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Blood & Bourbon

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Victoria III, Chapter II

A Dish Served Cold

“I made a deal and they reneged on it, and killed my niece in the process.”
Christina Roberts

Monday evening, 14 March 2016

GM: One Shell Square is New Orleans’ tallest skyscraper. It’s imminently due to be renamed the Whitney Hancock Center, after they relocate their corporate headquarters to the building, but it might be a while before people stop using the old name completely. The Corner Club is in its basement. One Shell Square is one of the comparatively few buildings in New Orleans to even have a basement, thanks to the CBD’s rockier ground.

The club’s interior is best described as subdued. Soft multichromatic lights illuminate the silhouettes of dark figures. In contrast to the wildly spinning and scintillating lights at French Quarter dance clubs, the Corner Club’s are stationary and reflect a graduating color palette: yellow by the bar, orange in an adjacent corner, magenta in the one next by, and indigo at that spot’s neighbor. People’s faces are visible up close, but dark and hard to identify from farther away. Background music is soft, relaxing, and only half-audible against the low murmur of conversation. There is no central dance floor. Most patrons are parked at the bar, reclining on comfortable-looking leather seats, or secluded in private alcoves or meeting rooms. Most wear business or business casual attire. Ages range from yuppies to parents to grandparents.

Marcus Marrow greets Victoria warmly when he sees her. He greets everyone warmly, though her perhaps more so than most. Still, she’s not here for him tonight. Christina Roberts has missed their last several get-togethers. She’s here tonight, though. Parked at the bar and nursing a drink with a sour look.

Victoria:Marcus,” she purrs, resting a hand upon his forearm and standing up on her toes to kiss his cheek, a glint of warm fondness in her eyes.

“It’s been far too long.”

It hasn’t been long; but, then it feels longer than it is once Victoria Wolf enthralls your attention, doesn’t it?

“Unfortunately, we won’t be remedying that problem tonight. Another night, perhaps?”

She doesn’t say when. Poor boy.

GM: “Another night,” the handsome club owner agrees amiably, raising her hand to kind in turn.

Is there disappointed longing in his eyes?

Yes. Yes, there is.

Maybe he could have some say when, if he paid her hourly rate.

But that’s just crass, when she’s seeing you outside of work.

Victoria: She’s already taken enough to make it worth her while, time well-spent aside.

She looks around, spotting Christina at the bar.

“Til then, my dearest.” Her fingertips grace his chin, then leave him wanting and cold.

GM: So very wanting.

Victoria: She arrives at the bar, stealing a stool from Christina just as a man arrives, likely to accost her for a phone number.

“Christina,” she breathes, as if the woman is a gift.

GM: The man glowers at Victoria and heads off.

Christina glowers after him.

“Thanks,” she says rotely, taking another sip from her drink. She’s a handsome, 40-something woman who wears her age well. She has long brown hair that falls to her upper back, matching eyes, and faint lines around her mouth that give her face a slightly sad, or at least contemplative expression. Or at least when she’s not looking as sour as she currently does. She’s dressed in business casual.


Victoria: She looks at the bartender, taps the bar, points to Christina’s drink, then holds up two fingers.

Two more of whatever that is.

“My, my. I haven’t even had time to bug you yet and you already look at me like that.”

GM: The bartender gets started on Victoria’s drinks.

“I’ve had a death in the family,” Christina says frankly.

Victoria: Her lips part in shock, her hand following.

“Christina… I’m so, so sorry. What was their relation?”

GM: “My niece,” answers the madame in the same hard tone. “My sister’s daughter.”

Victoria: She touches Christina’s forearm gently.

“You have my most sincere condolences, Christina. You’re a dear friend. If there’s anything I can do…”

GM: Christina looks her over thoughtfully as the bartender slides over her drinks.

Victoria recognizes her. Becca Flynn, one of Channelle Riqueti’s occasional escorts.

“Dead is dead,” the madame answers. “There’s not much to be done.”

“How’s work?”

Victoria: Still, she gives her a sympathetic look and brings a drink to her lips, sipping.

“Productive. Riveting. It’s something to fill the dreams of those who… Well, you very well know.”

She isn’t going to allude to anyone. It’s their silent agreement.

She offers Christina a somber look.

“Do you need to talk? We can go somewhere more quiet.”

GM: Christina’s happy to talk about what clients do with girls. But she never gives names.

“Our drinks aren’t empty yet,” she observes. “Maybe then.”

“How’s the one who wants his mommy to say she’s proud?”

