3.20

“I suppose I am lucky my ability is naturally intimidating.”

— Vincent Hall, Encoded Notebook; Section 17, page 32

“You’ve already got a stranglehold on the population here,” Chloe points out, “and you’re willing to take advantage of it. Take it a step further. Hell, if you end up meeting with that arms dealer, you could have some serious manpower on your hands.”

I shoot her a scowl. “I am not at all confident in my ability to negotiate with an arms dealer.”

Chloe scoffs, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll teach ya.”

“That’s wildly concerning.”

“But helpful!”

I roll my eyes. “We’ll still have to delay it slightly, if I can’t guarantee everyone will show up where I need them to.”

Chloe blinks. “Your goons, or Cook’s?”

I shrug. “Both.”

She tilts her head. “You shouldn’t have to predict your own, especially if you’ve prepared enough of them. They’d all register as low-priority, and from there you just need something to entice Suckup.” Chloe frowns, scratching her chin. “I think you’d have an easier time getting at him than Cook. Maybe wait until Cook’s already preoccupied, and set out something else for Suckup to go after?”

I nod. “I could ask Ava to spread rumors about something like the concert happening again. Something bigger, so Suckup’s presence is deemed necessary. If we time it right, Cook will be busy, and a large part of his militia will be dealing with… everything else.”

Chloe grins. “Exactly. Nobody likes Cook, and since you have something they want, you can get them to do anything. When you give the word, the whole gang’s gonna be busy.”

I stifle a sigh. “You make me sound like a supervillain.”

The girl shrugs, leaning back on her stool. “You kind of are, y’know. Just like me! Supervillain besties.”

This time, the sigh escapes my lips, unbidden. “…How are we going to handle weapons?”

Chloe laughs. “Well, in lieu of any arms contracting, we do have a couple other options…”

—

The next time I sit in on a meeting with Cook’s distributors, Suckup decides that today is the day he crashes the party, and I see my chance.

He’s complaining about some kind of material transfer, which I make sure to take mental note of, when I approach. Some of the other distributors shoot me annoyed glares, but aren’t willing to risk interrupting the guy just to shoo me away.

I take a seat next to him, and put on my most attentive face. He doesn’t seem to realize I’m there, at first, but when he does, he takes my intrigued expression and excited nods as the utmost encouragement. I’m only half-listening to his rant, memorizing some of the more important bits, but Suckup either doesn’t care about my lack of genuine interest or doesn’t notice.

The man pauses his rant in order to take a drink from the glass in front of him, and one of the distributors jumps at the chance.

“Sir, this is all very interesting, but —“

“Yeah, I know it is, ‘s why I’m tellin’ ya,” he slurs. I’m not sure whether I’ve gotten lucky, here, or unlucky.

The distributor scowls. “Sir, this woman is —“

Suckup scoffs. “If ya think I’m needin’ ta’ know anythin’ about anythin’ from a low-life lackey like you motherfuckers,” he chokes out. “You’re uh. Wrong.”

He seems like his head is about to hit the table any minute now, actually, so before he can pass out, I perform a bit of subtle probing.

“Speaking of low-life lackeys,” I say, subtly, “I heard there’s gonna be a meetup soon. With, ah, whats-her-name… the Doctor?”

Suckup’s head snaps up. “Wh — where? When…?”

Fuck. Uh… we’ll probably need at least a week, but I don’t want him getting bored or anything — didn’t he say Cook was going to oversee a shipment on… what was it…?

“Six days from now, on the twelfth. In the west plaza, you know the place? Here, I’ll write it down for you,” I assert, tearing a page from my notebook. Glancing down at my notes, it seems like the date is correct. So long as nothing interferes, the date should be perfect.

I won’t count on it, but it’d be stupid not to take the chance offered to me.

Suckup snatches the note from my hand as soon as I finish writing it, and goes back to rambling drunkenly. I note with only a little relief that he still manages to slip the paper into his pocket, and I can only hope he gets a chance to actually read the thing at some point.

It’s not difficult to slip out of the meeting after that, but the glares from a number of the distributors have me feeling paranoid. I take the long way home, and make a note to switch disguises next time.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I also make a note to have Ava try and corroborate Cook’s suspected location with some of our other contacts, just in case.

—

Gordon sighs when I stroll casually into the meeting room.

I’ve been calling it the meeting room in my head these days, but Mikey still insists that it’s his living room. He has been repeatedly proved wrong by now.

“Why is it that whenever you want to meet me, it’s always about a scheme? Why can’t we ever just grab a coffee, or something?”

I frown. “I hate coffee.”

Gordon looks like he wants to sigh some more, but realizes that it would be excessive. He settles for an exasperated glare. “What did you need, Claire?”

I huff. “…I’ll try and be around more. Maybe you can help me take the kid somewhere that doesn’t include spontaneous murder villains.”

He blinks, but to his credit seems to brush it off immediately. “…Sure. Don’t worry about it, I know you’re busy.”

I nod. “So, ah. How do you feel about arms dealing?”

Gordon acquires a dark expression. “I will not be arms dealing for you, Claire. I have never dealt an arm in my life.”

He’s going to need convincing. If he really doesn’t want to do it, I can have Ava find someone else, but…

I trust him more than I do anyone off the street, to be honest.

