Stepping out of his car, Remy's eyes flicked behind his dark sunglasses, quickly taking in both the well manicured lawn and the pathetically simplistic security system of his newest client's home. He closed the door on the Jaguar he'd borrowed and straightened his suit jacket, little props that his client would expect from someone of his reputation, He didn't need them for his work, but his employers often felt better about him for having them.
The majority of client meetings were theatrics, nothing but a show put on to impress, but the better the show, the better he got paid. From the looks of this place, they could afford to pay him very well.
It was a mansion, you couldn't call it anything else with its size, its shape, the state of the grounds, but it was on a smaller scale than he was used to seeing from people that requested his services. Still, being a thief, he knew quality when he saw it and despite his background and chosen field, or maybe because of them, he knew how to play to this particular crowd.
Smiling pleasantly, he walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell. He checked his reflection quickly in the door glass and his smile turned to a smirk; his hair was tied back, leaving his face open and even though his sunglasses were still in place, he knew they only added to the image. He was expected to be a bit mysterious, that he was attractive was often an unexpected bonus. One he wasn't above using when the situation demanded it.
The smirk died on his lips when the front door was thrown open and he found his arms full of a hysterically sobbing woman.
Well this was new....
He took her by the arms and eased her back inside, trying not to be annoyed that he now had tear stains on the front of his silk shirt. He stepped in behind her and closed the door before he spoke, "Madame, my name is..."
"I know who you are," the woman interrupted, pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket of her startling pink pantsuit and dabbing at her already mangled mascara. "Please, you have to help me. He took her, he took my baby!"
Quickly, he thought back through the file he had on this woman, and there hadn't been any mention of a child, but that hardly mattered now. The whole thing had abruptly taken on a new urgency for him, so he layered the charming persona with concern and laid a hand on her arm. "Dat's why I'm here. Why don't we sit down an you can tell me everythin'?"
"Oh, I can't sit, I couldn't possibly." She paced back and forth across the foyer, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor. "He's had her for six days. I can't even begin to imagine what he's done to my baby. The police won't even do anything, they say I have to take it up with the lawyers..."
He briefly recalled reading that the lady and her husband were very recently divorced, but there had been nothing about a little girl or a custody agreement. He was going to have some serious words with his people when this was over. It wasn't like them to leave out information this important and now he was walking in damn near blind. He scowled behind her back; this was going to come out of someone's ass....
"If her father's taken her, I doubt she's in any real danger." He said soothingly.
"He's never been her father," she wailed, "he never loved her, he never even wanted her! He just wanted the money she brought in, the fame..."
"Excuse me?" Now he was really lost. He pulled off his glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket.
Her voice was high and nasal, maybe from crying he didn't know, but he did know she was making next to no sense and her voice, and the horrendous perfume she was wearing, was giving him a headache. Her statements were confusing and bordering on troubling. He had a soft spot for children, not something he liked to advertise, but it was true and what she'd said could be taken a number of ways.
"Ms. Monroe, I will help you in any way I can, but you gotta calm down an talk to me straight. If you think your ex-husband could be hurting your little girl, we don't have time to stand here an talk about it."
"You're right..." She dabbed at her eyes again and smiled weakly. "Follow me please? I'll take you to her room." She turned and started across the great room to a set of curving stairs that would take them to the higher floors, chattering all the while.
He only half listened as he followed her, his mind able to process her words while he scoped out her house. Persian rugs, crystal vases, paintings that she would have insisted were real, but he knew them to be very high quality knockoffs. A lavish home for a woman accustomed to wearing Prada, oh yes, he was going to be paid very well for this one.
Though he would never admit it, the money was secondary now that he knew just what it was he was to be retrieving. The child's name had him focusing once more on his client. Trixie? Who the hell called their kid Trixie? Did they want her to grow up and have to have a therapist on speed dial?
He shook his head and stopped behind her as she opened a door, "This is her room?"
At her nod, he stepped around her and looked around. A huge canopied bed sat against the far wall covered in a pale pink silk bedspread and matching drapery. The shade was echoed in the gauzy curtains fluttering on the windows and in the wall-to-wall carpet. It offended his sense of style, but it was immaculate, and by the amount of toys and stuffed animals on the bed, the child was more than likely a little spoiled.
It was no surprise that it was a bigger room than any one young child would ever need, but coming from a rich family that wasn't unusual. What was, were the multiple pictures of poodles all over the walls and upon closer inspection he realized they were all of the same poodle. He walked over to the large portrait over the fireplace, a strange addition to a kid's room, and studied the dog with a sneaking suspicion.
