III: Dia

Have you ever done something extremely stupid? Something that you know is a bad idea and you do it anyways? My whole life is comprised of these moments. For instance, when I first started working at The Funeral Parlor I liked to play pranks on my boss Mark Calloway. I knew Mark was easy to piss off but I did it anyways. So one day, Mark got pissed and decided to play a prank right back. Mark put my colored ink in bottles it didn't go in so that each time I went to put color on a tat, I wasted time trying to find the colors. I lost three clients that day and still didn't learn my fucking lesson.

I do stupid shit.

For instance, I'm currently walking into the building that houses Paul Heyman's office without backup or a weapon to defend myself with. Best case scenario, I go in there and only Pete's boy Curtis is there. Curtis I can take in a fight. I his boys Ryback or Brock are here…well…it's manageable, slightly improbable, but I don't ever say anything's impossible. As long as I set my mind to it, I can do good. Straightening the collar on my button up shirt, I knock on the door to Paul's office before barging in anyways.

Remember when I said I do stupid shit?

Barging into Heyman's office when he has all three of his musclebound guards qualifies as stupid shit.

Paul holds up a finger to tell me to shush up, speaking into this cellphone, "Yes Mr. Helmsley, I'll send Brock to you as soon as he finishes up here. Yes sir, you can work with him for as long as you keep payin' like that."

My eyes lock with Brock and I sneer, "How you doin' big man? You still let Paul control you like that?"

"Paul has my best interest at heart and if that makes money, well hell, it makes money," Brock shrugs his shoulder as his handler hangs up the phone.

I shake my head and plop down in the seat opposite from Paul, propping my feet up on the desk. "Paul, hey can we talk about something serious? Like…oh I dunno…you fucking sending me after Phil or sending Phil after me? Those two topics seem the most popular to me."

"Listen to me, Dia, as my client I send you to take care of business. Phil Brooks is business, Dia," Paul responds casually, almost waving me off.

"I can live with just business, I really can Paul. What I can't live with is having been double crossed. I have done every fucking job you set in front of me! I fucking killed people I knew!" I shout as I move my feet, standing up and slamming my hands on the desk. Paul jumps and the other three men behind the desk look ready to attack.

"You know…I can't help but think that you are a little…tense about this situation," sneers Paul.

"Tense?" I laugh bitterly, "You have no idea what this does to me! Phil is the closest thing I ever had to a big brother! And you…you wanted me to…"

"Aw boo-hoo, the little bitch had to kill the punk," mocks Ryback. The tall, bald man has always grated on my nerves. He's arrogant and has no respect for anyone.

That's okay though. I'm not too respectful either.

"See, that's the funny thing. Had is past tense, as if I already have," a smirk crosses my lips as I sit back down, propping my feet up and locking my fingers behind my head. "I haven't killed Paul and I don't plan to. I'm, well, I'm no longer a client."

"Perhaps you don't understand, Dia, you are my client until I say you aren't," Paul glares back, "Now, either you kill Phil or he'll kill you. I know Phil quite well. I have his entire life. He'll turn on you the moment he realizes he'll lose everything if he doesn't."

"Oh no, Philly won't. You see, we've talked about it," I smirk, "Phil's sick of your bullshit too. I'm here as a warning."

"A warning?" Paul raises an eyebrow questioningly.

I chuckle, running a hand through my hair, "A big warning. Phil and I are coming for you. We've had it with being used Paulie."

"Let me see if I understand this," Paul leans back in his chair, "You and Phil are coming against me. Just you and Phil?"

This could go one of two ways. I could tell the truth, which would be that Phil and I are planning on rounding up some of the other men Heyman has fucked over. It would be incredibly stupid to reveal that. Then there's lying. Sounds better to me. "Yes, Phil and I are coming at you alone."

"Then tell me, Missus Banks, what's stopping the boys from snapping you like a twig in my office?"

"The love of a good game of cat and mouse," I shrug, a sly smile on my face. "Think of it, Paul. You obviously like games because sending Phil and I after each other was one. You let me skedaddle on out of here and I'll be better game."

"He also likes results," Curtis sneers, "we could take you out right now and go after Phil next. C'mon Paul, let me handle her."

"Please, Curtis, the grown ups are talking," I smirk. The poor kid could have made a name for himself in the city had he not fallen in with this bunch of bastards. He was on his way to being a respected name in boxing before he got with this group. Just cuz he was a boxer doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He's human, just like anyone else.

"Alright, Dia, I'll let your resignation slide. Your death will be much sweeter. Just remember, when you're watching from heaven that it's your fault that your son is motherless," Paul smirks, waving his hand to dismiss me from his office.

"Nah, Paulie boy, when you get to hell you remember who put you there," I smirk as I stand up. I leave the office before heading out to the parking lot. I'm smart enough to not go out to my ride though. Just because Paul said his goons wouldn't attack me in the building doesn't mean they won't follow me out to the parking lot. It's not a matter of when, it's a matter of who.

It's only a few moments before Curtis is out in the parking lot.

Shame, I was really hoping for Brock.

Before I do anything else, let me make one thing perfectly clear. There is no such thing as a fair fight. Fighting is dirty and gritty, everything goes. It's not hard to understand. So when Curtis comes outside, his back to me, I jump him. My first move is to get the big guy off of his feet. It's a wonder what the right pair of shoes can do. Stiletto heels, for instance, are immensely painful to walk in but they give an even more powerful injury against someone. Curtis drops like a sack of potatoes and I waste no time in attack his left knee, making it damn near impossible for him to stand. Curtis looks at me, blinking in surprise as he appraises me. He thought I'd be easy game because that's the lie Paul filled his head with.

Curtis stumbles into the parking lot and trips over his own two feet, pulling himself up on the front of a car. A cherry red Corvette.

Paul's car.

I smirk and grab Curtis by what little hair he has. He pushes me away weakly but I stumble. It's the down side of stilettos. Curtis balls up a fist and swings. Thank God I'm quicker than him and can actually move. He has to lean against the car to support himself in a standing position. My plan? To make it so the kid can't walk away from this. It's nothing personal, just business.

I land another hard kick to the kids knee and he screams in pain. He crumples and I manage to grab him by the head and bounce it off of Paul's fender. I hear the loud sound reviberate through my ears and I can't help but flinch. There's a reason I don't do my job with my hands. I hate having to see the damage I inflict. I hate knowing that I hurt people, let alone being able to see it. Curtis is now out and bleeding onto the pavement. I look up at the windows. Even from the parking lot I can see Paul standing there watching me.

Good.

I remove one of Curtis' boots and use it to smash the window on the driver's side. I reach in and unlock the door so I can pop the trunk. Bingo. He's got a tire iron.

Again, I have one of two choices. I could use the tire iron to break Curtis' other knee and ensure that he will never come after me. It would be good to give myself that sort of insurance. After all, Brock and Ryback will be enough to worry about. Taking Curtis out of the equation would be fantastic. But I'm not any of them. I don't get my jollies from hurting others. So I opt for option two: break the car.

You know, I'm not looking forward to this.

It's a beautiful fucking car.

I smash the four windows on the sides of the car before heading to town on the windshield. It's not enough though. I take the iron to the hood of the car, letting out a primal scream before tossing the iron to the ground with a clatter.

I take a last look at where Paul stands after my message to him. I flip him off before backing up to my motorcycle and riding off.

I think he gets the message.