AN: WARNING; I am using slang of the mid-90s. I know I am using the term correctly… for the Time. I will explain the term usage at the end of the Chapter.
PBPB
It had been three days since his first Appointment.
The Sun had Posted the Pictures on the front of the Crime section.
The Metro had sent three squads of patrolmen, two DIs, and a CDI. They had found the poor man hanging in a bad parody of a crucifixion, his blood and organs were in a kiddy pool to his side, and his chest and abdomen were stuffed full of a brand of narcotics that had flooded the streets six months ago.
And Harry had been 'given' his four six-shooters. The poor girl had to strip four S&W 'Model 10' .38 cal revolvers, then rebuilt them. The reason Harry had chosen the Scofield when he last saw her, was because of the length of the gun. Boring and sighting in longer barrels was a chance to play in the Gunsmithing lab. She had called him back to grip a putty-coated grip with both hands. Then rebuilt the grip assembly to better fit his hand. Then she nickel-plated the frame to offset the black and yellow of the Iron-wood.
At first, Harry had sneered at the offering, but trusting that She was a Professional and Master of her Craft… he had picked up first one and then a second. As the first spun and flipped about in his right hand, the one in his left drew a bead on the target she had posted on the far wall. Then he snapped the right-hand weapon about to lock on to the target as the one in his left began to spin and flip about. He dropped them, only for them to vanish as his gauntlets grabbed the muggle 'Death-Wands'.
Three and Four were picked up and put through their paces before returning to the counter. "Not what I wanted, but what I needed." Harry bowed from the waist, "The Mark of a Professional and a Master of her Craft." His hand was placed over his heart. "My Thanks. Now for these two, I was hoping for a shoulder rig," he crossed his arms as if drawing from under each armpit, "And a gun belt to hang both lower if I need to showcase Your… Our Beauties." He mimed drawing like a cowboy from the American West.
The Sommelier smiled and handed him a black leather strap rigging for his shoulders. "The Leather Belt will take at least a month."
"I won't need it before Christmas anyhow. Take your time." Harry removed his coat and struggled into the harness that hung two holsters under his arms. Once he got the straps to lay across his shoulders, he shifted the two revolvers on the desk into a leather sleeve. "Again, A Master of Her Craft." Harry bobbed his head, as he slung his coat on, and closed the buttons. "Now if you will excuse me. Management wanted a word."
Harry returned to the front desk. "Hey, Zeus. Can you tell me where I can find the Boss?"
The Look Harry received was filled with such disdain, that Harry suddenly felt right at home. "She is enjoying the Sun on the Patio."
Harry smiled at the man. "Have you found a Target for Hedwig yet?"
Zeus gave the lad a cold glare… just as the double doors, with a frosted glass centre, blew in as a man in Arabic black silk robes stormed to the lift, and punched the button. That the man was swearing in his native language was enough to bring a smirk to the Lad's face. The white splash, with spots, told the whole story.
Harry turned to look at the Concierge, "And how did she do?"
"Not too bad." The small was busy shuffling papers to hide his smirk. "Too bad she missed his beard."
"What is his name and when is he leaving?"
"Day after tomorrow." The lifelong desk jockey looked the boy in the eye.
"Get her a ferret." Harry tapped the desk. "Have her skip tomorrow, then hit him as he steps off the curb. The ferret changes her scat to a richer, thicker, and smeller substance that is like tar and almost never comes out of cloth, not to mention silks."
Zeus snorted, as he nodded.
PBPB
Harry exited onto the patio. He saw Kent sitting in the centre of the paved dining area. Today she was dressed as Prime Minister Marget Thatcher.
He approached slowly, in a slow step. Here He was Maveth.
"Is this seat taken?" He tapped the chair back across from her.
She frowned up at him. "And if I said no?"
"Then Maveth will sit elsewhere." He sat as she waved a hand at the seat across from her. "Maveth was inquiring if there was another Appointment."
Kent sat back as she looked at the lad. She pulled a black lacquered cigarillo case from her inner pocket and withdrew a perfectly rolled cigarillo. Placing the perfectly rolled tube of tobacco between her perfectly glazed lips, she returned the case to its pocket.
Harry waited until she exhaled before he snapped… the end of her 'fag'* glowed as she inhaled.
"Maveth. The Tong were quite pleased with your work. The Yazuka were also pleased. You gave him a death that could be considered Honourable." Kent drew on her stick. "To use your vernacular; a Referral has come in. While it was an Open Contract, they did ask that it be done by the Tenth." She passed a folder to the Lad. "This is to be a Private Consultation. That will require a Dinner Reservation… for each person that fails to walk away. Now none of the Muscle are Local thugs, but private, in-family people."
"And the reason that this is being pushed my way?"
"The Offered price is too low for the Effort required to … keep the Appointment." a drag on the stick.
"Who is paying for the … Dinner Reservations?"
"You will have to pay them, I will have to reimburse you."
"I will need their number, or have them waiting in the wings." Harry flipped through the file. "Any special requests?"
"Not really."
"And the cleaning… Do I get to excise the valuables and such, or am I just to operate and call in the cleaners?"
