People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Gerald Darnell stared at his screen in stunned silence. It would have taken someone else weeks to see this, but it was very clear. He was shifting funds away from the company into an offshore account, in small amounts. Small, but frequent. Over a good bit of time as well. Over three-hundred thousand dollars at the moment had been moved. Embezzled. That was the more appropriate term. He would not only be fired, he would also be prosecuted and sent to prison. Not jail, prison. The Federal kind.

As fast as he could, Gerald began tracking backwards. It continued to go back to him. Rather, his terminal. Then one stamp stood out. It was the day of his wedding anniversary. He had even asked to leave an hour early that day and did. The stamp was five minutes after his usual time for leaving the office. He went back looked at all of them. They were almost all the same. At, or just after, the time he usually clocked out for the day. He shut down his terminal and went down to the personnel office. He checked his time cards. They were consistent with his habits, but it wouldn't really mean anything. It could be said that he clocked out and went back.

In the hallway he hissed to himself. "I'm being set up! Who? And why me?"

All the way back to his office he wracked his brain, trying to figure out who would want him out of the way. Did they want money and he was just a fall-guy? Did they want his job? Was it somebody pissed-off that he had given them a review they felt wasn't what they deserved? Each one drew a blank. On the way home he stopped in a bar and saw his old friend, a barber.

"Ger. How's it going?" His friend asked.

Gerald shook his head and sighed. "Not good. Ted, somebody is messing around with company money. Stealing it."

Ted frowned. "Not good, bud. Do the right thing, man, report them to the bosses."

"I can't." Gerald said and sipped his beer. "They've made it look like it was me."

Ted winced. "Oh man! That's not good at all."

"Whoever it is, they're good. They know exactly how things work. I mean in detail. They know the in's and out's of everything. It's only a matter of time before it gets attention or I get ratted out to be the fall-guy. I'm so screwed. I'll end up in prison." Gerald said heavily.

Ted glanced around then said quietly. "Remember last year; I had that problem with those guys trying to use my shop as front? They wanted to hang out and sell dope?"

"Yeah. They even beat you up and a couple of your regulars, too. What about it? Thought that was over with." Gerald said.

Ted nodded. "It is. I just never told you how."

Gerald looked at him, puzzled.

"I, uh, I hired somebody to take care of it." Ted admitted.

Gerald was now thinking. "What, some tough-guys or something?"

"Or something." Ted said. "A revenge-broker."

That startled Gerald. He'd heard rumors of such people. "Whoa! Those guys are really dangerous, Ted. Maybe even worse than the problem."

"Oh this one was dangerous alright. For them. Those guys not only got busted, they caught hell in jail. Word has it, they were named as informers. Not good to be one of those in lock-up." Ted nodded firmly. "Know what I mean?"

"Right about that. What's all that got to do with me?" Gerald asked.

Ted looked around then continued. "Maybe YOU could hire them? Figure out who's doing all this to you and fix it? Get it now?"

Gerald sighed and looked deep into his glass of beer. "I don't know Ted. I hear these guys are expensive. Some are even crazy."

"Look; it's your situation. But if it's how you said it was, it won't be long and you're left holding a bag, with nothing in it but blame." Ted said then pulled a business card from a hidden pocket of his wallet.

Gerald watched as Ted had him hold it out of sight then used his cigarette lighter to warm it from underneath. The card's appearance shifted. It changed from blue to black and instead of some restaurant's logo and information, in red lettering, an email address appeared. Gerald stared in amazement. He'd heard people talk about secret business cards for mysterious people. Here, in his hand, was one of those cards.

"This guy, I'll never forget his name, was César Echagüe. Latino, well groomed and dressed high-end. He talked like he was really cultured. Easy-going. I never actually saw him do anything, just the results of what he did. I'll be honest; at first, I thought I had gotten the wrong guy. I hadn't. He took care of the problem. He seemed to think his price was reasonable. I guess I did too, I didn't argue and paid it." Ted said frankly.

Gerald was now looking at the card intently. He was rethinking his previous opinion. He trusted Ted, they had met in high school and been best friends ever since. If Ted said the guy was ok, he had to be.

"Ok. I'll do it. I'll meet with him." Gerald said.

