Yet another installment of the sexy super spy adventure fun of my poli lounge buddies and I. This is a long one so pee now if you have to.

The Regulars: Chapter 4

The fiery remains of Fluff's apartment have long been put out by the time Staff pulls his bike in to the cluster of police vehicles already on the scene. The gaping hole in her building had been visible for some short time. As he gazes at it an overly enthused rookie approaches and demands to know who he is. As beautiful a language as French may be Staff does not take kindly to being yelled at in any form. Very calmly, very slowly he opens a slight gap in his jacket and reveals the top of his left hand revolver. At this sight the youth mutters excitedly and fumbles for his service pistol. By the time he has it up the barrel is staring down Staff's badge. Staff doesn't even bother to smile. He merely says in a patient voice "Kid, you would not have had half a chance."
By this time the commotion has raised the attention of two senior officers, one of them escorts the young man away while the other remains to fill Staff in on what has happened thus far.
The presence of The Regulars, and a deeply edited version of their function, had been known to local authorities since the site had been chosen. While there were the expected territorial barks and growls all in all the cooperation made life a lot easier.
Seven arrives at the opposite end of the blockade, still made up to the level she'd been earlier in the day. Does she sleep in those suits? The two make eye contact and without a word it's agreed that he'll continue to talk to the officials while she sees to Fluff personally.
The aforementioned sharpshooter sits wrapped in a fire department blanket sipping at coffee in a Styrofoam cup. Aside from seeming vaguely mesmerized she doesn't appear to be hurt. She wasn't in the building when this had happened. That was the one detail she'd given over the phone before Seven scrambled to rally the appropriate troops and get herself dressed for a night back out on the town.
The story, as it fleshed out, was that she was walking home after a more than decent date when ahead of her it happened. A fireball erupted out and after it bits of building materials and personal possessions rained into the street. "Hell of a way to end an evening" she ruminates, lifting her cup up in a mock toast and taking a deep drink. "We could gab about it over ice cream but they took my fridge with the car it landed in."
"It's probably melted anyway." Seven smiles warmly for Fluff's strong spirit and sits down next to her for support. "So you'll be ok?"
"Yeah, there wasn't anything irreplaceable in there. First rule of this business, don't have irreplaceable things."
"Speaking of the business. You know we'll have to talk to your new friend about this."
"I figured" In a voice both confident and pleading "Just, just don't tell him any of this or what I do or anything. Telling a guy you could catch him cheating at a thousand yards really isn't first date stuff."
In her softest tone "I'll do what I can.
Staff has concluded his discussion with the local police and makes his way over to them. Fluff isn't as shaken as most would be right now. The woman is a rock, but still it couldn't hurt to check.
"You gonna be alright?"
Both of them look up at him Fluff answers "Eventually, yeah."
"They're writing this up as a gas leak. Pro is up there with their guys now finding out what it really was."
Fluff strains a bit in standing up. "Ok, let's go."
"Are you sure you're all right?" Seven asks as in questioning a sick child.
"Yes, I want to do this." She faces Staff and predicts his objection. "If someone blew up your place and your fish you'd want in too."
"Ok, first of all, don't even joke about that. And secondly, come on."
The three of them make their way, passing debris and officers questioning other residents of the building, all of whom seem unharmed. The lack of damage continues inside the building. It's not until they reach the hallway where her door had been flung against the wall that they saw any damage. Fluff, to her credit, is the first to enter, Seven and Staff following in quick order.
Fluff takes in the vision of charred remnants of her life. She's quietly saddened by this. The place was never much but it was home. That meant something. Pro is in the back bent over the worst of the mess along with the police bomb squad. Staff wait's a respectful amount of time before breaking rank to see to solving this. He stops behind the group and kneels down to approximate their view. "What do we know?"
Pro doesn't have to look up as his time is better spent where it is. "Shaped charge. Made to do maximum demolition to this place without taking out the neighbors. I've seen buildings imploded with less precision. Also, check this out." In his gloved hand he holds up the remains of some gadget. "Long range remote detonator. With this baby the call could have come from anywhere within a mile, almost unheard of with this level of miniaturization. Seriously a cool little toy."
Fluff's voice calls out "I'll get one for your birthday."
Like a deer stuck in headlights "Sorry." After a long moment he turns his head to look Staff in the face. The two share a meaningful glare. "There's only one guy around here who could have done this."
In unison they speak the name "Jean-Claude."
"And just who is Jean-Claude?" Seven asks, attempting a semblance of order.
"Local contractor. High skill and high rent. Runs a dance club downtown. It looks like we'll be paying him a visit."
Fluff flashes in anger. "I'm going. I want to look in this fuckers eyes."
"No." Staff proclaims. "You know you can't. It's protocol." It is, but that's not why he said it.
