Starlit Ruins

by Simon Woodington

Between them was nary even room to breathe. Not in months had she looked upon a respectably suited man. Naturally, this fellow lacked in respect what he obtained in fear, and simple-minded followers. She, opposite him, was the picture of leather jacketed cool as she read the feral desire in his squarish face.

  “Nice aren't they. Try it,” she dared him. “I'll kill you and walk out of here smiling.”

  His mouth opened, hands vaguely indicating the well armed, formally suited thugs stationed carefully throughout the spacious room.

  “Smiling,” she reiterated. He bowed his endangered head with respect.

  “Ease up fellas,” his icy-cool tones decreed. He stepped around her, placing his arm around her tense shoulders, and patting her comfortably.

  “You too. I ain't gonna hurt you, blondie. I'll admit,” he uttered with an affected, and vaguely inaccurate Italian accent as he led them towards a small oak table. “The thought had occurred, but… I like your nerve.”

  He pulled out a recently restored chair and proffered it to her. “Let's eat.”

  Eat? she balked, giving no indication of her astonishment and wonder at who actually had the 'nerve'. Yet, rather than offend him, she accepted.

  “So, you come to Val lookin' for work, eh?” he curtly questioned with a slightly worn expression. This young man had seen much violence for his age. “You know I gainfully employ over three hundred men… thanks Teresa,” he half smiled at the maid costumed girl who served them delicious smelling plates of grated cheese sprinkled spaghetti.

  “Jus' so you know blondie - you mind if I call you blondie? - I never assaulted even pretty girls like you,” he professed. “But you knew that, eh?”

  “What I said…”

  “No empty threat,” he drawled. “But let us not dwell on these annoyances. May we have some pleasantries, presently? You have not tried the wine. Does it bother you? Does two hundred years of age not sit well with you? Tony…”

  She blinked, slipping her hand around the slight crystal, and easing it to her lips. A sip indicated to her the truth of his words, and as she did, he nodded, seeming pleased.

  “You need not fear me. Tony would only have given you something more to your liking. Ah, well, let us discuss why you are here. Uh,” he paused, glancing reluctantly up from his dinner. “Why are you here - exactly?”

  “Looking for work,” she began. “You've got it. I want some.”

  “Ah, yes, the Blessed Virgin has been kind to me,” he hinted a smile. “But there is no dancing around the subject with you, eh blondie? You will do well here. You will make plenty of credits working for me.”

  It was the only way. How they had learned of her virginity hardly mattered. What did was that they knew, and that there was interest in it. Of course. She was only free working courier who remained so unchanged from the point of birth. She had learned rather quickly that it took often a tad more than verbal denial to defend it.

  She would not succumb, she felt angrily. The portal had taken everything, her friends, her home, her guardian Artemis… The merciless tapestry would not claim her maidenhood! Yet, nor was it, strangely, difficult to enforce. In resorting to the physical as she had first transformed into Sailor Venus, the point that her skin could reflect bullets, and that her strength was sufficient to kill barehanded came as a peculiar comfort.

  Allying herself with Valance Carosa was part of her effort to protect her physical innocence. It was well known that while there had been many deaths dolled out by his gang, the leader had no tolerance for the abuse of women. Blame his mother, the great Maria Carosa, the notorious gangleader, who survived her own beating and rape, and husband's assassination by undergoing partial conversation into a very feminine cyborg.

  Valance promised a very special and unique task for the gifted young woman, by which a rival gang would tumble to pieces, which he could collect with relatively little trouble. In response to the question of loyalty, he had explained: “You and I got no relationship, blondie. There are no hard feelings to sour us, and turn you against me. Besides, I've been watching you. You've never turned your back on a job, or an employer.”

  Would you rather have called me “stupidly loyal”? she thought with bitter sarcasm.

  He knew very well what he had admitted. That, like the others, his organization too, depended upon trust. Then came the dwelling upon the nature of the assignment. Assassination. A matter she approached with much understandable hesitance, but then, in the light of her current life, many other arguments came into play.

  The brutality of this world was only different in the amount of violence she witnessed and experienced. If anything she was reminded of her feudal Japan studies. One had only to choose whom to serve. Proving her skills and qualifications in a male dominated business seemed ironic, but maimed men cannot argue. When it came down to it, this was the only way.

  Anthony Lincenti had to die.

  Getting in was no hassle. Posing as a prostitute and letting the drunken, staggering quad of ape-like men drool and paw her as they escorted her into the empty kitchen bypassed that obstacle. It was shaking them loose afterward that was the complicated part. By the time they had arrived, her tank top had been removed, and three of them had gotten a feel of her smallish bra-clad breasts.

  “Hey,” grunted the shortest member as he pushed up her skirt as she sat upon a cutting board. “Wassis?”

  “Gratitude,” she hissed, palming the vibro dagger and plunging it into his neck as it hummed to life.

  “Whoa!” was the second's last shocked word as she kicked her long, shapely legs into his face before slamming the humming energy blade up to the hilt in his black jacketed torso.

  “Gots damn!” the third swore, as his hand diving under his coat, grasping at the small concealed energy pistol within. His stocky corpse dropped like so many bags of coarse sand, motionless, and apparently no worse for wear. The forth raised his hands, shaking his head fearfully.

  “I ain't armed. I ain't armed!” he nearly stammered, tones of abundant fear unhidden in his voice. “Don't kill me!”

