Author's Notes: This is a chapter I've had in my head since even before the last chapter was finished. This one should have been finished sooner, but there a lot of projects for me to work on. So, it took a little extra time. For the few of you who still care about this story, thank you for sticking with it. I love all of my current PPG stories, but this one probably the most fun to write given how unashamedly cheesy it can get. Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed this story :)

Chapter 8

Days of Booze & Roses

Femme Fatale pulled into the driveway of Mr. Big's estate in her silver Lambo, and took a breath as she slammed the driver's side door. Her proverbial web was becoming more tangled, and the gravity of her decisions was finally starting to weigh on her. She was in hot water with The Smith Family, Moose, The Powerpuff Girls, and possibly Mr. Big. The Smiths wanted their money back, Moose wanted her to lead Mr. Big to his death, and everyone wanted her to kill The Powerpuff Girls.

She swept back her long blonde hair as she knocked on the door. The plan was simple enough at least. Convince Mr. Big to let her join him while running his errands, and then persuade him to go with her to the pier. There he would be shot, and she would be paid her 5 million dollars. That is, if she didn't get shot herself. Oh well, it was a risk she was willing to take for a chance at her own crime ring.

A man with a sharp nose and a navy blue business suit opened the door for her. He looked severe, but Femme Fatale wasn't worried. She had faced harsher looking people in prison.

"You here to see Mr. Big?" The man asked.

"Yeah, I'm his hired…well, I shouldn't say what I am out here," Femme Fatale said conspiratorially.

"No one sees Mr. Big," The man growled.

"It's alright," Femme Fatale replied coolly, "Moose gave me clearance."

"I said-" The man hissed.

"Hey, Rocko," A familiar slow voice called out from the other side of the hallway, "Is that Femme Fatale?"

Mr. Big lumbered closer to the front door, and the goon gulped nervously. Femme Fatale was almost impressed by how much Big's cronies feared him, but then she remembered fear was a common tactic used by men and snapped out of her reverie. Her scowl and confident stance never wavered, not that Mr. Big seemed to notice.

"Was I expecting you?" Mr. Big asked her, his tone even as ever despite how sarcastic the question should have sounded.

"Not really," Fatale shrugged indifferently, "I thought we could talk about the Powerpuff situation."

"Well, uh, Mr. Big has to go somewhere today…" Mr. Big faltered.

Femme Fatale never heard him sound unsure of himself before, so this new development had her slightly intrigued.

"I'll go with you," Femme Fatale declared, "You do want to know more about my current strategy, don't you?"

"Um…maybe," Mr. Big replied, sounding even more cornered than before, "Okay. We can go together. Would you like to drive? Mr. Big remembers you like driving."

"Sure," Fatale smirked, "I think I'll remember this day for a long time…"

Mr. Big, not picking up on her sinister undertones, dutifully followed her to her car and got in. His weight caused the car to lean to the right, and Femme Fatale cringed at how awkwardly this was going to cause her to steer.

As they headed to who-knows-where, Femme Fatale had to steel herself for what was coming. She had to be ready to spring the trap, and she couldn't afford to back down. After all, she needed the money to pay back The Smiths as well as start her own empire. She considered not paying back The Smiths at all, but frankly Mary Ann was scarier than even The Saga Cartel.

Femme Fatale considered just driving to the pier right away, but she wasn't sure if Moose was there yet. The timing had to be precise, or else the hit could fail. She turned to Mr. Big, who was looking over a list and scratching his bushy red chin. He wasn't paying attention to her, and Fatale was almost afraid to get his attention. Despite how placid he seemed today, part of her was still nervous about him due to his sheer size and strength.

"Hey Big, where are we going first?" Femme Fatale asked, sounding more assured of herself than she felt.

"Artie's Florist Shop," Mr. Big told her.

Thankfully the florist was only a couple blocks away from their current position, so she didn't have to try to make small talk before arriving there. Femme Fatale enjoyed talking whenever she could, especially about herself, but Mr. Big was surprisingly difficult to start a conversation with. He wouldn't directly speak unless spoken to when they were alone, and his responses tended to be vague. She assumed it was because mobsters were naturally secretive, but it still made for a boring car ride and an awkward business arrangement.

Once they got to the florist, Mr. Big smiled and approached the counter. A little old lady with curly brown hair and a big smile greeted them and immediately handed over a large bouquet of red roses.

"Thank you," Mr. Big replied before handing over $200 and walking away.

