Red Roof Inn - 1034 Hours
“Fifteen-year-old Kelsey marks the latest in a string of missing persons cases citywide over the past month. Local authorities are uncertain whether these cases are connected, but say they're not ruling out the possibility just yet. We’ll keep you up to date as this story develops. From Live@5, I'm Sharon Partners. Now back to you, Woody.”
The segment ended and, for Valentina, the hotel room might as well have fallen silent. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Occasionally grunting. Hard to believe it but the authorities in this Gothic City were worse than the ones in Madripoor. At least back home when they couldn't solve an issue it was usually on purpose. She had no doubt eventually these cops would figure out what was going on. The problem was that they were slow. By the time they worked it out, the job would no longer be profitable. Understaffed, underequipped. Maybe they just...needed some help. She smirked at the thought. Sorabella's daughter, working on the inside.If nothing else I would always be many steps ahead of myself, and everyone else.
But then the game would lose its lustre. She sighed. And besides, holding a regular job would mean she had to stick around, grow roots, become a regular face. Harder alibis, fewer out of town jobs. Not worth it. Still, Gothic was close enough to some of Madripoor's major cities, in terms of the kinds of people who dwelt there, that it was worth several safehouses.
A few more exertions later and her right wrist was free. More difficult than I expected. Well done. Brooke, you tie a hell of a knot. She smirked, gazing at the warm body just to her right. Shame we'll never meet again.
With one arm free the rest of her limbs were easy enough, her biggest challenge then to do it without disturbing last night's "adversary." The present game nearly finished, Valentina bent over and planted a kiss on the girl's forehead, with a whisper: "Que sueñes con los angelitos."
Her eyes shot across the cluttered room to the other bed, and the man who lay passed out on it, restrained just as she had been. John, was his name? She shrugged. It didn't matter. Or wouldn't, soon enough. The only important thing was that he was the older brother of the girl from the news report. From the nightstand between both beds the Scarlet Assassin dug through her purse, pulled an ampoule of a clear liquid which she drew into a syringe.
Succinylcholine. Strong muscle relaxant used in hospitals to allow intubation of conscious patients. Ideal due to rapid onset of action and short half-life. Not normally tested for in toxicology screens. Paralyzes respiratory muscles, and in higher doses the entire breathing apparatus, causing suffocation. Autopsy should suggest a heart attack.
Meting out 100 mg, Valentina inserted the needle where it would be hidden amongst the many other marks on John's arm. Muscular depolarization in 20 seconds. Suffocation and death within 5 minutes. Brooke would find him when she awoke, panic, and make the call. She'd be an early suspect, but easily absolved.
Stepping over bottles, cans, glasses, piles of clothes and sheets, she ran a bath with the door open, soaked a towel in hot water and wiped the dried droplets of Sangria Dulce candle wax from her body. A few minutes to soak herself, then she was out the door in time for a continental breakfast, the only trace left behind, a blonde wig from the night before.
The Summit Nightclub - 2129 Hours
Hundreds of drunk people crowded under one roof and music so loud you could feel it in the ground several blocks away? What's not to like about this guy? Valentina rolled her eyes and took a sip from the drink in front of her. Really, the place wasn't so bad, in and of itself (though she would've preferred the smaller saloon-style establishment up the street). The problems lay in the fact the owners were trying so desperately (and failing) to be the new Olympus. This, along with the actual prices, attracted a certain clientele. She could hardly get a moment alone with all the entitlement headed her way. Although the free drinks are nice.
Nice or not, this was disruptive, and free drinks wouldn't pay for her lifestyle. A generous tip to waitress and bouncer ensured both physical disruption and the liquid kindness coming her way were dammed up where they started, freeing the Crimson Viper to review her dossier in peace.
James-Isaac Wiltshire, taken to calling himself "Tex" – ew, why? – Frequents the establishment roughly every other weekend, alone or with a group. Textbook douche-canoe who doesn't seem to realize or care that he's rubbing nearly everyone the wrong way. Black hair, dark brown eyes but prefers his baby blue contacts, roughly 5'11''.
Designated driver slash babysitter for the evening: his sister, Mary. Valentina put down the dossier to check in on the sad-looking girl by the bar, watching from afar. It was unfortunate, how much she cared. Too much to say no and leave her asshole brother to his own devices. Too bad he didn't care enough to return the favor. Too bad...
...that it's almost her time. Mary had a day, maybe a few more. That also meant it was almost James-Isaac's time. Minutes. Hours, give or take. Could make it fun if he wasn't such a tool. But there's no need to be too cruel.
With a nervous smile and an awkward remark, Valentina excused herself to the restroom and laid down the tip for her evening's kind assistants—Two crisp hundred dollar bills, and under each, neatly folded, a white slip of paper, each reading:
This place will be bankrupt or closed in three weeks. Find a new job.
She changed in the bathroom - the uniform looked good on her, even if she did think so herself - and returned for her shift behind the counter.
"You the new hire, Leslie?" asked the bartender whose tag read Debra. "Y'sure picked the right night for it, hope yer ready to work! Need any help, I'm right beside ya." She was nice. Valentina Leslie liked her.
Thirty minutes passed and Leslie managed all kinds of patrons. The actually wealthy scumbag; the pretend-wealthy scumbag; the low self-esteem guy-who's-attracted-but-scared-to-be-creepy; the creeper-who-thinks-he's-smooth; but her near-constant companion was none other than James-"Tex"-Isaac – she saw to that with a few words said in just the right way and a wink when no one was looking.
Aconitum. Known under many names but perhaps most wonderfully the "Queen of Poisons," indigenous to many parts of the world in the Northern Hemisphere. All parts of the plant are poisonous but none more so than the root. So toxic in fact that it has been traditionally used to hunt and successfully kill large animals such as bears and whales.
A tincture (alcoholic extract) of aconite root will not only go unnoticed in an alcoholic beverage, but can be detected only by sophisticated toxicology analysis using equipment that is not always available to local forensic labs. Unlikely to be discovered by GPD. A half tablespoon placed in a bottle of whisky is enough to kill a very large man. At 161 lbs, Mister Wiltshire is as good as done. Modulate dosage carefully so death does not occur too soon.
Prognosis: Vomiting, dizziness and diarrhea followed by palpitations, paralysis of the heart and airways, and death. Time from consumption: Forty-seven minutes, 26 seconds.
"Leslie" was genuinely horrified just as everyone else when it became apparent something was wrong. She stayed for questioning. Reviewed the situation over and over to the best of her ability, wondering if there was anything she could've done differently, any signs she might have missed. Oh God, was she gonna get fired? Was she gonna get sued? Oh...Oh, she could go? N-no, thanks.
The brother taken care of, it was time then to move in on her actual mark. She'd start with a brief apology that night and scurry off prematurely. Find Mary the next day, apologize again - this time for the incident and for being rude - and offer a pseudo-explanation. Ask some questions, get to know her. Get her to realize, through subtly manipulative prompting, that she didn't actually care. Carefully. She had to feel like the realization was all her own. That some part of her, as much as she feared to acknowledge it, was glad she no longer had to play babysitter to a man three years her senior.
And with him no longer occupying her life, something else would take that spot. What better than her new friend, giving a shoulder to cry on, reassuring her that she was not a bad person despite how she felt about her brother's death. It'd be a rush job, but Valentina could pull it off before Mary's time.
It was almost time...
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