The dark bass thumping and synthetic electronic aggression of club HATE pounded the multicolored entrance doors, lit by stage lights. A man in a black suit and tie, head down and brushing past the line, was nodded-in as if he owned the place. He lifted his head with a smile as the heavy set man, panned the bar with his eyes and nodded to the security guard at the far end, turning to the stage. Pink and blue moving lights illuminated glistening skin and skimpy leather outfits, the people moving to the music as another security guard behind them nodded. He fluffed his coat, badge and gun briefly visible so everyone knew who was in charge. He strolled in and found a table at the back to watch the show. He plopped down, tapping the table hard with his fingertips and the bartender made his way to get the usual.

The initials HB gleamed off his ring, welded to his fat finger that has swollen around it slightly, moving down the glass table as a line of coke disappeared into a tube, and Harold lifted his head up, breathing deeply and wiping his nose. He assessed the eye candy. He spotted something interesting looking his way. Her movements were subtle, but almost aimed at him, as her dark black eyes peered from the dark red eyeshadow. 2 gold rings adorned her black lipstick covered lower lip as she slowly made her way his direction, her skirt riding up her thighs slightly, and her studded belt reflecting the blue and pink lights as his eyes locked onto her exposed midriff.

“Spot something you like?” Harold asked Tanner.

“Maybe. Maybe you mopped it all up already.” She said coyly. He tapped out a fresh line in front of himself, so she would have to lean in close. She leaned over, exposing cleavage intentionally slow, before holding her hands behind her back and casually wiping the table clean with a flick of her hair and harsh sniff.

“Cocky little hoover, aren’t you? You know those aren’t cheap and only first one is free. You got a name?”

“Bethany, but you can tag me however you like.” Tanner played.

“Harold Butler. First time here? Enjoying the place so far?”

“It’s a little dark, but I’m getting used to it. Is this your club?” asked Tanner.

“Not officially, but it may as well be at this point. Very nice nails.”

“Well I’m glad someone fucking noticed it. I spent time on these nails, first someone’s even said a word. It’s like why bother looking hot when someone doesn’t give a shit.”

“Whoever doesn’t give a shit must be blind or neutered.” He said as the music died down slightly, moving from industrial Goth to more hauntingly vampiric.

“I’m still attempting it myself, but at some point you gotta give up and move on to better prospects. So what do you do?” she asked, he grinned and opened his coat to show the badge.

“Bad cop…did you bring good cop with you or is this a solo operation. Undercover as a pimp? Hunting drug lords?” she said dramatically.

“Hunting for sure, haven’t decided what for yet. And there’s no such thing as a good cop in this district. Just bad cops and bad cops pretending to be good cops. New blood still wet behind the ears, too scared to enjoy the perks of the job.”

“Experienced at that, I see. You seem to enjoy your work. I gotta be totally honest, I seem to end up around older men with experience in being bad, they’re practically swerving to get me in the back of a van. I guess I look a little younger than my age, and it’s quite the temptation.”

“And how old are you?” Harold asked.

“Old enough to order a drink at a club, but don’t tell the others, it might hurt my clientele.”

“Ha… You’re one of those little gals that pretends to be helpless and hang around dangerous men, but you’re the dangerous one aren’t you?” he smirked.

“Guilty as charged. Ya caught me.” She said locking eyes and bending at the waist to display her wrists as if to say “cuff me” and waiting for a response.

“I’d love to take you in for questioning; you’ve definitely got some potential. I just got here though, never take the first shot you see, love. Enjoy the free party booster. If you wanna buy another or stick around till I’m ready to leave, maybe I can get that confession.”

“I dunno. I might get bored, or find someone else here ready to leave. What if you look around, and I’ve gone already? Seems like confession are all I do anymore, I gotta get some sinning done in between them or there won't be anything to confess." She toyed. His attention was drawn slightly by a couple of guys with tattoos and cheap suits sitting down on either side of her.

“Stick around. Dance, burn off that powder bump for a while and come back when my…interrogation room is empty.” He said as she reluctantly got up and moved away. She rolled her eyes and wandered to the corner of the room to dance in private as she held her phone up discreetly.

“Magic Mike, this is Hogbait, over.” She muttered playfully.

“Great code names, Double hoe-seven.” Mike sighed.

“Ugh! That’s both rude and clever. I’m shocked and impressed mister preacher.”

“Preacher is dead, You want Handyman or Hitman? Have you made contact with the target?” Mike asked.

“Yep. He noticed me. He’s got other plans of priority, so I’m stuck fiddle-fucking around until it’s over.”

“You sure you provided enough temptation?”

“Sweetie, if you saw me in this outfit and lighting, you’d forget the mission we’re on. I’m like Buffy the dick slayer up in here, and club HATE has more eyes on me than the stage. Trust me, he may be stuck under that table, but he’s got some business and friends and blow to attend to that takes priority at the moment. I know his type. He’s on the hook, he’s just stalling to see if I stick around.”

