Author's Note: I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I am trying to maintain the flow and feel from chapter one, so please let me know how I am doing. Thanks for the criticism, it is very appreciated and has been taken into account as I hope you can tell from this next bit. Lastly, can someone explain to me the concept of a Mary Sue? I'm not quite sure I know what it is, but I would like to avoid it since nobody seems to like them. Thank you. Don't forget to tell me what you think.

Chapter Two

Vincent slipped back out onto the street. On the twenty third floor of the building behind him, through the door of the fourth office on the right, District Attorney Frank Martin was lying in a heap behind his desk. One in the head, two in the chest, no questions. Poor old Frank hadn't even seemed surprised. Vincent saw a taxi heading his and quickly put two fingers to his lips and whistled. The car slowed, then stopped and Vincent got in. Three more marks and he was on his way home.

Claire stepped out onto the stage, thankful that the spotlight was blindingly bright and she couldn't see the old perverts who were ogling her from the seats. She moved in rhythm to the music, peeling off her blouse as she made her way downstage. She winced as her eyes began to adjust to the light and the audience started to come into focus.

It wasn't the most dignified of jobs, hell, she didn't even like doing it. It was degrading and it put her on display for the entire world to see and her mother had raised her to have modesty. But it was good money and at this particular stage of her life, that was the important thing. She slinked around the stage, fighting off the overwhelming feelings of disgust every time some man tucked a bill into her garter. This was not how she imagined her life, but then, how many little girls lie in bed at night dreaming of becoming an exotic dancer? It was what she had for the time being, and she would make the best of it.

She recognized Stanly Preswick as soon as he set foot in the club. He was a large round man with thinning brown hair and an Armani suit who stank of too much cologne. He was sweaty and pervy, but he tipped well. And he liked Claire. He was one of her regulars. He stalked up to the stage waving a twenty between his fingers. Claire gave him access to her garter and saw the smile cross his shiny face.

"Daisy," he called her by her stage name, "I'll be expecting a dance later."

Claire put on her brightest, not to mention fakest smile and replied, "Anything for you, honey." She didn't mention the fact that she got off in less than twenty minutes.

Stanly toddled off to the VIP room where he would spend the evening getting drunk and having private dances and he wouldn't think of her again.

Vincent paid his driver and straightened his jacket. His eyes wondered the entrance of the club before him. This guy Preswick was a real pig. Vincent almost felt he would be doing the human race a favor by ridding the world of him. He rolled his shoulders back to relieve the tension, then strode through the doors.

The interior of the club was hazy and the music assaulted his ears. Preswick would be back in the VIP room. He wouldn't be a challenge. But instead of heading straight back for his target, his gaze made its way to the stage. Or more accurately, to the dancer onstage.

Claire.

He made his way to the side of the stage.

Claire spun on her heel and ducked her head. When she looked up, she was looking into those startling blue eyes from earlier, the ones that had branded themselves into her memory. It was Vincent.

She was caught slightly off-guard, but he merely cocked a sideways smirk at her and offered her his hand.

She hesitated for a moment, before sliding her small hand into his larger one. He held her fingers to his lips and gently kissed them, before turning and walking away from the stage at a fast pace. Claire smiled for a moment, then looked down at her hand, where he had handed her a one hundred dollar bill.

Unnoticed by the both of them was the set of beady little eyes watching the entire exchange.

It took Claire a moment to fall back into her rhythm. A gorgeous man whom she had met for maybe five minutes had just handed her a hundred dollars and walked away without a word. Why would someone do that? Why had that small kiss to her hand affected her so much?

Vincent lost his smile as he made his way back toward the VIP room. What was she doing in a place like this? He couldn't help but think. She just didn't belong.

He pushed the thought of her out of his mind as he entered what was the VIP room. A smokey little back room with blue carpet, plush blue furniture, white walls and blue tinted lighting. Sitting on one of the chairs with a scotch in his hand and a blond on his lap, was his mark, Stanly Preswick.

"How ya doin', Stanly?" Vincent asked, casually taking a seat across from the large man and dainty stripper.

"Who the hell are you?" Stanly hissed. He was unhappy at the interruption.

"Name's Vincent. I thought you and I might talk a little business." Vincent said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and withdrawing a large wad of bills which he then threw onto the small coffee table which sat between them. "Get rid of the girl."

Stanly eyed the money for a moment, then smacked the blond on her bottom and said, "Cassidy, sweetheart, take a hike. Send Daisy in in half an hour, okay love."

"Sure thing, Stanly." Cassidy said as she vacated the room.

Stanly took a sip of his scotch. "So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I'm just the messenger." Vincent said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the stage. Claire had disappeared. A tall leggy blond had taken her place onstage.

"From who?" Stanly asked.

Vincent turned his steely blue gaze back to Stanly and said quite simply, "From Curtis."

Stanly's fingers had just released the glass of alcohol when Vincent fired his trademark three shots. The silencer muffled all sound and Vincent had thirty minutes to get out of there before the next girl came in. He holstered his gun, tucked his cash back into his pocket, and walked out of the room, buttoning his jacket back up.

Maybe he could get Claire out for a drink after all. He stepped over to the bar and got the attention of the bartender, a cute little brunette with a large chest and a tight tee shirt.

"Miss, the woman who was just onstage, the red head? Is she still here somewhere?" he asked.

The girl shook her head, "Sorry, doll, she left about five minutes ago. Tony dragged her offstage early. But if you're wantin' a dance, I can arrange any number of nice girls for you."

Tony? Vincent thought, Who's Tony? "No, that's all right." He said to the bartender, "Thanks anyway."

"No problem, baby." She said and walked away to help a customer.