Down a long, disused dump of an alleyway in the heart of the city sat a squat, horrid little row of defunct businesses. Squashed between an abandoned pawn shop and a burned-out payday loan operation was Jesse's Pool Hall, the last beacon of light in this listless, dilapidated snapshot of squalor. The landscape was so inhospitable that even weeds avoided growing in the cracked sidewalk cement outside.
The silent, stealthy Augment tiptoed warily towards the illuminated Pool Hall with a keen ear and peeled eyes. Aside from the usual riffraff that skulked around late at night, she was unbothered by anyone nefarious as she approached a man leaning against the wall by the entryway door.
“What’s the job?” Khazmine leaned beside him and whispered to the familiar ragged man with a hard-lined face and rumpled coat.
“Got a man inside. Gambler-type.” Victor wiped sleep from his eye with a plump, stubby finger. “His old lady wants proof so she can get out of their marriage before he ruins them. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t hit her, but…”
Victor knew that gambling alone wasn’t grounds for a divorce in this state, but he was also a student of human nature. His years of experience taught him that if a man lied about gambling, debts, and where he spent his nights blowing the family assets, well…
“I need another set of eyes on him, and a ‘feminine’ touch for this one.” Victor shoved a hand in his pocket to retrieve his cellphone with a picture of the mark on it. “This is him, Bart Wymond. Fancies himself quite the prodigy, if you catch my drift. You still good with a cue?”
Khazmine tilted her head up at Victor and flashed an eerie, mischievous grin that forced a shudder out of the hardened specialist. She had a way about her sometimes that warned Victor not to get too close or displease Cassie, lest he get bitten for his trouble. Of all the women he’d met in this business, she had the most enthusiasm for these dangerous games.
“You get thirty percent from the wife’s deposit, and anything you make at the table.” Victor added before Khazmine nodded in agreement.
The front door jingled from the rusty bobbling of a pair of steel bells dangling from the door handle. Khazmine stepped inside with the grace and allure of an exotic beast on the prowl. She spotted their target immediately, lurking at a high-top bar table over a mug of imported beer. The hall staff ignored his drunken antics, which included leering at his waitress and irritating fellow patrons with boasts of his glory days as a pool fanatic.
If it weren’t for his bulbous gin blossom nose and sloppy demeanor, he might have been handsome. Khazmine observed as she retrieved a suitable cue from the wall rack.
Twelve pool tables huddled in the center of the hall, with a ring of dining-height tables and high-tops along the outer edges. A long oak bar at the back interrupted the continuous ring of tables, which made the whole space feel like a gladiatorial arena, with plenty of room for spectators. Aside from her target and the staff, Khazmine spotted a jovial couple playing a game of nine-ball bank for their anniversary, and a sullen redheaded man loitering at the bar with two empty shot glasses for company.
Khazmine sidled to the table nearest Bart and made a good show of struggling to rack up fifteen balls for a round of 150-point straight pool. Her cue tumbled to the floor, then she dropped the solid green “6” ball hard on the table and groaned loudly enough to draw the interest of her target, who was all too eager to help a lovely young lady in distress.
“Hey there, sweetie.” Bart slithered closely behind Khazmine and offered a helping hand with the rack. “Haven’t seen you around here before.” His eyes traced over Khazmine’s body without subtlety, and he made no secret of admiring her features. “Want me to give you a few pointers?”
“I’ve played before, mister.” Khazmine batted her eyelashes at the buzzed Bart. “I’d bet good money I could teach you a thing or two.”
“Oh yeah?” Bart laughed aloud, much to Khazmine’s discomfort. “Five hundred says you can’t.”
Khazmine struggled mightily to conceal her amusement at this drunkard’s arrogance. She gestured casually for Bart to break, which he managed to spread the pool balls in all directions, knocking several balls into the rails and sinking the red striped “11” ball into a side pocket. Bart made an additional two called shots before scratching, giving him a mere three points to start the game. From that moment forward, Khazmine ruled the table like a tyrant, calling shots left, right, and center.
With the game well underway, Victor Woggs entered the pool hall and took his usual place at a table with his back to the wall. He was having a tough time concentrating on their game, and he rubbed his eyes once more to evict unwanted grit. He nursed a single cup of black coffee with two creamers to stay awake.
All these night shifts he’d taken lately left Victor groggy and on edge, but he smiled gratefully to himself to be working with Cassie again. Victor was clear-headed enough to grab a few photos of Bart hanging on Cassie, until his focus dulled from fatigue.
His mind wandered back about two years ago to their first meeting, at a crummier dive than this, one with only a single pool table and a couple of dart boards tucked away in the back. Victor recalled seeing the piercing, slight woman with a fearsome glare, sharking pool to eke out a living. She’d gotten a tidy sum out of Woggs before he caught wise to her superior skill with a cue, and they bonded over a long chat about struggling for survival in the city. After a few more run-ins with each other, they formed a working partnership until that fateful night—
“D*mmit!” Bart smashed his cue against the table, splintering shrapnel all around. “You won’t get my money, you miserable b*tch!”
