The city streets are quiet, overtaken by the night's downpour. Ambulance sirens and roars of Rolls-Royce's in the distance are drowned out by the crumbling of thunder and the thick veil of rain. The Northside's corporate towers and black roads are slick and shiny, while the white lights of the district's signs and street lamps are stretched and dulled in the wet haze. Puddles fill the streets and sidewalks of receding workers seeking shelter from the storm.
Polished leather oxford shoes splatter water in these puddles with each vigorous step on the sidewalk. They tap down one after another to the steady beat of a song the night can't hear.
The man's clothes are dampened in the rain, his black umbrella doing little to keep the wind from carrying the shower to the dress coat pulled tight over his suit. The only thing protected from the downpour is the phone held tight to his ear by one black leather glove.
A high pitched voice squeaks in his ear, and his deep, casual voice periodically replies to it.
"Uhuh."
One leg crosses the other as he swivels to the right, ducking into a side street.
"Uhuh."
Off the main streets, innocent white lights turn red in the rain as the man enters Northside's dirty little secret; the red-light district, for wealthy respectable men to relieve themselves of their filthy desires.
"Sure, sweetheart, I'm listening just fine."
The buildings are shorter here, red neon signs shouting things like "Girls girls girls", "Tracey's", and "Pleasure Trove".
"Uhuh."
The path becoming nothing more than a thin alleyway, he stalks along the red glows with a certain pep in his step. The light illuminates his silhouette in the sleek puddles at his feet, and his figure below catches his attention.
He stops to fix his tie in the puddle's reflection before strutting on his way, his voice purring into the phone.
"Listen, Domi, it's just not working out."
"But why?! Is it something I-"
With a flick of his gloved wrist, the phone is tossed into an alley dumpster. The high pitched voice is left to argue with the red light district trash.
He chuckles, and dips into one of the more inconspicuous doors, painted an earthy red-brown to blend in among the surrounding alleyway brick.
Soft jazz music floods into his ears as he steps into the moody low-lit bar.
He shakes his umbrella closed, leans it against the wall by the door, removes his black gloves, and smooths out his dark red hair.
"Renzo."
A woman's voice slips through the sensual saxophone solo.
His lips upturn into a wolfish smirk as his auburn eyes land on her.
Tucked in the corner of the otherwise empty bar - among the red velvet seats, sculpted wooden wall paneling, oil paintings of Greek sculptures, and warmly burning candles - sits a most beautiful woman.
She has hypnotic green eyes like martini olives, thin curved lips painted a teasing red, and skin as pale and smooth as a porcelain doll. Long, soft locks of blonde hair fall effortlessly past her shoulders and drape over her elegant black satin dress. Slender hands are wrapped in red lace gloves bearing a peculiar floral pattern, beckoning him over.
Drawn like a moth to the flame, Renzo approaches her.
She sits in one of the red velvet booths along the furthest wall, behind a table that has a flickering candle, a small vintage radio, a red Manhattan and a glass of sweet vermouth placed in front of her. As he slides into the velvet booth beside her, she brings a red-laced finger to her lips.
His eyes move to the small, low-humming radio. A man's voice quietly crackles as he speaks in a modulated, classic news reporter's tone.
"Victor Hartley, Sales Executive of RiseX Solutions, was discovered dead this evening by two employees in his office. The suspected culprit is Ty Walters, a Junior Sales Representative, who was found at the scene and quickly detained by Northside district police. Is this a one-off, heated crime by a man angry at losing his job? Or, has 'The Liquidator', Northside's biggest serial killer known for his one-percenter targets and gruesome scenes, finally been caught– making the mistake of killing too close to home? Stay tuned as the Carnelian City Police continue to release new infor–"
She turns the radio dial to silence it with a click, leaving the smooth jazz to solely occupy the bar. Her entrancing green eyes flicker back to him.
"You've grown so popular, Liquidator."
He chuckles, stretching his arms out on the table. Then, he reaches for his glass and takes a swig of the vermouth she'd prepared.
"Who came up with that name?"
The corners of her red lips raise.
"I think it's almost clever, based on the targets and the state you leave them in. It's amusing, isn't it?"
He lets out a low hum, taking another sip of his deep orange wine with a smile.
Her eyes follow his hands.
"You're in a good mood."
He slams the glass down, turning to her with a grin.
"It was the perfect framing. You were right, that I should lose my MO and go for something different for a change. It worked out so well, even Ty believed he did it. I feel fucking high."
"Mm. How did you do it?"
Renzo shrugs off his soaked jacket and leans back into the booth, reaching into his tweed dress pants pocket. He reveals a small metal object about the size of a pill, holding it up to her between his two fingers. Its reflection shines in her green eyes behind it.
It glints in the candlelight, the soft glow illuminating its smooth spherical surface with peculiar embedded ridges.
"Jefferson got it for me. Called it the Spike Pill."
"'Spike Pill?'"
He grins.