"You can take what you can carry."
"I will get my Bag ready." Maveth closed the folder.
Kent drew heavily on her cigarello. "You are too young and too chill about killing people. I worry about your development. Why are you so…"
"Oh, that." Harry sighed as he leaned back. "My first so-called kill, I was fifteen months old. I then spent the next ten years in an abusive environment where I learned to blend in. My Loving Aunt and her 'Normal' Husband. In Ninety-one, I found that I was celebrated for killing the guy when I was a toddler. Not even a year ago, I had to kill my Defense Professor who was linked to the first guy. The next year, less than four months ago, I had to kill the first guy's younger sibling." He sighed again, "Every summer I was sent back to my loving aunt until John found me. Killing a few guys that meet my personal reasons to die… Maveth will make an appointment. This guy… A flesh trader. A Drug Lord. And the only reason He is untouchable is because He pays the 'Right People' to look the other way."
Harry stood. "I will need to see about a nice wine if I have an Appointment tonight." he bowed his shoulders to Kent, before striding off.
PBPB
A furry Hermione, in bikini bottoms and a red jersey, scraped the last of the ointment from her cauldron and packed it in a Texico jar. Screwing on the lid, she debated starting another batch.
"What was that smelly shi-stuff anyway?" Riddick asked from where he perched, out of phase.
"Bruise Cream," Hermione answered over her furry shoulder, "I boiled these to triple strength, to better heal up after our morning workouts." Deciding that six jars were enough for now, she cleaned her cauldron and set it to dry by the sink. "Your choice; Read some more books, hit the local Farmer's Market, or just a 'walk in the park'?"
"What is a Farmer's Market?"
"Let me go get changed and I will show you." The Furry ghosted from the room, only to return in short red shorts, a green tank top, with a blue button-down shirt, unbuttoned, and a net bag slung across her chest from her right shoulder to her left hip. After a quick stop at the fridge to grab a few small folded sheets of paper, she led the way out into the mid-morning sun.
Riddick had never before seen such a wide range of folk, little alone food and food-type items.
Hermione chatted with people she knew, bartered where she could, and slowly filled her bag with a mixture of smaller bags containing things off her list. When her list was finished, she counted her money and led the way to a corner of the market that sold hot ready-to-eat items. Finding the booth that she was looking for, she cued up and soon ordered and paid for two 'Polish and coke, please.' She was handed two cold cans, and two foil-wrapped items, that she teased open to trail a white shredded vegetable, a minced green paste, and an off-yellow spread into the bread, before re-warping the two hot bundles and heading away from the Market.
After two blocks, she turned to invite Riddicck to join her when four boys blocked her path.
"Hey, Bucky." the pock-marked boy sneered, "Be a good little bitch and fork over those two brought."
Hermione tucked the two foil-wrapped tubes into her sack. "That would be a no, Brad." She rotated her wrists. "Now be a good little knuckle dragger, and go find a tree to climb."
She caught his fist, before burying her right knee in his stones, her foot then snapped out and caught the heavy thug approaching from her right flank. Twisting to the left, she caught Brad's Second across the face, before turning to look at the smallest boy. She raised an eyebrow, and the youth scampered.
Riddick phased in. "Not bad. Sloppy, but not bad."
Hermione dug out one of the foil items and passed it to the goggled guy, before drawing out the other for herself. He mimicked her peeling the foil back and biting the end. He raised an eyebrow, "How did you know I would like this."
She grinned, showing her fangs, "You are a hunter."
PBPB
Potter entered the Sommelier's domain, and as she aided an older couple choose a lovely Rose' wine, he looked over her whiskey selection.
"Mister Potter." Her soft voice behind him brought a smile to his face.
"Milady." he turned to face her. "I require a tasting. I have an Appointment, this evening. What I have is delightful for a small gathering. I am told I will be seeing a much larger group."
She led the way into the back room. "Will you be needing a custom mix or…"
"No, Milady. Tonight comes with a Dinner Reservation, so I do not need that class of vintage." Harry looked about, "I was curious about my private reserve. There were two that caught my eye."
"I have yet to finish fully cataloguing it all, but I think I know which you are talking about." She ducked into the backroom and quickly returned with an AK47 and an MP5. setting both on the countertop. "The AK47 is a hit with big groups and almost never fails." She swung it up, fitted the empty banana clip into the slot, pulled the slide knob, and aimed the rifle, before dropping it from her shoulder to pop the clip and lay both on the counter. Then she flipped the MP5 up, snapped its clip home, pulled the slide, and snugged the butt into her shoulder. "The MP5 is better for hallways and creeping around corners." She undid the clip and set both beside the Ak47.
Harry swung the Ak47 up, slapped the clip in, pulled the slide, and swung the rifle about to get a feel for it. Nodding, he pulled the clip and cleared the slide before replacing it before him. He did the same for the MP5. "Okay, not knowing the full guest list, I would like ten of the clips for the Ak47, doubled. To be clear, that is ten pairs of clips." He licked his lips, "And Fifteen clips for the MP5."
"That is a lot of weight."