Two nights later, he went into a jazz club and sat down. The instructions had been simple. Go to a club called Tribulations, sit at a table near the stage and order a glass of Raveneau Chablis Grand Cru with whatever he drank. When the waitress came, he did exactly that, with a bourbon and coke for himself. The waitress returned, placed the drinks down and left, without asking him for any money. He watched her go and wanted to stop her, but movement caught his attention and he turned to look. A stunning woman in a blue sequin club-dress standing in front of him.

"Bonne soirée, Monsieur Darnell." The young woman said in a heavy French accent then gestured to the empty chair. "Since you have already ordered my drink, shall I join you now?"

Gerald was off-guard, but stood up anyway, as he always did when approached by a woman. He had expected a Latino gentleman, but was now facing an elegant French woman. His wife would skin him alive if she caught wind of this and got the wrong impression. He was past the point of no-return now though.

"Uh. See voo play?" Gerald struggled and gestured to the chair.

The woman smiled and took the seat. "I speak English very well Monsieur Darnell."

Gerald sat down. "Sorry. I never learned French. I just know hello, goodbye, thank you and I think I managed to say 'please'. That's all I can come up with. Miss?"

"Marguerite St.Just. Please, call me Marguerite." Marguerite replied with a smile and mega-watts of charm.

Gerald actually felt himself blush. "Gerald, please. I have to admit, this is really surprising. I thought I was meeting someone else."

"Ah." Marguerite said, now understanding. "These things can become very complicated Gerald. Please believe that you are meeting who you should be and that I can help you. That being said, this must be also. What you ask for, does not come free. There is a fee for such service and it must be paid in a timely manner. You understand this, oui?"

Gerald nodded. "I understand."

Marguerite patted his hand gently then sipped her wine. "Bonne. Now, you say there is someone from your work that is stealing money and it is being made to appear as the one doing the stealing, is you. Non?"

"Yes Ma'am, er, Marguerite. I'm being set up to be the fall-guy. I don't know who or why. It won't be much longer, the higher-ups are going to figure money is gone and I'll be the one holding the bag." Gerald said.

"Very bad for you." Marguerite commented.

Gerald sighed. "I don't have a lot of cash. I do have stocks I can sell. I think about forty-thousand, but I'll have to pay a penalty which means."

"Oui, you will not receive that amount. Fortune does smile on you a little. To resolve your problem will only cost you twenty-thousand. You will not be taken for all you have Gerald. It does not work that way. When all is done, all will be done. The only part you must worry over, is paying that amount by the agreed time." Marguerite said reassuringly.

Gerald began to relax now. "I can have it by next Thursday. Is that ok?"

Marguerite smiled again. "Indubitablement! In fact, I was going to suggest next Friday."

"Friday works better. Cash?" Gerald asked.

"Gerald! To carry that much money around, invites danger, non? It would be much easier to transfer it electronically to an account I will provide you the number of. Much better, non?" Marguerite asked then added. "Of course, it must come from your personal account. I am sure your financial adviser would be able to accommodate that."

Gerald thought about that and nodded. It was a good idea. There would be no questions about that, even if someone caught wind he was up to something, there would be no argument that it was actually his money being used.

"We now have contrat, oui? A deal?" Marguerite asked and offered her hand.

Gerald gently shook her hand and nodded. "Yes. We have a deal. Please help me Marguerite. I'll pay."

Marguerite stood up, taking her glass. "Laisse moi ça, Gerald. I will look after you. Bonne nuit."

Gerald watched her walk away. He had to resist the urge to just sit there slack-jawed. The woman was all grace and elegance as she made her way out. He even felt a slight stirring in his pants. Now all he had to do was pray she could do what she promised and that he wouldn't fantasize about her in his sleep and say anything.

Dara walked into the dimly lit room and turned on the computer system. As she sat down and begin to type, a song began to play.

She began to sing along softly. "That's how it goes. Everybody knows."

Chester Beirman preferred to be called Chet. That wasn't all he preferred. Working, wasn't one of those things. He only worked for the company because his father demanded he work somewhere. After a month of not getting a job, he had him hired and put to work in the Accounting department. He hated it. None of the women were single, nor were they pretty. By his standards, of course. He tried to bully his way into Personnel, but an old man ran it and they had no positions vacant. It only got him an ass-chewing from his father. He had tried to stay at college longer, but his father put his foot down at the end of his fourth year. Graduate or be cut off. He graduated with an associate's degree in Business.

