Running Deep, Saints Row fic (part 4)
Jan. 22nd, 2015 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlofpreyTitle: Running Deep
Fandom: Saints Row series (video game)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Saints Row universe and I'm not making any money off this.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
22.
She was watching him in the hallway the next morning, as usual, and he wondered if she slept.
She looked genuinely angry with him today, wound up, almost on the points of doing something. Grabbing him. Something. He ignored her, and continued to get ready. She leaned in the doorway, and glowered at him.
When he got back from his swim she was nowhere to be seen. He got showered and dressed. When he came back out of his room, she was in the hallway again. Glaring at him fiercely.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
“Darcy,” he said. “Ultor has nothing to do with the Vice Kings, or Kingdom Come records, or any of that. The Vice Kings and the Saints are gonna be focused on each other – you know that. I’m gonna have a short drive to my office, and then I’m gonna work there, behind a locked gate, surrounded by security guards – ”
“Your security’s shit,” she cut in.
“– And I’m going to be fine. You know that, too.”
She looked around, balling her fists.
“If you would just –”
“It wouldn’t make a difference. I have to go in – the city’s falling apart, and we need to be strong. If we give up, the gangs take everything. They’re not after us, so we have to keep going.”
“It’s dangerous,” she said. “Today.”
“It’s always dangerous,” he said. “We have to keep working.”
She balled her fists again, and gave him a look that turned helpless, at the end. Then she dropped her hands. Her shoulders slumped.
She followed him into the main room. She watched him eat his breakfast, every bite of it. He thought about how the Westside Rollerz had ended in a fiery explosion on the freeway, and the Carnales had taken half of Wardill with them when they went. He continued with his breakfast. When he left the apartment, she watched him from the hallway and didn’t try to stop him. In the car, he didn’t look around to see if she was following him.
~ ~ ~
The Vice Kings’ days were indeed numbered, and that number was low. It was in the decimals. That afternoon, there were reports of some sort of car chase through the city, after a car that had a man dangling out of the window. He fell, and died – he was later identified as Stefan, the owner of the Impressions chain. That was a shame. He ran a good business, and made a hell of a suit.
Then the news was reporting a siege of some kind at one of the more lavish apartment buildings in town. Ending with someone else falling out of a window. She was revealed to be Tanya Winters, a well-known madam in the city. And believed – believed¬ – to have been the new leader of the Vice Kings.
Everyone held their breath. Could it be true? Could this be it?
And then the news reported that Julius Little, the leader of the Third Street Saints, had been arrested.
Dane paused in what he was doing. Everyone seemed to pause in what they were doing. Jane Valderamma got extremely excited talking about it, but she clearly didn’t know – what it would mean. For any of them.
The rest of the day passed in a quiet limbo. Dane found it genuinely difficult to focus on work, for once.
He called his apartment. No answer. He called Darcy’s mobile. No answer.
He did everything he needed to at work that day, tried to appear calm, told anyone one he talked to they should sit tight, and see how things played out before they did anything drastic. And then he went home early, for once, around six o’clock, and hurried to his apartment.
He stepped in through the door, and immediately noticed her boots – which he’d just gotten used to – were gone.
“Darcy?” he called out.
No answer.
He looked around the apartment. There was a note scrawled on the kitchen counter – ‘thanks for the bed, I have to go now’, etc.
Huh.
He wondered if she was back on the Row, or downstairs watching his apartment again.
He called her. She didn’t answer. But then, she called him.
“Darcy –” he began.
“Shut the fuck up, Dane,” she interrupted. “I’m only calling because I don’t want you getting any funny ideas that this is over. The Saints still have guys on the streets, and if one of them doesn’t take over, they’re gonna do something about Julius. You just –”
She caught herself.
“You just remember that. Okay?”
She cut off the call.
He looked down at the phone.
Huh.
When he went in his bedroom to change out of his suit, there was a box on his dresser. It took him a few seconds to realise it was his box – from his closet. The one he kept a handgun in.
He did have one, obviously. It was Stilwater.
He opened it – the gun was still there. With its neat little boxes of bullets. It looked like it might have been freshly cleaned.
He closed it again. Pushed it to the corner of the dresser.
He had a look around for anything else she might have messed with. Not that he minded – he could have pretty much anything replaced – but he was curious. The bathroom was spotless, as she’d promised, which was almost impressive. Some of his old albums from the eighties looked thumbed through. And there were a hell of a lot of takeout cartons in the waste – enough to make him wince. But she’d been a lot tidier with them he’d expected, he realised.
He got his cash box out of his desk that night, to see how much he needed to replace. But he counted it and nothing was missing. Not a single cent.
He stared at it for a minute.
“Motherfucker,” he swore softly, and locked the box, putting it away again.
23.
It was quiet for a few weeks, at least.
People didn’t know what to do with themselves. His co-workers kept their heads down at the office, as if doing or saying the wrong thing might bring everything crashing down again. The news reporters were in a state of constant vigilance. But nothing happened. There were no attacks on police stations, trying to spring Little, or on anyone else in protest. And the violence on the streets went down to almost zero. They returned to a fairly regular level of crime in Stilwater, store hold-ups and carjackings.
People he knew started nervously, hopefully babbling that maybe it was over, maybe the city was going to be gang-free for the first time in memory. Eventually Dane had to start joining in, because when he held his tongue, the uncertainty seemed to push people closer to the edge than ever. But there were still a lot of people in purple on the streets, and Ultor was still paying a hell of a lot of protection money.
Dane wasn’t sure what to do. It ought to have been the perfect time to get back on their feet – the Saints had wiped everyone else out, so there was no chance of pushbacks that would put their stores in the line of fire again. But for once he didn’t know what was coming next, and there was no point building them back up just to hand them over to the Saints. Or watch them get blown up. He ordered a basic refurbishment, to begin with.
He thought. And thought. He thought about Ben King wanting to get out of the game and go legit. Ignoring his own people and his own territory for a chance at that. Were there people in the Saints like that? The right job offer – it didn’t have to be anything major. The Saints were leaderless, as close to being done as they’d ever been. If they could lure a few more people away, it might destabilise them completely and the whole thing might be over sooner than later.
And there were some impressive people in the Saints, he had to admit that. Their tactics were ruthless, but they were effective – as evidenced by the fact they were now in charge of the whole city. Their tactician – Dex, was his name? – clearly knew what he was doing.
But everyone in the city knew who Dex was. And they’d know if he started working with them. The city was battered, and the Saints were poison. In the end, it would probably do Ultor more harm than good to be associated with any of them right now. And he wasn’t interested in taking down the Saints if it meant the company went down with them.
So he just had to wait. Get on with his work. Keep an eye on property values in the city – they’d gone through the floor. If it really was over, there were some golden opportunities waiting to be exploited.
He didn’t hear anything from Darcy. She didn’t call, and when he called it went straight to voicemail. Except for once, when he’d plain old been cut off. He didn’t get those chills anymore – she’d either gotten better at it, or decided the Row needed her more.
Alderman Hughes held an impromptu function, supposedly to celebrate the end of the last great gang in Stilwater. The man was surprisingly confident, considering he was somehow still behind in the polls to Mayor Winslow. People must really believe in his ‘rehabilitation’ plans. He didn’t know why, Hughes’ redevelopment plans were a lot more promising, frankly. The man even had his eyes on Saints Row, a district that was long due for an overhaul. And they might actually work now it was the most peaceful it had ever been. Dane would have to have a word with the other senior executives about getting on board with those plans – if Alderman Hughes could get himself elected.
