Chapter 4
In the old Victorian home a kettle steamed loud from the kitchen. Working at the small table, Sevigny stood while reading his tablet, glasses shifting down his nose as he squinted at the text. He moved the kettle over to the next burner and the kettle quieted. He murmured words to himself as he fixed himself breakfast. Bacon and eggs benedict. He placed a bowl of fruit down then sat, pouring himself tea into a small glass cup. It was a calm morning and birds chirped outside. He was the only one there today, the other three were out working. Slate was anyhow, having secured a couple low-level hits in the northern part of the country. Min and Zeke were having another outing after finishing a job in Malaysia. He didn’t expect them back for another couple of days.
“I suppose your company shall do in place of everyone,” Sevigny spoke as he cut his bacon, looking down at the teacup pig sitting by the leg of the table. It looked back up at him, tilting its head and making weird grunting noises. He almost put the bacon in his mouth, but now he felt judged. Glancing between it and the pet, he into a runny egg instead. Min brought the pig home not long after Remmy left. The first few weeks it did nothing but run and squeal, getting stuck in small holes in the floor, holes in the wall, or just tumbling down the stairs like a horrible squeak toy. It was funny at first, then it wasn’t. The most annoying part were its hooves clicking on the warped wood all day long. It also followed him everywhere when Min wasn’t around. It liked to push its nose against his shoes while he worked, sometimes biting them.
Sevigny’s business phone rang on the table, an unknown number popping up. He only saved the names of banks, past clients, and workmen, but it wasn’t unusual for mystery numbers to call.
“Hello?”
“I’m coming ta visit,” a familiar voice chimed from the other side. Sevigny hadn’t heard Ulysses’ voice in some time, it made him hesitate. He’d been waiting for a contact since their meeting late last year, but nothing ever came through. He really wanted it to stay that way.
“Do...do you need directions?” Sevigny asked. He was remote enough to begin with and Ulysses never visited him.
“Nah, I just hit the gravel.” On cue he heard an engine outside and the birds near the window flew away. Min’s pig perked his tiny head around and then started doing circles for no reason. Sevigny stood pondering his next move, but decided to greet Klaue at the door. Before he even reached the foyer both doors were kicked open, a gleeful Klaue bounding in with a bag over his right shoulder and another in his right hand. His left one was set weird by his side. Sevigny scrutinized it after removing his readers, but when Klaue got closer he looked him in the eye.
“Glad you’re home, I have a lot to go over with you-” Klaue sneezed sudden and loud. He blinked.
“Goddamn, when was the last time you dusted?” he glanced around when he noticed the open doors lit up the room and there was dust spiraling everywhere. Then he noticed everything else about the place, how it was broken, warped, shot up and aged. He raised a brow at Sevigny.
“Does time move here old man?”
Sevigny pushed his comment aside, motioning for him to follow. He felt his stomach grumble when he turned into the old office, trying to process this so early. Before he could ask any questions, he realized Klaue had stopped at the threshold, still holding the bags. He peered down the corridor with a curious look on his face.
“Were you eating?”
“It is seven in the morning.”
“Ah, finish eating, I’ll talk at the table.” He walked into the kitchen before Sevigny could turn around. A nice breeze came in through the open doors and Sevigny thought the better of it; Remmy used to do some of the cleaning. When she did, doors and windows were opene- if they didn’t stick that was. Coming back to the kitchen, he found Ulysses grinning down at the pig, talking to it in Afrikaans like one would a puppy. Min’s pig was at his feet making noises while repeatedly backing up and forward, tail wiggling.
“Killing baby pigs for bacon, frog,” Ulysses ticked his tongue. “I didn’t think you were that dark.” He dropped his bags altogether. It frightened the little ham into a squeal, sending it running out the kitchen on slipping hooves. Sevigny scoffed and moved for the tea kettle, intending to pour Klaue a cup- as was customary for guests no matter how uninvited.
“Aah, I prefer coffee. Black.” Ulysses took a seat at the other end of the table, dropping a thin phone on the surface. Sevigny grunted and started the pot maker, scrambling through Slate’s packets of dark roasted coffee. He gave Klaue the left over pieces from the frying pan while it brewed and once done the old man finally sat down to finish his food. He noticed Ulysses was really favoring his right arm, rushing through his meal like he hadn’t eaten in days. He didn’t look like he slept either. Before Sevigny could ask, the man started talking with his mouth half full.
“I have a job for you and all your little underlings,” he started, swirling his finger at the mention of underlings.