One thing he had liked learning, was how money moved around. He was good at that. In fact, it became a hobby during class. Seeing how much of the theoretical money he could divert before the Professor caught on. One of his classmates ended up trying to do the same, they both were caught and ended up being friends. They soon started working together as opponents. Each trying to find ways to steal that the other couldn't catch. Eventually, they learned how. Now he was doing it for real. The best part, his supervisor would catch all the blame.

Chet chuckled to himself as he checked the balance of the offshore account with his phone. "Two more weeks and I'll blow the whistle on your ass Gerald. I'll have them give me YOUR job as a reward. Too bad I just won't be able to find exactly where you hid the money."

Chet smiled at that. As the supervisor, he'd need a secretary. Not that ugly cow Francine that Gerald has. Nope; he'd get a cute, young and not bright girl. Smart enough to do what he'd tell her, and be on the pill, but not so smart he'd have to be careful around her. The picture on the wall acted somewhat like a mirror. He could see Gerald in his office when the door was open, which was almost always. He only closed it when someone asked to talk privately or one of the higher-ups went in. They closed the door, he didn't care. Gerald was one of those 'if it affects the company, everybody should know' types.

Chet saw someone going into Gerald's office. It was a guy, one he'd never seen before, so he didn't care.

Gerald looked up at the knock. "Yes?"

"Mister Darnell? I'm Ryan. I was called in to service the computers here in your department. Won't take long. You're all about to take lunch, right?" Ryan asked then handed him a clipboard.

Gerald looked at the documents. They were work orders, signed by the Vice President of Operations. Gerald knew his handwriting without a doubt. At that moment, his phone rang so he answered it.

"Accounting." Gerald stated.

The voice on the other end was unmistakable. "Gerald. It's me."

"Yes Sir Mister Golson." Gerald replied, acknowledging the VP of Operations.

Pat didn't mince words. "We finally got in a tech to perform the updates on all your terminals. Send everybody to lunch at the same time so he can get that done. I was told he only needs an hour to do it, get him set and get out of his way."

Gerald didn't need to be told twice. "No problem Mister Golson. He's here now and everybody is about to go in three minutes."

"Good. Have a nice lunch Gerald." Pat said then hung up.

"Yeah, that clears everything up alright. Go ahead and do your thing." Gerald said then grabbed his suit jacket, walked out the main area and whistled. "Get a stopping point. Two minutes and go to lunch, full hour today."

Everyone did as he instructed and made their way out. Gerald looked over as Ryan was already working on his terminal. "I guess you got it."

"No Sweat. I'll be gone by the time everybody is back." Ryan said holding some handheld unit, but using the terminal's keyboard.

An hour later, Gerald watched the last person come back in. That brat, Chet. Gerald didn't like the guy, he had an attitude and it slipped out a good bit. Gerald went back to his office and sat down. It was real easy to see what the Tech, Ryan, had done. Things were moving faster and looked better. That was good. He wondered what was going on with Marguerite though. He had yet to hear from her, though it was only Monday.

Daryl parked the car in the garage and got out. It only took a few seconds to pull the magnetic signs off for the IT service. He put them away, along with the clothes and other gear for 'Ryan'. He rode back to his bike shop and finished out the afternoon then rode home.

After a shower and dinner, Daryl went down into the secret room. The computer system had been running for quite a while. Daryl brought up search parameters and ran them. He saw what Gerald had seen. Someone had indeed been siphoning off money in small amounts then diverting to an offshore account. That account was numbered and therefore anonymous. Able to be accessed by anyone with the correct codes. Daryl frowned. The last noted diversion had been Friday. He would have to wait until it was done so again, then he would have information he could act on.

One thing for certain, it was someone within Gerald's working group that was doing the dirty work. Daryl began looking into everyone. Two stood out. One was a long-time employee, the other was a recent hire.

Daryl looked at the two and mused aloud. "One that's been there forever, one that just came on. Let's dig deeper on you two."

It didn't take long to discount the long-time employee. He had been investing heavily into the company ever since they offered that option. All things pointed to him being a serious protector of the company. He not only bought stocks for himself, he also bought for his wife and children. The purchases were deducted directly from wages and had been for years. In fact, there was even a note that the man had only used sick leave once in fifteen years and returned the next day; against doctor's advisement.

