“Judge a man by his questions rather than his answers.”
Three greeted the patrons in his bar as it began to rain and the comfortable, but stylistic Victorian room began to fill up. The rain beat the street into potholes that eroded and widened into multiple empty eyes that looked up into the sky. A hooded man sat in the back of the crowded bar. He wore several layers of wet clothing as he hunched over the counter. The man shifted his round hips slightly as he signaled for the bartender. The bartender walked over and leaned forward into the booth until their foreheads nearly touched.
“Who’s the target?” the hooded man whispered to the bartender.
“Madeline Clavel XII,” said the bartender, taking out a photograph and placing it on the table for the hooded man to see. “They want your friend to get dirt on her.”
The hooded man pulled back his hood revealing his large, bright feminine eyes and kind face. He waved the bartender away as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. Absentmindedly, he picked up the photograph.
“Hello, Ben,” said Voltaire from the other end of the line. “How is he treating you?”
“Three has horrible beer,” said Ben “and you know I wish you’d leave me out of this.”
“Who else would be my eyes?” Voltaire asked affectionately. “Describe her and read the information he gave you, burn it, and leave.”
“Alright,” said Ben, sighing. “She is the smallest girl I have ever seen. She has brown eyes, a round face, black skin, and she has bright red dreadlocks. She probably put yarn twist in her braids and the rest of it is probably dyed. Yep, there is also liquid acrylic ink in there.”
“Actual information I can use,” Voltaire said “besides what I already learned after I spent weeks researching her and her offices.”
“She has family in France and Genetrix City,” said Ben as his fake hand fumbled with the papers. “Miss Clavel was born into a rich Parisian family. Her father, John Clavel, comes from a long line of French aristocratic money that fled the first revolution and they married into the middle class. Once they arrived in Genetrix, they got what was left of their dwindling money to multiply through business investments.”
“Focus on this century.”
“Anyway, John was wild as a kid,” Ben said skipping some family history. “He was sent to a boarding school, but ran away with his secret girlfriend, Aidna, to France so they could get married. Aidna died two years ago and the target moved from Paris to Genetrix City with her dad who returned to take over the family legacy. He integrated her into American culture a little too much from the looks of these pictures. Hmm, dad didn’t last long without his wife, he died soon after. Miss Clavel now runs his corporation called the Melodic Corporation. It deals in security.”
“Wait,” Voltaire said “tell me more about Melodic Security. From what I learned, their workers are the ones that need security.”
“Yep, the government is looking at the low safety standard at Melodic and isn’t happy,” Ben said. “The main branch where she works is a big stone fortress on Second Street. There are people at the doors. Once inside, there are also cameras. Three wants you to get blackmail material only. She has a security room on the first floor, in room ten that records her daily life. She’s like most rich people who inherit their money.”
“Perfect, we’re going to move up in the world again,” Voltaire said as he sat up on the couch in his organized room.
“Voltaire…” Ben said quietly, and then he lost his nerve and hung up.
Disclaimer: This is an original story that is not based on any real people or events. It is a work of fiction that is purely for your entertainment.