  She paused over his pitifully cowering, hunched over body. “You didn't touch me. You get to live. Run.”

  Before she had time to blink, he was up and scrambling away, apparently quite thankful for his existence. Alone, finally, she had something else to consider. She need clothes.

  Sailor Venus.

  No. How could she dare assassinate someone in that uniform? To dishonour the Senshi… her face twisted in discomfort and anger. However, under no circumstance was she going in half-dressed. Okay, she admitted, the logic was fuzzy.

  Minutes of searching procured a white ankle length chief's uniform, which she found to be a little more than two sizes too large. Oh well. Move on. The halls of the newly constructed cafe seemed oddly empty, and hushed. It was not long before she understoood precisely why.

  “I'm tired of takin' the bullets for Anthony Lincenti,” bellowed an anger charged voice. “I lost my arm cause'a you!”

  “Blame me,” a second, slightly raspy voice replied. “Blame yourself, because you disrespect me, and when you disrespect me, you disrespect my house. Disrespect my house and you shame your own house. The circle of respect.”

  “Disrespect?! I took more bullets, killed more guys than any mug here! You talk to me about disrespect…! I'm gonna kill you Anthony!”

  The voices gradually became clearer, and more pronounced as she neared the source through a backstage passageway, which in turn gave her direct access to the lounge. She crept around the dancing poles used by numberless female entertainers as she peeked through a hole in the thick red curtain, catching a view of the lonely vocal combatants.

  “You whine so loudly I barely understand you, Vincent. Leave now, and no dishonour will come upon your household.”

  “What household?” he shrieked. “My family is dead! So will yours be!”

  She squinted and grimaced, grim-faced at the yellow flash of light, which very simply ended Anthony's al
ready short life.

  “You!”

  She jolted, her hands jerking the curtain visibly as his sleek-looking energy weapon met her direction.

  “Come out of there!”

  Her hand slid to her inner thigh while the other parted the long hanging coat, where she palmed another energy dagger, the unactivated hilt of which fit snugly in her hand. A flick of the highly sensitive switch would bring it to deadly life.

  “I said…!”

  “Okay okay!” she replied, stepping out onto the edge of the stage beyond the swaying curtains. His eyes traced her lines, and tried to make sense of her appearance.

  “A cook?”

  “No.”

  “Cute, whatever you are. You here to kill me?”

  She shook her short haired head. “I was supposed to kill Anthony.”

  “Too bad. Looks like you lose out.”

  “I don't know,” she shrugged. “I could take the credit.”

  “You'd do that? Save me plenty of trouble, blamin' you. But not out of the kindness of your sweet little heart, though.”

  “Not on your life. Which, I might mention, is in jeopardy.”

  “I am well aware of my social standing, girl.”

  Her eyebrows arched, her mouth twisting in faint anger. “Not really,” she replied boldly, flicking on the slim dagger, the hilt of which issued forth a stiletto-style energy blade. “Go ahead. Shoot me. I can take it.”

  She can't be wearing armour under that, he thought. She's got a real lean figure… no bulk for built-in armour, either. She must be… “Hey, you're that D-Bee slinkin' in amongst the gangs takin' our jobs. I don't like you.”

  “Too bad. What's it matter?”

  “I tell you what. I'll tell you what kind of beast you are: A nosey, no account thug. No respect, no deals. Yeah, that's the kind. Plenty o' joes would pay me t'see your head in a jar. Free up the labour pool, too.”

  “That's a lot of talk.”

  His mouth curled at the insult, and he pondered his next action, hand working for a moment on the handle of the gun. “I think we have an understanding.”

  She frowned, cursing herself. She was taking too long. He should be dead already. Any longer and she might lose her nerve! As if in response to his unease, she flipped the knife in her hand, catching it between two fingers and thumb at the same end of the hilt.

  “Yeah, I think we do,” she hissed, flinging the blade with inhuman accuracy at him. His hand clenched as the knife sunk into his jacket, a white bolt hitting her shoulder. One hand clenching the burn upon her left shoulder, she exited the life-starved scene, head hanging with a disconcerting stark indifference holding her slender being.

  @~%~~~

  “You're good. I like you. You know how many men I've lost because of that childish coward? Too many. I won't make the mistake of opening my arms to you, my family is not safe for you. Though I will always welcome you into my house, Anim.”

  Her eyes reached up and held his half-smiling face. Probably about as much as the stern looking mask would allow. Her nod was slight, but words sincere. “Thank you, Mr. Carosa.”

  “Valance, even Val,” he offered, drawing a conical wineglass to his thick lips.

  “Would do you me a favour?”

  “You need only ask,” he replied kindly.

  “There is a contract on my virginity,” she stated, hoping she was concealing her deep, anger sparking fear. “I would appreciate it if you would help me find its source.”

  “Done. Tony. Take some men and locate the contractors, and explain to them that we do not like very much the trespass upon the sanctity of the friend of our family, eh?”

  The heavily muscled fellow nodded, pointing at a handful of men to accompany him. Neither admitted to the truth: One of Valance's men had issued the contract, one with whom he was very intimate. Yet, it solved the problem of the betrayal, even while creating a large emotional rift within his house.

  “Sit, blondie, and eat. We have much yet to do in this little city.”

  Chapter 21

  Blond Bomb-Shelled