Reunion

Nights like this, she liked to roam the streets, when the moon was full and the desert air was still choked with the days heat. The Colonel and Noel had no idea where she was, and, to be perfectly honest, she preferred it that way. She didn't like the thought of them knowing that, after all this time, she had a perverse need to remind herself that she really was perfect. Especially not that she quelled this need with these late-night trips through the druggie-strewn back alleys of Las Vegas.

On better nights, she liked to sit on the cliff overlooking the city, marveling at the lights until the last available moment. However, this wasn't one of those good nights. Tonight, there was a restless hunger rumbling in her soul, a blackness in her mind. She used to chase those feelings away with the heroin, but she was above that now.

She wasn't above prowling the streets and watching the weak souls shove tablespoons of poison into their veins. Ducking into a doorway to avoid the sudden sandy breeze, she pulled out her cigarette case. As she lit a cigarette, the lighter's glow illuminated a familiar face.

She dropped the cigarette.

There was no fucking way.

Almost without realizing it, Nikki ripped the flyer off of the wall. It was impossible, but there it was. Her hands shook as she looked into his eyes for the first time since October of 2013.

Ivanov...

No...

This was a prank. She hadn't been careful enough and someone had found her.

Short list of suspects: Emera, Will, Mother Mary, Gerald.

Long list: Everyone that worked for them.

Fuck.

She couldn't let this get back to Noel or McReilly. This was her problem. Her mistake. There was no way in Hell that she'd drag them down with her. They didn't deserve this.

First things first, scope out the venue. It was a few blocks deeper into the city than she usually wandered. The streets were filthier, the druggies more frequent. A dark, premonitory feeling grew in her gut. Something was wrong, very wrong. Her boot heels clicked against the grimy concrete as she strode forward, exuding a cold confidence and subtly dangerous aura.

One of the less mentally stable souls scrambled back as she approached.

“Death touched her! Death favors her!” He squawked, clambering backward. Nikki smiled at the fear in his eyes. She couldn't resist. Her path changed, taking her a few steps into the alleyway. An almost serpentine twist accentuated her movements. She dropped to a knee in front of the trembling drunkard.

“More than that. I am Death's own daughter.” She whispered, close enough to smell the reek of vodka on his foul breath and could pinpoint the second his bladder released. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and stood slowly, spitting at his feet before strolling back out of the alley.
The door to the venue wasn't seated correctly in the frame, leaving gaping cracks on three sides between the door and the jamb. Some sort of modern jazz seeped out of those gaps. Nikki wrinkled her nose again. It was sleazier than necessary. This place was a dump and repelled her Toreador nature.

But it was Vegas, after all.

She pushed the door open and came face to face with a man in a disgusting maroon shirt. He was about six feet tall, taller than Nikki, even with her heels on. His hair was the color of nicotine stains on apartment wallpaper. God, this place smelled just like the damned alley.

“Can I help you?” He asked, looking somewhat alarmed.

“I was just looking for your headliner.” She offered him the flyer.

“You a cop?” He asked, looking her over. His inspection became less a professional evaluation and more what she was used to. By the time he had worked his eyes back to her face, she was less than amused.

“How many cops do you know that wear six inch heels on their boots and this much black lipstick?”

“Good point. You a hooker?”

“You're not my type. I want information.”

“How you gonna pay me?” A lecherous smile plastered itself on his face.

“Maybe, if you're really sweet to me, I won't burn this fucking place to the ground.” She smiled back, just as pleasant as could be. He chuckled.

“Sure, dollface.”

“Try me.” The sugar shook itself off of her voice, leaving it raw and threatening.

The man was silent.

“Now, what can you tell me about him?”

“He knows how to work a crowd, even the shitty ones we get here. Gets plenty of attention from the women, and some from the men, but he mostly ignores them. I think it's that accent, myself. Makes panties drop quicker than Jack Daniels. But, if one gets too familiar, they go missing for a few weeks, come back gentle as lambs.”

“Does he routinely speak to anyone in particular? Anybody new start coming to the club as a regular?”

“We don't get regulars here, but no. No one that he's particular about.” The suspicion faded from his face, “What's it to you anyway?”

“None of your business.” She said coldly, turning to look around the venue. They were alone. Tables and chairs were scattered around the large room. A bar ran down the left side of the wall, three-quarters of the way to the stage. There were doors on either side of the raised platform that looked like it had been made from wooden pallets. Fifty years ago.

The stage was empty save for a single, outdated microphone. Amplifiers huddled in the shadows behind the curtains, which hung like the corpses of suicides at either side of the stage. They were stained with years of thrown drinks and cigarettes smoked too close.

“Listen, if you're some pissed off ex-girlfriend, I don't want you making trouble.”
She turned to face him.

“This is bigger than you are. You are nothing in this but a fucking messenger. Don't worry. Your club here is probably going to survive.”

“Look, lady-”

“My name is Nichole.”

“Nichole, I don't want trouble.”

“Stay out of my way and there won't be any trouble.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Anyone ever tell you that you're a bitch?”

She leveled her gaze at him for a moment, cheating and looking into his mind for a moment.

“Listen, Timothy, your star is an old friend of mine that I have missed for a long time. Longer than you've known Liz. I do have a score to settle, but you can bet your ass that it won't be done here. Now, stop worrying about pissing off your brother by fucking this place up and start telling me about his schedule.”

“He'll be here tomorrow night.” There was pure fear in his eyes, fear he had never known.

“When?”

“Ten.”

“See you at nine-thirty.” She turned on her heel and left him alone in the club, amidst the silent tables
and chairs.

He shivered.

That girl wasn't right.

He finished sweeping up.

~

Back in her car, she looked at the flyer again.

She couldn't even hope. He was long dead. Someone was taunting her, using her only remaining weakness.

No.

He wasn't her weakness. He was the source of her strength.

She'd show them.

The flyer went into her cigarette case.