"I will have my Bag." Harry grinned at her. "I hope to improve my Reserve, and I am willing to trade any that you find among my collection that you want, either for yourself or for others." He licked his lips. "I was hoping for something… Bolder… Heavier to start the night off."
"Bolder… Heavier…" She frowned, before returning to the back room. "This is the M79." a single-barreled rifle was placed before him. The two-and-a-half-inch bore caused him to raise an eyebrow. She placed two 'bullets' before him. "The taller one is the 40x46 mm grenade, it has a thirty-metre minimum range. The other is a 40 mm round for close-range combat. I can get flechette rounds and buckshot. The Flechettes cause more damage, but tend to be less lethal … instantly."
"Ten grenades and twenty buckshot." Harry tapped the counter. "I will need everything by 1800 hours. I need to leave by 1900 hours to make my Appointment. I am sure the Party will be a Blast."
PBPB
The Sun filled her garden. The young sun-haired witch herded the gnomes from the radishes toward the cucumbers. She was hoping to start her pickling before the First.
She hummed as the Tattoos on her arm caught the sun.
This year promised to be Fun…
PBPB
At 1630 hours, Maveth had his Bag packed and a shoulder strap fitted to the outside of the Bag. Tonight he was dressed in a Black jacket with his Gold with scarlet brocade. He added a scarlet ascot with a gold tie pin and gold with half-karat ruby cufflinks. To finish the look, he wore black shades, the kind that go over your standard eyewear.
He arrived at the lobby by 1645. He was in a black cab, heading to his Appointment by 1655.
He exited the cab, two blocks away from his appointment, paying the cabby cash, with a sweet tip. The time it took him to walk the two blocks, he used to sling the Dr's Bag, load the M90 with a grenade round, and sight in the BMW SUV.
He breathed deeply…exhaled and fired his first round at the car. He caught it under the driver's side front wheel well. The explosion flipped the car, as it tore into the engine, cracking the block and shredding the carburetor intake. He pulled the spent shell out, dropping it in the Bag, as he pulled and loaded a buckshot round.
The fifteen guys ducked away from the now burning vehicle, before sweeping the area for the attacker.
Harry cast a Ventrilquest charm on his throat. "Gentlemen, Gentlemen, Gentlemen. I am Maveth. I have an Appointment here tonight. You have the choice, an alibi elsewhere or a body bag. You have the count of Five to make up your mind." He counted slowly to Five in his head. No one moved from in front of the door. "You were warned." He fired into the mob. Six of the men fell dead. Two were wounded enough to fall to their knees. Harry slung the Thumper over his shoulder as two revolvers fell into his hands. Seven shots dropped the panicking thugs in front of the door. Finishing the two wounded, allowed him to just dump the rounds from his right-handed pistol. His left-handed revolver required three, single ejections and reloads.
Dropping the M79 into the Doctor's Bag, so he could sling the AK47 off his right shoulder and hang the MP5 from across his chest. Drawing his Battle wand, Harry fired an [Bombarda] into the doors, causing them to cave in on themselves. Releasing the wand, He picked up the MP5 and flipped off the safety, while also turning on the laser sight.
Maveth spent the next thirty minutes crawling the halls of this hideout, hunting thugs and henchmen. Finally, he found himself outside the sealed vault-type door. He frowned at the obstacle in his path, before shaking his head and drawing his wand. [Alohomora] The heavy steel door swung open… [Homenum Revelio] He got three silver ghosts back. "Thank you, Granger. Bloody swot reading ahead and sharing. I owe you another book tour." He dropped the two revolvers as he released the wand.
He stepped into the Vault. "Good Evening. I am Maveth. I have an Appointment." His pistols fired before the three men understood what was happening. He allowed his revolvers to retract without reloading, as he piled the book-keeping into his Bag. He included all weapons and cash he could find, including the two safes in the walls and the one under the desk in the floor.
Harry, once he finished looting the room, picked up the phone. Dialling a number written on his palm.
Ring.
"Hotel Continental, how may I help you?"
"Hey, Zeus. Can you pass me on to Management? Thank you."
"One moment, Sir." Click.
"Management."
"Hey, Kent. Finished my Appointment. Need to place those Dinner Reservations. Only I lost track of the number of guests. I believe it is more than Fifty…but I stopped counting after thirty."
"I will take care of it. Just be there to let them in." Click.
Harry hung up the phone, collected his Doctor's Bag and headed for the front doors, where the SUV was still burning.
Twenty minutes later three black vans pulled into the lot.
"Maveth?" a girl, just into her twenties hopped out of the first van. "You called about a Dinner Reservation?"
"I Did." Harry approached, offering his hand. "I lost count… I do hope that has been … handled."
"Yes. You will be billed later, and only because of the higher count."
"Then I will let you do what you do so well, and turn in for the night." Harry walked out two blocks, before summoning the Knight Bus.
PBPB
AN:* 'Fag' is short for Faggot which means; ' a stick or sticks of wood, tied together and used as fuel for a fire '
Fag by the Late 80s and the 90s in the UK and Australia to refer to a cigarette. An Actress from 'Across the Pond' in the early 90s is reported to have asked her American castmates; "Can I bum a Fag?"