They were leaving after less than a minute, and Femme Fatale rushed to catch up with the man. He put the flowers in the back seat and then forced himself back into the front passenger's seat; causing the car to lean again. Femme Fatale just shrugged and got back in the car too.

"So, who are the flowers for?" Femme Fatale asked as soon as they were back on the road, "Must be some hot date to get so many, or else you did something you really don't want her to think about. Hah!"

"They're for my brothers," Mr. Big corrected.

"Your brothers?" Femme Fatale asked skeptically, "Why would you get your brothers flowers? I have three brothers myself, and trust me, they're not going to want those things."

"They won't?" Mr. Big asked innocently.

"Of course not!" Femme Fatale laughed, "What kind of a gift is red roses for a bunch of dudes? Trust me, men have really fragile egos. If they think they're being treated like girls, they'll get mad at you."

"They will?" Mr. Big asked in concern, "So, uh, what should I get them?"

"Well what's the occasion?" Fatale asked.

"…Anniversary," Mr. Big muttered.

"An anniversary, huh?" Femme Fatale pondered, "Well when Luther and his wife had their first anniversary I just gave them a bottle of champagne. I find booze is a gift men tend to appreciate."

"So I should give them booze?" Mr. Big asked, "Hm…okay. We need to stop at the liquor store then."

Femme Fatale didn't argue, but she realized she just made more work for herself. Why did she care so much about how a bunch of men felt about their oafish mob boss brother anyway? He was going to be dead in another hour or so. He probably wouldn't even have time to deliver the gift.

They pulled into the parking lot of a liquor store in the bad part of town. Femme Fatale knew this was probably way below the standards of a rich man like Mr. Big, and that was exactly why she picked this place. If she had to do this job, she might as well have fun messing with this guy while she could.

"Femme Fatale? Could you go inside and buy the booze?" Mr. Big requested.

"Why? Afraid the hobo germs will stain your new suit?" Fatale asked with a sly grin.

"Uh, no. Mr. Big wants to buy some stuff across the street," Mr. Big replied.

Mr. Big then handed her a $50 bill and walked across the street to the convenience store. He was almost hit by a car that stopped and honked at him, but he didn't speed up or even acknowledge the danger he was in.

Femme Fatale just scoffed and walked in the liquor store. Men always felt they were invincible, especially rich goons like Mr. Big. It made Femme Fatale sick that men ruled the world when they couldn't even control their own impulses. Nonetheless, she knew she wouldn't have to wait long before at least one oppressive male-dominated force was crippled.

Then again, it wasn't like she was really changing things. Even with Mr. Big gone, Moose was still going to run the show. He might even be worse than Mr. Big because he was clearly sexist and ruthless. With Mr. Big she didn't know how he felt about these things, but she did know Moose wasn't shy about his disdain for her and everything she believed in.

Pondering her situation, she began to feel trapped again. She was accepting money from a man who was just going to keep the patriarchy in power. When working for The Smiths she was working for a family that wanted to put a man in charge of Townsville as mayor. When working for Mr. Big she was implicitly accepting the status quo. It seemed like no decision she made actually helped her achieve true female independence.

She picked the cheapest bottle of gin she could find. It came out to $7, which meant she could pocket the rest of the money for herself. She didn't know if Mr. Big would call her out on it, but she suspected he wouldn't. He seemed like the type that liked flashing his cash to show off.

Femme Fatale returned to the car, but it took nearly 20 minutes for Mr. Big to come back. He was carrying a plastic grocery bag and eating a chocolate bar. Due to the heat some of the chocolate melted into his red beard, but Mr. Big didn't seem to notice. Femme Fatale cringed at the sight of it. This man was disgusting.

"Alright Big, where to now?" Fatale asked tersely.

"Verdant St.," Mr. Big replied vaguely.

Femme Fatale sighed sharply, but her exasperation really existed to hide how tense she felt. When a mob boss only gave the name of a street, it meant whatever he was doing was meant to be kept a secret. She wondered if he was planning the same thing she was. She was trying to kill him, so was he going to try to kill her? That seemed absurd, since he didn't even know she was coming with him, but that could all be a ruse.

Moose bailed her out and immediately had a plan to take out Mr. Big. What if that wasn't the real plan at all? What if Moose and Mr. Big were going to kill Femme Fatale because of her failure to destroy the Powerpuff Girls? What if Mr. Big was only playing dumb so he could lure her to Verdant St. and kill her?

"You know, my first plan for the Powerpuff Girls was only a test," Femme Fatale said more defensively than she meant to, "I just needed to gauge their strength before my real plan. When I go after them again, it'll be for real."

