In her early youth, Carry had not gotten much attention. As a child, her older sister had been the center of care of her parents. Her sister had been prettier, bubblier, smarter, had been all her parents had ever wanted. Carry had been the unwanted addition, the quiet one, left alone inside her room, as though she never existed.
Until all three of them had died in a car crash. It had not bothered Carry as it should have. Truthfully, it did not make a difference on how alone she felt.
She spent her teenage years with foster parents more concerned with their wealth than their new responsibility. It had been a hallmark of generosity for them to take her in, but that was as far as that relationship ever developed. It had not bothered her when she had moved out, since she had never truly built a connecting to them. She would never return to that villa, never missed her supposed guardians.
As a young woman, Carry had first gotten a taste of attention. First and foremost, from the wealthy, charming Mage she would end up escorting all week long, for years. He had been old, and sick, and successful, and had passed on more and more of his business on to his right hand woman.
At this point, Carry begun receiving the respect and admiration that she had watched him receive during all those years. Yet, as he stepped back more in his old age, his influence on her had wavered, and she begun to truly appreciate the full extend of being the center of attention. Carry had believed, it was about damn time.
There was only one person that stood in the way of her spotlight; casting a shadow so enormous, it had everyone cower in fear.
She loved it when people cowered.
Bax Hench's job, that was something, Carry felt, would be enough to repay the massive debt of karma that was long owed to her.
That was one of the reasons she tended to accidentally miss his phone calls, once in a while. He never did like that very much but Carry was not worried.
Yet, one thing she tended to oversee, generally, was the work it took for such power to uphold. And so, business often fell flat as Carry made her glorious rounds through her club, smoking her cigar, checking on each employee as she passed, and punishing anyone that did not appease her standards.
On her way back to the office, she would bark an order at one of the girls, to bring her a Manhattan. Then, she closed the door to hide the view on her feet, resting on the desk.
This business strategy had not bode well with many of her mentor's business partners, naturally. As the gossip had reached him, her lover had not been impressed with her efforts, had threatened to take it all away. And so, she had done the right thing, and had choked him to death in his sleep.
Carry had not been bothered much by her own act. In fact, she had felt relieved. She had gone back to her club, ordered a Manhattan, and continued her life style for another twenty years.
The customers loved her.
And so, in this moment, she was, once again, busy eying the girls as they sat on the couches and waited for customers to arrive. It was early in the morning, and all of the still sleeping clients were hidden in private rooms; away from judging eyes. This way, the establishment looked clean and respectable at any of the early hours.
Carry pulled her morning cigar from her mouth and wrapped a strand of hair around her free index finger.
"Mia, dear," she sing-sang, on her way over to one of the couches.
Mia, the brown-haired, short one of the M-generation, got up from her chair. She did not cower but did not glare either as she waited for the Madam to reach her.
"What did I tell you about etiquette?" Carry ordered to know with a sweet, yet, ever souring demeaner.
Mia looked uncertain for a moment. "It comes before my sensibilities?"
Carry did not intend to praise her memory. "And now, remind me, did I ever add an exception for splashing drinks in clients' faces?" She snarled.
Mia's head ducked with intimidation. A smile almost creeped into Carry's irritated face.
"No, Carry..."
"No," she agreed with a curt nod. Her cigar zipped up to point between Mia's eyes; the glowing hot end hovering close to either of her retinas. "The next time you disrespect a customer, I will make sure you never have a drink in your hand again. And I mean, any drink of anything."
Mia suppressed the urge to squint at the smoking cigar, "but, Carry, he was so mean and-"
"Zip it!" She scolded and pointed the cigar at her lips. Mia closed them to a thin line.
"I don't care. You're not here to be flattered, are you?"
Mia's eyes moved down at their close standing feet. "No, Carry," she murmured, barely daring to move her lips.
"You're here to work. Act like it."
"Yes, Carry. I'm sorry, it will never happen again."
