Fuzzy Cheese Presents

“Yeah, that sounds like her…” you laugh, bouncing a bit to get the kid’s attention. “So kid, I’m thinking arcade this afternoon. Then pizza and movies tonight?”

“Yes!” the kid cheers. “Roxy, are you coming too?”

“I dunno…”

“Please… Roxy,” he implores. “It’ll be fun.”

You grin. “Yeah, Rox. Come on. It’ll be soooo fun.”

Roxy rolls her eyes and relents. “Fine. But you’re buying.”

“Don’t I always?” You untangle yourself from the kid and muss up his hair. Because his reaction is hilarious and it tickles you to see him so put out by such a small thing. “Go upstairs and play some video games, kid. Auntie Roxy and me, we gotta talk about some stuff. One of us’ll come and get you when we’re done.”

“Okay!” You don’t have to tell him twice. At the mention of video games he’s clopping up the stairs like a wild animal.

“Kid!” you call to him. “Ease up. We have neighbors.”

“Sorry!” his little voice travels down the stairs into the kitchen, where you and Roxy stand, drinking coffee.

Roxy’s giving you a displeased look and you know what’s coming the second you two hear the door to the kid’s room shut.

3… 2… 1… Go.

“H, you have done some stupid things but this…?”

You wave her off. “I know. I know.”

“Do you?” Roxy asks, trying to keep her voice down. “Because it didn’t look like it when I walked in. It looked like the same old Hound, up to her same old bullshit.”

“Hey, I was trying to figure out who’s wants me dead,” you fire back. “And guess what? I did.”

Roxy glares at you. “She told you who hired her?”

You open your mouth to answer Roxy in the affirmative but think better of it. “Not exactly.”

“You are going to get yourself killed,” Roxy whispers, harshly. “And that was fine when you were 20. But you are 30-fucking-years-old, H. And you’ve got Malcolm's, now. You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

You snap to attention, your eyes widening before you remember yourself. You relax a bit before you turns around to find Victoria standing by your bedroom door, fleshly shower but in the same clothes she wore last night. Her hair is still a little damp and with the makeup wiped away, she looks almost human. Like someone you could have approached at a coffee shop and not a badass assassin that was hired to kill you. But just because the cover doesn’t match the book, doesn’t mean there isn’t something to this. You know nothing about Victoria save for her name and occupation but it’s clear she is a complicated and layered person of unknown depths.

“No,” you answer. “Roxy was just telling me I’m being stupid and crazy again.”

Victoria arches an eyebrow. “A conversation you two have often.”

“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it, sister,” Roxy says, before she turns to you with a, “I’ll go keep the kid company.”

You nod, calling after her as she heads upstairs. “Thank yooou… Looovvve yoouuu…” When you turn back around, Victoria’s staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Best friend,” you supply. “One of them. Only I didn’t fuck this one. So the dynamic is a bit different.”

“Hound, when I want to know something personal about your life, I’ll ask,” Victoria replies, curtly.

“Oohhh,” you draw out. “Somebody’s cranky. Coffee? I’d offer to turn that frown upside down in a less traditional method but gosh-darnit we already tried that. Not that I wouldn’t give it the ol’ college try again. But I’ve got the kid upstairs, you understand.”

Victoria stares daggers at you and you notices how the ends of her lips twitch. Either she’s a smoker, or she’s trying not to laugh. Both are a possibility. However, if you were a betting person (and you aren’t) then you’d put your life savings on it being the latter and not the former.

“Hound…”

You smile and insist she call you by your name. And it’s your turn to hold back a smile when Victoria lets out an exasperated sigh. You don’t know why, but you enjoy getting under her skin. It’s your new favorite game. But it wouldn’t be nearly as fun, if Victoria didn’t make it so easy.

“Hound.” Yeah, she’s angry. Well, smaybe not angry. Perturbed? Vexed, maybe? “We have business to discuss.”

“Right, so we’ll skip the steamy bits. For now. And just get right to the boring parts. Because we’re professionals and stuff,” you reply, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

Victoria ignores her puerile antics. “You can meet me at the Majestic, Downtown. I’ll be in the Grand Lanai. Meet me there in two hours. Don’t be late.”

