2004-12-20 - 10:12 a.m.

Chapter 3: Magical Girl

For some reason, Old Downtown had managed to survive the century intact, a throwback to older times. As such its architecture stood in direct contrast to the rest of the City: not the gleaming futures past of the Moderne Quarter, not the impacted neon of Little Chiba, not even the decayed urban gothic of Night City. It retained an almost Victorian quality, a stolid severity that hinted at secrets, adventures, and mysteries hiding behind the old stone. Depending on which part of Old Downtown you were in, you could expect either Jack the Ripper or Teddy Roosevelt to walk around the corner.

Actionhero got out of the taxi, paid and looked around. Old Downtown had a certain feel to it that he liked. If things went as planned, maybe he’d look into buying some property here. He walked up to a small building, the architecture tastefully subtle and unassuming, as if the building knew its worth and didn’t feel the need to broadcast it. Most of Old Downtown was like this: you either knew what was what or else you didn’t belong here, simple as that. In fact, the only hint as to what the building housed was a small gold plaque for “Imperiatrix Holdings, LTD.” He walked inside the building, stopping at the security desk. The guard looked at him with a carefully neutral expression. Actionhero smiled back, easily and friendly. He could see through the glamour and knew that this was one security troll he didn’t want to piss off.

“I have an appointment with Her Majesty.”

“Yes sir,” a voice called out. Male. British. Actionhero turned and saw man in a dark suit walk up to him. On the lapel was a broach that was shaped like a small bird. Even though it was silver, he knew it was a raven. “I’m Rupert Giles, Her Majesty’s personal assistant. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Rupert. Shall we? I don’t like to keep Her Majesty waiting. I know how she gets.”

“As you say. Follow me please.”

Actionhero followed Rupert to an elevator and got in. As it ascended Actionhero said “I see we’re alumni of the same school,” tapping the small lion shaped badge on his lapel.

Rupert smiled. “Well, not so much alumni as research fellow. I went back a few years ago after, some…time in California. Unfortunately I found that both Hogwarts and Sunnydale had too much in common.”

“I’m assuming it wasn’t the weather?”

“Teenagers.”

“Ah so. And now you work for Ves.”

“Yes. I find that working for her Majesty has more…benefits.”

The elevator opened and Actionhero walked out into a designer office suite. All blonde pine, muted lighting and furniture that was a tasteful of mix of post-mod slickness and Regency opulence. That flavor of London corporate chic that never went out of style. The kind that sent out a message of self-assured skill, that inspired confidence in investors. Actionhero knew that Imperiatrix Holdings, LTD. was one of THE top financial consultation firms in the city. Smaller perhaps than the yuppie filled greed merchants in the Corporate Core, but more aggressive. And certainly sneakier.

“I’ll check in with Her Majesty, sir,” Rupert said. “In the meantime, would you like a coffee?”

“Sure. Cream and sugar.”

Actionhero wandered around a bit as Rupert walked off. Ves has certainly brought out the top shelf here. All good looking boys and girls running around, talking on phones, Brit. style and sporting various Hogwarts House pins. He even spotted a few goblins wearing glamours. Nice operation. He smiled as a particularly attractive woman came up to him with his coffee. Blonde, leggy and sporting a small hedgehog badge.

“Would you care for anything else, sir?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Just call if you need anything sir. Anything at all. My name is Mona.”

“As you say,” Actionhero smiled.

“Sir,” Rupert called, walking back into the main office. “You may go in.”

Actionhero walked back into the Empress’ office. To the casual eye, it seemed like the typical business-woman’s den: a wall full of plasma screens monitored news stations, stock tickers, a variety of channels across the world. The décor a minimalist Euro-Asian style, postmodern art furniture and power colors. But the trained eye noticed the plasma screens were all linked to crystal balls and the tickers noted things like “galleon rates” and “dragon futures.” Ves herself was this mix of the modern and the arcane: she wore the best tailored power-suit, but Hero could see the Serpent broach on her lapel.

“’Hero,” she said with a smile, the genuine one, not the one that was usually a prelude to unpleasantness. Someone else’s unpleasantness.

“Ves.” A short hug and friendly peck on the cheek. Not many people could be so casual with the Empress but Hero had a habit of showing up at her proverbial doorstep with a fist full of emeralds to buy a quick asylum. Emeralds went a long way in the Empress’ kingdom.

“So,” Actionhero said, falling into a chair. “You’re looking well. Business good?”

“Always.” She pulled a slim silver-and-jade cigarette case from her coat and pulled out a smoke, offering one to Actionhero. “Having your own quasi-fantasy kingdom with no corporeal presence is great for taxes.”