"It'd better not." Carry's eyes narrowed challengingly took a drag of her cigar as she mustered the girl. She blew the smoke into her eyes. "Bring me a drink and, in the meantime, I'll decide if I throw it in your face."
Mia nodded low; eyes teary from either the threats or the smoke, or both, and hurried to the bar. Carry scoffed and finished her round, in order to return to her office.
Her phone rang and Carry checked the number, as she dropped onto her office chair and swung her feet onto the massive wooden desk plate. The contact had never been saved into her phone but she recognized it immediately as Bax Hench's number. She smirked to herself and set her phone aside and let it ring on, unanswered. Next to it, she balanced her cigar on its ashtray holder.
Carry let her eyes wander over the office that, once upon a time, had belonged to the same man she had used to escort. It still had the same wooden desk, the same shelves, and the same black leather sofas in the seating area. Yet, she had swapped out the black curtains for white ones that hung before the window looking into the club, plus all of the decorations on the walls and shelfs, to give it her personal female touch.
Carry's phone continued ringing. It was like a child that would not accept her lack of interest in it. Contently, she listened to the sweet ringing sound of ignoring Bax Hench. Ignoring the big boss, making him wait and squirm for her attention for once; this was the stuff that brought a spark to her repetitive week.
Carry's comfort and her smug smirk only lasted for so long, however, when the door opened and Bax Hench walked in.
With a sudden jolt, she sat up, quickly pulling her legs off the table. She stared at him with wide eyes, before quickly shaking off the shock and doing her best to get into a more confident pose.
Hench grinned as he stood in the doorway; his beeping phone held against his ear, while Carry's phone was still ringing on her desk. He lifted his ignored phone from his ear, held it out, and demonstratively ended the call. Carry's phone went silent.
"Mr. Hench," Carry surprisedly said into the sudden quiet, with as much eye-batting charm as she could muster. "I didn't expect you-"
"Cut the shit, Carry," Hench said boredly, slid his phone into his inner jacket pocket, and closed the office door behind himself.
She looked at him with renewed surprise and a hint of offense. "I'm terribly sorry if I upset you, how can I be of-"
He interrupted her again, with an eyeroll, and leant his head back into his neck in exhasparated annoyance. "Oh, shut. Up."
Carry did not know how to react to this uncharacteristically open display of moroseness, as he returned her look with that same bored irritation.
"Honestly, I have dealt with you for over two decades now, and never have I ever wanted to say to anyone, more than I want to say to you now," Hench exhaled a smile and almost sagged, as if it were a relief to get this off his chest. "let's put a cork in your endless flow of pathetic excuses, shall we?"
Carry shut up, if with more unwitting surprise written all over her face and maybe, a tiny bit of fear.
Hench sighed contently and gave her a charming smile. "That's better, isn't it? I, personally, find it extremely tedious to talk around your fake naiveté so, I'm going to do us both a favor and get right to the point. How about it?"
Carrey was not sure whether or not she was supposed to answer that so, she simply nodded.
"Wonderful," Hench smirked but soon grew serious, as he swiftly moved on to business. He begun casually pacing around the office, hands folded behind his back. His gaze moved over the cacti and plastic decoration. None of the pieces seemed to keep his attention for very long, until he saw Carrey's Uzzi hanging on its display hook next to her desk.
"You know that, should an establishment not be profitable enough, there really isn't any reason for us to calculate its costs into our endeavours." He ran three fingers delicately over the metal handle of the gun. "But it seems as if that has slipped your mind."
When he glanced at her expectantly, Carry took that as her cue to speak. "I... of course, not. Just recently, you said we had some exceptional girls..."
"Yes, exceptional, to no credit of yours," Hench unimpressively gave back and dropped his arm, "and since I took those two exceptions away, you're left with... nothing. Do I seem like the kind of man, to you, that is satisfied with nothing, Carry?"
"Of course not, Sir," she automatically shot out.