~ ~ ~
His chances improved markedly when Mayor Winslow died the following week. No-one really knew what happened – Winslow’s campaign bus got hit by a train some way off the planned route of his tour. The city mourned, publicly. Dane called Alderman Hughes.
They didn’t have a lot of money to throw around at the moment, but they were picking up steam again. The city was quiet and people wanted a distraction and a lot of their competitors were no longer in business, one way or the other. Ultor had made it through, and their stores were turning a profit again – almost feverishly. So Dane could promise Alderman Hughes some support, and hopefully more in the future. He planned to make a personal point of it.
He was thinking about Saints Row one night when Matthew was driving him home. They were stopped at an intersection on a relatively quiet street, and Dane was staring out at the lights and thinking about what he’d do with the plans if it were up to him. When suddenly he heard two loud bangs.
He stopped. Was it an explosion? He couldn’t see anything out of his window. And then Matthew slumped over in the front seat. He felt the car rock as the door opened, and then a dark shape was leaning in, shoving something over, and getting into the driver’s seat.
It looked around. It was a man. He locked eyes with Dane.
Dane felt like he should say something. He knew it would be a good idea to say something. But for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything.
The man sneered, and raised a gun over the back of the seat.
And then the car rocked again and the man turned back around, and then jerked backwards. He heard a thump, and cursing, then another loud bang – a gunshot. He saw the man jerk back again. There was another dark shape in the car, wrestling around. And then both the shapes jerked out of it.
Dane heard a long ‘ooof’ of breath. And then the car rocked again, and he heard an odd soft thump and ringing metal. Then what might have been a whine. Then the car rocked again, and he heard the thump again. Then it rocked again, and he heard a cracking noise. Then again, and he heard a crunching noise. Again and again and again, and after every time he heard a crunching noise. And then wet noises.
It went on for a very long time.
Eventually, the car stilled. Dane could hear harsh breathing, and didn’t know if it was his or someone else’s. He heard a soft thump, and then rustling as a dark shape climbed into the car again and looked at him over the back seat.
“Are you okay?” Darcy said, out of breath.
Her hair was trapped under a beanie. He could just about see the scar on her face in the streetlights.
“Dane!” she snapped. “Are you okay?”
For a minute the words still wouldn’t come. Then he said:
“Yes. Yes.”
She looked him up and down. Then her face hardened.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, turning back around. She slammed the door shut and it crunched again, and then they took off down the road.
Dane’s brain was trying to catch up with what had happened.
“What – what – ?”
Darcy glanced at him in the rear view mirror, but kept driving.
Focus. He had to focus. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Somewhere quiet,” she replied.
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere we can lie low.”
Lie low. As if they’d done something wrong.
Had she killed that guy?
Yes. She probably had.
He tried to think. Tried to think. She was driving remarkably steadily, compared to how he’d imagined.
“Matthew,” he said, eyes on the back of the passenger seat.
He saw her glance down, briefly.
“He’s dead,” she said.
Matthew was dead.
What was he gonna do about it?
She turned into a parking garage. She went up a few levels – there was no-one around. She parked the car, calmly, next to a few others.
She turned off the engine, and he suddenly realised it had been running the whole time.
The silence was deafening. Darcy turned around in her seat again.
“You okay?” she asked, calmer this time. Her eyes were steady, searching his face.
Was he? His heart was pounding and his breathing was probably a little too fast. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.
“Who – who was that guy?” he asked, eyes still closed.
“Nobody,” she replied, tonelessly. “Carjacker.”
“Carjacker?” He opened his eyes again. “He just wanted the car?”
She shrugged.
“I thought you said stuff like this didn’t happen in the business district?”
It was a little accusatory. She narrowed her eyes.
“It doesn’t, usually,” she said. “A lot of Vice Kings have been trying to scare up some extra money to get out of town.”
He breathed again.
Looked back at the back of the passenger seat.
“And Matthew’s dead?”
She looked down again, then sighed slightly and bent over. He heard rustling. She straightened back up.
“Yes,” she said.
He realised he’d been holding his breath.
Jesus.
Jesus. What was he going to do? He – he had to –
“Take me to Ultor,” he said.
She looked at him quizzically. Then frowned.
“Take me to Ultor,” he repeated. “They have a security department – they’ll clean this up.”
Her look turned a little worried, and Dane stared at her uncomprehendingly, until he figured it out.
“You won’t be involved, Darcy. I’ll tell them to let you go. They’ll just try to keep it quiet – I don’t want it getting in the papers. You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you?”
She shook her head. Looked back at the wheel.
“You know where the offices are, don’t you?”
She nodded – then looked back at him. She studied his face.
“Are you sure you don’t just want me to take you to a hotel?” she asked. “Or home?”
The desire to go to a hotel, lock himself in a room, have a drink, have a shower, was so overwhelming that for a moment he just had to sit still and push it down.
“No,” he said. He looked at her. “With Matthew in the passenger seat?”
“We can throw him in the river.”
They could.
“No,” he said, decisively. “Ultor will clean this up – they’ll have to know about it anyway. Take me to Ultor head office. Please.”
She studied him for another moment. Then nodded. She turned back around, and turned the engine on again.
Dane called ahead, and told the security team to expect them.
“Where’s the gun?” he asked, hand over the phone.
“He dropped it.”
“In the street?”
She nodded. He informed the team.
When he put the phone down, she looked at him a couple of times in the rear view mirror.
“What are you gonna say about me?” she asked.
He stopped – he honestly hadn’t thought about that.
“I’ll say – you were a Good Samaritan,” he said.
She snorted. After a minute, he laughed at that too.
It didn’t take long to get to the office. He directed Darcy round to the back entrance, and someone was waiting to wave them through. They drove in, and suddenly they were in the big, lit-up garage, and a crowd of people swarmed the car as it pulled up.
Someone opened his door and gently pulled him out, asking him questions.
“Are you alright, Mr Vogel? Mr Vogel, are you hurt?”
He shook his head and looked over at Darcy. She was also out of the car, surrounded by security officers who looked like they both wanted to manhandle her and stay away from her. She was giving them a dangerous look. They fired a few questions at her. Dane walked around the car, around the people inspecting the car, and over to them.
“She’s fine,” he told them. “She’s just a passerby. She jumped in to help me.”
The security executive looked dubious. He looked Darcy up and down, and for the first time Dane saw what she was wearing. She was all in black, with a beanie on her head and gloves. Like a goddamned burglar.
But she wore dark clothes most of the time.
“Are you sure, Mr Vogel?” the security exec asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
He caught sight of the inside of the car, and the mess in the driver’s seat, down the driver’s seat. He realised Darcy had been sitting in it. They were pulling Matthew out of the other side. He looked down at Darcy’s jeans, and saw flecks of white and pink on them.
A wave of nausea rose up in him, and he pushed it down.
“Can we get her a change of clothes?” he asked, thickly. “And a shower?”
Everyone looked unimpressed with that, including Darcy.
“It’s evidence,” he said.
They looked a little less unconvinced. The security executive told one of the officers to show her to the showers. She went, begrudgingly. That mess still on her jeans. At the door she stopped, and gave him a final look. Up and down. And then left.
