Met Your Match

Months went by. Adelaide couldn't believe how much she actually kind of liked the job. The pay was every bit as generous as he'd said it was, and a part of her liked having the power over people. Living in the mansion wasn't all bad either; she had everything she needed. She knew in the back of her mind that part of him was probably still trying to groom her into being one of his pets, but so far she'd been able to keep their relations to a sort of business partnership. She was making more money working for him that she would've ever imagined herself making, and she was alive. That was all that really mattered.

"I need you down at 'Neon Lights' tonight," he told her one morning as they ate breakfast. She'd been surprised to learn that the whole breakfast and newspaper thing was a daily ritual for him. Her eyes shot up to his, hesitant. That was the worst-off club he owned. It was in the shadiest part of town, and he'd only ever had Adelaide go there once, and during the day.

"Are you sure?" she asked him, and he nodded firmly.

"Someone down there is stealing. I need you to figure out who and take care of them. We don't stand for that bullshit 'round here, right?" he asked, his eyes glowing.

"Right..." she said, knowing exactly what he meant by 'take care of them'. "Why can't you go?" she asked him, and he cackled loudly.

"Because I fuckin' told you to!" he yelled, giving her a death look. She nodded slowly and left the table, putting her plate in the sink.

"Of course, Mister J," she said as she walked past him again, and the sounds of his laughter followed her up the stairs.

She showed up to the club at just after seven pm. J himself had delivered a pistol that exactly matched the one she'd already had to her room before she'd left. 'For luck', he'd told her, his eyes shining. He'd also given her a much better holster than the one she'd had and both guns were strapped securely to her stomach as she walked through the doors.

He hadn't given her much information about the theft; she wasn't even sure how he'd discovered it. She herself went through all of the financial reports, and there didn't seem to be anything missing. She'd brought it up with him and he'd told her to trust him; he had a hunch. She wasn't sure if she trusted him necessarily, but he hadn't ripped her arms off and shoved them down her throat yet, so she supposed that she could probably take his word.

The bouncer greeted her with a wide rotten smile. He obviously knew who she was; everyone at the clubs did. J had told her from day one to watch her back because apparently there were a lot of people who thought they deserved the job more than she did. She pushed past him, making her way to the office at the back of the club.

She took off her coat and hung it on the dusty coat rack by the door. It was a small office; an old metal desk sat right in the middle of it, and there was one chair behind it and two in front. An ancient computer sat on top, and she wondered if the thing even worked. Sitting down, she hit the button and was surprised when it started right up. She pulled up the employee database and started reading through the names.

She figured that the easiest way to solve the issue was to hold individual interrogations. She called in some of the waitresses and came to the conclusion that none of them were smart enough to be stealing money. She pulled in a few dancers and decided that they were already making way too much money to steal. The bartenders didn't seem right either. Finally, she landed on the bouncer's name on the list.

She called him in, and right off the bat he refused to sit, telling her that he had much better things to do than let her waste his time.

"I think you know that your time belongs to Mister J and by extension, me. So, sit the fuck down," she told him, and he scoffed but plopped himself into a chair.

"Whatever it is, I had no fuckin' part in it," he said, and she noticed beads of sweat rising on his forehead.

"I didn't say you did. Your profuse sweating seems to be trying to prove you wrong, though," she told him, and she could almost hear his heart racing.

"I ain't tellin' you shit," he said, and she smiled.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said, and she was up out of her seat before he could even blink. She took him by the collar and lifted him off his feet. "Tell me or you die right here."

"I die either way, so fuck you," he spit the words at her, and she smiled again.

"Yeah, but it would be a real shame if I had to go back to Mister J with nothing but your head to show for it. So, start talking," she said, putting him back on the floor and twisting his arm behind his back hard enough for it to break. She heard the bones crack and he called out in pain.

"Fuck... you," he repeated, producing a gun seemingly out of thin air. Before she even had the chance to think about it, he shot her in the gut, forcing her to fall to the floor. Her vision blurred and her entire body went numb. She couldn't move her limbs more than a few inches at a time. She heard him running away and was completely powerless to stop him. She wrestled out her cell phone and tapped the first speed dial.

"You better have good news for me, kitten," J answered the phone, sounding annoyed.

"I... he shot me. I can't... move. It's not a regular... regular bullet. I'm going... going under," she gasped out, feeling very close to the edge of consciousness.

"Hold on, little one. I'm coming," he said, and she could barely hear him. The line went dead beside her, and she slowly faded into unconsciousness.