Either the kid was seriously in love with this dog, or... He found the heart shaped dog tag on the collar and slowly turned, fighting to keep his temper in check. "Trixie is a dog?"
She couldn't hear the danger in the soft spoken inquiry and gaped at him as if he'd done something rather rude in public. "Well, of course not! Trixie is a prize winning miniature poodle. She's a champion! And he took her! That bastard has my baby," she planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"Dat's what you're payin' me for," he nodded, turning back around to look more closely at the dog. That's what it came down to for him now, the money. Gone was the charm, the pleasant aura he'd been broadcasting since he'd gotten out of the car. He could be professional for the kind of money he'd get from the job, but he didn't have to be friendly.
"Ya said your ex-husband has her, I'm gonna need his home an work addresses an any phone numbers you got for 'im."
"You're going to call him?" She scoffed and crossed her arms, tapping the toe of her white Prada shoe against the floor, "as if I haven't tried that myself a million times?! Is that what I'm paying you to d-"
"Ms. Monroe, I have no intention of calling your husband and my methods are none of your business." His tone silenced her quick enough, but he'd lost the minute amount of patience he'd had left for this woman. "You sought me out and I'm here to do a job. Now the sooner you get me that information, the sooner I can get your dog back to you."
~*~
Slamming back into the car, he punched in a number on his phone and connected his earpiece. He'd agreed to take the damn job, but someone was going to explain this, and the same someone was going to do some of the grunt work for not sharing a few rather important details.
"Courier here."
"Ya sound entirely too cheerful, Jake, for a man dat's gonna get a black eye de next time I see 'im."
"You can't blame this one on me," the man laughed on the other end of the line, "this is all your fault Mr. 'I don't get outta bed for a job that pays under ten grand.' Well, you can partially blame your brother, he passed it along to you. What's the matter? I thought you liked dogs."
"No one told me what de fuckin' job was, Jake! I thought she was talkin' 'bout a goddamn kid!"
"Oh...whoops..." He chuckled weakly, "Surprise?" He sighed softly and continued, "I'm sorry, Rem, I didn't know that you didn't know. I didn't take the call. I would have told you if I'd known. What's the plan?"
"I'm gonna do a lil scoutin', you're gonna take de information I'm gonna send you, find out what ya can an get back ta me."
"On it boss. Courier out."
~*~
Courier, aka Jacob Gavin Jr, or Jake to Remy, was late...again. It shouldn't have surprised him anymore. Rarely in all the time he'd known him had Jake ever been on time, but it was a massive pain in the ass. Remy stood across from the high rise where his client's ex lived, leaning against the door of his borrowed car, and wondered yet again why he put up with the man.
Granted, he hadn't freaked out about Remy's eyes or his powers, not that he had much right being a shape shifting mutant, and when he did do his job he did it well, but when Remy was on a job he didn't relish the waiting. Not when he could already have been in and out three times over by now.
He flipped open his phone with a brief glance at the display and rolled his eyes, "every second ya waste is another dollar I take from your cut-"
"Now that's just mean," Courier laughed, "here I am, being thorough, and you have to hit below the belt."
"Well, generally, when someone's a lookout, dey need ta be at de damn location ta look."
"You know who whines Rem? Babies- Now shut your pretty Cajun yap and look up." He flicked the lights on and off in the room he was in. "You see that? Your ass is covered, get moving."
Chuckling, Remy put in his earpiece, tucked his phone in his pocket, and walked casually into the lobby as if he passed in and out daily. "Ya know I hate it when you cover my ass," he murmured stepping into the elevator, "you always get distracted."
"Oh blow me."
"Ya walked right into dat one..."
"We're working here remember? Husband's out. At a country club with the lady he was banging while he was still with his wife. You've got time."
"Ya know Jake, sometimes you gimme more information den I really need."
"Nag, nag, nag. The door's at the end of the hall on the left. I'm in their system, the cameras are down, you're clear."
A few minutes and a couple picks was all he needed to gain entry into the apartment, and he stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind himself.
Lived in was his first impression. Clean, but not as fancy as the large house he'd lost in the divorce. He glanced at the pictures on the mantle, the ex husband and a woman clearly not his wife. She was prettier than the wife, and he hoped for the man's sanity that her voice wasn't as annoying.
He scanned the apartment with a thief's eyes, taking note of valuables, the placement of certain noticeable items. He'd discovered in his many years of thieving that there were certain things a person paid attention to. You could move anything else in a room and no one would have the slightest clue, but those objects that popped out, those you had to watch out for.