He was swarmed again. People asking if she was involved, if she was blackmailing him, if he was being leaned on.
No, he said. No, no, no, no, no.
He told them to let her go when she’d signed the non-disclosure form. The security executive didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded.
They took Dane to the company doctor, who insisted on checking him out. She diagnosed him with a mild case of shock – nothing he couldn’t get over. When they were convinced he wasn’t physically hurt or about to collapse from stress, someone finally got him a goddamn drink.
He got a ride home with a small security team. No surprises on that trip. He had orders to take the next day off work, which he wasn’t happy about, but the instructions came direct from the CEO. Due to all the responsibilities Dane had. They’d promised him he’d have another car and a new driver by the time he came back.
He stood in his apartment, finally alone, and had another drink. The place felt weirdly empty. He wondered, suddenly, where Darcy was. In Saints Row? Downstairs? Maybe one of the security officers had shot her in the head and thrown her in the river, just to make absolutely sure there wasn’t a security leak.
He closed his eyes. No, that wasn’t very likely.
For just a moment, he wished she was in the apartment. Dyeing her hair in the bathroom, or kicking around the utility room.
It was ridiculous. He pushed the feeling down.
24.
Mayor Winslow’s funeral was blown up. Happily, no-one from Ultor was there since they were supporting Hughes. But a number of high-ranking police officials were killed, including Chief Monroe.
Everyone took that as a cue to panic again. Dane wasn’t sure why. It was pretty clear to him that the police weren’t what kept you safe in this city. Still, there was a pretty clear link between Julius getting arrested and an attack on the head of the police. The Saints were obviously finally making their move.
Alderman Hughes made a statement about the ‘atrocity’. He looked a little less together than usual.
It took Dane forever to get home. The funeral procession had been attacked while it passed through the Downtown area – where everything seemed to happen these days – and the traffic was snarled up back through the Business District, even as late as he got home. And they had to stop, frequently, to let more blue and red lights pass through.
When he got home, he changed and got himself a drink. Then got out his phone.
She picked up this time.
“Yeah?” she said, evenly.
“You downstairs?”
A pause on the other end of the line.
“Come up.”
He didn’t even wait for a response this time. He called his doorman. Five minutes later, she was at his front door. She looked him up and down.
He let her in and she took off her shoes. They walked down into the main room.
“Drink?” he asked, heading to the kitchenette. He looked up only as a formality, to see her nodding. Glancing around his apartment again.
He handed it to her, and they sat down on the couches.
“You alright?” she asked, studying his face.
He thought about it. Yes, he was. It had been a shock – but he’d gotten over it.
“Yeah,” he said.
She searched his eyes for a second. Then nodded, seeming satisfied.
“You have a new driver yet?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth twisted, a little.
“You should get K’aunté,” she said.
He frowned.
“Who?”
“K’aunté. My driver. K’aunté Bryson.”
He frowned a little deeper.
“From your airport runs?”
She nodded.
“He knew how to handle himself. When things were getting hot.”
Dane thought about it. None of the airport drivers were chauffeurs – they were generally the people with the least qualifications. But – well, clearly there were other qualifications worth considering in Stilwater. He filed it away to think about later.
They sipped their drinks.
“The first time’s the worst,” she said. “Especially when you’re older.”
He was a little offended by that for a moment. Until he figured out what she meant.
He studied her. No new cuts or bruises that he could see. Just the old scar.
She killed someone for him a few days ago.
“How are things on the Row?” he asked.
Her eyes darkened a little. She shrugged.
“They were quiet,” she said. “Today, it’s been…”
She trailed off, and shrugged again.
“Why don’t you get out?”
She looked at him.
“I’m serious, Darcy,” he said. “You’re always telling me I’m not careful enough, acting like I’m gonna get myself killed, and you won’t get out of that place. You got shot, what, walking down the street? And that was before the Saints took over. You could have had a degree. You could get a job. I could get you a job. You could find somewhere to live, someplace decent. Someplace long-term. Why won’t you get out?”
“And go where?” she asked. “Somewhere nice and gang-free, like Brighton?”
She smiled down at the floor.
“There’s no getting out.”
And then she looked up, with that furious, empty look she sometimes got.
“And it’s my neighbourhood, too,” she said.
Her eyes flicked to him for a minute, still heated, and looked him up and down. He knew people, and her, well enough to read that look.
‘You’re mine too.’
Then her face cleared, turned doubtful, and she looked away.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the way she was attached to him had more than a little possessiveness about it. He also knew it probably had more to do with the people on her back than him. But it had been useful to him on more than one occasion. And it was flattering, really. That this girl, who didn’t give a damn about anything, gave at least half of one about him.
Not a girl. She’d been a teenager when they met. It’d been seven years. She was what, twenty six now? She was a grown-up.
“Why did you come?”
He startled out of his thoughts, and looked at her. He thought over the question. She looked as open as he’d ever seen her. Honest.
“To Stilwater?”
She nodded, looking as though she couldn’t understand why anyone would come to Stilwater.
He glanced over to the window. The blinds were closed, but they could still hear the sirens outside, faintly.
“I heard there was a lot of opportunity here,” he said. He furrowed his brow. “There still is.”
He looked back at her. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Then she looked away.
They drank again for a few minutes.
“So do you think this is it?” he asked. “Have they declared war on the city?”
She grimaced around her mouthful of scotch, and swallowed.
“Maybe,” she said, leaning back slightly. “There’s not much of it left.”
There were some things. Some things that hadn’t died yet.
They sat and drank as the sirens wailed off into the night.
25.
Alderman Hughes’ yacht blew up, right before a fundraiser. That caused a little more consternation at Ultor, and with Dane. They were gonna have to keep a close eye on who the next mayoral candidate would be – if there were any left.
But then – Troy Bradshaw came on the news, claiming to be an undercover police officer. He made an official statement, surrounded by other officers, saying that all his time with the Saints – everything he did – was part of a sting operation. He also said that Johnny Gat had been on Alderman Hughes’ yacht when it blew up, and that Dexter Jackson had left the city, and Julius Little had been released on bail and had also disappeared.
He said there was no-one left leading the Saints. He said there were no Third Street Saints anymore.
Dane called his people at the police station. Troy’s story checked out. They sounded pretty pissed themselves – clearly not everyone at the department had been in the loop.
People immediately came out against Bradshaw. They said he’d gone too far. They said that wasn’t policing. They asked how he could have possibly allowed Chief Monroe to be assassinated, if he was an officer. They accused him of making some sort of deal. He didn’t argue with any of it. Mostly, he just looked tired.
They combed the bay where Hughes’ yacht blew up. No trace of Johnny Gat was ever found. But people assumed if he was still alive, he’d had gone after Troy, or shot something else up at least.
So that was it. The city was suddenly – free.
He called Darcy. She didn’t answer, but called him back later. She sounded – stunned. Like she didn’t quite know where she was.
He asked her if she wanted to meet up for lunch.
“Yeah,” she said. “Yes.”
At work, Dane leapt right into action. He ordered the immediate refurbishment and restocking of all their stores, he scheduled meetings with new suppliers, he talked constantly about how this was a new start for the city, how they had to start rebuilding before any new criminals took over, how they could finally start making this the city they wanted to live in.
