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Solo Down South: Renford's Revenge Started by: Kathryn on Feb 19, '17 05:29

Kathryn tossed the duffel bag into the passenger seat of the black Mercedes coupe she'd just bought. Buying it was a whim, really. But things had gone so wrong in her personal life lately that she was in the mood to indulge herself. The drive to New Orleans would take at least a couple days, but she wanted the time alone on the road. Time to think, time to reflect, and time to plan. She placed the briefcase full of cash on the floor of the passenger side before folding a couple dress bags and laying them on top of it. Lastly, she checked her revolver. Merci had given it to her; Kathryn nearly left it on the side of the road in a fit of pique until she thought better of it.

A gun. A few changes of clothes. Herself. That's all she had to accomplish her mission. Well... and the million dollars in the briefcase. Which would help.  RP Inc. had created a great deal of revenue, but she wasn't using crew money for this. This money was all that was left of her inheritance from her father.

The engine roared to life, but Kathryn couldn't quite grin as she started the car and pulled away- because she'd be alone.

Alone for the first time in a long time. She'd mailed her crew earlier, explained that she'd be away handling personal issues for a while. But she'd gotten used to them. They were a special group. Talented, motivated, interesting, eclectic, every single one of them capable in the streets or business districts, and loyal... they would have joined her, if she'd asked. Asking, however, wasn't something that Kathryn wanted to do, even with the people who were particularly motivated to join her.

She was off to finish unfinished business. RP Inc., Vegas, her friends, her love- that had distracted her from her purpose. The whole reason she'd gotten involved in the underworld was to avenge her father's death. She'd acquired knowledge, confidence, and skills- not to mention the emotional ability to end a life. It was time to pay a visit to New Orleans, where the men who'd ordered her father's death ran the city.

It would be a long, lonely road to New Orleans. But the Moreau brothers would be at the end of it. And Kathryn would be the end of them.

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Kathryn stood on the balcony of her hotel room, looking out at New Orleans sprawling before her. It was a special city. Vibrant. Colorful. But whereas Las Vegas was brand new, New Orleans had seemingly absorbed the life of the millions of people who'd lived there. Las Vegas had more brashness, but New Orleans had more flavor.

She was getting used to solitude. It had taken three days to drive from Vegas to New Orleans, and she'd spent the past few days trapped in her hotel room doing mind-numbing paperwork comparing names from lists. At least that college education was finally paying off. Her first night in New Orleans, she'd broken into the town office that kept track of the list of real estate agents in the city. Every night since, she'd broken into a different hospital and copied down the names of active oncology patients. Her days were spent looking for names on both lists and investigating potential candidates.

All part of the plan she'd thought up on the drive. 

And now, finally, she had her man: Jason Kirkhart, aged 42, had a wife, two children, and three months to live. Fortunately or unfortunately for Jason, he was exactly what she was looking for. Kathryn had called him and persuaded him to meet her for dinner later that evening.

She'd also purchased three floors of a local office building. The floor she needed, and the ones above and below it, just it case. She'd already engaged a construction company specializing in ventilation; when they were done, she'd take the next step to find someone to install bulletproof glass. Then a couple more specialty contractors.

Her plan was in motion- all she needed now were her targets. Perhaps she'd handle that after dinner. 

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There was a man like Burma Jones in every city. The man who knows things, who has ears and eyes in every bar and cheap hotel. Plugged in to the princes and the paupers. Kathryn could barely see him through the cloud of cigarette smoke in the air, and she couldn't help but think about how young- and how alone- she looked in her reflection in his dark glasses. Her right hand stayed near her purse, which held her gun, just in case. Not that Jones was too much of a threat. Based on everything she'd heard, he had good information. And for some extra consideration, he could be reliably discreet. If not, then Kathryn was pretty well fucked. But she leaned forward and spoke anyways.

"Listen, I'm done beating around the bush with you. Tell me about the Moreau brothers."

Even without being able to see his eyes, Kathryn could tell he hadn't expected that one.

"Whoa! The doll don't mess around, huh? Right for the big fish. Right for the sharks. What's a nice girl like you want to know about them?"

"Everything."

"Everything's expensive, honey."

"I can pay."

"Well if you can't, then I'm going to get my money out of you some other way, huh? The Moreau Brothers run the city out of the French Quarter. Paul's the Godfather, Louis is his Right Hand. They've run the city for years now. Probably got... 6 or 7 different crews running for them now. Big ones, too. That HQ of theirs is packed pretty much all the time, dozens of people. So if you're looking to uh, chat privately, that's gonna be tough. Their compound is a fortress, you got me?"

"So getting in would be..."

"Impossible. Even for a chick like you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Listen honey, it's just not gonna happen. They could probably hold out against the friggin' army for a few hours. And you've got a better chance of growing wings than sneaking in. What else do you want to know?"