“Most of my men are bodyguards, combat men hired to kill, but this one needs different people- your line of work, really. Think of it as a collaboration; I’ll have my guys and you’ll have yours. We both get a turnout from it- you’ll have potential profit and I’ll get my fucking message across.” As he talked Sevigny watched him from behind the rim of his cup. Ulysses shoved another forkfull in his mouth. Potential profit?
“Your message?” Sevigny asked.
“It’s a client turned target, really. I’ve got his assets scoped out and he is loaded, about as much as me, but he needs to be reminded who he’s dealing with. And you’re going to help.” He pointed at Sevigny, then drank his coffee, fork clattering loudly on the little dish so he could use his hand. Between gulps Klaue caught him staring and smiled. With a twist and click, he popped off his arm and dropped it on the table. The dishes clattered.
“Jesu Grist,” Sevigny reeled back at the arm. In the light he could see just how artificial the “skin” was and a weird thin strip ran down the forearm. He looked at where Klaue’s arm was supposed to be.
“That’s just a prototype, waiting on some high class pieces to come in. They’re small as shit, but expensive. I’ll show you the finished piece when it’s ready; I can’t wait to try it out.” The glee on his face paralleled hard to their previous meeting. This was a hype. He hadn’t seen this since Bangkok, before the Avengers and people like himself became more open about their powers.
Perhaps Klaue noticed he was the only one talking and Sevigny’s expression gave him away. Klaue paused, still smiling, but he turned the fake arm over in his one hand. He talked about the ship, about Tony Stark and Ultron, and glossed over any part of recovery from his lost arm. Sevigny listened intently about the twins Strucker experimented on, remembering the man died about a month ago. The news came discreetly through the underground and had caused him both relief and fear. Strucker was very high on the international wanted list.
The robot, though, Sevigny wouldn’t have guessed Klaue crossed paths with him. He remembered the constant updated news stories about Sokovia and the wreckage that was brought from Stark’s creations. It followed close after the Hulk destroyed most of Johannesburg, at which point Sevigny believed Klaue left the place entirely after Die Senuwee.
But what stood out just as much as Klaue losing his arm was him selling practically all his vibranium.
“Ulysses,” Sevigny started slowly. “You are a beyond rich now, why even bother with...what’s his face.” He was talking about the Churchill client, but Klaue never said a name so he just flicked his fingers in the air to emphasize. Klaue put the arm back on, clicking it on what looked like a metallic port before turning it into place. The grinning man looked back at him, a little vindictive.
“It’s not about the money.” His voice dropped. “No one screws me on a deal and expects no repercussions...ja know this, frog.” He pointed directly at Sevigny, then scraped the last bits of his food on the plate. His appetite faded remembering Slate and Remmy coming back from Johannesburg. The anger Slate held, Remmy’s betrayed eyes and the bullet skim on her cheek. Honestly, Sevigny didn’t want this job, but with the state Klaue was in saying no would cause more problems. The man was already dead set on this way before he pulled into the driveway; he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Because the office was so cluttered and disorganized, they stayed in the kitchen for Ulysses to explain everything. It didn’t stop Sevigny from visiting a bottle at his desk and mentally prepare himself for whatever was coming his way. Ulysses had two laptops booted up and a wide flat tablet laid on the table. He tapped the edges of it several times before a green hologram glitched to life in the center of the table. One laptop popped up with a black screen, but was recording numbers every so often. The other was an open format page; Sevigny had no idea what either of these were for.
Ulysses talked rapidly as he described the target. A picture popped up and floated in the space above the table. Bradley H. Phillip Jr. A strong faced man with brown hair, narrow eyes, and a clean-shaved face. The only jewelry he wore was a golden watch on his right wrist and a wedding band. There were lists about past education, jobs, and history in the military. Sevigny noticed it was brief, but he came out rather high ranking. In a separate part of the screen were a few bank account numbers with their balances, updating to keep up with what he was moving. His social media accounts were purely political perpetuating wild propaganda.
Then there were different photos, ones not meant for the public eye. Different locations from beautiful beaches to questionable dark rooms. Women changed in nearly every shot, but they all wore expensive dangling body jewelry from head to toe.
“You plan to deface him?” Sevigny raised a brow.
Ulysses grinned and rolled his eyes. “Later, maybe. That type of thing goes away after a while and no one really cares.” Ulysses nose wrinkled. “People will yell and point their fingers, then forget about it. Politically, he might be scathed, but his father left him a large jewelry chain that pleases too many customers.” Ulysses tapped a couple keys on the touch screen and various stores popped up in England. His fingers shook a little.