Victoria is pretty sure that Jordan savors that more than the actual sexual release.

Victoria: Victoria snorts.

“Babe, you could flip open a phone book and you’d have touched at least 6 names that fit that description.”

GM: “The real question is which half are seeing you or my girls,” Christina says dryly.

She sips her drink.

“Has your girlfriend had any luck finding another teaching job?”

Victoria: She gives a coy smile.

“Variety is spice, and all of that. Anna… Has not. I worry for her if she doesn’t find some outlet for her dreams, but I worry more if she thinks about teaching in the slums again.”

GM: “You can’t teach that class of people,” says Christina.

Victoria: Victoria looks like she can’t decide whether she wants to laugh or kiss her.

GM: “I’ve had a few girls from that sort of background. They’re driven and hungry. They’re also a minority. Diamonds in the rough.”

Victoria: “Clearly someone finds them desirable, or they wouldn’t be in your employ. Though, desire is as much a craft as it is a gift.”

GM: “They’re only desired, at least by my clients, after they’ve cleaned up and learned how to speak. I’ve coached them. You wouldn’t know they were from the Ninth unless they told you.”

“Regardless, that’s unfortunate for your girlfriend.”

Victoria: “How long does it take you? On average.”

She doesn’t answer the comment on Anna yet.

GM: “I coach all of my girls, to some degree, so it’s more of an ongoing thing. They’d already risen above their backgrounds just by going to college.”

Victoria: She smiles, sipping from her drink to fill the pause.

“An ongoing miracle worker,” she teases. “As for my girlfriend, she’ll live. I hope. I’ve filled her time with other activities and other avenues for feeling valuable, but it’s not the same as what she wanted to do. I suppose I could open a school myself…”

GM: Christina raises an eyebrow. “That’s not the sort of thing someone does as a side project.”

Victoria: She shrugs.

“I don’t anticipate it would be, though I don’t anticipate I would be more than funding it. More musing about the idea.”

GM: “Careers don’t always work out. I thought I was going to be a lawyer.”

Victoria: “I thought I was going to build space ships, or ride them.”

She shrugs.

“Now I live the American dream.”

GM: Christina makes chatter about assorted topics for a while longer. The recent death among the Malveauxes, very sad; hopefully they don’t have enemies. The pair’s drinks eventually empty.

“I’m going to stretch my legs at Lafayette Square, if you’d care to join me,” she declares, setting her glass down.

Victoria: Something in Christina’s question piques her warning sensors.

“Sure, I could go for a walk.”

She places a tip on the counter.

GM: Christina does likewise and exits the club. A low drizzle falls overhead. The madame retrieves an umbrella from her car.

“I heard about Anna’s firing,” she says. “Scapegoat, wasn’t she, to placate the girls’ families before the NOPD did anything about Gettis?”

Victoria: “Exactly what she fucking was,” the dominatrix hisses, huddling with Christina beneath her umbrella.

“I managed to connive an extra week’s severance out of them, but they’d hear nothing of reinstating her place, nor even a good word for a future employer.”

GM: “No, I imagine they were putting in a bad word,” says Christina, making her way down the street. Pedestrians pass them by, some with their own umbrellas out. “The Devillers, Whitneys, and Malveauxes went to a lot of trouble to ruin everyone connected to their daughters’ arrests and shootings. The involved NOPD officers have all been fired or demoted.”

Victoria: “They’re going through an awful lot of trouble to ensure word never gets out about what happened,” she says through a sideways glance.

GM: “That what happened, some idiot girls got themselves into trouble?”

Victoria: She lofts a brow, but remains silent.

GM: Christina waits expectantly.

Victoria: “So they say. There’s always more we don’t hear. Do you know?”

GM: “Do I know what?”

Victoria: “What the ‘more we don’t hear’ is.”

Her words are hushed enough that the rain covers.

GM: “Speak plainly,” says Christina as the pair reach the park. “I doubt that any of the club’s Malveaux eyes and ears have followed us out.”

“I suspect I know more than most about the events of that night, though.”

Victoria: She glances back toward the club, verifying for herself that no one followed.

“I can’t promise revenge, but those events affected me, too. You must want revenge for what happened.”

GM: Victoria doesn’t see anyone among the press of pedestrians.

Christina raises her eyebrows.

“And I thought I was to the point.”

Her gaze darkens.

“Yes. I do. I made a deal and they reneged on it, and killed my niece in the process.”