“Two hours? So you need time to what? Slip into something sexy?” you tease. “I’m flattered, Victoria. But it's not necessary.”

“Two hours, Hound,” Victoria stresses, heading for the door. “Keep me waiting and I’ll consider your offer null and void.”

You regard her with amusement. “Better not be late then.”

“Good day, Hound,” Victoria tells her.

You tell her to call you by your first name.

“Hound.” Then the door slams shut and you are left with your own thoughts.

You refill your mug and contemplates stepping out for a cigarette. You needs a moment to collect yourself and work out your next move. Obviously, you’re going to have meet with Victoria. Yes, it’s a terrible idea, but you don’t have another card to play. You could send someone to take care of Victoria. However, it’s not something you want to do. If Victoria dies, so does your only lead.

You reach into your pocket and retrieve your phone. It rings twice before a perky voice answers.

“You’ve reached Lite, keeper of all things knowable, and seeker of all things unknowable, at your service.”

His English accent comes through thick, even through the phone.

“Hey, Baby Boy,” you say with a smile. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Is it really a favor if you’re my boss and you pay me?” he teases.

“You got me there, Baby Boy,” you reply. “I need this ASAP. Get me everything we have on a Victoria Monroe, aka the Viper.”

“The assassin? Is she the one that’s been hired to kill you?” Lite sounds shocked.

“Yup, that’d be her,” you confirm.

“Wow… that’s… wow…” Lite says. “Whoever hired her must really want you dead.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Lite gives a nervous giggle. “I’ll dig up what I can and call you back soon.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. It’s literally what you pay me to do.”

You end the call and sigh. It’s going to be a long day.

“MOM!” Malcolm's little feet clamor down the steps. “I beat it! I beat the game!”

At the sound of his voice you shake off whatever doubts you might have about Victoria and wills yourself to stop worrying so much. You’ve been in worse dilemmas before. No examples come to mind right now. But you’re almost 70% sure that you’ve been in sticker situations than this.

“You did?” you ask when he comes into view. Your voice is light and breezy, almost carefree, even. “That’s awesome, Kid.”

He smiles, proudly. “I’m pretty awesome, Mom.”

You muss his hair again to keep him humble. “I know, Kid. I know.”

“Can we go to the arcade now?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“It’s not open yet,” you tell him, much to Malcolm's disappointment. “And I have a work thing. But afterwards… We’ll shut the the whole place down.”

“Promise?”

You nod. “Pinky swear, Kid.”

You two lock pinkies and shake on it. And that’s good enough for Malcolm. You haven’t let him down yet, so he has no reason to doubt you. Malcolm even handles your work stuff with ease. He doesn’t know what you do. Not entirely, anyway. And god willing, he’ll never find out. Considering who his dad was, you want to keep him as far away from this life as possible. This life is no place for a kid. And you know that. Eventually, you’ll have to turn your back on all of this. The only question that remains (besides the obvious one) is do you want to? Because this is all you’ve known. And hardships aside, this isn’t an easy thing to walk away from. It’s a part of you.

“Do we have any juice?” Malcolm asks, already heading for the frig.

“Yeah. Even got the kind that you like,” you tell him.

The smile he flashes reminds you of why you agreed to take him in. And it’s not just because of his father. Although that helped. It’s Malcolm. He’s a good kid. And if you have anything to say about it, he’ll stay that way. He’s better than his father. And he’s definitely better than you.

“H?” Roxy calls for you as she descends the staircase.

“In the kitchen, Rox,” you shout.

Roxy makes reappears with an annoyed expression etched on her features. “Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she wants to meet me in two hours at the Majestic,” you reply.

“And you’re gonna go.” It isn’t a question. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm dumb. But will you-”

Roxy finishes her request. “Watch Malcolm until you get back? Of course. Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean I'll leave him to his own devices. Will you at least promise to be careful?”

The smirk you flash her says it all. “You're looking for the answer yes… Then yes.”