“Kind of like Monaco?”

“Yeah, but with better casinos and no pedophile opera tenors. So, what can I do for you? No emeralds and smoking guns so I assume its not asylum this time?”

“Actually, I need some financial advice.”

“Ah. And you thought of me? How sweet.”

“Well I need someone sneaky. And smart. And ruthless.”

“Flatterer. So what do you need? I can put you on to some investments in England. Magical weaponeering is particularly hot right now. Or at least, it will be.”

“Actually, I was thinking more of a laundry service.”

Ves shot him an arched eye-brow.

“I need to launder a mega-buck online cash transfer. I need it pristine and untraceable to…it previous owners. I also need it stashed in the most secure vaults on this and any other realm, but still accessible. And legitimate.”

“Tall order.”

“That’s why I went straight to the top.”

“Something like this is going to cost, too. And not just a fistful of shinies.”

“I was thinking a commission of ten percent of the take.”

“I was thinking more of ninety.”

Actionhero made a face and took a drag for his cig. “That’s usury.”

“You what another great thing about having your own kingdom is? You get to decide what usury is.”

“Okay, fifty-fifty.”

“You call that negotiating?”

“I’ll throw in Sting.”

“Like I can’t get tickets to his concerts.”

“No, I said I’ll throw in Sting. I’ll…get him to do a personal show in the Dictatorship. Unlimited engagement.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m the World’s Greatest Criminal. What do you think?”

Ves smiled. “You know, I haven’t said yes. This isn’t going to be easy, you know. IF I agree, I’m going to have to put my entire staff on it.”

“Well they look like a talented bunch. For example, that boy of yours, Giles, he seems…skilled.”

“You are evil.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’m the Empress. What do you think?”

***

Chapter 4: Secret Asian Man

Naturally, J.W. hired him on the spot. It turned out J.C. had a degree from Fallwell Law and some time as a neo con hired gun for the media circus. But it didn’t matter anyway. He was Asian. Despite all attempts by J.W., the GOP Party in the City was still lacking in the “multicultural” dept. The higher ups had noticed and they were not happy. J.W. was shitting kittens. J.C. had been a gift from God. J.W. would have given up his first bron to have him on the payroll, but was lucky enough to only have to go as far a s a new beamer and a corner office. He was the first step to making a Benneton ad. Naturally, he was officially there as a cultural demographic consultant blah blah blah. And there was of course some talk of making him an outreach manager for the Asian community etc. But the real reason was that the City’s Republican Party now had their very own banana. And to top it off, he was also good. He said the right things at the right times, was Seen in all the right places, quoted in all the right ways in all the right columns. And he got along with the people at Party HQ. Just the Right attitude. Too perfect in every way.

Which was too much for Missy. As J.W.’s personal secretary, she pretty much saw him every day (J.W. had put J.C. in a nice visible office next to his own) and the more she saw him, the more she began to think of him as something…primal. Savage. Something in the eyes, or the shoulders. One time, she’d seen him in shorts, off to a game of squash with some party officials and she almost passed out when she saw his legs. More and more he became some kind of South Seas savage, the kind who would naturally ravage a helpless missionary girl…like herself.

She couldn’t help it. There was something about him that brought out this side in her…and, it seemed, the rest of the female staff in the office. This was a problem too, because the more the other girls tried to make a play for J.C. the more Missy wanted him for her own. She had caught Carrie from accounting flirting with him the other day and, out of spite, had shifted enough work on her to make her give up her weekend. She knew all Carrie (and the other girls at the office) had wanted was a nice exotic piece of upwardly mobile arm candy, especially J.W.’s golden boy, but she wanted more. She began to dress in more revealing clothing. She would caress the crucifix she wore just above her breasts so often after seeing him it became something of a tic, each time her hands flying to the small cross signaling that she had surrendered more thought to the fantasy of him forcing her down on some sandy beach, his rough hands like stone, her blonde hair askew, her eyes glazed with fear and longing, her legs forced apart roughly, yet willingly at the same time as he took her, each time different from the last.

“Missy?”

The sound of her name jolted her out of yet another fantasy. She flushed when she saw it was him, standing at her desk.

“Uh…hi…I mean, is…uh…is there anything I can do for you?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab some dinner? Its not quite quitting time yet but I’m pretty sure J.W. won’t say anything.”

“Oh! YES! I mean, sure. Let me just get my things together. Say 10 minutes?”

“Take your time. I’ll make some reservations.”

Missy beamed as she hurriedly cleared up her desk, never noticing the almost predatory grin on J.C.’s face as he walked back to his office.

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