"Any friction between Paul and Louis?"

"Nope, they're pretty tight.... but actually... there was some trouble about a girl a while back. Darlene, runs a club down in the French Quarter. She caused some problems between them, eventually they both just decided to quit her for the good of the family business. "

"Perfect. How much do I owe you?"

"Whoa, that's not even close to everything.... although I admit most of the rest is just rumor."

"That's all I need. How much?"

He leaned forward and whispered a number. Kathryn paid him double. He looked disappointed, but he gave his word to be discreet. She didn't trust him to be noble, but she did trust the fact that a man like him needed his reputation in the underworld. She thanked him, stood, and beat feet from the bar as quickly as possible.

All in all, it'd been a productive day. Jason Kirkhart had agreed to join her- and now she might have a way to get to the Moreaus. 

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Kathryn was parked across from the Moreau compound. It was dangerous, but she had to see it. Not that she could see anything at the moment, other than what must be dozens of gangsters and bodyguards milling around the place. Her visit to Darlene, who'd apparently had both brothers wrapped around her finger at one point, had been a fruitful one.

She'd been with Louis first, then Paul. When the brothers found out, they'd nearly gone to war over her. Some women just had that effect on men. The only way they'd avoided fighting was an oath that they'd both ignore Darlene forever. Kathryn was hoping to give her modern Helen of Troy a second act. 

The tricky thing was how the hell to explosively reinsert Lana into their lives without getting herself or Darlene killed. So Kathryn had visited Darlene's club and asked to speak privately with the owner- and when they were alone, she'd told her that she'd been sent by "someone special". She'd know who. Based on the way Darlene had immediately screamed "Louie!"... well, Kathryn had just nodded and pretended that she'd been sent to see if Darlene was still interested. 

After hearing all about true love and a whirlwind courtship and Louie's sexual prowess and all Darlene's dreams for the future, Kathryn had gently suggested writing a letter that she could deliver . Twenty minutes later, Kathryn walked out the club feeling only slightly conflicted about her plan. Two hours later, the letter, which gushed about the love that Darlene felt for her Louis and their new life together was in the mail- on the way to Paul Moreau. 

Now, two days later, Kathryn was just trying to figure out how much damage had been done. She pulled away and turned down a side street, where Burma Jones opened her passenger side door and sat down. 

"Well, honey, you certainly caused a stir."

"Did they kill each other?"

"Heh! No. Louis is moving out though, going to be starting his own crew in the Garden District."

Kathryn couldn't hide her excitement. Burma noticed.

"Hey... what's this all about, anyways? You're done now, right? Get 'em pissed at each other, mission accomplished?"

"Yeah. I'm done."

She could feel his eyes on her behind his opaque glasses.

"Good. Because I'm not getting too involved with someone messing with the Moreaus. I don't want my head on top of a spike, got me? These guys don't fuck around."

"Goodbye, Burma. Here's your cash."

He pocketed the envelope and looked at her for a few seconds before he left. Whatever, she was done with him. She'd warned Darlene through an anonymous phone call to get out of town. Maybe Kathryn would offer her something in Vegas. But now it was the endgame: she would instruct Jason Kirkhart to purchase every good HQ location in the Garden District.... and then wait for a phone call.

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Kathryn had barely slept the night before. Now she was sitting in a conference room, dressed in a professional jacket, blouse, and skirt, across from an increasing nervous Jason Kirkhart. Kathryn reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

"It's going to be okay, Jason. Your family will be taken care of. A million dollars, just like we promised. Just keep it together for the next 15 minutes."

"Ri-right, Miss Blake. I can do this. I can do this."

Kathryn patted his hand again and smiled, but they both nearly jumped out of the seat when the buzzer rang. Kathryn stood and adjusted her skirt, taking a deep breath. 

"I'll be back, Jason. Just take deep breaths and think about your family. You'll be fine."

Kathryn made her way to the elevator; several men exited before she arrived. 5 of them were bodyguards: muscle, shooters... they didn't matter. Louis Moreau, standing in the middle of them, did. He was about six feet tall, well built- the original muscle in his partnership with his brother, although his days of personally cracking heads were long gone. A few years ago, he and his brother had tried to extort one of the wealthiest men in New York, thinking he was rich enough to just pay to avoid trouble. But Daniel Renford was stubborn, and he had threatened to report them to the authorities. So Daniel Renford was shot four times in the back when he was walking down the sidewalk to meet his daughter for coffee. 

Kathryn's blue eyes grew cold as she looked for the first time on one of the men who'd ordered the death of her father, but she smiled. And stuck out her chest.

"Good morning, sir. I understand you have a meeting with Mr. Kirkhart? If you'll just follow me..."