Jewelry heisting, a field that Sevigny dealt with often. Junior owned a few large brand jewelry stores in England. They were spread out far from each other, though.
“If we span everyone out it can work. I need all of them shot up or something- set on fire, mostly.” Ulysses scrolled through several pictures until he came to a larger storefront.
“This one I want ransacked before demolishing it; it’s the first store of the business and higher in value. This is where I want your team,” Klaue said. “I’ll have my men throw the others into a frenzy and keep the police busy while you and your lot take care of this.”
Sevigny couldn’t even get a question in. Klaue kept talking.
“You’ll need to get an armored bank truck. Your driver’s driven one? Doesn’t matter, he can learn. Or she. Whichever- Limbani could probably teach ‘em, but look- one like that. Load everything into that then head for Tower Bridge. We’ll switch the truck over here with another- something less conspicuous but fast- then ride out of the city without being tracked. You follow me, ja? I need quickness, I need people who work together on this one. Yours click well when they work?”
“Yes, bu-”
“Good good- you can tell me about them. I need a uh...uh,” Klaue snapped his fingers as he looked around him, eyeing his bags as if he had forgotten something. He dug in one and pulled out a small pill bottle, popped the cap open and knocked his head back. He’d been talking so much Sevigny kept watching the screens and hadn’t noticed the sweat on his guest’s brow.
Klaue crunched the pills in his teeth like candy and swallowed, tossing the bottle carelessly back in the bag. He sighed in relief, rubbing his one hand on his leg in a hurry, looking up at the green holograms.
“It’s still rough, but I’ll mold it out soon. Better once I have an idea of your people.” Klaue gestured to the screens. Sevigny eyed them, still taking in what was going on. All the information present on just one man made him wonder what and how Ulysses got access to anything. The man was brilliant, scary, and apparently had people everywhere to get what he asked for.
“I don’t have anything like that , and it makes me wonder what you have on me.” And the others, too. Ulysses grunted and typed Sevigny’s name into a laptop; a younger picture appeared from the early 2000’s. There was also a blurry photo shot of him walking around in Paris obscured by a hat. There wasn’t a lot of personal information, but his connections to prior robberies were listed which was what drove his wanted status. His dossier was poor.
“The thing is Junior wants to be seen, you don’t. Your people aren’t as open either, I’m guessing. Go ahead, give me a name.”
Sevigny hesitated.
“Slate,” he said. Ulysses’ face fell; it was obvious he didn’t like the mutant. He typed it in anyhow and among a few other people who had the same name he picked the young man’s picture out from the group. There was even less information on him than Sevigny and his real name was unknown, which was a relief because in the beginning it had been a struggle to bury it.
“Water pressure manipulation?” Ulysses asked. “How far of a reach does he have?”
Sevigny contemplated the truth, for Slate’s sake he should lie about the thirty foot limit. He figured Ulysses wouldn’t need to rely too much on the ability during a heist anyhow. It’d keep the two further apart from each other.
“Around fifty six, given what’s around him. Pipes, hydrants, a water bottle sometimes works.” He smiled when Ulysses snorted. He shared that Slate’s other skills were closer to combat; he was more useful when apprehended or outnumbered. Ulysses asked for another name.
“My driver is Ezekiel Halls, but we call him Zeke. He’s a mechanical engineer from Birmingham. He’s driven everything from Oldsmobiles to Vauxhall, a good amount of vehicles from Japan and America. Busses, ambulances, cop cars, and at one time a fire truck.” A photo popped up of Zeke and Ulysses paused to read records underneath. Most of it related to grand theft auto and speeding. There were too many photos and videos of Zeke running lights through various cities to scroll through, but he noticed one consecutive thing.
“He looks freaked out in every one of these shots,” Ulysses said. Sevigny rubbed the back of his neck with a faint smile.
“He has high-functioning anxiety. Zeke spazzes out a lot, but you just need to let him do his thing. He has never failed a drive,” Sevigny answered quickly. The funny stories he had, but wouldn’t tell. The arms dealer was already scrutinizing. Sevigny moved him on to Min. When her photos popped up, Ulysses’ brows furrowed. It probably had to do with why she smiled with masks on, but was stoic in photos that caught her whole face. When he read her ability aloud, he laughed.
“Induces lust with a smile? There is a power for everything...”