Woggs snapped out of his revelry just in time to spot Khazmine bracing for a lashing with the broken end of Bart’s pool cue. He was about to bash into her crossed arms when the sullen redhead at the bar swooped in and tackled Bart to the floor. The barkeeper, Hanley, rounded the corner to grapple with the drunken loser.
“Get off me! Hey!” Bart bellowed enough for Khazmine to wince. The burly barkeeper grasped Bart by the collar and tossed him onto the disheveled sidewalk out front. “She cheated; I know she did! I want my money!”
“It was a fair game, a**hole.” The redhead shouted out to Bart, who was struggling to stand. “I saw the whole thing. You’re just a sore loser.”
“I told you what’d happen if you roughed up my place again.” Hanley chucked half of the broken cue outside, and it rolled feebly into the alley. “Now get outta here, Wymond!”
Bart rubbed the sore spot on his ample backside and skulked off into the night, leaving Khazmine and Woggs to tally two solid wins for the evening. Woggs took a long drag from the last of his coffee before leaving money on the table and heading out alone. He needed to continue tailing Wymond at least until the boozy brute returned home and wanted to give Cassie some space to leave at her leisure.
One of the shards of wood had grazed Khazmine’s face, but not hard enough to damage her facial plates. She drew her hand up reflexively to make sure she was intact, causing the redhead to approach her with a clean bar towel to help if she was injured.
“Miss? Are you okay?” The redhead leaned close to meet Khazmine’s surprised eyes with his concerned gaze. Aside from cheeks flushed from shots of hard liquor, he had a focused, penetrating stare. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” Khazmine motioned her hand away, revealing the intact “skin” beneath. “He startled me, that’s all.”
“Please, let me look at it.” He insisted. The man was in his twenties, with a manicured shock of red hair and the most endearing freckles scattered over his cheeks, just like Khazmine’s spots. “I’d feel better knowing you’re unhurt.”
Khazmine couldn’t help but permit the well-meaning contact. He covered his hand with the towel and checked the Augment over for damage. She figured that if he didn’t touch her surface directly, he should be safe from her electrical discharging. Once he’d finished a careful search, his eyes rested on Khazmine’s and brimmed with gratitude that she was safe.
“You were right. No blood or splinters. You’re one lucky lady.” He smiled before offering her an outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you, miss. My name’s Ryan.”
In a secluded, private meeting spot across town, Warren Maker poured a drink for the man sitting across from him at their swanky, luxurious table in the VIP section of the restaurant. He wasn’t a fan of vodka, but a tip from Victor told him that his esteemed guest was fond of it. This guest leaned back into his seat and bore into Warren with narrowed eyes.
Warren had seen Mr. Reegan of RET in the office earlier that afternoon, just before Iris had escorted him to Mr. Cavendish’s office, but he was much more impressive sitting across the table. Even when he was drenched with light, his hair, eyes, and suit reminded Warren of a shadow. Regardless of his darkened features, Reegan sat emotionless, and was practically impossible to read.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Reegan waved a thick, veiny hand at the glass. “Tell me what it is that you want, Mr. Maker.”
Straight to the point. No time for games... Warren mused.
“Hypothetically speaking, what if I told you that I could guarantee RET the top market share for consumer electronics next quarter?” Warren laid his cards on the table, grinning like the joker in the deck.
“I’d ask how you planned to deliver on such a lofty promise.” Reegan folded his hands in his lap. “We’ve held the number-two spot firmly since the recent buy-out, but can’t seem to climb higher than GC&S. What did you have in mind?”
“I can’t guarantee an increase in your sales.” Warren licked his lips with excitement. “But I can impact the units shipped by GC&S. Plus, I have access to a few upcoming prototypes… All I’d need in return is a golden parachute to help after the company collapses.”
Mr. Reegan silenced the eager viper with a piercing glare that left Warren speechless. Unfortunately for Warren, he’d learned about Mr. Reegan’s preferences, but nothing about his character. Had he requested personality information from Woggs, he would have known that this entire game was useless.
“I’m an honest man, Mr. Maker.” Reegan seethed. “I don’t need your dirty tricks to get ahead. If I were you, I’d think about jumping offices soon, with or without that parachute. Enjoy the drink.”
Mr. Reegan towered over Warren as he departed from their decadent private table. He vanished into the darkness like a specter, leaving Warren to stew in his failure.
D*mmit…
Warren was unprepared for such a chilly response and had overplayed his hand. Instead of wheedling for a position at their chief competitor’s company, he’d practically admitted to corporate espionage for nothing.
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