“For Malcolm's sake I hope so.”

The funny thing is, so do you. Malcolm's already lost so much, so young and she doesn't want to add herself to the long list of casualties that haunt him. However, the person or persons that want you dead won't take his mental well-being into consideration. They’ll just kill you and be done with it.

Criminals can be dicks that way.

After getting the kid settled, you retreat into your bedroom to get ready for your - well - meeting. That's what you tell Malcolm anyway. Roxy shoots you a disapproving grimace, knowing that whatever you are walking into is something that could scarcely be called anything remotely like a “work meeting.” But if you can't call it that then what can you call it? And more importantly how are you going to manage getting out of this alive?

That's the question that plagues you when you step under the warm stream of water coming from your showerhead. As you washes up, your attempts to think about something else other than your impending doom, and the deadly brunette that had occupied this very shower not fifteen minutes ago, end in failure. The harder you try to forget, the more your mind is bombarded with the memory of last night.

You wonder if the Money is aware of your weakness for dangerous women. You ponder the possibility that this is all a part of the plan. And you come to the conclusion that you’re probably walking into a trap.

Despite the very real danger you’re in, your mind replays the event of yesterday in lurid detail. You remember the way Victoria felt pressed against you, the sounds this woman made when she was coming undone under your touch, the way she breathed your name as she did. And hell, as good as Victoria took it, it was nothing compared to the how well she returned the favor. In fact during the course of last night, you thought death by orgasmic overdose had been a very real possibility.

Sex with Victoria is as intoxicating and addictive as heroin. You’ve only gotten a small taste of your new favorite drug. And now you're racking your brain, trying to figure out a way to get your next fix.

Your hand traverses your body as if it has a mind of it’s own. The tension that you’ve built up from the fight has coiled tightly within you, ready to snap at any moment. It needs release. You need release.

With your bottom lip locked between your teeth, you treat this like a race, bringing yourself to completion, speedily. As if there’s a prize for coming in first. There’s no poetry to it. No rhyme or reason. At this point it’s purely for the purposes of maintaining some kind of functionality and hopefully a way that you can finally be rid of the image of being with Victoria.

Your climax comes swift and unceremoniously. As you sigh, the last bit of tension leaves your shoulders. And while you can say that on some level you needed that, it still bothers you that Victoria’s at the forefront of your mind.

When your breathing regulates, you step out of the shower, feeling refreshed but also uneasy. You’re nervous. Looking over the contents of your closet with mild annoyance. A business meeting with an assassin is a first for you. And you’ve having trouble picking an outfit. Does you go for professional? A nice, tailored suit. Or maybe business casual? Like slacks and a sweater.

“Fuck it,” you sigh, picking out a pair of jeans and a tank top. It's too hot for boots and a leather jacket but you don’t care and put them on too to complete the outfit.

Once dressed, you inspect the finished product in a mirror. She supposes she could have done something more with your hair, instead of just pulling it back into a ponytail. But you tell yourself there just isn't time.

Besides it isn't like you’re getting ready for some hot date. It's just a meeting with Victoria… who is a hit...person… who has also been hired to kill you.

So definitely not a date.

You exchange goodbyes with Malcolm and Roxy before you make your way to the front door.

“Mom?” Malcolm's voice sounds.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Bring me back something?”

You take one glance at his puppy dog look and knows there's no point in fighting it. You’d give the kid the sun, the moon, and all of the stars in the sky if it meant you’d get to see him happy.

“New video game? Or a toy?”

His smile brightens. “Video game, please. Maybe like the next Five Nights at Freddy’s?”

“We'll see. I know you beat the first three but that was before I knew it was an the things that nightmares are made from."

He pouts. “But Mom…”

“Just tell Malcolm you'll get the game,” Roxy cuts in. “We all know you will anyway.”

“The kid doesn't know that,” you offer.

But Malcolm scoffs. “Yeah, I do. You never say no to me.”

“When'd you get to be such a me-expert, kid?” you ask.

He laughs. “It's not like it's hard. You make it so easy.”