A couple of weeks passed and there were no new sightings of Johnny Gat, or Julius Little. And slowly, people started to believe it.
Dane went to speak to Hughes’ widow, Monica, personally. He gave her his condolences, and asked what kind of tribute would be truly fitting to her husband. They discussed redevelopment plans at great length.
And it was easy, it was so easy, because people wanted to believe it. They wanted to believe it was over. They wanted to believe they could have lives that weren’t about being afraid of the gangs. They wanted to believe it so much, they were ready to grab onto the first person offering it to them.
Things started running again. Everything started running again. Dane was there for all of it, talking people through and smoothing things over.
Ultor made him CEO, finally. For his ability to keep a cool head in a crisis, and his visionary plans for the future.
And he did have plans, and they were right there, if people could see what Ultor could be if someone really took the reigns, what Stilwater could be. Property values were at rock bottom all over the city, and everyone was ready for a change, and all of it was so close he could almost taste it.
He organised PR events, talking about the restoration of the city, cutting ribbons for new Ultor stores. He did interviews and TV segments. He knew he looked good, and sounded good. And people were ready for anything that sounded good.
He paid a lot of attention to the police department, publicly gave them Ultor’s support as they rebuilt. He didn’t ever want to be in a position again where he wasn’t getting information because someone else was paying more. He made friends at City Hall, as they scrambled to put themselves in order again. He stayed especially close to Mrs Hughes, who was considering running for mayor – a very appealing candidate. He networked across the city.
As he was picking out art for his new office, he came across a photograph of a volcano spilling what seemed to be blue lava. It was a real phenomenon, at Kawah Ijen in Indonesia. Something to do with sulphur. He bought it for his office wall.
He didn’t know what to do about Darcy. They never did schedule that lunch. And now…
When he was a pen-pusher at Ultor, that was one thing. Even when he was an executive. But now, he was CEO. People were going to start paying attention to what he did. And keeping things out of the papers would mean involving the security department, which meant it might get back to the Board of Directors.
He sighed. He liked Darcy. And it’s not like he didn’t like having his life saved. But he wasn’t sure knowing her was a luxury he could afford anymore.
He hoped she’d let go. The city was safe now, after all. And he had a whole team of security looking out for him.
So much for that.
He was sat in his office, happily alone, doing paperwork, when his new PA Jaime came on over the intercom.
“Mr Vogel!” she said, sounding panicked. “Mr Vogel!”
He heard shouting from outside, and then his door burst open, and Darcy marched in. Like thunder.
“Mr Vogel!” Jaime called, tremulously, from the door.
Darcy looked furious.
“What the fuck are you doing, Dane?” she hissed. She stopped in the middle of the floor, balling her fists. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He looked at the open door. Jaime was trembling, clutching the handle, and behind her on the floor was a security guard, clutching his wrist.
He looked at Darcy. She was staring at him. She looked incensed – livid.
“It’s alright, Jaime,” he said, looking her in the eyes, confidently. “It’s fine. Just give us a minute, please.”
Jaime stared at him, mouth open. Then clicked her jaw shut. She looked at Darcy’s back, and then at him. He kept his gaze steady. She nodded, jerkily, and closed the door, keeping her eyes on Darcy’s back until it clicked shut.
Darcy was still just staring at him. Furious.
This was not an ideal situation, but it was manageable.
“Darcy,” he said. Calmly. “You can’t just turn up at my place of work –”
“What the fuck are you doing, Dane?” she repeated, looking – rattled.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m seeing your face everywhere. I’m hearing about you everywhere. You’re talking about leading the city into the future. You’re buying up property. You’re buying up Saints Row, is that right?”
He’d wondered if she might have a problem with that.
“Darcy, it’s –”
“Do you have any idea what that sounds like?”
She stared at him. He didn’t.
“Don’t you know by now that people who take over territory in Stilwater end up fucking dead?”
He realised, suddenly, what that other emotion in her eyes was, besides anger. It was fear.
“What,” he said, “you think I’m trying to start my own gang?”
“What do you think people are gonna think? You’re doing exactly what they were doing, Dane!”
She balled her hands into fists. Her arms shook with the exertion.
“Do you know what people are saying about you? People who don’t even know you? Do you know what I’ve heard them saying?”
“Darcy,” he said. Gently. “I don’t care what some penniless hoodlums think of me. I don’t care if they resent me. That’s par for the course.”
She just stood there and shook and gave him one of those helpless looks again.
She couldn’t let go. She couldn’t understand what it was like to live in a world where you didn’t have to watch your back all the time.
Or maybe she just couldn’t let go of him.
But no. She looked genuinely upset. Worried.
Her face twisted up into a snarl.
“Fine,” she said. “Fine. You want to paint a big target on your chest – fine! But I’m staying right here.” She pointed down at the office floor. “I’m staying right goddamned here to make sure you don’t die of it, you fucking idiot!”
There was silence for a second. Dane laughed, because it was so surreal. Darcy’s eyes hardened into something determined.
“What?” he said. “You’re gonna be my bodyguard?”
She looked furious.
“If that’s what it takes! Yeah! I’ll do that. You – you don’t see what’s coming Dane – you never have. You’re such a goddamn…”
He left her ranting, because a thought was occurring to him.
Was it surreal?
I mean – it was Darcy. But…he was going to have a security detail anyway. He’d probably have a personal executive. And, you couldn’t say she wasn’t skilled. The guard currently outside his door could probably attest to that.
“Are you serious?” he asked, suddenly.
“Oh shut the fuck up Dane, you know as well as I do –”
“About being my bodyguard? Because, you know, there’s going to be a position for that, in the near future.”
She stopped and stared at him.
“Through the security department,” he said. “You’d have to sign on with Ultor.”
Her eyes narrowed, like she thought he was trying to trick her. But she kept listening.
He pushed down the excitement rising in his chest.
“I mean, it’d be your job, and you’d have to be professional about it,” he said, seriously. “No more –”
He waved at the office door.
“– Temper tantrums.”
She narrowed her eyes. But kept listening.
“You’d have to wear a suit to work.”
He looked over her hoodie and jeans, and pictured her in a suit. He looked up at her hair. She tensed.
They could afford one quirk.
“And you couldn’t just attack whoever you wanted. Or get in the way of my work.”
She shifted and folded her arms.
“Unless I thought you were gonna fucking die?” she asked, glaring at him.
He smiled at her.
“Yes,” he said. “Except for that.”
She paused. She seemed to be considering it. She fixed her eyes on him again, narrowing them.
“And you’d have to fucking listen to me, and do what I told you if I thought you were gonna fucking die?”
Well – yes. He supposed. But – it’s not like she wasn’t usually right about those situations. And he didn’t particularly want to die.
“Yes,” he said.
She kept her eyes narrowed. Studied his face. Then seemed to think about it for a second. Then, looked back at him.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay! Sign me up.”
She unfolded her arms, and held them at her sides like she was ready for a fight.
He smiled. Widely.
“I’ll call someone to take you down to human resources,” he said, reaching for the intercom.
Oh God.
He could pay her.
He could give her a salary. He could give her danger money. He could give her a whole apartment, if he could wrangle a living allowance, or claim he needed her close by.
“Jaime,” he said, into the speaker. “Could you come in here for a minute?”
Jaime stuttered out a reply. Dane smiled at Darcy. She still looked a little unsure, but determined.