"Hardcore. You wouldn't hurt that company no matter what. You love it too much." Daryl remarked then began digging deeper into the other candidate.

"Chester, Chester. What is there about you?" Daryl asked the screens as information came up.

The more he read, the more he wanted to look for and commented. "This guy reads like a resume for Assholes 'R Us."

Everything from Middle school on to present screamed the guy was egotistical, self-serving and over-indulged. Teacher and school adviser comments all read the same. College showed worse. Chester demanded to be the center of the universe and expected everyone to cater to him. Complaints had come from all directions. Faculty, staff, other students; pretty much anyone he came into contact with more than once.

"Sexual harassment. Authority issues. Money mismanagement. Immaturity. Lack of direction. What's the matter, Chester, nobody wants to just give you blank checks and let you screw to your heart's content?" Daryl asked. "How'd you ever get hired?"

He went back and looked at the personnel file again then rolled his eyes. "Figures. Daddy is a V.P. I should have caught that right off the bat. He must be forcing you to work, thinking it'll make you Man-up. That's optimistic to the point of dumb. Admit it Chester, you aren't about to grow up for anybody."

Daryl liked Chester for the embezzling, but he needed more before he did anything. The one thing he hated more than people like Chester, was making a mistake. Mistakes were killers in the business, in that they could get the wrong person killed. He would take no chances and wait for more information to come in. The nails were ready, all he needed was someone to hand him a hammer and show the coffin.

Daryl was at the bike shop, working on a mountain bike when the alert came over his laptop. He set his tools back in the box and went over to look. Sure enough, money had been diverted into a hold account. Daryl then attached his tracker into that account. the next time it was accessed, it would trace back through the system to the actual terminal and he'd have them. That was the magic of keystroke loggers. It wasn't just software, it was also hardware and therefore no way to confuse it or counter with any scanning programs.

At Four that afternoon Daryl set everything aside and began watching his laptop. Thirty minutes later, what he had been waiting for started to show. Someone at a terminal was entering redirection coding. Camouflage. He pinged the terminal then brought up the camera he had placed in the office. None of the terminals had a camera so he had to place one. Daryl wanted to roll his eyes. It was Chester, as he'd suspected. He activated the tracker now attached to the money that had been pooled. A moment later, it went through Gerald's terminal and transferred to the offshore account. Daryl waited and received a pop-up with the routing and account number. Daryl looked at the camera and smiled. Chester was using his phone to check the account. Daryl grabbed the number and hacked in. He now had GPS for everywhere the phone went, networks it registered and everything downloaded and uploaded. Dating sites, porn, clubs, music and videos. Daryl had almost all of it now.

"Time for your string of cleverness to be cut." Dara said.

Chet stood at the bar, trying to work the blonde beside him. He had been talking her up for ten minutes. If he could touch her, he could kiss her and if he could get a kiss, then getting her into bed wouldn't be much more of a challenge. Being bumped, interrupted him.

"Hey!" Chet turned around and received a bored look from a slightly built man, similar to his own age, but better dressed.

The man gave him an intense look. "You have problem?"

Chet took note of the Russian accent and knew immediately to check himself. The Russians in the area weren't regular people. They were all in one Mafia or another.

"No. No problem." Chet replied and tried to refocus on the girl.

The Russian moved on after a few minutes. Chet relaxed. Real criminals made him nervous and the local Russians were very real criminals. The girl's phone caught her attention. She excused herself to the ladies' room. Chet waited then came to the obvious conclusion that she had moved on. Looking around better confirmed she wasn't even in sight. He decided to call it a night and went to his apartment.

Daryl had to laugh when he got outside the club. Chester had no idea that his phone had been lifted from his pocket and returned. Daryl hadn't needed to keep it. Just borrow it long enough to clone it. Now he had an exact duplicate of Chester's phone. Anything and everything Chester did, Daryl would see and know. He would also be able to interfere or even reverse. Once Chester logged into things, Daryl would have those passwords on the clone as well. Things like banking information. Since he was already dressed well, Daryl stopped off for a late dessert.

Gerald sighed Friday afternoon. Two more transactions had happened. At lunch he had went to his broker and authorized the transfer from the sale of a good portion of his portfolio. He'd had to pay a penalty, but hoped it would be worth it. He had just stood up and about to put on his jacket to leave for the day when his phone buzzed.