“Well maybe today is the day I finally tell you no.”

Malcolm's rolls his eyes. “Yeah right. You're not going to do that.”

“He has you there, H,” Roxy adds.

You frown at them both. “You two can bite me. How ‘bout that?”

“Goodbye, H,” Roxy says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Have fun with your meeting, Mom. See ya later, gator,” Malcolm tells you.

“In a while, crocodile.” You toss him a wink before you step out and close the door behind you.

It's only a 20 minutes drive to the the Majestic. 40 minutes if there's traffic. Of course there's traffic. In this city? That's just a given. You only solace is that you have at least has some music for the drive into the city.

On a warm summer day like this, there’s nothing like driving into the city with the top down on your car. You got it because it reminds you of the first car you ever stole, only newer and not held together with duct tape. You loved that car. It reminds you of a simpler time.

It reminds you of Fox.

When you first started out in this business, you had nothing but your wits and that ratty old car. That’s when you met Fox. The only person, besides Malcolm and Roxy (who don’t count, at least in this way) that saw you; the real person under the Hound mask, and loved you anyway. You and Fox were toxic for each other and destined to crash and burn like a magnificent trainwreck but there’s a piece of you that longs for someone like that again. A partner in all things. Someone that loves your broken parts. Someone that makes you feel like you belong.

“Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now…”  the radio speakers blare as you drive down the expressway, cringing because this song reminds you of Fox. “Our song on the radio but it don't sound the same… When our friends talk about you, all it does is just tear me down… 'Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name…”

Your knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. The stuff with Fox is ancient history. At least now it is. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. It doesn’t mean you don’t miss her every single day. But Fox’s moved on. She’s happy now. And you… you have your work. And you have Malcolm's. However, there will probably always a Fox-shaped hole in your heart. And you’re not sure if you want to get over that pain. It means that once upon a time there was someone out there crazy enough to love you.

“It all just sounds like oooooh… Mmm, too young, too dumb to realize… That I should've bought you flowers, and held your hand… Should've gave you all my hours,  when I had the chance… Take you to every party 'cause all you wanted to do was dance… Now my baby's dancing,  but she's dancing with another man… ”

You skips the song, quickly. Your life is difficult enough without falling into some feelings.

“Detonat-, Detonator… Baby, oh, you blow my mind… You'll, tell me wait, wait on ya… But baby I can't wait all night… I go through pictures, ya send my phone… Won't stop tempting me. You know what I want… Wanna make, wanna make love… Girl, I can't lie-ie-ie-ie…

“I'm just a sucker… For a cold hearted lover… You make me s-uh-uh-uh-uh-ffer… You make me s-uh-uh-uh-uh-ffer… Don’t keep me waiting… You should come over… Don't make me s-uh-uh-uh-uh-ffer… Don't make me s-uh-uh-uh-uh-ffer…”

This song is even worse as it stirs up feelings you thought you let wash down your shower drain this morning. You fight the urge, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking about Victoria; admonishing yourself for not focusing on the task at hand. Instead, your mind drifts, conjuring the memories of the night before. And you wring your hands on the steering wheel again but for completely different reasons.

“So here we go, go again… It's like I'm caught under your spell… You're, wearing black, black magic… Well baby, don't wear nothing else… When I open up this door, don't you play… Ain't no other man gon' make you feel the same… I wanna make, wanna make lo-”

“Nope,” you say, quickly hitting skip. You smiles when a melodic acoustic guitar riff fades in. Bobby Womack is someone you can always listen to regardless of your mood. And you start singing along, tapping your fingers to the music.

“All the leaves… are brown… And the sky is gray… I went for a walk… On such a winter’s day…”

That brings you back to yourself. Or at least it takes your out of your head enough to just enjoy the ride, despite the smell. Because Los Santos smells. It stinks like pigeon shit and smog. But it’s home. And it’s beautiful, so long as you don’t breathe in too deeply.

“Cali-for-nia dreamin’… On such a winter’s day…”

Your phone rings then and you have to turn the music down before you answer it.

“Talk to me, Baby Boy,” you greet.