“It’s really not a funny thing,” Sevigny said. “It’s bad enough being fetishized as a young Asian woman who looks like a child… We don’t really know what to call it and it doesn’t matter if it’s a photo or recorded video, gender or sexual orientation in general. People stop and become instantly attracted. The longer she’s smiling at them, the stronger it gets.” Sevigny didn’t send Min alone anywhere and if she ever took her mask off, there had to be no more than two people in a room. At one point she tried negotiations with him, but even with the mask on people didn’t let her be. Both of them ended up killing people.
Ulysses’ face became a little intrigued as he scrolled snapped sightings of her. The alias “Smiley” kept popping up a lot.
“But,” Sevigny continued. “She’s noticed it doesn’t work on anyone younger than twenty one and if someone is in love. Those are the only exceptions,” Sevigny said. He wouldn’t tell that her ability helped her get information; people told her anything she asked of them. A snuffling was heard in the hall. The pig cautiously walked back in, nose in the air sniffing. It’s annoying hooves clicked when it hurried to Sevigny’s shoes and started pacing circles around him, going under the chair clockwise. Sevigny stood up to make himself more tea and it followed him, constantly looking up and sniffling.
“What about the other one?” Ulysses asked. Sevigny paused while adding sugar and turned to see Ulysses staring at him.
“You shot him, remember?” Sevigny knew he meant Remmy, but he tried to direct it back to Jace. Of course Ulysses wasn’t stupid and made a look.
“You know who I mean; the other woman.” He gestured to the screen. Sevigny didn’t answer right away and took his time getting to his seat. The pig followed and plopped on its belly at his feet. He had to be careful about Remmy since she left, as much as he wanted her to come back. His accounts were accurate now, but everything else in general was clustered and out of place. Being heistmen and mercenaries didn’t matter much here; he knew everyone missed her and she left a different type of hole in the house.
“She retired.” Sevigny took a drink. Ulysses snorted in disbelief.
“She seemed a little young to retire.”
“Well she did, not too long after meeting you actually.” The way Ulysses reacted wasn’t warranted, using his hand to gesture to himself and smiling.
“Did I scare the poor thing that bad?”
“Remedy planned on it for a while, you were just her last job.” He had come to regret giving her that job that night, but had he sent Min, the young woman wouldn’t have made it back. Had he just sent Slate, the mutant would be dead and so would he. If only he’d been a little healthier, or stable like now, that mishap never would’ve happened.
Ulysses slowly typed in her first name, eyeing it with a head tilt. He waited for her last name. Sevigny shook his head.
“She rarely worked with us. Remmy stayed here a lot and did the paperwork.”
“And she retired from that?” Ulysses watched him and he could tell he was figuring things out in his head, that Remedy meant something to him and he didn’t want to share anything else with Ulysses, like back in Africa when she was brought up. Min’s wellbeing and Slate’s temper already needed to be looked after. The most Sevigny could do was undersell Remedy as a necessity.
“If I was her last job, then she hasn’t been gone too long. You already said she helped, was she good at it?”
Sevigny shook his head no. A tense silence stretched between the two men, their eyes meeting, both gazes firm and unwavering. Both knew it was a lie.
“Hm,” Ulysses grunted, then smiled small. He wasn’t angry, but there was irritation in his body language. He did come all the way to recruit Beau personally. His phone beeped with a message, but he pushed it to the side. Sevigny watched the cursor blink after Remedy’s name on the hologram; it glitched again. Ulysses continued.
“This is a big job, frog. You have yourself and three people- one I’m mostly convinced won’t cooperate because he’s a little shit.” Ulysses threw his hand out with a shrug of his shoulders. “All that responsibility falls on you, so I’ll let it be your choice whether you bring her or not.”
Sevigny’s fingers tightened around his cup.
“Slate will cooperate.”
“He screwed up the last one; could’ve been a lot worse honestly.”
“No, I’m the one responsible for that-” Sevigny stopped talking and Ulysses grinned at him. The point was made, but Sevigny couldn’t let himself start to think that he actually needed Remedy’s help for this. He missed her; she made things easier. She helped with Slate, despite the two always feuding like siblings. She covered for anybody, really, but to bring her back, even for a little bit...
“Think about it,” Ulysses said and stood up to stretch his legs. He took his phone in hand, read his message then called up someone as he walked out of the kitchen. His Dutch was angry and loud in the hallway. Sevigny closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. The wrath of an unpredictable mind felt imminent.