"That's smart," Mr. Big nodded approvingly, "I didn't wanna go too fast anyway. It'll feel much better if they understand what they did first. You're a real smart lady."

"So you do understand?" Femme Fatale asked tensely, "I haven't failed. I just need more time."

"Of course," Mr. Big replied agreeably, "Mr. Big is still looking for the professor anyway."

Femme Fatale let out a breath and kept driving. She still wasn't completely convinced this wasn't a trap for her, but she didn't know what else to ask to catch him in a lie. Then again this could be exactly as it appeared, and she was leading him to the slaughter instead of the other way around.

When they made it to Verdant St., Mr. Big got out of the car and took the gin with him. He started walking, and Femme Fatale sat in the car in hopes of not being led into a trap. Mr. Big didn't go far until she saw him turn and walk into the cemetery. He sat down beside a large angelic grave marker and started pouring out the gin.

Well, this was not what she was expecting.

At first Femme Fatale was just going to wait for Mr. Big to come back, but he didn't come back. He just sat there and talked. After five minutes of this Femme Fatale was getting bored and decided to get out of the car and walk over to him. At the very least it looked like there was a story behind this.

"…but it wasn't like a scab-scab," Mr. Big was saying to the statue, "It was more like dry skin. I thought it was cool. Oh! Femme Fatale. I forgot about you. Sorry."

"You said it was an anniversary present," Femme Fatale said wryly as she motioned toward the empty gin bottle.

"It is," Mr. Big nodded, "They died today. Well, not today-today, but July 26th in another year. I usually give them roses, but I didn't know they would get mad at me. Thank you."

"Your brothers are dead, huh?" Femme Fatale asked as she sat down next to Mr. Big, "If only we could trade places. I would much rather my three brothers be dead, right next to my useless father."

"Don't say that," Mr. Big cautioned, "Family is the most important thing ever. That's why The Saga Cartel means so much to me. They're Mr. Big's family too. My brothers would have loved them. It was our dream."

"Your dream was to be drug runners?" Femme Fatale asked dryly.

"Yeah," Mr. Big smiled, not seeing the problem, "Can Mr. Big show you something?"

"I guess," Femme Fatale replied, though she was dubious.

Mr. Big then took off his suit jacket, and Femme Fatale was already preparing to flee in case this was a poor attempt at seduction. Mr. Big then lifted up his shirt sleeve to reveal his arm. He pointed, and she saw that etched into his putrid skin was a black tattoo that read S.A.G.A. with snakes slithering around the lettering as a border.

"I got this when they died," Mr. Big explained, "It's all the first letters of their names. Mr. Big named the Saga Cartel after them, and did all the stuff we said we'd do together."

"Weird as it sounds, I'm actually a little jealous," Femme Fatale confided, "My brothers and I don't have that relationship. My old man never wanted me. I wasn't a boy, and he only wanted sons. I was constantly belittled and told my dreams didn't matter and wouldn't come true because I was a girl. My dad would tell me I wasn't lady-like enough and that I'd better shape up if I ever wanted to land a rich husband. As a kid I actually tried to be what he wanted me to be. My brothers knew it was okay to bully me because he wouldn't say anything. When he divorced my mom, he managed to get full custody because he was rich and could afford better lawyers. He left her with nothing! She ended up homeless because of that psycho, and he was able to date any floozy that came his way because they were all impressed by his wealth. When he died, I was the only kid cut out of the inheritance. Money is a weapon used by the patriarchy, but it can also be the great equalizer. Man or woman, if you have money you can get away with anything. You can-"

"I know," Mr. Big replied, interrupting her rant, "Mr. Big's old family wasn't rich. We wanted to be though. Being poor was hard. Not enough food, not enough beds, not enough anything. We knew we could be rich though. We knew if we saved enough money we could buy our first supply of cocaine and make more money. Then we could do it again, and again, until we'd be rich enough to have everything we wanted. When Mr. Big's brothers died, Mr. Big had to start selling alone. It worked, and Mr. Big found people that knew more about drugs and the police and stuff. The Saga Cartel became Mr. Big's new family, and Mr. Big made sure we could have whatever we want. Now we throw parties and eat anything we want, and have lots of bedrooms. Mr. Big will never let us be poor again."

The way he said this gave Femme Fatale pause. Mr. Big talked about his crime family with a sense of love and loyalty that frankly seemed absurd to her. They didn't care about him. Even his own right hand man Moose wanted to kill him and take his place. Just a moment ago she wanted to as well.

