V : The Deal
A/N: This is short but not sweet. As always, I own zilch.
/slides in next to you/
/sticks the key in the ignition/
/turns up the radio/
/the radio says "REVIEW"/
"I find sometimes that friends can be significantly more dangerous than enemies." - Mycroft Holmes (BBC's Sherlock)
A phone rings. Long pale fingers reach to answer it.
"1975," says the voice on the other end. "It's 2013. Do you have an hour?"
"Depends. Do you have someone good on your hitlist?"
"You know we do," replies the voice silkily. "Do you?"
"Alright then. Shall I see you down at the harbour?"
"We were thinking more like Switzerland, actually."
"Switzerland?!" Francis sounds put off.
"Yes, Switzerland. Nice and quiet. I'll text you the details."
The line goes dead.
Four people sit at a table in a drab, austere room. If one were to walk outside they would realize the room is a temporary one, built on a disused backlot in a sketchy neighbourhood.
The handsome dark-skinned man to Francis's left speaks first. "We can pay you an advance of five hundred grand. After it's finished we'll pay you the rest. We've already set up the accounts."
"Alright," agrees Francis.
"The less evidence you can leave, the better," says the petite grey-haired man to her right. "We can cover-up little details but try not have any witnesses. You know, don't get involved."
The grey-haired man's spectacles keep sliding down his nose. They were bought solely for the purpose of disguise, and this man is too cheap to get the nice kind.
"Yes, yes, don't put his head on a stick and parade it about, I only have done this for you about twenty times."
"This time's different, though," says the redhead across from her. "That place is a bloody fortress. Even we can't break in."
"Oh, I don't plan on breaking in," says Francis loftily.
"It seemed some friends of mine were in a bit of a predicament. When I say friend…" her voice turned dark. "At any rate, I had to go and sort it out for them. Took much longer than expected."
Francis seemed rather anxious to move off the subject. See, when you are attempting to conduct covert operations it is usually best not to let people not involved know too much. It was lucky that Francis was a fabulous lier. Lucky for her, that is.
"Um ... ," said Charlie at last, because that explanation was quite short in relation to the amount of time Francis was gone and the silence had stretched sufficiently to signify the time for a change in topic. "I didn't know you owned an apartment building."
"Tch, I must have mentioned it at one point or another. Confectioneering pays quite well, if you're good at it. Although I expect you would have already figured that out." She glanced pointedly at Wonka.
Wonka chose not to comment, because he was already terrifically jealous of Francis (even if he hadn't admitted it to himself yet) and any similarities between them were irritating.
After dinner Francis brought in a cake and sliced it. It was by far the best cake Charlie had ever had. It had vanilla and chocolate ice cream swirled together in the middle and one layer each of white, yellow, and chocolate cake. The outside was frosted in a thick layer of buttercream icing with another layer of melted chocolate dripped over it. An assortment of thin wafers and tiny, delicate pastries topped it.
They didn't talk much during dessert, but afterwards Francis repeated her offer about helping Charlie with his schoolwork and then he and Willy departed.
A single figure silhouetted in the bay window clicked the safety on her handgun back on.
A/N: Hold on to your hats kids, because things are gonna get real crazy real quick.
'1975' is Francis's code name, and also the name of my favorite band, if anyone cares, which they probably don't.