I flap my hand dismissively. “C’mon, dude, just one arm? Just a couple? For your old pal? I’ve been meaning to pick up a couple extra.”

He shoots me a look. “…You’re joking, right?”

I smile. The answer to that is between me and my planning notebook, which I only recently picked up from Chloe. I guess she noticed how much I like carrying them around.

Gordon sighs. “…I don’t want to die for you Claire. I’m willing to make this work, but… you gotta give me something.”

Reassurance? I can do that. I only really need him to initiate contact, and from there, after a rapport is established, meetings wouldn’t be so sketchy.

Still a little sketchy. My smile turns lopsided. “You don’t actually have to do any negotiating beyond what I tell you. Just gotta show up, relay a couple things, and once we’re in contact you can probably scram. You’d have Chloe by your side, and me on standby, so it’s extremely unlikely you’ll sustain any permanent damage.”

My voice drops, slightly. “I… can’t promise you won’t be hurt. If you don’t want to participate, I can find someone else.”

Gordon sighs.

“No. No, that’s fine. I’ll do it. I said I would.”

“Don’t just do it because you said you would,” I comment, tilting my head.

He glares, half-heartedly. “I’m not.”

I search his face. His expression is set, his body is tense… but not in anxiety, exactly, even if there is some of that. He seems resolved.

I roll my eyes. “You’re not gonna die, don’t even worry about it. Easy job, in and out.”

The guy has the audacity to roll his eyes back at me. “As if. When do we leave?”

I scowl. “Tomorrow. We’re on a bit of a time crunch. Sorry.”

Gordon gives in, and sighs again. He reminds me vaguely of a steam engine, during times like these. “I should have guessed. I’ll pack my things, meet me here in the morning.”

“Good to have you on board,” I reply, shooting him my most dazzling smile.

He seems unaffected, but he does go to pack his things. I count it as a win.

—

Chloe’s bouncing a tennis ball against the living room wall while Mikey glares nervously whenever it veers too close to any of the shelves when Gordon arrives at the meeting room. He takes one look at Mikey attempting to snatch the ball out of the air and decides to brave the morning chill instead.

“Meet me outside when you’re normal,” he mutters, and I wonder idly if he wants to stand out there forever.

Dutifully, though, I dart into a side room, pulling on my slightly-tattered ‘heroics’ costume, and pulling on a jacket over top. It’s not much in the way of disguise, but it doesn’t have to be, so long as I stick to back alleys.

I forego the helmet, as has become habit recently, deciding instead to go for my old, cracked hockey mask.

It feels like things have been moving so quickly, recently, that I haven’t had the time to put it on. I always get caught without a mask.

Honestly, bringing one now feels sort of weird, but it’s marginally better than going in jeans and a t-shirt. At least the armor’s intimidating.

I stroll out onto the porch, finding Gordon and Chloe already waiting for me. Chloe doesn’t really have a costume, but it seems like everything she wears contributes to the steampunk rat aesthetic she has going on, and today she’s decided her brass-plated goggles are required to enhance that look.

Gordon’s tall, but that’s about all he has going for him in the ‘interesting looks’ department. Other than that, he just looks like some guy.

He’s kind of perfect for that.

I nod at them. “Let’s head out. Which way is…?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “We’re not walking, you psycho. C’mon, I stored the wind-up car over here,” she asserts, bouncing over to a small nook around the back of the house.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and move to follow, but before I set foot off of the porch, Mikey pokes his head out the door.

“Get back soon,” he hisses under his breath, shooting me a scowl. “The fucking kid is sleeping, you have to get back before they wake up.”

I snort. “Aw, come on, can’t handle kids?”

Mikey’s eyes narrow. “I swear to god that child is some kind of demon, and I am in no position to stop them. Return promptly!” The door closes.

I stifle a laugh, and follow Chloe out to her contraption.

—

The ride over to the docks takes a bit of time. It’s not far from the usual downtown area, but the city is big, and the docks are some of the largest.

The air begins to change, the closer we get to the water. It doesn’t turn salty, or anything so cliche; Westpoint being stuck right near the center of Tennessee doesn’t really allow the city access to any saltwater. Still, the river is wide enough that the far bank would be barely visible, if the blast walls didn’t continue out into the water.

The docks used to be fairly busy when I was younger, if I remember correctly, but since then transportation methods have changed drastically. Nowadays, there’s a cleaner section up north used for private boats and joyrides, but the rest of the docks remain almost completely abandoned. The destruction isn’t so bad in this area, but seemingly only because there’s nothing worth destroying around here, anyway.

Chloe’s death trap rumbles to a stop, and she yanks a control of some kind as the thing shuts off.

I groan. “Can’t you just drive a normal car? Like a normal person?”

She laughs. “What? And ruin my brand?”

Gordon shrugs. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

I stare at him. “Dude. You’re supposed to be the normal one.” He at least has the grace to adopt a slightly embarrassed look.

Chloe keeps laughing.

“Whatever. Everyone out of the disguised meat-grinder, we’ve got shady arms dealing to do.” I climb past the haphazard safety rails, and the others follow as we move into position. I flick my phone out, and Gordon does the same, testing the connection.

It’s not great, but it’ll work for what we need to do.

I’m not about to be caught off-guard again.