Father of the Bribe

Posted on Sun Oct 23rd, 2022 @ 1:06pm by Alden Loxley & Jonas Bailey & Whit & Kinmont Armstrong

Mission: Home Sweet Wonderful Home
Location: Three Hills, Sublime Nimbus Hotel
Timeline: November 16 wee hours, after post 'Many Heroic Reasons'

The Sublime Nimbus Hotel was located in the center of an upscale commercial district, across the street from the city courthouse, with a law office on one side, and a formal clothing and jewelry boutique on the other. Strips of turf and flowers lined the sidewalks of the paved streets. Every building they passed had a western-frontier appearance to it, but the trained eye would notice the underlying modern and durable structures. The entrance of the three-story Sublime Nimbus Hotel sat back from the street, illuminated as bright as day by floodlights. The driveway to the front doors curved around a small, street-facing courtyard to accommodate ground cars, with one limousine parked near the vehicle exit.

At this late – or very early – hour, few people were about. Two armored doormen stood to either side of the front doors and tapped their earpieces at the sight of four well-armed men approaching but made no move to stop them. The trained eye could pick out multiple sources of video surveillance.

Alden strode with a lazy confidence shaken just a little by a very real underlying concern. It showed in the corner of his eyes and the stiffness of his shoulders, but didn't affect the length of said stride, or the casual way his right hand rested just above his Model B holstered low at his thigh. At his back, a shotgun was slung on a shoulder strap. He knew they'd be searched - Drake had given him and Jonas the lowdown on the hotel - and even if he hadn't, the place certainly screamed class and finesse easily as loudly as Kindra whispered the same. Still, handguns weren't the only weapons he could use, and they couldn't take away those he didn't hold yet. Beneath his dark shirt he wore a protective vest, because, well, he hated getting shot and they were less uncomfortable than bleeding out. To his right, walked Jonas, to his left, Whit.

Jonas rarely ever went into a potential fight unarmed. But tonight, he felt more like a walking armory. He had is double-edged, five inch blade bootknife tucked safely away. Concealed in the small of his back was his Sphinx AT380 .380 ACP pistol. On his right hip was holstered his Desert Eagle Mark VII. Taped to his abdomen, under his clothes and brown trench coat, was his SIG-Sauer P229 with it's stainless slide. Across his back hung that wicked-looking sword he'd picked up. And in the weaves of his dreadlocks, Jonas had tucked a few small throwing knives. Jonas' empty hands allowed him to go for any of the aforementioned weapons.

While Whit did not openly carry any weapons, only a fool would mistake his purposeful stride for that of an unarmed man. His crimson frock was covered by a scarf that hid his Shepherd status for the moment and would also serve for an easy means of disarming someone from melee range. The shillelagh that formed a metronome with each alternate step would swing true. Hidden blades up his sleeves would likely be found in a search, but they were just small enough that Whit figured the smuggling attempt would be worth it.

Kinmont followed behind the others, conceding to Alden's leadership as promised. From the gear in his crate he had chosen to wear an armored duster, with his trusty and highly illegal laser pistol out of easy reach but concealed against his back in a null holster. He carried his Marauder VI heavy pistol openly, slung in a speed-draw holster at his hip, but kept his hands open and in plain sight as they approached the hotel doors.

"Evening," Alden addressed the outer boundary doorman as they drew closer and dipped his head in a more informal greeting before heading on in through to the hotel corridor. He cast his eye around for alternate exits, made a note of the night guards' positions and headed further into the foyer, walking way easier than he felt in the pit of his stomach. "Real fancy," he said, needing to make words happen in all this fine quiet.

"Like a white-washed sepulcher," Whit said. Realizing he was obscuring his Shepherd status for the moment, he added, "is what my reverend pappy used to say."

"Gents," said Jonas as he walked by and put two fingers to his forehead as a salute. "Keep up the good work."

As was standard security for high-end public places, after passing through the front door they found themselves alone in a spacious corridor, with a self-check station for weapons built into the wall. The end of the corridor was encompassed by a weapons scanner, and opened into a huge, high-ceiling lobby. Carved wooden chairs and sofas with plush cushions were arrayed around the lobby, grandiose flower arrangements and carved wooden paneling seemed to recreate someone's idea of a historic hotel from, perhaps, Earth-that-was New Orleans. Near reception, a tasteful sign declared the hotel's bar never closed.

