Ashton regretted not specifying a time if for no other reason than the cost of booking out MSG for an afternoon, just to stand in the middle of the stadium and pace.
Except no, not really.
He also regretted not specifying the time because it meant he was in a state of constant nervous excitement. He was like a kid waiting for Christmas, no, Santa, and he had no idea when he would arrive (not that he would know, being raised atheist). So, he just had to pace about nervously, stopping occasionally to fiddle with the various weapons he’d driven into the stage he was pacing on. He hadn’t brought a gun; they’d started making him physically ill now. Not because of any kind of aversion to their purpose, but rather because of a deep-seated belief that they were a weapon of the weak. And Ashton was done pretending to be weak. Or maybe being weak? He wasn’t sure yet.
That still didn’t fix his core issue: waiting for Dominique. In fact, the weapons made it worse. Every time he fiddled with one, he got excited at the prospect of using one. It was a strange sensation, being excited for violence, something he’d never felt before. But then again, this was different to any other fight he’d had before. Or maybe it was something deeper than that, and meeting Dominique had started a change in him. He didn’t know.
He grabbed a spear and felt its weight, then a sword. They were all well made weapons, albeit ones lacking any kind of character and history. He thought about his grandfather’s Urumi, locked up in his father’s stuffy old office, and for the first time realized why the site made him so sad. It was because the weapon wasn’t being used for its purpose, or and purpose for that matter. It was a crying shame, and the thought made his heart hurt. Only briefly though, he was just too excited for his second meeting with the strange Latino man he’d met earlier. Well, mixed Latino African American, from the research he’d done. And he’d done very thorough research on fashion mogul Dominique Octavio Aguilar.
He pulled out his phone. Perhaps a little more research couldn’t hurt. Fighting styles, place of residence, love life, anything would do.
Ashton couldn’t help but giggle a little. He really felt exactly like someone who’d had a taste of something and couldn’t help but go back for more. It made him feel like a child, but after a whole life of pushing those kinds of emotions down, he couldn’t help but feel like it was about time he started embracing them a bit more. He was sure Dominique would tell him to do so.
If he would just stop taking his sweet time and show up!
At that very moment, Dominique was in an expensive spa having his feet rubbed while lying in a bath that had taken about $1000 off his credit card to fill up. He turned his head and sighed, his eyes covered with cucumbers, at the horror of it all: His skin care was worth far more than that!
His routine after the bath went as such: first, a massage from a Swedish masseur, specially flown in for while he was in New York. Second, a cleansing rub from a team of skincare experts who usually worked in LA, who he basically owned anyway so getting them out for the week was no issue. Third, he had his makeup and hair done by his personal artist and hairdresser, who worked in tandem while a team from a nice little place in Oakland he’d been going to since he started his business did his nails. After all, all the prestige in the world isn’t worth anything compared to knowing exactly what you want. Fourth, he began applying his patent blend of fight perfumes, which would keep him smelling exactly how he wanted even while sweating, bleeding and being covered in dirt, all the while his personal roster of tailors built from the best fashion houses in the world got to work preparing his mixture of custom and thrifted clothing he’d picked for the encounter, bringing them to his exacting specifications as they ran back and forth between curt orders delivered in their home languages of French, Spanish and Italian. After all, clothes make the man, and Dominique had a very specific image of what kind of man he was. He didn’t just want the clothes to fit him: he wanted them to look a specific way on them. Oh, and to be able to stop a bullet, which unfortunately these tailors didn’t understand the specifics of as well as him. Fifth, he collected his fresh set of throwing knives and freshly sharpened stilettos from Arvian Imettin, his personal smith who he’d met in Italy around ten years ago. He wasn’t the best in the world, but again nothing beats having your weapons prepared the exact way you like them.
Finally, he opened a small wooden box from on the makeup table. He had put it there when he arrived at this hotel, and not one of the nearly fifty people involved in this exacting routine had touched it.