“This is great,” he said. “Great.”
Fandom: Saints Row series (video game)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Saints Row universe and I'm not making any money off this.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
22.
She was watching him in the hallway the next morning, as usual, and he wondered if she slept.
She looked genuinely angry with him today, wound up, almost on the points of doing something. Grabbing him. Something. He ignored her, and continued to get ready. She leaned in the doorway, and glowered at him.
When he got back from his swim she was nowhere to be seen. He got showered and dressed. When he came back out of his room, she was in the hallway again. Glaring at him fiercely.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
“Darcy,” he said. “Ultor has nothing to do with the Vice Kings, or Kingdom Come records, or any of that. The Vice Kings and the Saints are gonna be focused on each other – you know that. I’m gonna have a short drive to my office, and then I’m gonna work there, behind a locked gate, surrounded by security guards – ”
“Your security’s shit,” she cut in.
“– And I’m going to be fine. You know that, too.”
She looked around, balling her fists.
“If you would just –”
“It wouldn’t make a difference. I have to go in – the city’s falling apart, and we need to be strong. If we give up, the gangs take everything. They’re not after us, so we have to keep going.”
“It’s dangerous,” she said. “Today.”
“It’s always dangerous,” he said. “We have to keep working.”
She balled her fists again, and gave him a look that turned helpless, at the end. Then she dropped her hands. Her shoulders slumped.
She followed him into the main room. She watched him eat his breakfast, every bite of it. He thought about how the Westside Rollerz had ended in a fiery explosion on the freeway, and the Carnales had taken half of Wardill with them when they went. He continued with his breakfast. When he left the apartment, she watched him from the hallway and didn’t try to stop him. In the car, he didn’t look around to see if she was following him.
~ ~ ~
The Vice Kings’ days were indeed numbered, and that number was low. It was in the decimals. That afternoon, there were reports of some sort of car chase through the city, after a car that had a man dangling out of the window. He fell, and died – he was later identified as Stefan, the owner of the Impressions chain. That was a shame. He ran a good business, and made a hell of a suit.
Then the news was reporting a siege of some kind at one of the more lavish apartment buildings in town. Ending with someone else falling out of a window. She was revealed to be Tanya Winters, a well-known madam in the city. And believed – believed¬ – to have been the new leader of the Vice Kings.
Everyone held their breath. Could it be true? Could this be it?
And then the news reported that Julius Little, the leader of the Third Street Saints, had been arrested.
Dane paused in what he was doing. Everyone seemed to pause in what they were doing. Jane Valderamma got extremely excited talking about it, but she clearly didn’t know – what it would mean. For any of them.
The rest of the day passed in a quiet limbo. Dane found it genuinely difficult to focus on work, for once.
He called his apartment. No answer. He called Darcy’s mobile. No answer.
He did everything he needed to at work that day, tried to appear calm, told anyone one he talked to they should sit tight, and see how things played out before they did anything drastic. And then he went home early, for once, around six o’clock, and hurried to his apartment.
He stepped in through the door, and immediately noticed her boots – which he’d just gotten used to – were gone.
“Darcy?” he called out.
No answer.
He looked around the apartment. There was a note scrawled on the kitchen counter – ‘thanks for the bed, I have to go now’, etc.
Huh.
He wondered if she was back on the Row, or downstairs watching his apartment again.
He called her. She didn’t answer. But then, she called him.
“Darcy –” he began.
“Shut the fuck up, Dane,” she interrupted. “I’m only calling because I don’t want you getting any funny ideas that this is over. The Saints still have guys on the streets, and if one of them doesn’t take over, they’re gonna do something about Julius. You just –”
She caught herself.
“You just remember that. Okay?”
She cut off the call.
He looked down at the phone.
Huh.
When he went in his bedroom to change out of his suit, there was a box on his dresser. It took him a few seconds to realise it was his box – from his closet. The one he kept a handgun in.
He did have one, obviously. It was Stilwater.
He opened it – the gun was still there. With its neat little boxes of bullets. It looked like it might have been freshly cleaned.
He closed it again. Pushed it to the corner of the dresser.
He had a look around for anything else she might have messed with. Not that he minded – he could have pretty much anything replaced – but he was curious. The bathroom was spotless, as she’d promised, which was almost impressive. Some of his old albums from the eighties looked thumbed through. And there were a hell of a lot of takeout cartons in the waste – enough to make him wince. But she’d been a lot tidier with them he’d expected, he realised.
He got his cash box out of his desk that night, to see how much he needed to replace. But he counted it and nothing was missing. Not a single cent.
He stared at it for a minute.
“Motherfucker,” he swore softly, and locked the box, putting it away again.
23.
It was quiet for a few weeks, at least.
People didn’t know what to do with themselves. His co-workers kept their heads down at the office, as if doing or saying the wrong thing might bring everything crashing down again. The news reporters were in a state of constant vigilance. But nothing happened. There were no attacks on police stations, trying to spring Little, or on anyone else in protest. And the violence on the streets went down to almost zero. They returned to a fairly regular level of crime in Stilwater, store hold-ups and carjackings.
People he knew started nervously, hopefully babbling that maybe it was over, maybe the city was going to be gang-free for the first time in memory. Eventually Dane had to start joining in, because when he held his tongue, the uncertainty seemed to push people closer to the edge than ever. But there were still a lot of people in purple on the streets, and Ultor was still paying a hell of a lot of protection money.
Dane wasn’t sure what to do. It ought to have been the perfect time to get back on their feet – the Saints had wiped everyone else out, so there was no chance of pushbacks that would put their stores in the line of fire again. But for once he didn’t know what was coming next, and there was no point building them back up just to hand them over to the Saints. Or watch them get blown up. He ordered a basic refurbishment, to begin with.
He thought. And thought. He thought about Ben King wanting to get out of the game and go legit. Ignoring his own people and his own territory for a chance at that. Were there people in the Saints like that? The right job offer – it didn’t have to be anything major. The Saints were leaderless, as close to being done as they’d ever been. If they could lure a few more people away, it might destabilise them completely and the whole thing might be over sooner than later.
And there were some impressive people in the Saints, he had to admit that. Their tactics were ruthless, but they were effective – as evidenced by the fact they were now in charge of the whole city. Their tactician – Dex, was his name? – clearly knew what he was doing.
But everyone in the city knew who Dex was. And they’d know if he started working with them. The city was battered, and the Saints were poison. In the end, it would probably do Ultor more harm than good to be associated with any of them right now. And he wasn’t interested in taking down the Saints if it meant the company went down with them.
So he just had to wait. Get on with his work. Keep an eye on property values in the city – they’d gone through the floor. If it really was over, there were some golden opportunities waiting to be exploited.
He didn’t hear anything from Darcy. She didn’t call, and when he called it went straight to voicemail. Except for once, when he’d plain old been cut off. He didn’t get those chills anymore – she’d either gotten better at it, or decided the Row needed her more.
Alderman Hughes held an impromptu function, supposedly to celebrate the end of the last great gang in Stilwater. The man was surprisingly confident, considering he was somehow still behind in the polls to Mayor Winslow. People must really believe in his ‘rehabilitation’ plans. He didn’t know why, Hughes’ redevelopment plans were a lot more promising, frankly. The man even had his eyes on Saints Row, a district that was long due for an overhaul. And they might actually work now it was the most peaceful it had ever been. Dane would have to have a word with the other senior executives about getting on board with those plans – if Alderman Hughes could get himself elected.