Victoria: If Victoria still had her drink, it’d be all over the bar.

She stares.

“…do you have a close place?”

Even the rain is too open.

GM: “We’re safe enough here,” says Christina. “But your or my car, if you’d prefer.”

Victoria: “Mine. It’s a few blocks back toward the club.”

GM: The pair walk back and get in.

“She said Ms. Perry was one of her favorite teachers,” Christina remarks. “Engaging, enthusiastic, and appreciative of her knowledge.”

Victoria: “She’s one of the best teachers ever to grace this city, and it’s a crime that she’s taking the fall.”

She clenches the armrest in lieu of punching the wheel.

“So, what can we do? I don’t have the resources to fight every wealthy family in the city at once. Not in a public fight.”

GM: “More than the fall,” says Christina. “I know how these families operate. They don’t want her to just get another job. Strong probably spoke with other principals at the city’s better schools and recommended against Anna’s future hiring.”

Victoria: “But why? As a show of good faith to the families? Is this all some warped yubitsume metaphor to sate them?”

GM: “Because Abélia Devillers, Lyman Whitney, and Vera Malveaux all sit on McGehee’s Board of Trustees. They blame Anna for what happened to their daughters, and there was a while in between their daughters getting shot and Gettis getting shot. So they set out to ruin the life of someone they could get to. They tell Strong to put in a bad word with other principals, so of course she does.”

Victoria: This time, she does punch the wheel. She does not, however, hit the horn.

GM: “It’s consistent with what’s happened to the involved NOPD officers. And Amelie. They want everyone they think was involved to suffer.”

Victoria: “All because some girls goofed off in a haunted house? That feels a bit harsh.”

“Not that it’s any less true.”

GM: “Because those girls were arrested at the haunted house, got shot, and almost died.”

Victoria: “Why were they shot? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I recall seeing the news days later. Hell, Anna got the phone call right next to me as we were watching.”

GM: Christina shrugs. “I could care less. They blamed Amelie. I made a deal with the Malveauxes in good faith to stop this from completely destroying her future.”

“Now she’s dead. I want payback.”

“I imagine you do too, for Anna being blacklisted from her career.”

Victoria: “They took one life, ruined one, and lessened many others. I want them to suffer.”

GM: “They don’t yet know that I know. All the same, you’ll have a freer hand to move against them than me. They dealt with me. I don’t know if they even know abut you.”

Victoria: “They don’t know that you know… what? That your niece is dead?”

GM: “Yes.”

“They disposed of her body. There won’t be a funeral.”

Christina’s jaws clench.

Victoria: “You’re not serious.”

She wouldn’t joke in a conversation like this.

“How did she die, Christina?”

GM: “She was sent to OPP’s male ward. I imagine that had something to do with it.”

Flint dances in the madam’s eyes.

Victoria: Victoria pales.

GM: “I have no idea how she died. She could have been gang-raped to death for all I know.”

Victoria: “Wait… Amelie? Anna mentioned her before. She is your niece?”

GM: “Yes. The girl at the center of the LaLaurie House fiasco, and used as the scapegoat for everything there.”

Victoria: Her poor steering wheel. The cold, collected woman is boiling over and slopping fire all over the car.

“I hope you have a way to collect the names of those who allowed her in there. Police. Judges. Lawyers. Whoever the fuck.”

GM: “None of them were involved in her going to the house. Just the bullshit sentencing for drug charges that should have stuck to the rich girls.”

Victoria: “Every face that watched her go from sentencing to the male ward is just as guilty,” she spits.

GM: “You can’t just send female inmates to the male ward. That’s illegal. Someone went to a lot of trouble, and paid their share of bribes to sheriff’s deputies, to ensure she wound up there.”

Victoria: “My point exactly.”

She rubs her hands over her face, drawing in a breath, holding it, and releasing.

Calm, Victoria. Calm. This isn’t 5th grade, and you can’t go punching cops. Not if you want to strap more than one to a table.

GM: “The best revenge on these sorts of families is destroying their reputations,” says Christina. “They have deep enough pockets to win any legal battle, but you can’t buy reputation. Easily, anyway.”

Victoria: “And how would you suggest we ruin their reputation? We’re two small fish in a very large sea.”

GM: “We deal in reputations. With every client we, or our girls, see. With every dirty and sordid detail we keep out of the public eye, we protect our clients, and they feel safe coming back for more.”

Victoria: She gives Christina a look.

“The moment we open our mouths to ruin one, we’ll be found facedown in the Mississippi.”