Dominique opened it slowly, reverently, breathing ever so slightly heavily: a complete loss of control for a man so measured. He pulled forth a platinum chain and stared at the silver crucifix hanging from the bottom. It had been his father’s chain, a completely plain one only notable for the material it was made from. And it was his most prized possession. Because when all else fell and failed, there was nobody else to rely upon but God.
Ashton was shadow boxing on the middle of a stage, weaving the microphone stand that had been set up for some pop star between his fists. She’d complained about having her show delayed like this, but Ashton was willing to tank the costs of delaying the show until 7pm if it meant getting to see Dominique again.
He heard the first click from the top of the stairs like a gunshot. His hand snapped to the stand as he turned to face the sound. Dominique waved casually with a friendly smile. It was such a normal gesture, and Ashton wondered if it was the right man at all. Still, he felt a grin creep across his face as his whole body began to shiver. This was it, the excitement. Back in full force, just like he hoped.
His hand wrapped around the shaft of a spear, his breathing slowing.
Then, he felt something like a breeze flow through his hair, and he looked up at Dominique as the blood began to trickle down from the cut. He was grinning back.
Their heartbeats pounded in their chest like a symphony orchestra of metal drummers as the two of them picked up speed. Ashton ripped his spear from the stage, wearing a near-feral grin as Dominique sprung into the air with the grace of an acrobat, his stilettos emerging from his jacket as the rosewood blocks fell off the blades on his shoe.
The two of them thundered towards each other, their heartbeats reaching a crescendo as Ashton’s spear carved up towards Dominique’s stiletto’s…
At that moment, a door slammed open and Ke$ha walked in.
“What the hell!?” The shout echoed around the room as the two CEOs ground to a halt. Ashton spun to face her, a furious look in his eyes, while Dominique gracefully twisted onto the back of a chair.
“Hey, I paid for another 30 minutes!” Ashton felt his adrenaline dropping like a stone. All the fury was replaced by a deep embarrassment, about how childish this all was. He didn’t hear his father’s voice telling him off in his head, but rather could clearly see him turning away in disgust in his minds eye. Which was ten times worse.
“Oh hey, I know you!” Dominique exclaimed, sheathing his weapons. “I did your suit dress for the 2018 Grammys!” Dominique stepped towards her on the tops of the seats as she stood awkwardly in the doorway, realizing the gravity of what she’d just interrupted. He jumped down and cordially shook her hand.
“Mr. Aguilar, I assume?” She looked at him awkwardly, very aware of the large blades on his heels and in his jacket.
“He is I.” He stepped back with an air of cocky politeness, leaning against a railing as Ashton awkwardly collected his weapons from the main stage.
“Sorry about interrupting you, but I really need to do a sound test and I wasn’t really sure anything was happening in here.” Ke$ha couldn’t tell whether to be apologetic or angry, since these two were clearly not to be messed with but also were very heavily armed, not to mention rich.
“It’s no problem, really. The mood wasn’t right for it anyway.” Dominique nodded at Ke$ha, who was at least relieved the massive armed man was somewhat polite, before looking past at the stage and grimacing at the damage.
“Now if you’ll excuse us, me and this hotblooded fashion disaster will be making our way out.” Dominique turned and kept on smiling at his little jab all the way until he caught up with Ashton.
“I heard that, you know.” He said, hoisting the bundle of weapons towards the exit with one arm while signing a cheque with the other to cover the stadium time and damages his little stunt had resulted in. “I’ll have you know this is an Armani suit, which I had tailor made.”
“It’s a double-breasted suit, which makes you look ancient.” Dominique said, looking Ashton up and down. “The buttons are gold plated, which shows a lack of commitment to either gold or an alternative, especially since you could afford both. The chest is open too wide for someone with no kind of neck decoration or interesting undershirt to show and all of that is not to even mention the shirt underneath is from Old Navy.” Ashton opened his mouth and raised his free hand to object, before deflating.