~ ~ ~
His chances improved markedly when Mayor Winslow died the following week. No-one really knew what happened – Winslow’s campaign bus got hit by a train some way off the planned route of his tour. The city mourned, publicly. Dane called Alderman Hughes.
They didn’t have a lot of money to throw around at the moment, but they were picking up steam again. The city was quiet and people wanted a distraction and a lot of their competitors were no longer in business, one way or the other. Ultor had made it through, and their stores were turning a profit again – almost feverishly. So Dane could promise Alderman Hughes some support, and hopefully more in the future. He planned to make a personal point of it.
He was thinking about Saints Row one night when Matthew was driving him home. They were stopped at an intersection on a relatively quiet street, and Dane was staring out at the lights and thinking about what he’d do with the plans if it were up to him. When suddenly he heard two loud bangs.
He stopped. Was it an explosion? He couldn’t see anything out of his window. And then Matthew slumped over in the front seat. He felt the car rock as the door opened, and then a dark shape was leaning in, shoving something over, and getting into the driver’s seat.
It looked around. It was a man. He locked eyes with Dane.
Dane felt like he should say something. He knew it would be a good idea to say something. But for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything.
The man sneered, and raised a gun over the back of the seat.
And then the car rocked again and the man turned back around, and then jerked backwards. He heard a thump, and cursing, then another loud bang – a gunshot. He saw the man jerk back again. There was another dark shape in the car, wrestling around. And then both the shapes jerked out of it.
Dane heard a long ‘ooof’ of breath. And then the car rocked again, and he heard an odd soft thump and ringing metal. Then what might have been a whine. Then the car rocked again, and he heard the thump again. Then it rocked again, and he heard a cracking noise. Then again, and he heard a crunching noise. Again and again and again, and after every time he heard a crunching noise. And then wet noises.
It went on for a very long time.
Eventually, the car stilled. Dane could hear harsh breathing, and didn’t know if it was his or someone else’s. He heard a soft thump, and then rustling as a dark shape climbed into the car again and looked at him over the back seat.
“Are you okay?” Darcy said, out of breath.
Her hair was trapped under a beanie. He could just about see the scar on her face in the streetlights.
“Dane!” she snapped. “Are you okay?”
For a minute the words still wouldn’t come. Then he said:
“Yes. Yes.”
She looked him up and down. Then her face hardened.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, turning back around. She slammed the door shut and it crunched again, and then they took off down the road.
Dane’s brain was trying to catch up with what had happened.
“What – what – ?”
Darcy glanced at him in the rear view mirror, but kept driving.
Focus. He had to focus. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Somewhere quiet,” she replied.
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere we can lie low.”
Lie low. As if they’d done something wrong.
Had she killed that guy?
Yes. She probably had.
He tried to think. Tried to think. She was driving remarkably steadily, compared to how he’d imagined.
“Matthew,” he said, eyes on the back of the passenger seat.
He saw her glance down, briefly.
“He’s dead,” she said.
Matthew was dead.
What was he gonna do about it?
She turned into a parking garage. She went up a few levels – there was no-one around. She parked the car, calmly, next to a few others.
She turned off the engine, and he suddenly realised it had been running the whole time.
The silence was deafening. Darcy turned around in her seat again.
“You okay?” she asked, calmer this time. Her eyes were steady, searching his face.
Was he? His heart was pounding and his breathing was probably a little too fast. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.
“Who – who was that guy?” he asked, eyes still closed.
“Nobody,” she replied, tonelessly. “Carjacker.”
“Carjacker?” He opened his eyes again. “He just wanted the car?”
She shrugged.
“I thought you said stuff like this didn’t happen in the business district?”
It was a little accusatory. She narrowed her eyes.
“It doesn’t, usually,” she said. “A lot of Vice Kings have been trying to scare up some extra money to get out of town.”
He breathed again.
Looked back at the back of the passenger seat.
“And Matthew’s dead?”
She looked down again, then sighed slightly and bent over. He heard rustling. She straightened back up.
“Yes,” she said.
He realised he’d been holding his breath.
Jesus.
Jesus. What was he going to do? He – he had to –
“Take me to Ultor,” he said.
She looked at him quizzically. Then frowned.
“Take me to Ultor,” he repeated. “They have a security department – they’ll clean this up.”
Her look turned a little worried, and Dane stared at her uncomprehendingly, until he figured it out.
“You won’t be involved, Darcy. I’ll tell them to let you go. They’ll just try to keep it quiet – I don’t want it getting in the papers. You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you?”
She shook her head. Looked back at the wheel.
“You know where the offices are, don’t you?”
She nodded – then looked back at him. She studied his face.
“Are you sure you don’t just want me to take you to a hotel?” she asked. “Or home?”
The desire to go to a hotel, lock himself in a room, have a drink, have a shower, was so overwhelming that for a moment he just had to sit still and push it down.
“No,” he said. He looked at her. “With Matthew in the passenger seat?”
“We can throw him in the river.”
They could.
“No,” he said, decisively. “Ultor will clean this up – they’ll have to know about it anyway. Take me to Ultor head office. Please.”
She studied him for another moment. Then nodded. She turned back around, and turned the engine on again.
Dane called ahead, and told the security team to expect them.
“Where’s the gun?” he asked, hand over the phone.
“He dropped it.”
“In the street?”
She nodded. He informed the team.
When he put the phone down, she looked at him a couple of times in the rear view mirror.
“What are you gonna say about me?” she asked.
He stopped – he honestly hadn’t thought about that.
“I’ll say – you were a Good Samaritan,” he said.
She snorted. After a minute, he laughed at that too.
It didn’t take long to get to the office. He directed Darcy round to the back entrance, and someone was waiting to wave them through. They drove in, and suddenly they were in the big, lit-up garage, and a crowd of people swarmed the car as it pulled up.
Someone opened his door and gently pulled him out, asking him questions.
“Are you alright, Mr Vogel? Mr Vogel, are you hurt?”
He shook his head and looked over at Darcy. She was also out of the car, surrounded by security officers who looked like they both wanted to manhandle her and stay away from her. She was giving them a dangerous look. They fired a few questions at her. Dane walked around the car, around the people inspecting the car, and over to them.
“She’s fine,” he told them. “She’s just a passerby. She jumped in to help me.”
The security executive looked dubious. He looked Darcy up and down, and for the first time Dane saw what she was wearing. She was all in black, with a beanie on her head and gloves. Like a goddamned burglar.
But she wore dark clothes most of the time.
“Are you sure, Mr Vogel?” the security exec asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
He caught sight of the inside of the car, and the mess in the driver’s seat, down the driver’s seat. He realised Darcy had been sitting in it. They were pulling Matthew out of the other side. He looked down at Darcy’s jeans, and saw flecks of white and pink on them.
A wave of nausea rose up in him, and he pushed it down.
“Can we get her a change of clothes?” he asked, thickly. “And a shower?”
Everyone looked unimpressed with that, including Darcy.
“It’s evidence,” he said.
They looked a little less unconvinced. The security executive told one of the officers to show her to the showers. She went, begrudgingly. That mess still on her jeans. At the door she stopped, and gave him a final look. Up and down. And then left.
