MOB DEVILS
Sam slumped over his tablet in a city diner, wireless keyboard strewn to the side, flicking his finger across file after file. In between taking sips of heavily creamed tea and muttering to himself, he'd scan the room. Sun was just starting to peek in the windows, there were only three seats filled (two bar-stools, and Sam himself settled in a corner booth), the radio was fizzling in and out of order...
C'mon Sam, what else... One of the waitresses, Jude, must've called in the night before; a sweet old girl who was probably having a problem with her lungs. Sixty years of smoking, Sam'd heard the waitresses talking, and she hadn't kicked the bucket yet. The bacon wasn't coming out crisp, which meant that Cap, the main cook, was finally letting Shaun have a go at the reigns. There had been talk that he'd beat the oven-timers to sounding the alarm, so it's only natural that his food would be a bit underdone. Jane, his usual waitress, had passed by his table six times in two hours. She lingered four of those six times, one of which she spent trying to figure out what Sam was doing on his tablet, and the other three spent staring at Sam himself...
Taking a deep breath, Sam finished his observations, pinching his lower lip in thought. A whole month he'd been working on this job. Thirty-three days; the same diner, the same city, the same song and dance. Thank the stars he had something to show for it. Once again, he thumbed through the tablet files. Maps, underground networks, cell towers, sewer entrances, back alleys, names, keys, schedules, patterns... He had everything but a time and place.
"A shame they couldn't get me
that much..." Sam murmured, rubbing his lip between his thumb and index finger.
"What was that, Sammy?" A voice shot from his side. Jane, her seventh stop that morning. Sam was still pinching his lip when he met her gaze. A group of staff stood behind the kitchen counter, trying to watch the interaction inconspicuously, though failing in Sam's book. Meanwhile Jane was practically hovering over him, looking determined at the very least.
"Muh? O-Oh, nuthin' Jane. 'S nuthin'." Sam coughed, hoping that'd be enough to recover his privacy. It wasn't.
"Nu-uh, I'm not buying it!" She sassed, taking a seat across from him with a confident strut. At the same time, two men trudged in, holding onto their hoods from the morning blusters; the same two men that Sam had been tailing since he got to the city. They grabbed onto a couple of stools right by Sam's spot, but after giving the blond a glance, they thought better of it and picked a booth further off.
Not that it matters. Sam sighed, reaching behind his ear to adjust what looked like a wireless headset.
Now just gotta see what seat they grabbed and-
"SAM!" Jane had her hand on the table, eyes narrowed and face in a blush. Sam winced at the sudden demand for his attention, but complied none-the-less. Not like multitasking wasn't outside of his work range.
"S-Sorry, Jay. What were you saying?" He smiled, kicking himself internally for the stutter. Of all the things he couldn't get rid of...
"-started cryin' like a baby! And then the boss says, he says, 'You better watch your tone, coño. I make the rules, and you're gonna help me make sure they stick!' Talk aboutta-"
"I was
saying," she started again, leaning back and brushing a few stray hairs back towards her brunette bun, "that every time you come in here you're glued to that screen of yours! Some of us are starting to worry, y'know? I mean, you only got in town a month ago, right?"
"-took hours to scrub that footage! You'd think warehouse cameras wouldn't be so detailed, but now eeeverything has to be, '1080p-this, HD-that, higher resolution,' blah blah blah, and it's just-"
"It was a
few months ago, actually." Sam forced himself to argue back, not that the details were relevant. He had just found the right channel on his earpiece, and the last thing he needed was for the two thugs to go quiet over one-sided drama. Things had to look natural. "The job I was working had me moved to this side of the city. That's how I came across this place, remember?"
"-so, tomorrow right?" "Yeah, we just need to set the scene for a ransom video. Oh, earplugs. Don't forget the earplugs." "Right, number six, earplugs...uh, and the tank! We gotta pick up the-"
"Same difference!" Jane snarked, leaning forward again, "Anyways, you really ought to have someone show you around sometime. There's a billion things to do within spitting distance of here, and that's just a start!" she tried to make it subtle, but Sam saw her slip her notepad and pen out from under the table while she spoke. "S-So when's your next free day? And your phone number! There seriously are way cooler places to hang out than this dusty ol' heap... uh, don't tell Cap I said that."