“We have to do it without it being traced back.”

GM: “Yes,” says Christina. “They don’t need to destroy us. Just convince our clients we aren’t discrete. Then our businesses evaporate.”

Victoria: “You know as well as I that the moment we’re fully discredited, we’ll disappear. Point remains the same.”

GM: “Disputable, but irrelevant, insofar as both are undesired outcomes.”

Victoria: “Well… We have piles of dirt, and no ability to use it. How would you suggest those secrets come out?”

GM: Christina thinks. “Get other dirt. Get something bad enough on one family member and put the squeeze on him for dirt of another variety. Leak that out through someone else.”

Victoria: She breathes a long sigh.

“We are so dead.”

A pause.

“They can’t get away with it.”

GM: “No. They can’t.”

“They won’t.”

Friday afternoon, 18 March 2016

GM: It’s another few days before the pair meet at a crowded restaurant to discuss plans, at Victoria’s request. Christina thinks it’s better to avoid meeting at the Corner Club for such talk.

Victoria: It’s better not to plan the bear’s demise in its own den.

The pair take a wooden table in the corner, ensuring they’re readily able to spot any eavesdroppers.

“We’ll have to be cautious about how we approach this if we want our own lives not to go down with them.”

GM: Christina orders drinks and appetizers to start off.

Victoria: Victoria sticks to water.

And a plate of wings.

GM: “Naturally. What did you want to discuss?”

Victoria: “The first domino. Our goal is the families themselves, but targeting them would be foolish; so, we’ll target peripheral names or less prominent members, find something about them, and use that leverage to pry something out against the major names. Do you have a preference on which family is first?”

GM: “The Malveauxes,” says Christina. “I don’t see the Devillers or Whitneys being the direct hands behind Amelie’s death.”

Victoria: “Explain.”

GM: “Modus operandi. Connections.” Christina waves a hand. “The Malveauxes play dirtier.”

“They are also the most vulnerable now, in many ways.”

Victoria: She listens intently.

“Ways such as…? Why?”

GM: “Orson had his heart attack. You don’t recover from that easily, at his age or weight. Claire’s and Westley’s death have been all over the news. Frankly, I’d already suspect foul play, with two Malveauxes dead in one year.”

Victoria: “You think?”


GM: “Every so often,” Christina answers dryly.

Victoria: Victoria produces a notepad and paper, setting it between the pair. On the page is a list of all living Malveaux members, with a myriad of lines and scratched notes judging them on numerous categories.

“We need a target. I’ve been going over what I know about each, which is minimal. I think… We need to consider a crossroad between how likely one is to have left problematic information, and how likely they are to be damaged by it.”

GM: “All of them have skeletons in their closets,” says Christina, looking over the notes. “That’s just the nature of those families.”

“Dirty laundry can always be manufactured if there’s none within easy reach.”

Victoria: “Right. The elder members would present greater risk but carry dirtier laundry, while the heirs and heiresses would present perhaps less damaging potential, but be less risky for us to toy with. Hm.”

GM: “Not necessarily. Westley had more vices and dirtier laundry than anything his parents personally got up to.”

Victoria: She drums her fingertips on the table.

“Savannah… is an option. I have a relationship with her, but I respect her.”

A pause passes.

“Which Malveauxes are you aware were involved in what happened?”

GM: “If you mean Amelie’s death, I don’t know.”

She pauses as their server arrives with the drinks (one alcohol, one water) and a plate of crispy grilled chicken wings.

Christina trades brief pleasantries with the woman.

“If I had to guess,” she resumes after the server leaves, “one of the Devillers or Whitneys asked one of the Malveauxes, who passed down the order to Roger Ferris, who possibly passed the order down to one of his agents, either of whom got someone else to do the deed inside the prison.”

“It could have been Abélia or Lyman asking Orson or Matt or Claire. It could have been Abélia asking Cécilia to ask Luke to ask Orson or Matt or Claire. It could have been Abélia or Lyman asking Caroline to ask Orson or Matt or Claire.”

Victoria: Victoria takes her own smallplate, loading a pair of chicken wings onto it—one drumstick, and one wing.

She tents her fingers.

“Curious, that. Why do you suspect the asking ended inside the Malveaux family with those three? You mentioned the trio twice. Only one of those three in each is alive. I wonder if the third has a target on their back.”

GM: “What are you talking about? Claire is the only one who’s dead.”

Victoria: She shakes her head, swallowing a lump of chicken.