Seven lets Staff keep talking. These moments are where his skills shine. She'll step in if something big picture comes up. "Alright." he says. "First priority is keeping you safe. Pro, can you get her back to the Lounge?"
The Lounge was considered to be the most secure place someone under personal attack could be. Comfortable quarters had been built in for exactly that purpose. There are several of them but so far they've never had to use more than one or two at a time. So far being the key phrase.
"Yeah, sure." Pro says hesitantly. He's understandably unenthusiastic about taking the trip with someone who's home destruction he'd just admired.
"Good. We'll need some muscle on this. Who's brave enough to wake up D.K?"
The club fits every stereotype of it's genre. The lights are at once gaudy and faux-artistic. The architecture is from some trendy part of Europe and that's likely the same place the beating that's called music that can even be heard from outside comes from. There's a line of supposedly hip youngsters waiting for entry while on occasion a limousine comes to deliver those who don't wait in line.
Seven pulls her rented car, which is barely a grade below the type this place is used to, on the side of the road approaching the Mecca of excess. She steps out from the drivers side, Staff from the passengers and D.K from the back. The big man stretches his neck to shake the last bit of sleep out of his head and just listens to those up front arguing.
"If this guy's so bad why do you even let him operate in your town?"
"We don't let him do anything. Like you're so fond of telling us there are rules to follow. Plus it's always fun to beat Intel out of a familiar face."
The three approach. A glance in their direction and it's clear they don't belong to this kind of place. Seven in her tight but not coquettish suit and Staff in his trademark jacket and jeans glared a bit more brightly than D.K. Having been resting blissfully when called to action he had been the only one with the opportunity to dress for the occasion. Ever the fashion plate he threw on a clean shirt and slacks, picked a minimal coat to hide his shoulder holster and topped the whole thing off with steel toed boots.
Outfits aren't the reason Staff hates walking next to him. The differences between the two are striking. While both men are well built at five foot nine compared to D.K and his six foot three Staff is built a lot closer to the ground. It doesn't bother him much but it bothers him as much as anything does anymore.
They don't bother with the line. As they approach the door the large man who's partially large in the bad way and desperately overdressed for outside work puts up his hand. "And just who the hell are you?"
Seven does the talking. "Would you believe I'm Michelle Branch and these are my body guards?"
After a quick glance "Yes." He signals to those behind him to open the door. Seven is slightly annoyed at how easy it worked where as the men find it hilarious. "Enjoy your evening Miss Branch." He calls out behind them.
The inside of the club is every bit as typical as the outside. Beautiful people are sweating to something that is not music. In booths and corners some attempt mockeries of conversation while others are honestly going about their romantic business. At the bar a tough yet sensuous looking woman mixes drinks from the display of all things bottled behind her. Upon it are labels the everyday working drunk will never see and from the looks of the people it's been going down like water. Doubtlessly it's being assisted but nothing is being used overtly. There is some semblance of the desire for this to be a respectable club. As the music dies down the proprietor of this myth takes to the stage in the far corner.
"Hello gentlemen and ladies. Welcome to Le' Claude." His voice is tenor and deeply accented. Whatever else he is he is also a born showman. "Just for you, my friends, tonight will not be just another night of blessed vice. Tonight....." A member of his staff approaches the stage and whispers something into Jean-Claude's ear. The content of the message has no affect on his smiling face. The employee scampers off and once again he addresses his masses. "Once again, tonight is going to be a special night just for you, friends. I have procured a spectacle of entertainment that needs no introduction." As he steps to the side and makes exaggerated arm motions of greeting, a perfect woman in skin tight red steps out. She acknowledges her host, who mocks dismissing himself in her presence. A show biz chuckle follows.
As the music starts Jean-Claude excuses himself from the stage and accompanied by an entourage of bruisers makes his way to the private V.I.P area , the door of which is slammed behind them. With music once again filling the air and being joined by a crystalline voice the live entertainment begins. All but three sets of eyes are on her, the others are on the door.
The three move with no particular rush through the undulations of the crowd. Their movements have a particular grace about them. In this world of frivolities they are hunters walking straight into the lion's den, which is just to the left of the bar.
In front of the door stands a slightly higher class form of bouncer. His duty is to define between gods and demigods. "Sorry ma'am. Private party tonight."
Not feeling like using the same trick twice Seven produces her badge. While it's not of any nearby agency the look of the things is fairly universal. "Here's my invitation from 'You'll be making friends in jail before sun up." He wisely steps out of her way.
"Health inspector." Staff says while showing his card.
" 've got a gun." Is D.K's joke on this theme. Once the door is closed the punch line resisters and bouncer make tracks.
Inside the agents regain their unison. While putting their identifications away they observe the environment that's observing them. From darkened booths eyes judge them yet no one raises an objection. Whether they were too high to care or too high to stand doesn't really matter. Sometimes you have to take life's little gifts at face value. Slowly they make their way past the booths that line the corridor. There are scents and sounds about them that would distract the undisciplined. These, however, are professionals and someone's just done something very bad to a friend of theirs. The door at the end marked "employees only" isn't even locked.