“It’s timeless though.” He said, weakly. Dominique turned to him, a look of scorn on his face.
“Fashion isn’t about timeless, it’s about adaptability. It’s about showing you have what it takes to keep up with the best and then, eventually, surpass them. Just like a fight.” Dominique gave him one last dark look, before switching to a smile and saying “But enough about your atrocious fashion sense, let’s go get dinner. I haven’t eaten since before I left and I am starving!”
The two of them emerged onto the evening street, the traffic surprisingly clear for the time as the crimson colours of the sunset reflected on the buildings around them. Dominique reached into his jacket and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief with his initials. Ashton took it gratefully, pressing it to the side of his head as Dominique pointed to a patch on the side of his head. Ashton supposed that he’d managed to do something by shooting him in the head after all.
“Look, now we’re matching.”
“Ah, I wondered why you deliberately grazed me.”
“Well, I also didn’t want to kill you too quick.”
“Please, as if I’d have let you. I just didn’t dodge because I knew it would miss.”
“Whatever you say businessman.” Ashton sighed as Dominique chuckled while pulling out his phone and calling up his driver. The two stood in silence for a second as Ashton contemplated what to say. For his part, Dominique was too curious to make conversation, since what someone says when they have nothing to say can tell you a lot about them. Especially in the case of someone who so clearly forced himself to be polite.
“Soooooo, what would you recommend I wear?” Ashton asked awkwardly “since you think my style is so bad?”
“Well, as much as I don’t like doing traditional business wear, in your case I think you could try some tech casual. You know, blazers instead of suits. Possibly even a sweater. That said, my wheelhouse is more in high fashion than in corporate, so I’m not the first person to turn to.” Ashton looked up and down at Dominique’s impeccable outfit and somehow found himself doubting that.
“Ok, got it. Blazers…” Ashton paused as a truck for the Gotcha Candy company drove by, distracting him.
“What is it?” Dominique asked, waving over his driver as he arrived in a new all black Lamborghini Urus.
“Well, it’s just… I know that company. I wanted to invest in them because their logistics are insane for a company” “The short version?” “They’re a shell company. Which in itself isn’t weird, but they are so far off the books that I haven’t even been able to find a peep of who they operate for.” Ashton shook his head, realized he still wasn’t really answering the question. “Basically, I find them distracting because the mystery bothers me. Simple.” Dominique perked up, leaping into the front passenger seat and gesturing for Ashton to get in the back.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Driver, follow that Gotcha Candy truck!” Dominique’s man nodded, accelerating smoothly up to speed to discreetly tail the truck.
Forty-five minutes later, the two of them were still trailing the truck. Around ten blocks away from the Madison Square Garden where they started. Dominique kicked his feet on the dashboard while Ashton fidgeted in the back, furiously switching between typing and scrolling on his phone. The driver sat in the front, listening to the quiet Diana Ross playing from the car radio and tapping along to the drums.
“Surely it would be faster to just walk with a trolly full of candy at this point?” Dominique asked, bored, before quietly muttering something under his breath in Spanish.
“It’s too heavy.” Ashton muttered.
“Huh?” Dominique looked back at him with raised eyebrow.
“Based on how low the van is sitting and the specs of the model, it’s got to be carrying nearly nine tons of cargo in the back.” He looked up and chewed his thumb, before realising he was being watched and quickly stopping “Which means they’re either transporting rock candy or they’re not transporting candy at all” Ashton stopped to get approval from Dominique and the driver, who both look back at him blankly. “Never mind, dumb joke. But the point is that it’s way too heavy.”
“Well in that case, let’s just jump them and look inside. They’re a hundred feet away it would be easy.” Dominique sat up, pulling out his blades and reaching for the door handle.
“No!” Ashton shouted, before shrinking back at Dominique’s death stare. “It’s just… I’ve been on this trail for months, so this would ruin all that work.” Dominique sighed and rolled his eyes, before pulling out a coin.
“Fine then senor submissive, we’ll put it in wiser hands.”