He answered it. "Accounting."

"Gerald. It's Brad Weller, could you come up to my office?" The C.E.O asked.

Gerald's heart froze, but knew there was only one answer. "Yes, sir. On my way right now."

He took the elevator up the two floors and went down the hall to the last door. Inside, the secretary buzzed him.

"Go right in." She said.

Gerald went in and saw three people he really didn't want to. Brad Weller, the company's C.E.O. Ellen Chisholm, the Vice-President. Winston Beirman, Vice-President of Distribution.

Brad waved him over to a table that had several sheets laid out. "Gerald, come in. We need your help sorting something out."

"Yes sir." Gerald nodded and went over.

Gerald began looking the pages over and realized what he was looking at. It was the theft of money. The very theft he was hoping would be sorted out before the very people he was in the room with, found out.

"This looks very bad sir." Gerald said.

Brad nodded. "Exactly. Somebody in your department has been embezzling and trying to frame you for it."

It took a second then hit. They knew it wasn't him.

Ellen sorted through and pulled a page and tapped it. "The money was returned last night. It was shifted into a very old account that hasn't been used in ten years. If we hadn't been notified, we wouldn't even know it had been done."

Gerald looked at the information. "Four-hundred, twenty-nine thousand, six-hundred and eighty-one dollars?"

A pinging sound was heard and Brad went over to his computer then printed up a page and came back.

"Another four-thousand and change just went out and came back." Brad said as he handed the page over.

Gerald sighed. "Please forgive me. I found out, but didn't know what to do. I'm sorry. I didn't think you would believe me if I told the truth."

Winston shook his head. "We probably wouldn't have. We know who is responsible. Please have a seat over there."

Gerald sat off to the side, partially hidden. The secretary buzzed again and the door opened. Chester Beirman swaggered in, looking straight at the group of executives.

"Chester. We have something that needs to be discussed about the Accounting department." Winston said.

Chester smirked. Seemed like things happened without him needing to push.

"Know who I am?" A man asked.

Chester shrugged, he didn't know. To be honest, he didn't care.

Brad introduced himself. "I'm the C.E.O. that means I AM the boss. Look at this."

Chet took the page he was handed and read. To his horror it was a transcript from his terminal.

"That is code. It pulls small amounts of money from transactions and diverts them into a side account. That money is then transferred to an account in the Bahamas. An account that traced back to being accessed by your phone. All of this was camouflaged to look like it was originating from Gerald Darnell's terminal. The problem with that is, the timestamps all show consecutively that he was not at his terminal when the commands were given. Commands that were input from YOUR terminal." Brad stated.

Chet looked shocked. How did they know? How did they find out? His plan was perfect and the code would delete itself after execution.

"That old fart is lying!" Chet tried to counter.

Ellen arched an eyebrow. "How could he, we haven't spoken to him yet. All the proof is right there in front of you. It was fairly easy to recover the money. We just wanted to see how long you would go before you ran off or tried the frame up. I got bored waiting."

Chet couldn't believe it, until she showed him the transfer print out. The money, including the one from only a few minutes ago, was all back in a company account. It even showed where it had come from.

"NO WAY! You couldn't get access to my account!" Chet blurted out then realized he hung himself.

Winston sighed. "Now even I can't help you."

Two police officers came in from a side room and began to arrest him. Chet couldn't believe it. Not only had he been caught, they had the money back and acted like it was nothing out of routine. Now he was being arrested.

"Dad. I didn't mean it. I won't do it again." Chet said quickly.

Winston shook his head. "I gave you every chance. You have chosen to be everything your mother and I tried to raise you not to be. You have chosen to be a criminal. You will be treat as such. You chose this on your own, so on your own you will be. We will not help you in any way, shape or form."

Chet was taken out.

Winston sighed. "I need to speak with my wife and attorney. Chester is beyond our help. Gerald, you have my apologies."

"I'll take care of the money." Ellen said, taking three printouts as she left.

"You drink Gerald?" Brad asked

Gerald nodded. "Yes, sir. I could really do with one right now."

Brad poured for them both then handed a glass. "Hope you like Scotch."

Gerald sipped and felt it but shook his head. "It's fine Mister Weller."