"You see, Victor and I had become such close friends. So, I prepared some tea in the RiseX staff kitchen and brought it to him in his office. Told him it was my mom's secret recipe, herbal lemon with honey and blueberries. If you swallow the honey-coated blueberries whole, they support a healthy gut environment."
"And that's how you got him to swallow the Spike Pill."
"Down it went, and sat in his stomach."
He plops the metal ball into his vermouth. Bubbles float to the top for a moment, and then the wine stills as it settles to the bottom.
"Then comes the magic."
He rummages in his pocket again and pulls out a second device; a small metal cylinder with a switch hidden in the side. He digs it out of its hiding place on the cylinder and flicks it to the right with his thumb. Immediately the wine-drowned sphere contorts outward into spikes, like a sea urchin.
She smiles.
"Hence the name 'Spike Pill', hm? 'The Liquidator' was more clever."
"Yeah. But great gadget, huh? It cuts his insides, and he dies from the inside out. Then comes the best part."
He flicks the switch to the left. Dark fluid is expelled from the ball in the vermouth, murkying the water. He scratches his head, watching the dark orange liquid turn brown.
"This part's a bit… Well, Jefferson explained it too quick, but uh, it releases something that strengthens the acidity of the, uh, stomach acid, I guess, and it's some kinda metal that dissolves in that acidity."
He shakes his ruffled red hair.
"Point is, it leaves without a trace. And I'm sure that fluid wasn't good for the guy either, but I'm no chemist."
She leans back in the velvet booth, uncrossing her legs and crossing them the other way beneath her smooth black dress.
"No. You're a hitman, and a fine one at that."
"So, with this toy, I just needed to rile the kid up enough to hit Victor instead of the damn table, and turn the switches when I heard the strike. For that, I had a bug."
"Let me guess, you planted it in the vintage office desk you gifted him."
He smirks.
"I'm an opportune."
"Paired with the friendly tea after he warmed up with that gift, cozying up to his niece, and making the most of the unstable Ty Walters… you certainly are. ...mm. Poor girl, by the way. That niece. What was her name, again?"
"Dominique Perez."
"Yes. She's lost her uncle and her boyfriend all in one night."
His thick brows crumple into a hard frown.
"We've both lost worse."
Her green eyes soften as they land on his. She leans towards him and tucks a strand of red hair behind his pierced ear.
"Renzo, the night's too young for your mood to sour now."
He stills as she does so. He doesn't protest, and suddenly becomes very quiet.
Her eyes lower to the crystal glass of dark liquid upon which no Spike Pill is now visible inside.
"It's a shame you've ruined your drink with this demonstration."
He bows his head, his voice deepening an octave.
"I'm a theatric."
Her red lace fingers move back to the table in front of her and curl around the long stem of her red Manhattan cocktail.
"I'll cheers to that, Liquidator."
His eyes roam the picture of her, hunger flashing in his sharp auburn eyes.
"You look enchanting, by the way."
She tilts the cherry garnish to the side with a red-laced finger and brings the rim of her glass to her red-stained lips. It stays there for a moment, pressed against her bottom lip, before she slowly takes a sip.
"I'm aware."
"Tease."
She sets the glass down with a quiet smile.
"Only when I'm bored."
His body is taunt, twitching slightly as he leans deep into her. His voice is low and rough when his lips find her ear.
"And you're bored?"
"Yeah. I am."
The change in her tone makes him freeze. This is no longer teasing, this is something cold. He leans back slightly and watches her cautiously as she speaks.
"I met with the leader of the Falcon Raiders the other day."
He leans back in his seat with defeat, and adjusts his shirt collar with a pinch of irritation.
"Why do you still do those dirty Southside meetups? Send one of your men."
She swirls the cherry in her glass by the stem.
"I like the Southside gossip."
He adjusts his collar again.
"...and what are they squeaking about this time?"
"A white beast."
She picks up the cherry and twists its stem between two fingers.
"They told me there's a white beast in this city."
"...a white beast?"
She drops the cherry into her drink with a red splash.
"Something like that shouldn't be kept in a cage, don't you think?"
His eyes narrow, feeling the increasing tension in the air.
"Yeah?"
Her smile is frightening.
"I don't want Ty Walters in jail, Renzo."
His eyes widen, then darken in sudden understanding.
"...found yourself a new project, huh?"
"The potential for one is what I've found."
He scratches his head and exhales dryly.
"Damn. My perfect murder framing…"
"Are you so unskilled as to be unable to find another way to keep suspicion off yourself?"
His shoulders sag.
"No. Of course not."
She smiles lightly.
"Good. I have been bored, after all. I'll be kept busy for the next little while away at... something of a conference, but it's nice to have something interesting to come back to."
"You're leaving?"
"Just for a little while."
He frowns slightly, flicking his crystal glass with a clink.
"Who're you bringing?"
"No one."
"Can I go?"
She pauses.
"...That's... an interesting thought. If you can manage to secure an invitation, I suppose. Well, focus on releasing Ty Walters and wrapping up the ending of Victor Hartley's death first, hm?"
He scratches the back of his head.
"Yeah, yeah. Your white beast will be released."