“Uhh, mind me asking who?” Ashton felt confused, even if he didn’t show it.
“The most important one” Dominique looked forwards, closing his eyes and smiling as he said “God.”
“Aaaah” Ashton asked, not trying to poke the wolf. “So how do we plan to ask him?” He looked at the door next to him, both getting ready to stop Dominique from chasing down the van himself and to get out in case Dominique got bored of him.
“Well usually I wait for a sign, but-“ With that, the traffic started moving again as a road opened up ahead. “Oh, well I was going to flip a coin, this works too. Punch it Joe” He pointed forwards as Joe -the driver- nodded and pulled off once more. For his part, Ashton just sat in the back in shocked silence, wondering what just happened.
Fifteen minutes later, they came to a stop across from a small warehouse with a dingy sign outside saying “Gotcha Candy” in comic sans font. Ashton wondered why it didn’t match the logo on the truck, but he couldn’t think for too long as Dominique stepped across into the road towards the building. He grabbed a small one-handed war hammer from his bag of tricks as he hopped across the road to catch up. He slowed down next to Dominique, wondering whether he should put a hand on his shoulder to slow him down before realizing he probably couldn’t reach it.
“Dominique.” He bit his lower lip “Dominique wait”
“What?” He slowed, glancing at Ashton out the corner of his eyes.
“We need- should slow down.” Ashton had no idea what he was doing. This was just a curiosity to him, but Dominique seemed to think he had a holy mission. Well maybe he wasn’t wrong, given that he was somehow able to part the New York traffic like the Red Sea (arguably more impressive). “I mean who knows what we’re charging into?” Dominique finally stopped on the other side of the road, grabbing his chin and thinking. Ashton felt his nerves calming a little, but then his blood pressure shot back up to the roof as he realized that a security guard was approaching them.
“Hey Dominique” Dominique raised an eyebrow at him as he nervously glanced back and forth. “Why was it you were trying to kill me?” Dominique just laughed, before turning forwards and noticing the irate looking guard.
“Oh well it’s simple. You bumped into me in Le Bernardin without apologizing, and your outfit offended me so much that I knew I was ordained to kill you.”
The guard shouted “Hey!” as he came right up to Dominique. Dominique just looked at him blankly, before grabbing him by the collar and lifting him into the air. Then, much to his surprise, he suddenly found himself flipped onto his back by the guard, who scrambled to his feet off the floor before feeling a hand on his shoulder. He looked back slowly, before making awkward eye contact with Ashton, then his hammer.
“Hello. We just to talk.” Ashton said as Dominique stood up, flipping his knife to his hands.
“I’d rather kill him.” He walked forwards as the guard looked back and forth awkwardly, trying to decide which option had the best odds.
“Dominique we can’t just-” Ashton suddenly realized which way this was going as he saw the glazed over look in Dominique’s eyes, so he bopped the guard on the back of the head, knocking him out. Dominique stopped and looked irately at Ashton.
“Where’s your spark? Your passion?” He asked curtly.
“We can’t just rush in.” Ashton said, keeping cool and collected. “We don’t know what’s in there, and this all smells super fishy.” He crossed his arms, looking away to avoid showing too much emotion. “After all, this is just a curiosity for me, nothing more. I don’t care nearly enough to even go to hospital for this.” He looked back up and saw that Dominique was completely ignoring him, walking inside. The workers in the loading area hadn’t noticed him, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle, so it was only a matter of time. Ashton ran up to him and pushed him behind a trash can to obscure them.
“Take your hands off me now or I will slice your throat.” Dominique said coldly, his interest in this man rapidly wearing off. Ashton pulled away, trying his best to seem level-headed and in control of the situation.
“Fine, I will.” Ashton resisted the urge to chew his thumb, before blurting out “Listen, I’m not doing this for you.” Dominique raised an eyebrow curiously, his patience still short.