He was swarmed again. People asking if she was involved, if she was blackmailing him, if he was being leaned on.
No, he said. No, no, no, no, no.
He told them to let her go when she’d signed the non-disclosure form. The security executive didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded.
They took Dane to the company doctor, who insisted on checking him out. She diagnosed him with a mild case of shock – nothing he couldn’t get over. When they were convinced he wasn’t physically hurt or about to collapse from stress, someone finally got him a goddamn drink.
He got a ride home with a small security team. No surprises on that trip. He had orders to take the next day off work, which he wasn’t happy about, but the instructions came direct from the CEO. Due to all the responsibilities Dane had. They’d promised him he’d have another car and a new driver by the time he came back.
He stood in his apartment, finally alone, and had another drink. The place felt weirdly empty. He wondered, suddenly, where Darcy was. In Saints Row? Downstairs? Maybe one of the security officers had shot her in the head and thrown her in the river, just to make absolutely sure there wasn’t a security leak.
He closed his eyes. No, that wasn’t very likely.
For just a moment, he wished she was in the apartment. Dyeing her hair in the bathroom, or kicking around the utility room.
It was ridiculous. He pushed the feeling down.
24.
Mayor Winslow’s funeral was blown up. Happily, no-one from Ultor was there since they were supporting Hughes. But a number of high-ranking police officials were killed, including Chief Monroe.
Everyone took that as a cue to panic again. Dane wasn’t sure why. It was pretty clear to him that the police weren’t what kept you safe in this city. Still, there was a pretty clear link between Julius getting arrested and an attack on the head of the police. The Saints were obviously finally making their move.
Alderman Hughes made a statement about the ‘atrocity’. He looked a little less together than usual.
It took Dane forever to get home. The funeral procession had been attacked while it passed through the Downtown area – where everything seemed to happen these days – and the traffic was snarled up back through the Business District, even as late as he got home. And they had to stop, frequently, to let more blue and red lights pass through.
When he got home, he changed and got himself a drink. Then got out his phone.
She picked up this time.
“Yeah?” she said, evenly.
“You downstairs?”
A pause on the other end of the line.
“Come up.”
He didn’t even wait for a response this time. He called his doorman. Five minutes later, she was at his front door. She looked him up and down.
He let her in and she took off her shoes. They walked down into the main room.
“Drink?” he asked, heading to the kitchenette. He looked up only as a formality, to see her nodding. Glancing around his apartment again.
He handed it to her, and they sat down on the couches.
“You alright?” she asked, studying his face.
He thought about it. Yes, he was. It had been a shock – but he’d gotten over it.
“Yeah,” he said.
She searched his eyes for a second. Then nodded, seeming satisfied.
“You have a new driver yet?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth twisted, a little.
“You should get K’aunté,” she said.
He frowned.
“Who?”
“K’aunté. My driver. K’aunté Bryson.”
He frowned a little deeper.
“From your airport runs?”
She nodded.
“He knew how to handle himself. When things were getting hot.”
Dane thought about it. None of the airport drivers were chauffeurs – they were generally the people with the least qualifications. But – well, clearly there were other qualifications worth considering in Stilwater. He filed it away to think about later.
They sipped their drinks.
“The first time’s the worst,” she said. “Especially when you’re older.”
He was a little offended by that for a moment. Until he figured out what she meant.
He studied her. No new cuts or bruises that he could see. Just the old scar.
She killed someone for him a few days ago.
“How are things on the Row?” he asked.
Her eyes darkened a little. She shrugged.
“They were quiet,” she said. “Today, it’s been…”
She trailed off, and shrugged again.
“Why don’t you get out?”
She looked at him.
“I’m serious, Darcy,” he said. “You’re always telling me I’m not careful enough, acting like I’m gonna get myself killed, and you won’t get out of that place. You got shot, what, walking down the street? And that was before the Saints took over. You could have had a degree. You could get a job. I could get you a job. You could find somewhere to live, someplace decent. Someplace long-term. Why won’t you get out?”
“And go where?” she asked. “Somewhere nice and gang-free, like Brighton?”
She smiled down at the floor.
“There’s no getting out.”
And then she looked up, with that furious, empty look she sometimes got.
“And it’s my neighbourhood, too,” she said.
Her eyes flicked to him for a minute, still heated, and looked him up and down. He knew people, and her, well enough to read that look.
‘You’re mine too.’
Then her face cleared, turned doubtful, and she looked away.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the way she was attached to him had more than a little possessiveness about it. He also knew it probably had more to do with the people on her back than him. But it had been useful to him on more than one occasion. And it was flattering, really. That this girl, who didn’t give a damn about anything, gave at least half of one about him.
Not a girl. She’d been a teenager when they met. It’d been seven years. She was what, twenty six now? She was a grown-up.
“Why did you come?”
He startled out of his thoughts, and looked at her. He thought over the question. She looked as open as he’d ever seen her. Honest.
“To Stilwater?”
She nodded, looking as though she couldn’t understand why anyone would come to Stilwater.
He glanced over to the window. The blinds were closed, but they could still hear the sirens outside, faintly.
“I heard there was a lot of opportunity here,” he said. He furrowed his brow. “There still is.”
He looked back at her. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Then she looked away.
They drank again for a few minutes.
“So do you think this is it?” he asked. “Have they declared war on the city?”
She grimaced around her mouthful of scotch, and swallowed.
“Maybe,” she said, leaning back slightly. “There’s not much of it left.”
There were some things. Some things that hadn’t died yet.
They sat and drank as the sirens wailed off into the night.
25.
Alderman Hughes’ yacht blew up, right before a fundraiser. That caused a little more consternation at Ultor, and with Dane. They were gonna have to keep a close eye on who the next mayoral candidate would be – if there were any left.
But then – Troy Bradshaw came on the news, claiming to be an undercover police officer. He made an official statement, surrounded by other officers, saying that all his time with the Saints – everything he did – was part of a sting operation. He also said that Johnny Gat had been on Alderman Hughes’ yacht when it blew up, and that Dexter Jackson had left the city, and Julius Little had been released on bail and had also disappeared.
He said there was no-one left leading the Saints. He said there were no Third Street Saints anymore.
Dane called his people at the police station. Troy’s story checked out. They sounded pretty pissed themselves – clearly not everyone at the department had been in the loop.
People immediately came out against Bradshaw. They said he’d gone too far. They said that wasn’t policing. They asked how he could have possibly allowed Chief Monroe to be assassinated, if he was an officer. They accused him of making some sort of deal. He didn’t argue with any of it. Mostly, he just looked tired.
They combed the bay where Hughes’ yacht blew up. No trace of Johnny Gat was ever found. But people assumed if he was still alive, he’d had gone after Troy, or shot something else up at least.
So that was it. The city was suddenly – free.
He called Darcy. She didn’t answer, but called him back later. She sounded – stunned. Like she didn’t quite know where she was.
He asked her if she wanted to meet up for lunch.
“Yeah,” she said. “Yes.”
At work, Dane leapt right into action. He ordered the immediate refurbishment and restocking of all their stores, he scheduled meetings with new suppliers, he talked constantly about how this was a new start for the city, how they had to start rebuilding before any new criminals took over, how they could finally start making this the city they wanted to live in.
A couple of weeks passed and there were no new sightings of Johnny Gat, or Julius Little. And slowly, people started to believe it.