“Sorry—victimized. I speculate as to the organic nature—or lack thereof—of Orson’s heart attack.”

GM: Christina waves a hand in dismissal. “You can’t induce heart attacks in people. He’s old and fat. I can believe that easily enough.”

She looks at Victoria for several moments.

“You’re young. You’re new to this world. So I’ll explain how these things work. Ferris is an employee of the Malveaux family. I don’t know who he works for on paper or where he specifically draws his salary from, but Orson, Matthew, and Nathan control the family’s purse strings. They make the family’s major decisions.”

“Someone your age, like Luke or Caroline or Savannah, can’t just order Ferris to go kill people. They don’t pay him. They aren’t his boss. If they think it’s in the Malveauxes’ interests to carry out blatantly illegal acts that carry a minimum of life without parole if someone gets sloppy, they have to go through their parents. Even if Abélia or Lyman approached a younger Malveaux, one of the three kings—or Nathan’s proxy in Claire—would have to sign off on it.”

Victoria: “Not in a moment’s notice,” she muses.

Still, she listens to the woman intently. She is the protégé in the business.

“I see. That makes more sense. I apologize for my… inexperience.”

She draws a breath, wishing this meeting was scheduled for one of their homes instead of a public restaurant.

“That still leaves us with the whole damn family to sort through; though, we don’t need revenge on specifically the one who made the order to have our revenge.”

She thinks for a moment.

“Luke. What do you know about him?”

GM: “His family’s golden boy. Recently engaged. A wonderful life and bright future ahead of him, by all appearances.”

Victoria: “Someone to be protected. Any unfortunate mistakes?”

“…including his wife-to-be?”

GM: Christina gives a sour look.

“If I had dirt on either of them I’d have done something with it by now.”

“Nothing I know of. Cécilia’s even more of a goody two-shoes than he is.”

Victoria: She drums her fingers, thinking.

“Do we tarnish the golden boy, or move on to another?”

The question is only half to Christina.

GM: “His tarnishing would hurt the family. That would be of some satisfaction.”

Victoria: “Do you see another that would bring you more satisfaction? They took your fucking niece, Christina.”

GM: “You think I don’t remember that?” Christina snaps, her eyes flashing.

“If I knew who was directly responsible, you think I wouldn’t have named them instead?”

“I don’t know. I’ll take my satisfaction from whatever hurts the family as a whole.”

“The golden boy. Fucking sure.”

Victoria: She meets that fury, unyielding, but pressing her no further toward anger.

“We’ll start with the golden boy, then.”

Because he won’t be the only one.

“But how to do so…”

Tap, tap, tap.

“…his wife? That may be a bit direct.”

GM: Christina gives a sour look and starts on a wing.

“I could care less whether it’s subtle or direct. So long as they don’t know who’s behind it.”

Victoria: The pair go back and forth over the course of their meal, with Victoria going through each of the Malveauxes and what she knows about them, for what little there is. In the end, she seems to be focused on a pair:

Luke, the golden boy, who would be symbolic to ruin. He’s the shining star. The bright future of the Malveauxes. He’s not half bad to look at, either.

Adam, the future archbishop.

On the latter, she continues, “Is it too cliche to catch him with underage choir boys?”

GM: “Yes,” says Christina. “He’s young. Around 30. Pedophile priests are usually older. I’d find it more believable if he broke his vows fucking a woman than molesting a little boy.”

Christina thinks that both of them are good targets, though. They’re the only adult males of their generation. Both of them will succeed their fathers and uncles some day.

Victoria: “Not if we’re successful,” she muses between sips. A margarita appeared somewhere during their discussion.

GM: Christina’s ordered entrees. Hers is pan-seared something (Vic doesn’t catch what) over a bed of green and yellow vegetables with dollops of sauce.

Victoria: “All right… women.”

She pauses to look at Christina, who has no shortage of that. But using Christina’s girls would present them being traceable back, which would sink both of them.

“We can’t seduce him, obviously. Nor can we have any of ours do so. How, I wonder?”

GM: “Third party, obviously,” says Christina between a bite of asparagus head. “Someone who can be trusted to keep her mouth closed.”

Victoria: She lofts a brow. Third party is the obvious answer. She knows that much.

“How many families damaged by this whole conspiracy have a young woman that might be thirsty for revenge?”

GM: “None, unless you know of ones that I don’t.”

Victoria: “Slim chance on that.”

“A bribe won’t work. Any bribe we can make to a prostitute can be dwarfed by that family. Threats, perhaps? Mm, no…”

Think, Vic. Think.