Inside Jean-Claude is calm as can be, breaking a freshly set pack of billiard balls. With four bodyguards in the room with him the ease is well founded. "Would you get the door behind you please?" He asks, reasonably enough. D.K closes the door and stands beside it, opposite a guard. Staff moves to the other side in a wide arc leaving Seven front and center. It's her Jean-Claude approaches, stick in hand.
"Now, these gentlemen I know" indicating the male Regulars "But you're new."
"We have some questions to ask you."
"Oh, you are definitely one of them. Always business first. Never time for the pleasure." He steps back from her. "Do you play?"
Seven eyes the table. "I have once or twice."
Oh, to me that sounds like an understatement. Tell you what, let's make this fun. There are eight balls on the table here. Sink all of them within four shots and I'll tell you anything you want to know."
"Alright." she says, accepting the cue stick from him with only some of the imagery.
She circles the table, noting all there is to note. When she's ready she bends deeply and lines up her first shot. She takes it and the white ball is sent on it's way. It clacks the touching three and five balls. The three ball speeds into the corner pocket while the five ball makes contact with the with both the wall and the two, sending the latter into the opposite corner.
She moves then for her next shot, giving the men of the room a new view. A hard strike deals first with the errant five ball and then bounces back to send four into the side pocket.
The guards move in closer to her for obvious reasons. She doesn't let this stop her from lining her third shot. The cue ball hit's the six straight on. Pushing it to a corner pocket. In response the cue ball itself is thrown back at just the right angle to strike the nine into the sister corner and retain just enough momentum to nudge the eight ball into the as of yet unused side. All that remains is the seven, appropriately.
Jean-Claude's guards are duly impressed. She's playing pool well too. Three of them move in uncomfortably close to her. With a controlled breathe she pulls the cue back between her delicate fingers and she shots. The exhale comes lightning fast as she drives the cue into the gut of the man behind her. With a whirl she catches the butt end of the stick against the chin of the man on her right. Before he can react the man of her right gets the point of her weapon to his throat and then the shaft across the side of his head. The last man by the door attempts to spring to the aid of his fallen comrades. D.K and a haymaker prevent that from happening. Jean-Claude thinks better and reaches for the gun on the small of his back. Before he can as much as touch it he feels the end of a large caliber revolver against his spine. "Nah uh." Business dealt with, Seven tosses her pool cue onto the now empty table. In all the excitement no one had seen the seven ball sink and then the cue ball on a four point rebound.
Several minutes later the door to general admittance opens. D.K steps through it first, then Seven, and then Staff making sure to keep his right arm and the gun in it obscured from view. Several feet away the bouncer from that particular door is standing along with him from the outside and a few of their friends. The outside man seems to be taking things rather personally, tapping his fist into his open palm while softly muttering "Goodbye to you."
D.K very deliberately reaches his hand over for his .45. Staff steps out from behind Seven, his own gun now in full view. "Now this doesn't have to get ugly. A nice place like this getting shot up isn't publicity any of us need." It's true of both sides but only one has the brains to listen. With a yell that's trying like all get out to be tough the primary adversaries pounce. Inside man gets a right cross to the jaw while outside man has his shin taken out from under him only to fall onto a presented knee. That maneuver would get him kicked out of any sanctioned savate tournament but this isn't a gym. "I tried to talk to them."
"I heard." Staff leaps onto the nearby table and from there lands a flying heel onto his attacker. In the same moment D.K has pulled the chair out from that same table and broken it over the back of the fool taking him on. Landing hard Staff spins his six shooter and returns it to it's home, rising with an uppercut. A straight kick to the man bits merely doubles over the last bouncer. It's D.K grabbing him by the belt and flinging him over the bar into the oh so expensive bottles that finishes him. Given a moment of peace it occurs to Staff briefly that the music has stopped, which is a shame. It had such a nice melody. Looking out he sees that the attention of the crowd isn't on the stage.
Carefully, not timidly, he steps back over to D.K and the men stand as a united front with their fists out in their own styles. While Staff sizes up these new threats all D.K can see are the pub rats back home. He wasn't afraid of them then and he isn't now. There's no shake to his voice.
"You just had to throw that fancy shite around, didn't you?"
"We're not all born with your gifts."
Without warning there's the bark of a gunshot behind them and a ceiling light erupts into sparks. They look at each other and then back. Seven is there without a drop of sweat on her determined brow but with a smoking pistol in her hand. She has the attention of everyone in the room, as it should be. "Alright, the three of us will be walking out of here. Does anyone object?" A path slowly grew out of the human sea. She leads the way out, over the bodies and under the sparks. Sometimes men just don't understand subtlety.