Alden walked right up to the weapons scanner and let it sing out as he stepped within its range. Usually this gave Jonas a little free time to scope the place and the fine security team pulling the night shift.

"Surely they won't begrudge an old man his walking stick," Whit said, feigning a poor posture that would justify the otherwise dangerous weapon in his hand.

Jonas laughed and then took note of where the security guards were standing and any quick exits that they might need. Not to mention any place they could shove a guard into so as not to kill him. "Well old man, if they do, I reckon you can use my shoulder." He had every kind of hope that something would happen with the scanner. He knew he'd be there a while.

The security system's automated computer voice, soft and vaguely feminine, resonated in the corridor, responding to Alden's proximity to the weapons screen. "Warning. Weapons detected. The security of our guests is our greatest priority. Please step back and deposit all weapons in the self-check station. Have a pleasant stay." In the lobby, a young woman from behind the reception counter stared at them, fear writ plainly across her face, before she dashed into a back room.

"You're good," Alden told the computer voice. "And you're not wrong. But the security of my ladyfriend is my greatest priority, so I'd like to politely request and exception?" He knew this wouldn't happen, but delays here, outside the protected inner core of the hotel only gave Jonas a little more survey time and were to be enjoyed while the option still existed. He made no move forwards or backwards and smiled with his best kind-eyes-smile to the scared receptionist whilst keeping his hands in very plain sight.

A man appeared behind the reception desk, tall and built like someone who lifts weights more to sculpt a muscular physique rather than for fitness. He had a shaved head, earrings, a neatly trimmed beard, and wore expertly applied glittery eye makeup and lipstick. With an authoritative nod to surveillance cameras, the night manager pulled a suit jacket uniform on over his sleeveless shirt and sauntered toward the four men on the other side of the weapons screen. 'Varrick' was displayed on his nametag. In a deep, sultry voice he said, "Good evening gentlemen. Now then, I know manly and heroic gentlemen such as yourselves feel positively naked without your firearms. However, the hotel does have strict rules. How can I help you… would you like two rooms for the night?"

Alden raised an eyebrow, but let Whit do the talking for now, gifting Jonas a knowing look before taking a moment to check the locations of any overt CCTV cameras. The footage from those was going to be useful, he suspected. Hopefully Kindra was safe and sound and working away upstairs in some fancy suite.

"That won't be necessary," Whit said, stepping forward with his weight on the shillelagh. "What we need is a bit of information. There was a Companion as came this way. Point us in her direction and we won't take up any more of your time." His free hand slid into his pocket. "T'would be worth your while."

"Looking for a Companion hmm?" Varrick winked coyly at Whit and rested one hand on his hip. "Oh, my dear, you missed your chance. There was a Companion here around midday, but sadly she left the hotel less than an hour after she arrived. It was before my shift, I didn't even get to see her. Keep your platinum, sweetie, I'm just passing along bar gossip." He looked Whit, Alden, Jonas, and Kinmont up and down. "Though I dare say that you four asking questions would get the barfly regulars' tongues wagging again." He gestured to the weapons locker and raised an eyebrow.

Kinmont gritted his teeth and turned toward the self-check station. Kindra wasn't here. Working on his own, he knew how he would approach finding her whereabouts, but he had a significant problem. Kindra didn't know or trust him, despite their familial bond. He needed these three men who were Kindra's friends. Especially Jonas whom Kinmont knew could be trusted to keep a cool head and protect her.

"Did she take a room, Mr. Varrick? If she might be returning, we can wait for her there, or you can point us whither she went and we'll be movin' on." Whit's brow arched in skeptical doubt. "Surely a man of the world like yourself isn't without a clue."