GM: “You’re quick to dismiss both of those means out of hand.”

Victoria: “Would you like to explain why I’m wrong?”

GM: “A bribe from the Malveauxes to do what? The deal I’d make with a prostitute, or some other woman, is simple. Sleep with this man, take this money. Done. Another day on the job.”

“If this hypothetical woman goes to the Malveauxes with this plan and without any proof to substantiate it, what is she doing? Gambling they’ll believe her, some random low-life. Gambling they’ll choose to pay her for unsubstantiated information. Gambling they’ll pay her as much as I will for a finished job.”

“Does she even know how to get into contact with the Malveauxes? Does she expect to just walk up to Orson’s estate and get let in? If she doesn’t, does she know what employees of theirs to approach and where to find them?”

“All of that is a lot of maybes and extra hoops for something outside of her typical line of work. Sleep with the man, take the money. That’s familiar. People prefer familiar.”

Victoria: “It’s much more simple when you present it that way. The ‘what if’ that gives me concern is: what if they find her and try to pay her to admit who hired her? Do prostitutes often try to seduce priests of their own volition? If I were a Malveaux, I’d be suspicious. Especially when Adam comes home claiming he didn’t initiate.”

GM: “Is there? How do they find her? Is she so stupid as to give Adam her real name?”

Victoria: “If she is?”

GM: Christina makes an exasperated sound.

“So you make sure she’s not. You interview her. You go over the plan together. Including fake names.”

“Fucking hell. You dye her hair and drug the man, if you really want to cover your tracks.”

Christina gives Victoria a flat look.

“What do you bring to the table?” she asks bluntly. “What help are you?”

Victoria: She snorts.

“I suppose we could just black bag him and take pictures of him being fucked, if we really need to.”

GM: “Why do I need you?” Christina repeats.

Victoria: "Because we’re better off in this together than alone, Christina, and whether I’m a criminal mastermind planner or not, I’m not going to fuck up the execution and I’m not going to sell you out; and,I did suggest both targets along with why, and provide the option of black-bagging, drugging and taking pictures. "

She holds a pause, appraising how her words are taken.

“Sure, you could do all of this yourself. You’d probably be successful. You’ve been playing this game almost as long as I’ve been alive. Work with me and you’ll be better off.”

Her expression softens.

“I know you’re angry, Christina. I can’t imagine the pain you feel right now. If you want to take your anger out on me to feel better, fine, we can do that a bit later, but let me help you now. They deserve all the rage you have, but I need your patience.”

GM: Christina’s scowl abates, partly, at Victoria’s words.

“If you’re in, you need to pull your weight. I presume this is your first time doing this sort of thing. I can’t hold your hand the entire way. There is much less room for error than keeping a middle manager’s wife from finding out he’s getting his needs met by someone else.”

“Now. Adam. Who would you bring in to do the job?”

Victoria: She takes her time, thinking. She isn’t entirely sure it’s the right answer, but it’s sound to her.

“If we want someone to fuck him, we use a third party agency. Paid cash. Tell them we want to give our friend a good time and he’s a little shy. Take pictures from afar of him conversing with them, or better pictures still if she managed to fuck him. If we want to black bag him… I’ve got a favor I can call on. Someone reliable.”

She hopes.

GM: “No agencies,” says Christina. “An outlaw.”

Victoria knows that’s an independent prostitute who doesn’t work for a pimp or madam.

“That’s chancy, though. Seducing a priest. Some of them do take their vows seriously.”

Victoria: “Outlaw works. But I think we’ll have a much better effect recording him passed out in bed with a prostitute than otherwise. So… kidnapping.”

GM: “Yes. Who’s the friend?”

Victoria: She lofts a brow, looking briefly to a passing waitress. Once she’s gone, she answers.

“Deputy in my pocket. Leave it at that for now.”

GM: Christina takes another bite of her greens.

“I’ll say this. A prostitute might not be able to seduce a priest, but there’s a lot fewer ways that could go wrong than a kidnapping attempt.”

“Is your deputy going to fuck this up? Will he go off on his own half-cocked? Will he refuse to listen to good advice? Does he have an inflated sense of his own importance?”

“Because I’ve worked with those kinds of people. Never again.”

Victoria’s heard all about Emmett Delacroix from Christina.

Victoria: “The deputy? He’ll listen. I can see that much. I don’t imagine he’ll be who we’ll be working with, though. He’ll provide me some references.”

