...wow. You play like a master!"

"Ah, merci beaucoup, chèrie. I could easily say the same for you. Emotional playing with superior technical mastery of the instrument, for sure."

"Wait, what? Really? Nah, I'm just an amateur, playin' around for fun. I'm not that great."

"Non. Such a loud and ferocious instrument, played well enough to fit perfectly into such an elegant style of music as jazz? Reminds me of you."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, nice analogy there. Such a flatterer, you."

At that point, the two had stopped walking altogether and were looking at each other instead of ahead of them. As her eyes met his, her heart leapt into her throat and she felt her breath catch. Was this going to be it? The moment where her dreams literally came true? She felt herself gravitating towards him and getting closer; this was it. At long last—

CRASH! Unfortunately, they'd stopped in front of a dark alleyway on a relatively deserted street. A masculine figure jumped out at them, running into a few garbage cans.

The sudden attack took the Pyro by surprise, something she absolutely loathed. She was the one who was supposed to do all the surprising and ambushing. She was annoyed at herself for getting caught off-guard like this.

"Gimme your damn wallet, and nobody gets hurt," the perpetrator breathed.

As she quickly patted herself down, Pyro's heart sunk. Are you kidding me? Really? Of course the one time I get jumped, I'm not even fucking armed. Of all times not to be! If only I had my flamethrower, I could fry this punk up.

She quickly whirled around to face her partner who, unsurprisingly, had a smug grin on his face.

"Oh, really? And what if I don't comply with your brash and...ill-directed demands? I'm warning you, boy."

"Then I, uh—kill the girl!" he said, pointing his trembling knife at the Pyro.

Spy'd had a hunch that something like this would happen, but he didn't even have to use his gun—he swiftly uncovered his balisong and began expertly twirling it about in his hand.

"Go right ahead," he shrugged, absentmindedly doing tricks with his knife.

Pyro looked at him incredulously before realizing his plan. Spy only wanted to toy with him, like he did many of his enemies.

The mugger dove straight for the Pyro with his knife, and as soon as he'd leapt, the older man knocked the flimsy weapon right out of his grip. He fell to the floor as his knife clattered into the street, and Spy vaporized into thin air.

"ALRIGHT, WHERE'S THAT MASKED FUCKER? I'M GONNA—"

"Right behind you."

With that, the Spy uncloaked and knocked the attempted robber out with a well-aimed punch to the head, dusting his hands off as the he slumped to the floor.

"Oh dear, I've made quite a mess. What an inconvenience."

Pyro let out a breath that she was unaware she was holding the entire time.

"Tell me about it," she said, stepping around the unconscious figure sprawled on the sidewalk.

"Spies must always be prepared and expect the unexpected."

They walked away from the scene much faster than before, the exhilirating buzz of performing replaced with a cold rush of adrenaline and a dampened mood. When they were almost at the hotel and in a better-lit area, Pyro stopped short and tugged on the Spy's jacket sleeve.

"I, uh, really wanna thank you. You know, for what you did back there, saving me," she stuttered, looking straight down at the sidewalk.

"Of course, chérie. Do not mention it." He noticed the disgruntled look on her face. "Is there something wrong?"

"Ugh, can't I just…you know, carry a pistol or something? God, I felt so helpless. I'm such a fucking idiot," she cringed, disgusted with herself. "I just fucking stood there, stood there like some helpless damsel in distress. I should've decked him right in his ugly fucking face when he came out. I let you do all the work and we're teammates. I apologize, I don't know what came over me."

"Don't apologize. You will not be leaving my sight," he assured. "This is not the battlefield in Teufort. If I have defend you from attackers, that is okay. It's part of my mission description, and I don't mind it in the slightest. In fact, I'll have you know I enjoy it. Do not beat yourself up over something like this—besides, if there was ever a woman who knew how to defend herself, it's you."

"I'm not sure whether I should be relieved."

"It is in my job description that I protect you at all times, is it not?"

"It is? I don't remember that being in there."

"Well, I shall show you, then."

When they'd arrived back at the hotel, Spy invited Pyro into his room. He opened his manila file and after a second of paper-sifting, found the paper he was looking for.

"...You are also to watch her back for any suspicious citizens and/or employees, protect her from any threats..." Spy trailed off and glanced up at his partner who purposely averted her gaze from his.

"Yeah, well…fine, whatever. God, I miss having a weapon," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

"Have some patience. When we encounter the assassin, we will kill him together," he assured her.

"Now I'm looking forward to meeting him, if only it means getting to use my weapons," she laughed dryly. "Although he's been a little too good with hiding. I still haven't even noticed anything suspicious."

"He does not know we are here. We are to be extra vigilant when Saxton Hale arrives tonight and from here on out."

"He arrives tonight? Oh right, it's like four. I gotta get going, today's gonna be busy as hell."

"Yes, I shall turn in as well. Good night and sleep well, ma chèrie." Spy snuffed his cigarette into the ashtray and waved as the woman he worked with made her way towards the door.

"Goodnight, and you sleep well too…Fabio."

"LIKE, DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!"

Pyro giggled a bit before waving and and leaving the room. The both of them slept unusually well that night.