"A look into your books will tell you that this place barely splits even." He faltered at a thought. "Do you even keep books?"
She froze a bit at the catch. "We... No, Sir."
He sniffed bemusedly and finished his round around the room. "No." He returned to her desk with a somewhat pitying smile. "That's no surprise at all, is it? You were never much of a business woman."
Carry felt anger slowly rise in her stomach. She did her best to swallow it. "And the point you were speaking of?"
"Oh," Hench said as if he had just remembered why he was here. He held out his hand. "I want your keys."
The anger puffed away to make place for shock. "Excuse me?"
"You're running an old, irrelevant establishment, only kept alive by your regulars. The girls in this club are being wasted so, I will find a new buyer for them. You have until then, to get your numbers up. If not..." He raised an unconcerned shoulder. "Well, you know what happens. I don't like leaving behind evidence."
Carry stared at him with a churning sense of horror slowly manifesting itself, as understanding set in.
Hench's smile disappeared as his fingers curled expectantly. "The keys, Carry."
She tried to swallow but her throat seemed closed shut. For another moment, Carry believed herself to be unable to move. But then, as if his cold, expectant eyes were a force of nature, she found herself lift an arm.
Slowly, looking at Hench as if he might change his mind, Carry grabbed for the secure briefcase that sat next to her desk, hidden in the back. Her fingers hesitantly closed around the handle, and Hench's expression did not waver at any point, so she suppressed a squeak of desperation and pulled out the briefcase.
Carry handed it to Hench. He accepted it with a graceful nod, then stepped back from the desk, briefcase securely in his hand. She watched it go, as he headed for the door.
"I will be back in a week," Hench announced and opened the door to the club. "Or maybe, I won't. In that case, my men will be here. But in any case, good luck." He smiled before he turned and walked out of Carry's office. "You will need it."
The door fell shut behind him.
Carry went on to stare at it. She did not put her feet back up on the desk. She just stared, trying to figure out how to swallow the humiliation, and how to survive the next week.
As Hench was on his way to exit the building, Mia carefully entered the office with a metal tray, balancing a Manhattan on it. Her shoulders were up and her eyes down. She barely dared to look Carry in the eye, intimidated by the icy chill Hench had left in the room.
Carry's gaze moved to stare at her. She waited for her to look up politely, for their eyes to meet. Waited for the girl to show her an inch of respect more than her boss. She did not receive it, as Mia swiftly set the drink down on the desk, turned without looking up, and rushed back to the door.
Carry looked at the drink. Then, she picked it up, gave a roar of hysterical anger, and threw the cup after the girl. The glass hit Mia's back, bursting in a mess of shards and alcohol that shattered and splashed over her clothes and onto the floor.
Mia screeched as the glass bruised and cut into her shoulder, then broke out into a sobbing fit, and quickly fled from the office.
"Is anybody gonna clean that up!?" Carry yelled at the door that now stood halfway open.
It would take another five minutes, until anyone dared to enter.
Nuce joined the three of them carefully, as if he would not be noticed that way. Betty, Fletcher and Ninja were sitting at the beach, cozied up on a little seating island that Betty had set up. Using driftwood, covered by blankets and pillows, the spot allowed them to sit close to the water and the ocean breeze, a distance away from the small front porch of the safe house.
It was a sunny, bright day that had barely reached noon, and Nuce presumed, this was the calm before the storm, as he arrived with the three young Mages, who were chatting cheerfully amongst each other.
Betty looked up at him with surprise. "Hey, there, stranger. Where is the rest?"
Nuce shrugged and sat down next to her on the banister. "Inside, planning. What are you up to?" He diverted.
"Ninja was just telling us about her hometown," Fletcher replied, then looked at her questioningly, "or... home trailer park?"
She sniffed awkwardly. "Hometown is fine."
"We would have been lucky to live in a trailer, when I was a kid. The walls in my hometown were made of scrap metal," Betty empathetically told her, then shrugged. "Until I was adopted, of course. After that, the walls very suddenly turned to marble."