Dane went to speak to Hughes’ widow, Monica, personally. He gave her his condolences, and asked what kind of tribute would be truly fitting to her husband. They discussed redevelopment plans at great length.
And it was easy, it was so easy, because people wanted to believe it. They wanted to believe it was over. They wanted to believe they could have lives that weren’t about being afraid of the gangs. They wanted to believe it so much, they were ready to grab onto the first person offering it to them.
Things started running again. Everything started running again. Dane was there for all of it, talking people through and smoothing things over.
Ultor made him CEO, finally. For his ability to keep a cool head in a crisis, and his visionary plans for the future.
And he did have plans, and they were right there, if people could see what Ultor could be if someone really took the reigns, what Stilwater could be. Property values were at rock bottom all over the city, and everyone was ready for a change, and all of it was so close he could almost taste it.
He organised PR events, talking about the restoration of the city, cutting ribbons for new Ultor stores. He did interviews and TV segments. He knew he looked good, and sounded good. And people were ready for anything that sounded good.
He paid a lot of attention to the police department, publicly gave them Ultor’s support as they rebuilt. He didn’t ever want to be in a position again where he wasn’t getting information because someone else was paying more. He made friends at City Hall, as they scrambled to put themselves in order again. He stayed especially close to Mrs Hughes, who was considering running for mayor – a very appealing candidate. He networked across the city.
As he was picking out art for his new office, he came across a photograph of a volcano spilling what seemed to be blue lava. It was a real phenomenon, at Kawah Ijen in Indonesia. Something to do with sulphur. He bought it for his office wall.
He didn’t know what to do about Darcy. They never did schedule that lunch. And now…
When he was a pen-pusher at Ultor, that was one thing. Even when he was an executive. But now, he was CEO. People were going to start paying attention to what he did. And keeping things out of the papers would mean involving the security department, which meant it might get back to the Board of Directors.
He sighed. He liked Darcy. And it’s not like he didn’t like having his life saved. But he wasn’t sure knowing her was a luxury he could afford anymore.
He hoped she’d let go. The city was safe now, after all. And he had a whole team of security looking out for him.
So much for that.
He was sat in his office, happily alone, doing paperwork, when his new PA Jaime came on over the intercom.
“Mr Vogel!” she said, sounding panicked. “Mr Vogel!”
He heard shouting from outside, and then his door burst open, and Darcy marched in. Like thunder.
“Mr Vogel!” Jaime called, tremulously, from the door.
Darcy looked furious.
“What the fuck are you doing, Dane?” she hissed. She stopped in the middle of the floor, balling her fists. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He looked at the open door. Jaime was trembling, clutching the handle, and behind her on the floor was a security guard, clutching his wrist.
He looked at Darcy. She was staring at him. She looked incensed – livid.
“It’s alright, Jaime,” he said, looking her in the eyes, confidently. “It’s fine. Just give us a minute, please.”
Jaime stared at him, mouth open. Then clicked her jaw shut. She looked at Darcy’s back, and then at him. He kept his gaze steady. She nodded, jerkily, and closed the door, keeping her eyes on Darcy’s back until it clicked shut.
Darcy was still just staring at him. Furious.
This was not an ideal situation, but it was manageable.
“Darcy,” he said. Calmly. “You can’t just turn up at my place of work –”
“What the fuck are you doing, Dane?” she repeated, looking – rattled.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m seeing your face everywhere. I’m hearing about you everywhere. You’re talking about leading the city into the future. You’re buying up property. You’re buying up Saints Row, is that right?”
He’d wondered if she might have a problem with that.
“Darcy, it’s –”
“Do you have any idea what that sounds like?”
She stared at him. He didn’t.
“Don’t you know by now that people who take over territory in Stilwater end up fucking dead?”
He realised, suddenly, what that other emotion in her eyes was, besides anger. It was fear.
“What,” he said, “you think I’m trying to start my own gang?”
“What do you think people are gonna think? You’re doing exactly what they were doing, Dane!”
She balled her hands into fists. Her arms shook with the exertion.
“Do you know what people are saying about you? People who don’t even know you? Do you know what I’ve heard them saying?”
“Darcy,” he said. Gently. “I don’t care what some penniless hoodlums think of me. I don’t care if they resent me. That’s par for the course.”
She just stood there and shook and gave him one of those helpless looks again.
She couldn’t let go. She couldn’t understand what it was like to live in a world where you didn’t have to watch your back all the time.
Or maybe she just couldn’t let go of him.
But no. She looked genuinely upset. Worried.
Her face twisted up into a snarl.
“Fine,” she said. “Fine. You want to paint a big target on your chest – fine! But I’m staying right here.” She pointed down at the office floor. “I’m staying right goddamned here to make sure you don’t die of it, you fucking idiot!”
There was silence for a second. Dane laughed, because it was so surreal. Darcy’s eyes hardened into something determined.
“What?” he said. “You’re gonna be my bodyguard?”
She looked furious.
“If that’s what it takes! Yeah! I’ll do that. You – you don’t see what’s coming Dane – you never have. You’re such a goddamn…”
He left her ranting, because a thought was occurring to him.
Was it surreal?
I mean – it was Darcy. But…he was going to have a security detail anyway. He’d probably have a personal executive. And, you couldn’t say she wasn’t skilled. The guard currently outside his door could probably attest to that.
“Are you serious?” he asked, suddenly.
“Oh shut the fuck up Dane, you know as well as I do –”
“About being my bodyguard? Because, you know, there’s going to be a position for that, in the near future.”
She stopped and stared at him.
“Through the security department,” he said. “You’d have to sign on with Ultor.”
Her eyes narrowed, like she thought he was trying to trick her. But she kept listening.
He pushed down the excitement rising in his chest.
“I mean, it’d be your job, and you’d have to be professional about it,” he said, seriously. “No more –”
He waved at the office door.
“– Temper tantrums.”
She narrowed her eyes. But kept listening.
“You’d have to wear a suit to work.”
He looked over her hoodie and jeans, and pictured her in a suit. He looked up at her hair. She tensed.
They could afford one quirk.
“And you couldn’t just attack whoever you wanted. Or get in the way of my work.”
She shifted and folded her arms.
“Unless I thought you were gonna fucking die?” she asked, glaring at him.
He smiled at her.
“Yes,” he said. “Except for that.”
She paused. She seemed to be considering it. She fixed her eyes on him again, narrowing them.
“And you’d have to fucking listen to me, and do what I told you if I thought you were gonna fucking die?”
Well – yes. He supposed. But – it’s not like she wasn’t usually right about those situations. And he didn’t particularly want to die.
“Yes,” he said.
She kept her eyes narrowed. Studied his face. Then seemed to think about it for a second. Then, looked back at him.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay! Sign me up.”
She unfolded her arms, and held them at her sides like she was ready for a fight.
He smiled. Widely.
“I’ll call someone to take you down to human resources,” he said, reaching for the intercom.
Oh God.
He could pay her.
He could give her a salary. He could give her danger money. He could give her a whole apartment, if he could wrangle a living allowance, or claim he needed her close by.
“Jaime,” he said, into the speaker. “Could you come in here for a minute?”
Jaime stuttered out a reply. Dane smiled at Darcy. She still looked a little unsure, but determined.
“This is great,” he said. “Great.”