Brad leaned back against the table and sipped. "Who helped us?"

Gerald's eyes popped.

"Things cleared up too neat and tidy. I've been doing the C.E.O thing for a while. This is the first time I worked in Port Klasten. I hear strange things go on. Things like this. We got too much smoking gun to be chance. Plus, there was the way we got it. Something got Ellen's attention and she barely had to tug on it for everything to come unraveled. That kid thought he had things all sewn up. I saw it in his eyes when we dropped the bomb. He was utterly convinced he'd come out clean." Brad smirked then shook his head. "Winston almost resigned. He knew there was no arguing it."

"I. I'm sorry Mister Weller. I don't know anything. Should I resign?" Gerald asked.

Brad shook his head. "Gerald, you're a good guy. You care about this company. It's family to you. Don't resign. I need people like you here."

Gerald nodded. "Yes, sir."

"If there is a next time; come to me first. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Brad said then pointed to the drink. "finish that and go home. Get drunk there. See you Monday."

"Thank you, Mister Weller." Gerald said then drained the last of his drink and left.

Instead of going straight home, he intended to stop at the bar to meet Ted. His phone chimed with a message though. The message was quite short.
Come to the park, the fountain.

Gerald approached the fountain and saw who he was supposed to meet, sitting on the edge of it.

"Hello Marguerite." Gerald greeted.

Marguerite smiled. "Allo, Gerald. Bonne après-midi."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, the C.E.O. figured out somebody helped the company." Gerald admitted.

Marguerite giggled. "Monsieur Weller is very clever. He has seen inside naughtiness before. It is what makes him good to have."

"Am I in trouble?" Gerald asked.

Marguerite shook her head. "Non. Monsieur Weller is a kind man. As I said, he is clever, he will not throw away what is valuable to the company. You are valuable. Chester, was not. He was a very dangerous liability. You need not worry over any of this anymore."

"Thank you. Merci, right?" Gerald asked.

"Oui, Gerald." The French woman giggled. "De rien. You are welcome."

"So what now?" Gerald asked.

Marguerite smiled. "You go home, love your wife, go to work, do your job. Live your life, Gerald. That; is what you do."

Gerald looked down, she was holding out a business card. It was identical to the one Ted had shown him.

"Ted gave me your card." Gerald said.

Marguerite smiled. "It only works the one time. I give you one of your own now."

"Oh. What about Chester?" Gerald asked as he put the card away.

Marguerite shrugged. "That is up to your courts. He was not as clever as he thought he was. However, it was a large amount of money and he tried to blame you for it. They will not overlook that. You have no more concern. His father should not harbor any ill feeling to you. It was not your fault. They understand you were afraid and rightly so. This is where I say au revoir, Gerald. All is done. Bonne chance et bonne vie."

Gerald shook her hand and watched her walk away. There wasn't anything about her that wasn't charming. Even the smile and pat on the head to a passing child proclaimed a lovely elegance. He took out his phone and dialed. When his wife answered, he suggested that they go to dinner that night.

Dara left the park and walked down the street. At a tram station she stopped at a locker, took off the brunette wig, brushed out her blonde hair and left. To anyone passing her by, she was just another nicely dressed young woman. A tram took her back over to the area where the bike shop was, but she didn't go there. Instead, she went further down and slipped through the backdoor into the restaurant. The waitress came over to her table.

"Hey Dara. What would you like?" The waitress asked.

Dara thought then replied. "Tell Nan I'd like roast chicken, Vicky. May I have a glass of Pinot Grigio with that, please?"

Vicky didn't need to write the order down, just simply nodded. "Sure. I'll tell her and bring your wine back."

A minute later an older woman came out and set a glass of white wine down. Dara accepted and even returned the hug she gave her.

"Nice to see you looking so pretty Dara. I heard you didn't open today." Nan said.

Dara shrugged. "That doesn't mean I didn't work today."

Nan nodded. "Uh-huh. Taking on or finishing up?"

"Finished up. You're not worried about me, are you Nan? Pop?" Dara asked.

"We do worry." An older man said from the door then went back out to the dining room.

Nan sighed. "It's not that we don't appreciate what you did for us, or that people do need you. You do things not many can. It's just that it’s a dangerous business you're in. You could make a good living just with the bike shop and settle down. You're that good. We worry, Sweetheart."