"-Uh yeah, I'll have an omelette, some hash-browns, and-oh, no cheese. Lactose-intolerant 'n all that, and a coffee, black." "A short-stack for me, bacon on the side, and a water, thanks."
Sam's expression was confused, mostly at Jane. "Oh, uh...free days don't come by all that often. M-Maybe I can free up some time next Sunday...and uh, number, right. I-It's 1-888-477-5594" The blond kept up the casual mask while filing the info he overheard into the back of his head. All he had to do was get out of whatever situation this was, and he could get back to work.
"-wonder if we're gonna see some action when it all goes down. Washington don't take things on her hide." "Don't doubt it for a second. Proof's in the pudding, considering the turf she's stocked up. Too bad she fell for a-"
"Woah, that's a heck of a number. Where' you from?" Jane jumped at the opportunity to keep talking, but Sam was quickly wearing down. He reached a hand to his head before pulling it back, dismayed.
Right, I got it cut for the mission. Dang... Sam instead began tugging on his lip again as he thought through the chatter going on around him, and thank goodness for it. The diner was picking up steam, and soon the head waiter was fuming at Jane to get back on the clock, giving Sam the breathing room he needed to sort things out. A quick flick of his headset shut the rest of the residual noise off, and the silent click of keyboard keys filled its gap.
...
It was around midday when Sam returned to his temporary apartment. It was in a bit of disrepair, and could have used a heavy cleanup, but it was in the perfect position for all his goings-ons, so the blond put up with it. Soon he had the creaky dining table covered with cases, black-leather with heavy metal clasps, only the best tools for the job.
Bless Mr. Arias, that man could finance the dead out of their graves if he wanted to. Sam hummed as he looked over the equipment. Welding equipment, multi-tool crowbars, knives of varying sizes, lengths, and uses, pistols, rifles, silencers, garrottes, a stepladder, a disguise (why'd it always have to be Groucho-glasses?), a few kinds of saws, and, for cleanup, a flamethrower. Not to mention a set of body armor, varying grenades, bugs and listening devices, and
a LOT of cash. Always oversupplied, but Sam wouldn't argue. Besides, he still had someone else to mentally thank.
Same goes for Ms. Washington, takin' care of more headaches than I can count. Sam turned heel to face his apartment wall, layered with printout maps, dossiers, city requests, activity graphs...Sam knew he'd never have found a start, much less gotten as far as he had, without the network that was the Washington Family.
Or maybe it's the Washington "Familia" now... Sam chuckled, picking out a few key tools, maps, and files, and putting them aside for later, then storing the rest back where they belonged. Tomorrow he'd probably have to get dirty again, but that was the name of the game. He was taught that much when he made the choice to pursue his profession.
Taking a moment aside, Sam pulled out his phone and looked through his most recent calls.
Hydrangea, Hydrangea, S.Y., Hydrangea... Never answered, of course, but Sam knew they had their reasons. Off the grid, off the books, legendary assassins. Finding time for apprentices never was easy, no matter the job. The blond nearly made a quip about their availability to himself, just to lighten the air, but he quickly decided against it. For all he knew, they could have been in the same room. Just as a quick precaution to ease his nerves...
"H-Hydrangea? M-Miss Markov?" ...nothing. Sam sighed, half in relief, half in dejection. After two years, it would have been nice to catch up just a little. With a sigh, he waved away his paranoia and focused. If he didn't want to lose two of his most frequent clients, he'd have to be perfect.
...
It was approaching evening. Guards were in position, scattered across the block to seem as out-of-the-way and ordinary as possible. A couple taking a walk by the bay, some workmen enjoying coffee in a private patch of grass, a few haulers catching a break outside the doors of a warehouse...Sam'd have to pick his targets carefully.
Warehouse 6, one of the smallest, about a mile from the major port, which meant little interference from regular passers-by, but still by the water, which would make for an assortment of escape options. The size made it easily defensible, and the natural overgrowth from lack of use made camouflage next to unnecessary. If he even walked around the perimeter by himself, he'd probably get gutted and tossed to the fish. This was going to be a lot, even for him. Luckily, he still had a full hand of cards to play.
...