“What’s security like?” Mike asked.

“Minimal, but it’s there. Few assholes with chrome pieces and sunglasses like they’re trying to win the henchman of the year award. They know him but they work for the club, so they’re not his bodyguards. This guy thinks he’s his own bodyguard. Glock 17 in his jacket holster. I’d dome him and call it a day if I were you.”

“RCrimson Kings shoot for the back, it’s a symbolism thing. I wanna get the attention looking the wrong way. Vest or none?”

“Doesn’t look like he’s wearing a vest, but it’s dark, and I can’t feel what I can’t reach. Hard to say. I’ll keep you posted, King.” She said, biting her lip and sliding the phone down and back into her belt.

She danced and nursed a few beers over about 40 minutes as the coke settled down and the bass pulsing fluctuated, taking a swing around the pole and sashaying her way from guy to guy, looking for the right competition. She spotted her mark, a young man too cool for a suit, and wearing eyeliner. In a club of sexy young succubae and men looking more like hunters, he was the only guy embracing the creature of the night theme. She stopped and grinded in front of him.

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“Bethany.” she winked.

“Mister Smith.” He said slyly. She tried not to chuckle and played her second hand embarrassment off as just being playful.

“So you here for record sales or Neo?” she winked.

“Here for the music and the ladies. I’ve seen you making your rounds. Picky girl. What brings you to my turf?” he said almost forcing her to sigh and roll her eyes.

“Let’s just say I know my type when I see it, so don’t fuck it up. Just be chill and don’t make sudden moves…but be sure to make them.” She teased.

“I don’t get it.” he said cluelessly.

“I want you to work for it a little. Just don’t oversell the vibe. So what do you do for a living?”

“Collecting souls mostly. Pretty young ones.”

“Seriously, dude, you manage a Lil Caesars or what?”

“Absolutely not. I have my own software company that’s about to hit big.”

“Yea, that one I believe.” She smiled, nodding out of pure sympathy but forcing her cringe into a flirtatious grin.

“What do you do?” he asked.

“I kill people…mostly for the souls.” She said half serious. “I’m actually in between jobs at the moment and hoping for a bite on this really big job. I got the interviewer practically drooling for me, so all I gotta do is play it patient, and he should hunt me down. Can’t look too desperate, you know. They see that desperation and consider you weak.” She said as a figure approached her from behind. “And speak of the devil himself.” She grinned.

“Hey kid…” Said Harold, flashing a piece. “Go fuck yourself and find something cheaper.” He growled as the young buck dipped out and got lost. Tanner scowled at him.

“Oh, so now you wanna play, now that I was making some progress?” she asked, turning and acting annoyed but mildly impressed.

“That’s your type? Geek-Squad playing teenage Dracula?”

“He’s got his own tech company that’s about to go really big.” She gasped dramatically.

“I came here for business, but I think that’s come to an agreement, and I just can’t stand seeing a pretty thing like you going home with some little shit like that. Breaks my heart, waste of potential if you ask me. Fuck some different loser every night and drag yourself to the next club?”

“Well, a girl has to eat, and food cost money. Someone has to make that somehow. Not exactly Harvard law degree material, but I’m some kinda material. Now I can nickel-and-dime that meal ticket with these silly pups, or I can find one big dog with enough to cover the whole problem. So, what would you like me to do? You wanna watch me waste my potential or lock it down?” she asked sternly.

“You understand what loyalty is, or are you prone to adventuring?” Harold asked.

“Well, that depends on if my needs are getting met or if I’m starving.”

“Come on, let’s get your scrawny-ass self something to eat. Something that should hold you over for a while.” He grinned almost growing horns with his every silent second of staring into her eyes.

Tanner staggered out the back door into the alley, her arm around Officer Butler, squeezing and groping as she laughed and played drunker than she was.

“You know for a big mean cop that’s tough on the outside, I bet on the inside, you’re just all SOFT!” she said with annunciation. He chuckled as Mike peaked from behind the dumpster, taking the code word to heart, drawing Rachel and pointing a copper hollowpoint at his back. He fired, and the big boar let out a grunt, stumbling and grabbing Tanner, pulling his police issue Glock and returning fire twice as Mike quickly put 2 more in his chest and backed behind the dumpster. Butler hunkered down, wheezing and pulling tanner with him by sheer weight. Ribs bruised and pissed off, he looked almost like he enjoyed it.

“Nice try, fucker. The girl with you, or just in the way?” He said, placing her between the shooter and himself as a shield, gun beside her ear, facing forward.”

“Red Kings don’t work with whores, especially whores that fuck pigs… why aren’t you dying fat boy?” Mike said in a generic and poorly done Hispanic accent, grabbing the Colt full of armor piercing magnesium 5.7 rounds from the dumpster.

“I’m a tough skinned old beast. Toss the gun and come out slow, and you live. Try anything stupid and you both die.” Mike made a choice and slid the colt into the alley, the more visible silvery shine gleaming in the light better than the matte black HK. The old cop stepped confidently to retrieve it, his Glock still pointed out, letting Tanner go.