It was too easy. Picking his way through the apartment, going room by room, looking for one prize winning, miniature ball of fluff.
A dog, he was still just a little pissed that the woman had carried on so much over a dog. He understood a person loving their animals, but she took it to the extreme. It shot far beyond affection for him and into creepy, but it wasn't his job to contemplate the client. He was here for Trixie. Trixie, he thought again in disgust, even the name was stupid....
He found her in the washroom, a fact he was sure would make her owner squeal in horror, laying in a plain, simple dog bed on a towel. He was met with a high pitched yip and an uncertain tail wag, and he knelt down, feeling a little of his resentment fade; it wasn't the dog's fault her owner was a nutcase.
He held out his hand for her carefully, letting her come to him. She may be no bigger than a stuffed animal, but she was still a dog, and often times it was the cute, cuddly ones that would gnaw off your arm. With introductions made, he scooped her up and started back through the apartment. If he petted her a little along the way, well, who would know?
He heard the elevator doors open outside and he quickly ducked inside the nearest room, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. Shit...no one was supposed to be home this early. He glanced down at the little dog, trying not to be charmed at the cute tilt of her head; so much trouble for one tiny pompom.
"Remy! They're back!"
"No shit," he whispered, scanning the bedroom for a place he could hide if it came to that. "You're useless, Jake."
"It's not my fault! They borrowed someone's car. That was not the car they were supposed to be in! Fuck...Remy?" His voice went sheepish, "they brought friends home..."
"I hate you so much right now-"
"It's not my fault!" He repeated indignantly, "how was I supposed to know they were going to bring their swinger buddies home with them?"
"You're a sick man, Jake." He turned his head and gently pushed the dog's muzzle away to cease the excited washing of his face. "How many?"
"Four. Assuming that's you in the back room. They're all between you and the door..."
"Where the hell else would I be, idiot?" He growled softly and scratched her ears, "looks like we're goin' out the back, girl."
"Are you talking to the dog?"
"Unless you change into a woman when no one's watchin' you, yes, I'm talkin' ta de dog."
He'd prepared for this possibility, he'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but of course, the window was his only way out. He took off his jacket and pulled the straps of the climbing harness up over his shoulders. Unwrapping the rope from around his waist, he sat the dog down and tied the end to the balcony railing. The final step was to tie the coat around himself like a sling and place the dog inside.
"I'm glad you're miniature now, petite, or dis would be really difficult." He dropped the length of rope behind him, lowered himself over the edge, and began his slow descent. "Don't got enough line ta make it all de way, Gavin. Find me another route."
"On it boss..." He rustled around a bit and pulled out a thermal camera, "drop eleven floors, two windows to the left, they left a window open for you."
He counted floors in his head, his arms straining with the effort of trying to lower himself down at such a slow pace. Normally when he did this, there wasn't this much distance between himself and the ground, and there wasn't an extra five pounds squirming around on his chest, determined to lick his face while his hands were occupied.
"When I get outta dis, Jake, remind me ta kick your ass..."
He snorted and shifted his camera back up to make sure no one had noticed the missing dog. "Oh yeah, sure, let me just jot that down for ya."
Ignoring the sarcasm in his ear, Remy climbed through the open window and detached the harness from the rope, breathing out a sigh of relief. He wasn't afraid of heights, but he couldn't deny he was glad to have something solid under his feet again.
He untied the coat and put it back on, tucking the little dog inside it, and under his arm before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. "Think you can manage to keep me off camera?"
"Course I can. You're invisible to everyone but me. Would you like me to chant a few made up words? I know your people are partial to that sort of thing."
"Jake, I swear-"
"I know, I know, you're gonna kick my ass, I've already heard this part. You're clear all the way down. I'll see you at HQ. Courier out."
~*~
"So...," Jake drawled, sprawled out in a recliner with a beer and a grin. "How did it go? Was she grateful?"
"Disgustingly." Remy shrugged and stole his beer, "It was mildly insulting."
"It's the catsuit," his friend snickered, "I keep telling you to put on real clothes before you return the goods. You can't expect rational thought when you look like you've just come from a BDSM club."
"Ya think so?" He grinned and tossed him a manila envelope, "guess dat makes you de bottom, eh mon ami?"
Courier snatched the envelope and winced; there was no where near the amount of cash there should have been. "This ain't fair, Rem, ya said you were gonna kick my ass, not take my money."
"Oh I was, but this hurts more." Remy smirked and swirled on his coat, "See ya, Jake."