"I didn't think you were a seaside kind of person, Sammy." Jane mused, walking along with the blond as he lead them closer to the warehouse. She'd surpassed his expectations by getting there in ten minutes flat, which lead him to surmise that she probably went twenty miles over the speed limit the whole way. He didn't think she'd be that excited to stargaze when he called out of the blue, but who knew. Maybe she was into astrology. At the very least, he was glad she wasn't questioning how
he had gotten
her number.
"It's quiet, and open. It feels easier to breath and stretch, even if the smell isn't the greatest." Sam laughed just like he was taught. Following conversational flow had taken him far too long to learn, but now that he had it down, he liked to show off at least a little. He almost felt bad that the moment would have to end in about a minute-thirty.
The moment he and Jane crossed paths with the other couple, guards in acting, Sam was all business. With one hand, he cupped Jane's mouth and clenched his fingers against a ring he'd been wearing, releasing a fast-acting drug to knock her out. The second hand had gone to his waist, coming back up with a short and wide blade. A swift jab into both potential threats' necks, and a followup kick into the harbor, kept the noise to a bare minimum. That said, Sam knew he was on a short fuse now. Quick as he drew it, Sam tossed the blade away and set Jane down, then booked it to his next mark, and the next, and then the next. The last light of summer sun was just starting to simmer out when Sam finished off the last of the outer guards. Wiping his brow, the blond looked around...
Quiet.
He gave a satisfied huff. If reinforcements were gonna show up at all, he would've seen them by now. Whoever this "Peirce" boss was, he must not have cared too much about this particular investment. That meant that whoever was inside the warehouse now would be trapped there. Sam could take his time. The blond inserted an earpiece in both ears, pulled out a knife for defense, and prepared his infiltration.
...
He had opened the back door and peered in from the bottom, fully expecting to hear a gunshot ring out against the door handle, as was the usual for trapped rats. To his surprise, there were no rats, literal or otherwise, to be found. Instead, Sam saw two girls: A lanky Hispanic lady gagged and tied to an uncomfortable-looking chair, and a...mermaid, Sam could only guess, settled at the bottom of a cramped tank. These were the ones. Washington's description of Mayra had been spot on, and there was a
lot of detail to go off of, and Arias's suggestion that Sam'd "regret ever writing fairy-tales off as fiction" seemed to fit aptly here. Sam stepped forward gingerly, raising his hands to indicate a lack of intent to harm. The first thing he did was un-gag Mayra. After a quick sit-rep, he found she already had earplugs in, thank goodness, so Sam set himself to freeing her the rest of the way.
There was a beat after Mayra was untied. Sam looked around. Nothing. Giving up a location like this was a stupid idea. Sam knew it was a stupid idea, and the fact that he
knew it was a stupid idea made him sweat bullets.
Anyone inside that warehouse is gonna be trapped there...shoot. Sam's eyes narrowed as he caught his misstep. After explaining through gesture that he needed Mayra to keep an eye out while staying put, Sam took a seat on the floor facing the mermaid's tank. Another beat. Still nothing. Sam kept his eyes locked onto the creature before him, curious more than anything else. After a moment, he pulled out his phone and began typing, unwilling to make noise given the circumstances.
"
Do you understand?" He held his phone up to the tank and waited for a response - After a moment of avoiding eye-contact, she gave his message a lookover, and eventually responded with a hesitant nod. Sam understood where she was coming from.
"
Do you need water?" - She looked confused for a moment, and shook her head, motioning all around her in reserved movements. Sam quickly revised his message.
"
-to breath?" - Her tail flicked anxiously as the question was clarified, and she nodded her head with matching eyes. Sam wondered if his line of questions was too specific, or not specific enough. Either way, he was getting nowhere, and time wasn't a resource he had on-hand. The blond shook his head and shoved his phone away, then turned to get Mayra's attention only to see something much,
much worse.
Sam cursed the need for earplugs as he turned to meet a small squad of armed mob men, headed by someone who could only be described as a devil in man's skin. His smile was sinister and toothy, his features were sharp, his blood-red suit demanded respect, and the brass knuckles he was flashing were well-worn. This guy was used to doing things
his way. The squad had brief interactions with each other as they took aim, and by reading their lips, Sam caught on to his suspicion.
Ed.
Eduardo.
Pierce.
Mr. Pierce.
Boss.
Eduardo Pierce - Octavo Diablo