Ninja chuckled. "I don't like marble."
Betty laughed and pointed at her. "Who needs it, right? What's wrong with normal stones?"
"Our walls were pretty darn normal," Nuce inserted from the side. "How about you, Fletcher?"
"Yep," Fletcher nodded slowly, "just regular walls."
Betty grinned and nudged her shoulder against Ninja's. "What matters is what's happening inside them, right?"
She snorted amusedly at the memories. "Oh, there was always something going on. Everyone hurrying around, doing chores, chasing my siblings, making money..." Her gaze moved over the abandoned beach and the quiet waves. "Even after I left there... someone was always hustling... Can't remember a time when it was quiet like this."
"How do you keep up with it?" Nuce asked her, "constantly moving from place to place like that, something creepy around every corner?"
Ninja shrugged with her best efforts to look nonchalant. "None of these places are home. I'm just waiting to get back there, someday."
A little smile grew around the corners of her lips. "But first, we got work to do."
Betty smirked approvingly. "That's the spirit," she said, but faltered slightly in her smile when she saw something from the corner of her eye.
"Oh. I think she is looking for you, Nuce," Betty said as she nodded over to the house.
Nuce, Ninja, and Fletcher followed her gaze to find Diamond standing on the porch. She was watching them from afar, waiting with a patient simper but crossed arms.
"Welp," Nuce said with little annoyance, "fun police is here."
Betty cheerfully gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder, and he clapped his thighs as he got up. "See you."
When she saw him walk towards the house, Diamond turned in the doorframe and stepped back inside. He followed her by crossing the sandy beach and the wooden patio and, finally, joined her in the little living room.
In the kitchen, Skulduggery and Valkyrie were talking amongst each other and, in front of him, Diamond was still waiting with crossed arms.
Nuce mustered her. "What's up?"
"Don't we have more important things to do, at the moment?" She asked unimpressively.
He raised a hand to the glass door. "We were distracting Ninja."
Diamond shook her head. "No, Fletcher and Betty are distracting Ninja. You should be in here, helping us figure out a plan."
"Why?" Nuce shrugged. "It isn't as if I have a word up against the three of you, anyway."
Diamond rolled her eyes and pulled her arms apart as she turned around.
"I was just having fun there, you know..." he grumbled under his breath.
"That's good for you, love," Diamond replied positively as she lead the way to the kitchen.
They joined the Detectives in standing by the counters, to which she immediately raised a asking hand to Skulduggery. "Nuce is itching to hear what the idea is," she said ironically.
He turned his skull in Nuce's direction. "You and I will talk to Carrey together, and get the keys from her."
Nuce stopped walking and blinked at the three of them. Valkyrie seemed amused at his reaction, while Diamond was raising a brow at him.
"Um..."
"Valkyrie tells us you're a decent actor," Skulduggery added, "and the clientele of these establishments is predominantly male."
"So, we'll be... business partners?" Nuce guessed in disbelief. "You can't think anyone will believe that I am a human trafficker."
"How about you two are..." Diamond looked up; a pondering finger tapping at her chin, "...a rich new client and his... spoiled neffew." She gave him a frivolously cheerful smile.
Nuce responded with an annoyed glare.
"So?" She asked expectantly. "Any objections?"
His brows rose thoughtfully, then he shrugged. "Nah, I'm on board," he agreed but quickly faltered with another thought. "Wait, what about Ninja?"
"There is no need to involve her in our cover story," Diamond replied, "in fact, it's better if we pretend not to be connected to her at all."
"We can't stop Ninja from coming with us," Valkyrie said, "that's her choice. But we don't need to have her be in the middle of the potential crossfire."
"She is far too valuable to throw to the wolves, let alone in the first move," Skulduggery concluded.
Nuce sighed. "She still won't like it."
His hand rose up to a shrug. "Then, let's hope her desire to save her friends is greater than the dream of being a martyr."