GM: “If you’re getting a reference, he won’t know what for,” says Christina. “The less he knows, the better.”

“If he does know what the reference is for, then you won’t meet the reference. He’ll be your intermediary.”

“The more intermediaries between you and Adam, the safer we’ll be if something goes wrong.”

Victoria: She nods. “I think it makes sense to inform him as to what we need done, but not who it will be initially. Yes?”

GM: “Are you meeting the deputy’s reference or using the deputy as your go-between?”

Victoria: “He’ll be the go-between.”

GM: “Until your deputy has a name, his reference can’t set up the kidnapping.”

Victoria: “…fair point. Yet it seems an easy slip-up point to give the name immediately.”

GM: “What do you expect him to accomplish before he knows who the target is?”

“If you mean to have him find a specific kidnapper before saying it’s Adam, then sure. You don’t want him shopping around with every thug from the gutter telling them that he wants to kidnap Adam Malveaux.”

Victoria: She nods at the latter.

“That was my thinking, yes. I’d rather not have word get back to Adam that he can expect a mouthful of chloroform and a dark van.”

GM: “I don’t see word reaching his ears from some gutter thugs. Blabbing about planned illegal acts is just bad general practice.”

Victoria: “Still, as you said, better not to have the name broach lips until we’re sure of our candidate. Trouble avoided and all that.”

GM: “Then that finishes our Malveaux business for tonight, if you had nothing else to go over.”

Victoria: “No. I’ll call you when it’s arranged. Thank you, Christina.”

GM: “The pleasure is all mine.”

Monday evening, 21 March 2016

GM: The pleasure is all Jordan’s too, after his latest visit with his “mommy.”

He prefers aftercare. Cuddling. All part of the experience after he climaxes. He lies against Victoria with his face on her breasts, looking like the most content little boy in the world, apart from how he isn’t a little boy.

Something is wrong with this man, Victoria is fairly certain, but that describes more than a few of her clients.

Victoria: It describes almost all of her clients. Her fingers trace lines through his hair, her breathing soft, a gentle hum emanating from her throat.

“My boy…”

GM: “Mommy…” he murmurs back, nuzzling his face against her tits. Victoria well knows he could do that forever, or at least until their booked time ends.

Victoria: He could do that forever, but this session has a purpose beyond money.

She takes his face in her hands, turning his chin up without removing him too far from what he loves.

“Mommy needs a favor, Jordan.”

GM: His eyes find their way up to hers.

His nose and mouth don’t.

“What’s that, Mommy?”

Victoria: She taps his nose.

“A very, very serious favor. The type of favor that won’t be mentioned outside trusted company, and that may earn you… some free time? Or cash… or something else, hmn?”

Her expression loses a modicum of its curated softness.

“Do you understand?”

GM: He smiles at the tap if Victoria’s finger.

His own expression loses a modicum of its own childlike regression. He looks like he’s listening closely.


Victoria: “I need someone taken. Just for a bit. Ideally, without messing up that pretty face of his. After all, we want some pictures taken of him having a thoroughly good time. Drugs. Girls. The dream, hmn?”

GM: “You’re the dream,” says Jordan. He delivers the line like he’s saying something deep.

Wit has never been one of his strong suites in their time together.

“Okay. Who and how much?”

Victoria: She kisses the top of his head as if he really is her son.

“The who will be made known once you have someone in mind who you can trust to have it done right. I don’t want my name or likeness attached in any way to this. You are my middle man.”

GM: His eyes swim at that tender kiss.

“Well, I mean,” says Jordan. “I could do it. You can trust me.”

Victoria: “Mmmn, yes, but you know me. I wouldn’t want my dearest boy in danger, and you wouldn’t want me in danger… So… I’d like you to pick the person you trust most to do it right. Or persons.”

GM: “Oh,” says Jordan at that explanation.

“Well, okay. I know some guys.”

Victoria: Her fingers splay over his cheeks, cradling him.

Some guys…? Or some very capable men? As capable as you?”

GM: “Oh. Yeah,” Jordan answers, smiling widely at the praise.“They’re good.”

“I mean. Not as good as me. But good.”

Victoria: She presses another kiss to his forehead.

“And do you know any as good as you…?”

GM: Jordan grins.

“No. None as good as me.”

Victoria: She grinds her hips downward, grinning.

“There’s no one alive as good as you, and you’ll earn what’s yours. Would you tell me a little about these not-as-good-as-you boys?”