“You know…” he started, turning to pick it up and Tanner jumped as his head burst into a splatter of red, and he dropped.

“At least his head seems soft and unarmored.” Sighed Mike.

“Fuck! Are you hit?” she asked.

“No, are you?” Mike replied.

“No, I’m fine. The fuck happened?”

“You said SOFT. Soft means no vest.” Mike reminded.

“He wasn’t wearing a vest!” she objected as Mike checked the body.

“Debatable definitions. Not police issue, but this is definitely a Kevlar shirt. That’s every-day light body armor.”

“SHIT! I am so sorry. There’s no way I-”

“I know, I’m not mad, but the plans have changed. Toss the wig. Someone may have heart those shots. His Glock wasn’t suppressed like Rachel.” He said grabbing the cop’s gun. “I want you to run back into the club and yell someone’s been shot, get a panic going, and then when the crowd moves, move with them, go north.”

“Won’t they question me?” she asked.

“Don’t stop to get questioned. Trust me, they’ll be following me.” He said tossing the briefcase in the dumpster. “Run, now. North, circle around a few blocks and go home. I’ll be out late.” He said. She hesitated and then ran in. Mike stood and counted in his head, firing the Glock once in the air now that people were listening and cameras in the club would show an unarmed tanner somewhere the shooting wasn’t happening. He turned the alley, Rachel in his belt, and the Glock out, taking out a plastic bag and bagging the gun. A flash of flames poofed up from the dumpster, knocking the lid open as the evidence burned up, leaving just Joe's unaltered Colt wiped for prints. He rushed down the road, slowing to a walk as the cop sirens grew louder. He turned down another alley and covered his face, firing twice in the air through the bag, and catching the shells. The sirens made a turn around and followed the sound of the shots. He ran for a block, tucking the Glock and the bag under his coat and then casually crossing the street and going under a bus stop awning. With a slight hop, he tossed the bagged gun into the curled guttering and began walking in plain view, getting out wet wipes and cleaning his gloves thoroughly, turning them inside out with the wipes and tossing in a nearby trash can, before giving himself a sprits of cologne and looping back around towards the club. His heart raced as he slowed down to look less suspicious and hoped that everything worked out. He dialed his phone.

“Tanner?” he asked.

“Oh my god are you okay, I heard more shots.”

“Distraction cover fire. Did you make a clean escape?” he asked.

“Yea, did you?”

“Maybe. Wait 20 minutes and head to 44th street. If you see cops abort and go home, if not, there is a Glock in a bag in the guttering of a bus stop, see if you can get that. I’ll see you tomorrow. I got something that may take a while. Don’t worry about me.” He said, hanging up. A cop car rolled to a slow pace beside him, as he ignored it until it was too obvious to pretend to not notice. He put on a smile and stopped for it.

“Sir, are you Michael Finn of Finn Plumbing?” asked the cop, Damien’s familiar face smiling back. “What are the odds of finding you here?”

“One.” Mike replied. “Odds of anything that happens are 1 in 1 if they happened. My grandfather used to say that.”

“Sir I would like you to take a minute and step into the car.” He said stepping out and displaying his weapon and badge.

“Shouldn’t you be responding to the shots? I heard gunfire and saw cop cars going that way.” Mike shrugged.

“I bet you did. Get in the car, Mister Finn. I’m asking politely before I ask not politely.”

“Well that’s a shame of a way to start a conversation, but I guess if I have to.” He said nodding and getting his phone out. He stared at the back seat as Detective baker gave him a confused look, the phone ringing as he waited.

“Hello, police. This is Michael Finn on the corner of 48th and broad, I’ve been picked up by a man claiming to be a police officer. There was a shooting, I just wanted to make sure he’s a real officer and not someone who stole a cop car. Black man, about 6 foot, Officer, what’s your name?”

“Detective Damien baker.”

“Damien Baker…okay good, he’s with you guys. It just seemed odd, he was very insistent I get in the car and won't tell me why, and since I was just walking and heard shots, I wanted to be sure. Yea I’m going with him, it’s 2:56 so we should be at the station soon. I don’t know why yet, he hasn’t explained why I’m being taken in. Thank you.” He said, pretending to be hanging up.”

“You going quietly?” he asked.

“Absolutely, Officer. Never can be TOO safe. Speaking of safe, I want to announce that I am carrying a loaded gun, you should know that.” Mike said holding his hands up passively.

“I kinda guessed. Hands stay up, I’m gonna take that.” He said as Mike held the phone up and his free hand, the number still connected to the police.

“Am I disarmed and safe, Officer?” he smiled.

“You are now, get in the car.” Damien said as he complied.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind me recording the ride to the station. I feel much safer that way.” He said still holding the phone. “You just never know with fake cops and crazy people nowadays.”

“Yea, we agree on that, Mister Finn.” Damien growled.