She turned and, heart beating, headed toward the conference room. She heard the men follow her, felt a few sets of eyes on her ass, and smiled wide as she held the door open for them. The conference room had a single metal door and two large windows that looked out onto the parking lot, as well as a small window that looked out on the small reception desk outside the door. 

"Mr. Kirkhart. Your 2 o' clock is here."

She held eye contact with him and smiled, but Jason was already sweating. She'd have to move fast. As Moreau introduced himself and started talking about what he wanted to purchase, Kathryn quietly left and closed the door behind her, sliding it against thick, thick carpet. She quickly walked to her seat at the small desk outside and removed the clock on the wall to see two buttons. The office had undergone extensive renovations by multiple parties, keeping everyone in the dark- until her final contractor, a man who didn't ask questions, had completed the needed work.

She pressed the first button and the sound of multiple strong deadbolts was impossible to miss. Inside, she saw Moreau looking around and a couple bodyguards take out their guns; she quickly pressed the second button.

Green gas began to flow into the room from the vent in the corner. Kathryn pulled duct tape from the desk and taped the edges of the door, then stood to watch through the window in front of her. Moreau had grabbed Kirkhart by his jacket and was shaking him, shouting at him. Two of the bodyguards were trying to force the door open. Gas continued to flood the room.

Moreau saw her watching , pointed his gun at her, and pulled the trigger.

But the bulletproof glass held. So Moreau shot Kirkhart in the face. Twice. Then he started shooting the window more, ordering his men to shoot it as well. Kathryn just stood there. They got a couple rounds off, but then men started dropping to the floor, reaching for their throats. The expression on their faces was... horror.

Kathryn couldn't help but think of Wilfred Owen.

"Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, 
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. 

In all my dreams before my helpless sight, 
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning."

Louis Moreau wound up sprawled out on the table. Movement ceased, except for the occasional twitching. Kathryn placed her gun back in her purse and left as quickly as possible. Later, she'd alert the police anonymously. And take care of Kirkhart's family. But for now... she tried to feel good about her revenge. Instead, she just felt cold. It would have to be enough.

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Kathryn walked quickly through the New Orleans airport. Originally, she'd entertained hopes of taking out Paul Moreau as well. But the compound was just too much for her to deal with- and he'd gotten paranoid after his brother's death. There was more security around him than any man in the country right now. One Moreau would have to be enough for this trip. She'd be back for Paul later. She smiled to herself as she made her way through the concourse. Everything she'd brought to New Orleans was burned. Even her car, as much as it pained her. There was nothing to link the name "Kathryn Renford" to anything that had happened. Only a few people who had anything to do with her business here had seen her face and almost all of them were dead. It was as clean as it could be.

Kathryn was practically strutting as she headed toward the outbound flight area- walking confidently in jeans and a brown leather jacket until she felt a knife against her hip, a strong arm on her shoulder forcing her first into an empty hallway and then a utilities room. Kathryn's eyes were watering by the time she got there; her shoulder had just come out of its sling, recovering from a rifle bullet that had broken the joint and required extensive surgery. Her shoulder was screaming by the time she was forced into the empty room; it felt like it was on fire when she was roughly pushed to the floor. 

She turned to look at her assailant and saw Burma Jones, pointing a knife at her from a few feet away.

"Jesus Christ, girl, where do I even start? Do you know how much you fucked me? The fact that I am alive is a goddamn miracle, because Paul Moreau is going to fucking crucify me. Now here's what's going to happen. You're going to buy me a ticket to wherever you're going, and you are going to motherfucking PAY me. Like seven fucking figures, got me? Because I'm done in this town."

Kathryn took a deep breath. She was propped up on her side looking up at the knife, her purse near her right hand.

"Burma. Burma. I'll pay you. I'll pay you whatever you want. Just don't hurt me!"

She could see him start to lower the knife. She sniffled, bringing tears into her eyes. It wasn't hard, considering how fucked up her shoulder felt.

"I'll give you anything you want if you'll just-"

Then she made her move.

Her hand grabbed her gun in her purse, reaching to find the grip. Burma stepped toward her, raising the knife.

She pulled the hammer back with her thumb, even as she skidded herself as far away from him as possible, sending her back thudding against a piece of machinery. He sliced down at her, right where her chest had been, but he was off, both from her slide and his surprise. The knife slashed against her leg, but it wasn't deep.

Still... it fucking hurt. Kathryn pulled the trigger. Three shots rang out, striking him in the chest at point blank range. Her ears were ringing, and small amounts of blood were beginning to show against her thigh where the denim had been sliced open, Kathryn stood shakily. She would go to the bathroom and clean up- then get on the first plane out of here. Not back to Vegas yet. She still wanted time. She'd find somewhere to go.

And the next time she came back to New Orleans, she'd bring her entire team with her.

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