“I think you’re onto something Dominique” “That’s Mister Aguilar to you.” “Please, we both know you’d shank me for calling you that.” Dominique tilted his head in slight agreement.
“Anyways, the point is I think you know something about me that I don’t. Which interests me, because I can’t say I know much about me.”
“Impressive you’re able to admit that.”
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” Dominique put a hand into his pocket, sighing.
“What that means” Ashton said insistently “Is that I would like to keep this conversation going. But I also have no obligation to stop you from getting shot up by these commandos hear.” Dominique paced on the spot for a second, before pulling out a coin and saying “Fine, I hear you. Make a call.” He readied the coin to throw it.
“A coin toss?” Ashton looked at the coin with disbelief.
“Yes, a coin toss. I find that in life when you can’t ask for a sign from God, you give him a chance to give one to you. A coin toss is one of the little ways that you can do that.” Ashton stared at Dominique slack jawed for a second, but he could tell he was dead serious.
“Ok, fine. I’ll call. Let’s say… Heads we look around, tails we rush in. How about that?”
“Now you’re getting it.” Dominique cracked a hint of a smile before flipping the coin into the air, but before it could even start coming back down again Ashton grabbed it and held it up to Dominique outraged.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” “What?” “This is a double tailed coin asshole. You’re cheating.” Dominique inspected it, before laughing loudly. Ashton tried to shush him, but then he heard a squeaking of a shoe, and realized it was too late. They had already been surrounded.
“Would you look at that, a minting error. What are the odds.” Dominique’s blades flashed into his hands as he turned and put his foot against the large dumpster in union with Ashton.
“Dios trabaja de maneras misteriosas.” The two kicked off, Dominique then Ashton, sending the dumpster into three goons. The duo burst out from behind it, Dominique arching through the air as Ashton slammed his hammer into a jaw. Dominique landed between two goons, slashing one’s chest before spinning around and planting his stiletto in the other’s throat. Suddenly, he was knocked forward as a blade jabbed into his back. He was unharmed, thanks to his clothes, but he quickly realized it was the first goon who’d stabbed him. Which was alarming, because a cut that deep should have been fatal. Dominique used his size to get out of the way of the next slash, kicking his leg across and severing the goon’s throat with his heel-blade. As the blood gushed forth, he ducked under it and caught a whiff of a smell that bothered him.
“These bastardos are on combat drugs.” He growled to Ashton. Ashton dodged a knuckledusted fist and slammed his hammer into the assailants back, shattering his spine, before quickly glancing over and saying “uh huh.” He immediately regretted the action as his assailant grabbed his leg, but before he could do anything to Ashton, he found a hammer slammed into his arm, crushing it. Ashton clambered up to his feet and ran after Dominique towards the truck, only for both to be stopped in their tracks as the dumpster slammed down in front of them. Two of the three remaining goons were huffing with the effort of throwing it, while the third was sprinting towards them. He drew out two short spears, jabbing one at Ashton. Ashton blocked, creating a window for Dominique to perforate the spear guy, stabbing him six times up his side and cause him to cough up most of his blood onto Ashton, who barely had time to react as he ducked under a massive axe, which embedded itself into a pillar just above his head. He grabbed the axe, hoping to make an opening for Dominique, only to realize the fashion-man was in the middle of hopping backwards along poles trying not to be sliced up by another blade wielding candy company worker. He looked back just in time to see a fist flying towards his face, giving him just enough time to soften his posture to better take the blow and little else. He desperately swung his hammer, only to have it battered away by the axe, and for a second he thought that this might finally be it.
Ha, as if.
Ashton rolled forwards, moving just far enough to avoid the axe while staying in the wielders path. The axe man was unable to appreciate the subtlety of this move, since he suddenly found himself with about as much spear in his skull as brain. Ashton quickly stood up to see Dominique casually walking towards him and dusting himself off.
“What took you so long” he said as he sauntered past, and Ashton just scoffed while picking up the other short spear from the fallen wielder. He started walking towards an elevator, kicking his hammer back into his hand, and joining a waiting Dominique inside.