Despite coming from very different circumstances, Femme Fatale realized they had something in common. They both hid their vulnerabilities behind new names and grandiose valliany. She wanted women to have power, but that was mostly because she wanted power for herself. Mr. Big had power, but it was only because he didn't want the people in his life to feel the deprivation he once felt. She wanted to push people away to protect herself, and he wanted to hold people close to protect his heart.

"Big, there's something you need to know," Femme Fatale found herself saying, "Moose is planning on killing you."

"Huh?" Mr. Big grunted.

"I can prove it," Femme Fatale insisted, "Just listen to this call and don't make a sound."

Mr. Big backed away a little, seemingly nervous, but did as she instructed and didn't say a word.

The phone rang, and soon Moose picked up. Femme Fatale made sure to put it on speaker.

"Whaddya want?" Moose whispered harshly, "You should have been here a half hour ago!"

"I got caught in traffic," Femme Fatale lied, "Listen, just so we're clear, where am I supposed to take Mr. Big?"

"Oh for cryin' out loud!" Moose shouted in frustration, "The pier! There's only one in this stinking city!"

"I know that!" Femme Fatale snapped, "I mean are you going to shoot him on the dock or the boardwalk?"

"The boxes along the boardwalk," Moose replied, "They're renovating that place that sells frozen yogurt, so there's plenty of places to hide. Mr. Big won't know what hit him. Now hurry up. I ain't got all day."

"Fine, don't get your panties in a wad," Femme Fatale said before hanging up, "See, Big? They're trying to kill you, and Moose is leading the charge."

"So, there are members of the Saga Cartel trying to kill Mr. Big?" Mr. Big asked for clarification.

"You just heard them!" Femme Fatale shouted impatiently, "Look, I was in on this before, but I don't want to do this anymore. I don't know why! I guess, I don't know…it just feels wrong to help kill you after you've stuck your neck out for me, even if you are annoying and gross. If you know what's good for you, you'll thank me and forget we ever had this conversation."

Mr. Big then stood up, and held out his hand for Femme Fatale. She remembered the stories about him strangling people however, so she lifted herself off the ground without his assistance. She glared at him, daring him to make a move after she just saved his life.

"Thank you," Mr. Big said instead.

With that Mr. Big walked back to the car, and Femme Fatale was about to do the same thing when she glanced over at the grave marker they had been sitting under. The plaque read: Maria Gutherson, 1889-1962.

Well, that certainly wasn't the grave for Mr. Big's alleged 4 brothers. Femme Fatale furrowed her brow in thought. Why would Mr. Big lie about something like that? She suspected he might have already known about the hit and was just trying to gain her sympathies. Was he telling the truth about himself, or was this just a ploy to keep her loyal to him? Either way, she knew she would have to be even more alert now that she knew he knew she almost got him killed.

Femme Fatale dropped Mr. Big off at his mansion, and he greeted his doorman before retreating to the confines of his office.

He sat in his plush faux leather chair and looked at his phone and computer. He still used a custom made landline because his fingers were too fat to use most smartphone screens, and he liked pushing the buttons on his old phone. Now though, he looked at that phone like it was an animal ready to bite him.

He took his jacket off again and threw it onto his couch. The room felt so hot, and he was struggling to breathe. This happened to him a lot. Sometimes it was panic attacks, and a couple times they were actual heart attacks. He was pretty sure this one was a panic attack, but that didn't help his feeling of suffocation and weakness. It felt like he was going to die.

Mr. Big got out of the chair and laid flat on the floor. His hat fell off, and he looked up at his ceiling; a tasteful ivory with brown wood streaking across like protective bars. He counted the wood beams, as he did every time he needed to work his way out of a panic attack. Dr. Needo recommended this technique, though Mr. Big wasn't sure how well it worked. He did it anyway though, since he didn't have any ideas of his own.

After several minutes, his chest didn't feel constricted anymore, and the room felt cold instead of hot. With great difficulty he sat up, and then reached for his jacket to warm himself. This was going to be a difficult decision, but it was one he knew he had to make.

He went back to his office chair, and back to his phone. With shaking hands, he began to dial.

"Lucky? It's Mr. Big," Mr. Big said into the phone, "This is important. I need you to take one of our bombs and plant it under the pier near the frozen yogurt stand. It needs to go off quickly. Moose and his friends need to die. If any of them escape, shoot them."

Lucky responded that he would take care of everything, and Mr. Big thanked him before hanging up the phone.

Once the deed was done, Mr. Big hung his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and began to sob.