GM: Jordan makes a little noise of pleasure.

“Well,” he gets out, “they do this kinda stuff a bunch. They’re in the mob. Though they won’t ever admit it.”

Victoria: And yet you did.

Never trust Jordan to keep a secret. Vic understands.

“Come on, baby. Sell them to me. What makes them so good? How did they do another one?”

GM: “They’re in the mob, like I said,” Jordan repeats. “They smuggle stuff and fuck people up.”

“Like, need a wheelchair fucked up, sometimes.”

Victoria: “And what will they cost for a job like this, hmmn?”

GM: “Uh, depends. Maybe… couple hundred?”

Victoria: That feels cheap to Vic, but she doesn’t let her concern show.

“Regardless the target?”

GM: “Well, they’re probably not gonna do the mayor for that little,” says Jordan.

Victoria: She snickers.

“No, not the mayor. Prominent family member.”

GM: “Like, one of the mayor’s family members?”

“Still probably more, yeah.”

Victoria: She shakes her head.

“No, no. Different family.”

GM: “Probably more if they’re a big deal, yeah.”

Victoria: “How much more?”

GM: “I dunno, depends? Maybe a few grand?”

Victoria: She hums a note of approval.

“Tell you what…”

She releases his face, hands sliding to his chest.

“Today is free, hmn? You talk to your boys, and I’ll get back to you in a few days.”

GM: Jordan grins.

“Wow, okay. That’s really great. What do you want me to tell ’em?”

Victoria: “You know them better than I. That there’s the possibility of a job. They can’t do much if they disappear to Hawaii.”

GM: “Okay, so you want to meet ’em?”

Victoria: “I’ll get back to you on that.”

GM: “There’s a possible job isn’t really a lot to tell ’em.”

“Like, they’ll probably ask who and how much.”

Victoria: She shrugs.

“Then don’t tell ‘em yet. I have a few details to tidy up on my side; so, I’ll call you soon, hmn? And you… can think about what you want with your next session.”

GM: “I’ll think a LOT about that,” grins Jordan.

Wednesday afternoon, 23 March 2016

Victoria: The day after tomorrow, Victoria arrives at Audubon Park, and pulls out a book five minutes ahead of their scheduled meeting time. She pulls out a book to read while she waits for Christina.

GM: Christina meets her there, on time.

Victoria: Once the two exchange pleasantries, Victoria jumps in to why she asked to meet again. She has her middleman, and her middleman feels he—at least, to him—has trustworthy muscle to perform the job; however, that muscle is tied in with the mob. She asked her man not to talk to them just yet.

She continues on that working with the mob isn’t something she’s done before, and before she commits the pair of them to a relationship that could harm them, she wants Christina’s opinion.

GM: Christina says the mob is fine as long as they don’t know that women are behind the middleman.

Victoria: She nods, feeling immediately better about that avenue, and asks if she’s worked with them before, commenting on how casual she seems with it.

GM: “I’ve worked with a variety of people,” Christina answers vaguely.

Victoria: It’s enough of an answer to give Victoria what she needs.

“My middleman is… not the brightest crayon in the box. Would it it be worthwhile or paranoid to give him a masculine name to use to refer to me?”

GM: Christina shrugs. “He’s your man. You decide.”

Victoria: Victoria wonders if Amelia turned into a bug and died in Christina’s asshole.


She goes over the plan one more time: the muscle will kidnap him, leaving him as unmarred as possible—if not unharmed—and will shoot some photos of him with drugs and prostitutes.

GM: Christina has no new objections to the plan.

Victoria: “Very well. I’ll call you when it’s done.”


Saturday afternoon, 26 March 2016

Victoria: Victoria meets with Jordan after a few more days on offer of a free session, and a full session is what he receives. Once he’s spent and pliable, she recants the plan again once more, then makes him repeat it back to her. She reaffirms that the compromising pictures of him as guilty as possible is what matters.

She then adds, “If you need to refer to me, you’ll refer to me as Mr. White.”

GM: Jordan seems more than happy to spend and render himself pliable in the dominatrix’s arms.

“Why Mr. White?” he asks.

Victoria: “Because that is what I’m asking you to call me.”

She squeezes his scrotum.

“Do I have to tell you twice?”

GM: He gives an intake of breath as his body stiffens under her grip.

“No. Mommy,” he says meekly.

She can also feel him starting to get firm again.

Victoria: “Good… boy…”

She purrs the words, a tigress luring her prey.

And then she leaves him hard.


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