“Look, Dominique, I think the is a shit idea.” He said, taking breaths to calm himself. He surprisingly felt angrier than anything else, even though running into people who -according to their symptoms- were on top shelf combat drugs at a candy factory should probably invoke more fear. But he was pissed those five cargo haulers at a shitty front company had been able to put him on the back foot, and so even as he tried to discourage Dominique in the elevator, he knew his heart wasn’t in it.
The elevator slid to a stop, opening shakily to reveal a large, dusty underground room packed with crates and crates of candy. Ashton opened one inquisitively, while Dominique grabbed a box of Turkish delights from another.
“All of these seem to be full” he said, popping them open with the tip of the spear as he passed them.
“Incredible, a front that doesn’t do business.” Dominique chuckled.
“Yeah. Doesn’t that worry you at all?” Ashton stopped, noticing a trail through the layers of dust on the floor. He felt the unease in his chest growing, but it was nothing compared to the curiosity. He supposed that had he been alone, he would have turned back, but he had Dominique now.
“I mean my front businesses all make money, it’s just common sense. The only people who wouldn’t do that are the types who can throw away millions of dollars on a whim, which even for elites like us is a rarity.” Ashton followed the trail to an empty shelf, with a section of wall behind that was just slightly different in color.
“In other words, if we’re A listers, then we’re dealing with a Jackson.” Dominique said, spinning his blade nonchalantly in between spiking Turkish delight squares with it.
“Jackson’s?” Ashton asked as he loosened his suit before grabbing onto the shelf, straining his muscles and lifting it up before moving back a few feet. He exhaled with exhaustion as Dominique stood next to us.
“That’s my term for people who exceed the boundaries of their profession, of standard business. Like Michael Jackson, who went beyond music to become the biggest celebrity in the world.” Dominique tried one last flavour, before deciding that it was cheap trash (and likely expired) and throwing the box aside.
“A big fan I take it” he said, before ripping off the false wall. It came off easy, being dry wall, but the thick reinforced steel door behind was far sturdier. Ashton studied it, looking for a weak spot.
“Well, he was my dad’s favourite. So, I’m partial. But more than anything, I just respect his achievements. To do that, to surpass your field so completely, is the exact kind of life I aspire to have at the height of my achievement.” Dominique smiled, running his hand through his hair. Then he stopped, surprised, as he pulled a finger out. Brushing Ashton aside, he put it onto the keypad. The door made a beep, and a second later the doors slid open to reveal a shiny new elevator. A stark contrast to the first death trap they’d taken to get this far.
“Ok, well in that case, which Jackson do you think it is? Microsoft, Meta, maybe Alphabet.” Ashton froze on the precipice of the elevator as a thought occurred to him. “You don’t think this is Tim’s outfit, do you?” Dominique didn’t turn, but he visibly missed a beat. He exhaled with something nearing sharpness as he stood in front of the buttons for selecting floors, only one option available.
“If it is, then” Dominique spoke softly before he paused to think for the first time since Ashton had met him earlier that day. “Well, no use discussing hypotheticals. God will show the way.” With that, the mask was back on, and Ashton found himself in the elevator as the door closed.
He inhaled deeply as he felt the elevator start to move beneath him. It felt like the world falling away beneath his feet.
He supposed, as he descended, that if he had have read Dante’s as his father had insisted, he’d likely have something smart to say to this, but he had avoided literature like the plague. Finance was always more interesting, and besides his father never seemed to really care what he read, so long as the report cards never came back with less than an A+.
For his part, Dominique simply stood in the corner picking cheap Turkish Delight from his teeth.
The elevator slowed, and the two stood in front of the door once more. Neither acknowledged it, nor made eye contact, but they both tightened their grip on their weapons. Weapons which hadn’t been sheathed since they arrived.
With a subdued “ding”, the doors slid open, and the two suddenly found themselves face to face with that smile.
That damn smile.