Lite laughs. “Well, I got what I could about the Viper. Boss… Her dossier reads like a demon’s resume. Former MI6. Went freelance in ‘09. Reportedly trained by the Widow. Number of confirmed kills: 108. Preferred method of disposable: Poison.”

“Poison? Seriously?” It makes that business with the gun surprising.

“Yeah. Hand-crafted. And highly-lethal.” Lite pauses. “So… did you really sleep with the Viper?”

You frown. “Roxy called you.”

“Of course she did. It's Roxy,” Lite pauses. “Boss, I sent what I found to your phone. Look over it so you know what know kind of person you're dealing with.”

“I know exactly the kind of person I'm dealing with,” you say quietly.

“Is that a sex thing?”

“What? No. Christ, Lite.”

“Sorry… is there anything else you need?”

“See if you can find some kind of money trail. Whoever wants me dead is willing to shell some serious coin. That kind of transfer isn't invisible. We find the money, I can neutralize the threat at its source.”

“Ok. I'm on it. Be careful, Boss.”

“I'll try. “

You’ve given yourself enough time to get to the hotel with just enough to spare to pick up a little goodness at a coffee shop close by. Which you doe. Getting a vanilla latte with extra whip fit yourself. And a black coffee for your would-be murderer. Your version of extending an olive branch.

The front desk clerk tells you that your arrival has been expected and hands you a card key, pointing in the direction of the hallway that leads to the Grand Lanai, which is on the ground floor with a view of the bay. Or so the clerk informs you. You smile, and offer your gratitude before heading Victoria's way.

You stomach is fluttering. You palms are sweaty. You feel like you’re heading off to Prom or something else equally juvenile. You haven't felt this kind of nervousness in a long time. And while a part of you absolutely hates it, there's another part of you that is actually excited at the prospect of seeing Victoria again.

There’s something wrong with me.

After a long walk you arrive at the Grand Lanai and uses the key card at the door, not bothering to knock because you’re hoping to catch the other woman off guard. But what you find instead is a seemingly empty room.

“Victoria?” you call out softly, looking around for any sign she’s here. But there isn’t even any indication that someone is staying in the room. No bags in sight. No lingering evidence of an occupant. Only the low hum of the AC, as you travel further inside.

Then you hear it. The subtle but all so noticeable click of a gun being cocked. You know better than to whip around quickly and opt for a slow turn. Victoria's standing by the partition to the suite's sleeping area, pistol at the ready and aimed right at your heart.

“Hound,” she husks, her lips curled into a sinister grin. “You're a little underdressed for your own funeral.”

Kylar Wolfe lifted his head; an unlit cigarette hung lazily between his lips. He looked the tall, athletic girl, who stood near the ledge of the building. She glanced at him, dark lips curling into a playfully dangerous smirk. Her dark eyes lit up with a mischievous glint, as her gaze shifted from him and the horde.

“What’s the verdict?” she asked.

He lit the end of the cigarette before he replied. “We have our orders, Brynn. We’re supposed to observe. Not engage.”

She laughed. “I won’t tell Alpha if you won’t.”

“You’re not going to let this go are you?” he asked her, already knowing the answer.

Brynn shrugged and reached over to take the cigarette from his lips, careful not to touch him. Despite how much they play, she was always careful when it came to things like that. She took a drawn out pull from the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Kapp, it’s the end of the world as we know it. It’s time to start enjoying life’s little pleasures. Like ripping into a horde of lifelessly corpses without fear of being arrested or worse captured.”

Brynn inched toward the edge of the building. They weren’t that far up. Only 20 or so stories. It would only take a few minutes to get to street level if they took the shortcut down.

“Brynn… we shouldn’t…”

“Don’t Kye. We already get that enough from Al. I don’t need you parroting back his orders,” she sighed, looking at him one last time. “Are you coming with?” When he didn’t reply she smirked. “Suit it yourself. See ya back at base, Kapp.”

And then she jumped... right off the edge of the tenement building.

Kylar rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile as he said to himself. “I’m going to marry that woman.”