"I know what I'm doing Nan, you don't have to worry over me. Worry over Vicky; she hasn't been on a date, in three months." Dara snarked.

"I HEARD THAT!" Vicky called back. "Mind your own social life!"

Nan had to chuckle. It was just like Dara to provoke a fuss to get attention away from herself.

"I offered to set her up with the Agatha Walker's grandson." Nan played along.

Vicky hollered. "I'LL GET MY OWN DATES!"

"Who's dating?" Brenda asked, walking in and taking a table. "Hi Dara, nice dress."

Nan chuckled. "Vicky is SUPPOSED to be, but hasn't in three months."

Brenda nodded. "Oh. I know a guy."

"Leave me alone!" Vicky said then set Dara's plate down and glared. "You too!"

Dara shook her head. "I didn't make any offers."

"You started it." Vicky said hotly.

Dara gave a fake look of shock. "Me? Nooooooo."

Vicky looked over at Brenda then said to Nan. "You take her order."

All three burst into laughter after Vicky went back out to the dining room in a huff.

Brenda shook her head then told Nan she would like spaghetti and a red wine. Brenda's order was brought out and she began eating.

After a few bites each, Brenda looked over. "Did you shut somebody down today?"

"What makes you ask that?" Dara asked.

Brenda use her napkin then answered. "Bob picked up a case. He knows he won't win. Some spoiled brat tried to embezzle from a company and frame his boss. He got nailed all neat and tidy."

"Some people need keepers." Dara remarked.

Brenda took note that it wasn't a denial. "Uh. Is there going to be a funeral?"

Dara shrugged. "Not that I'm aware of. Bob have a limited wardrobe?"

"Bob's still new. He might not take losing a client, in that fashion, well." Brenda said.

Dara sipped her wine then looked over. "He could lose a client, 'in that fashion', whether I have anything to do with it or not. Your friend needs to understand that things happen in jails and prisons to people sent there that is sometimes cruel and most times warranted. Should something of that nature happen to someone I arranged to be there, then it definitely is warranted and absolutely will be cruel. If I ever make a mistake, I will pay the price for it. With my life and definitely horribly. I feel no sympathy for anyone I go after, they don't deserve any. If you do, then don't send me."

"I just pissed you off." Brenda said heavily.

Dara had finished her plate. She pulled a large enough bill to cover it and a nice tip from her bra and tucked it under the edge of the plate then took her wine glass over to Brenda's table and sat across from her.

"How do you know me, Brenda?" Dara asked.

Brenda sighed. "I asked for your help."

"What did you want?" Dara followed up.

"Revenge." Brenda confessed.

Dara sipped her wine then inspected the faint print of lipstick on the glass. "Have you ever heard of me going after someone who hadn't done something to deserve me going after them?"

Brenda shook her head and all that got was Dara repeating the question.

Brenda admitted. "No. You won't do that. You won't be used as a pawn."

"It was tried. Remember?" Dara reminded.

Brenda nodded her head. "Yes. You made them suffer to the very end."

It was one of the whispered warnings about the Puppeteer. Twice, people had tried to use the Puppeteer. A corrupt cop and a Syndicate Boss. Both met with extreme misfortune. The fatal kind, neither gentle nor quick. In fact, it had been determined that in both cases, they had been kept for several days of suffering before they were allowed to die. Of all the Revenge-brokers in the city, the Puppeteer was the most feared. Many suspected that he was very active, but only proven when the target was dead. Black, roughly cut strings tied to wrists, ankles and neck were all that was needed to know. It was also kept very quiet by the police. The streets knew, the streets talked. The Revenge-broker dubbed The Puppeteer took on the worst of the worst, the untouchable ones, and brought them down permanently. No one dared to cross whoever it was anymore.

Brenda remembered staring at the headstones of her husband and daughter as she said the words that could never be unsaid to a beautiful blonde woman. The same one that sat across from her right now. Brenda had used every source she could to track down the most dangerous Revenge-broker in the city and hired her.

"I'm sorry I offended you." Brenda apologized.

Dara set her empty glass on the table and got up. "If you had offended me; you'd know."

Brenda didn't watch her leave, only sighed in relief after she was gone.

Outside, Dara walked down the sidewalk and sang quietly to herself. "That's how it goes. Everybody knows."

To be continued....