"What do you mean?" Alden demanded, stepping into the mix with a concerned forcefulness in his tone rather than his stature. His frown, that underlying worry, they were real as he was. "What do you mean she left after an hour?! Kindra had an appointment here," he continued, stress fractures kicking into his words as he kept speaking. "Kindra Graham. She had a client. Her appointment was in the register, it'll be on your books too, right?" He placed his hands on the reception desk and directed all his worry at Varrick. "Was she with her client when she left? Did she leave any messages? Maybe for me - Alden Loxley - she promised me she'd be careful." Dark blue eyes looked from Varrick to Jonas and back again. "She promised."

Jonas put a big hand on Alden's shoulder and smiled in an attempt to comfort his blood-brother. "Relax," he said, "we'll find my Mei-Mei." He looked to Varrick and nodded towards Alden. "Known this guy since we were teenagers...takes a lot for him to break down like this. Mei-Mei never came back from her appointment and we're worried." He patted Alden on the shoulder. "Some maybe a tad bit more than others." He smiled at Varrick. "And older brothers tend to get a little more protective than some. So if there's anything you can show us or do that might help us out, we'd appreciate it. Don't wanna have to go and contact the Guild if there's nothing to worry about."

A frown creased the hotel manager's forehead at what sounded like a threat from the older man. But then the outburst from Mr. Gorgeous Blue Eyes, and the touching reassurances made by Mr. Magnificent Physique, made it clear they had the woman in question's best interests at heart. Varrick patted Alden's hand. "There, there, sweetums, let me see what I can find out."

He wasn't exactly calmer, but Alden did rein in the drama a couple of notches at the close Jonas support. The hotel managers shift to slightly optimistic assistant helped a little more too, and the Echo's captain took a few deep breaths and fidgeted for a moment before surreptiously leaning into Jonas' shoulder just a tad. Alden was definitely fearing the worst here, caught somewhere between danger and abandonment and unsure which way to storm.

Varrick logged into the hotel's cortex. "The reservation was made via the companion registry, maximum discretion, so the client's name is not available. But payment was from a bank on Persephone. Ms. Graham checked in as scheduled at noon. I wasn't here at the time, but the notes say that hotel staff observed her leaving the hotel alone with her luggage and getting back into the limousine. No messages, I'm afraid. The day manager checked the room about one o'clock, and it appeared it had not been used at all."

Any doubt in Kinmont's mind about Alden's interest in Kindra was cleared up by the man's reaction to her disappearance, and Jonas' words. Well, ta ma duh. Did she feel the same about Alden? If so, that would explain a lot. He took out the locket he always carried in his breast pocket, opened it to display the twin photos of his wife and Kindra as a child, and held it out to show the hotel manager. "Kindra Graham is my daughter. You said she left in a limousine. Might that be the same limo we saw parked out front?"

"The same," agreed Varrick. "You can find the limo driver in the bar. If you buy him a drink he'll tell you the whole story. He's been telling it all evening." Varrick was quiet a moment, distracted by the cortex, then he turned the screen toward them. "Here is one of the security feeds." In the somewhat grainy video, they could see a tall slim figure in a red dress, face obscured by a veil, walk across the hotel lobby to the entrance carrying Kindra's harp case and bag.

"Why don't you fellers go pay a visit to that limo driver over yonder," Whit suggested. "I'll stay here and keep Mr. Varrick company. He clearly has a wicked tongue and I have an ear to hear."

Alden looked from Varrick to Whit to Jonas and back to Varrick as he made his decision. Yes, he and Jonas needed to talk to the driver, that was a given. But he did feel a minor pang of curious doubt at leaving the Shepherd with the hotel manager. Unable to believe violence was due here though, Alden nodded, and ducked out from under Jonas' supportive presence. "C'mon then," he decided as he spoke. "Let's hear this story..." And he was off at a fast pace towards the hotel bar as Varrick directed.

Kinmont nodded to the two younger men. "I'll stay behind here in case Varrick needs a chaperone." Moments ago, Whit had implied the four of them intended to harm Kindra and would harm Varrick if he didn't help. Why? He gave Whit his practiced, affable smile. "We can review more surveillance video."

Varrick hesitated to agree, it was against hotel protocol to allow unauthorized individuals access to video surveillance. But since a Companion's safety was involved, the consequences to their business could be devastating. "I can allow that, but I must supervise your access."

Jonas was watching the video a little more intently than he probably should, being grainy and all. "Um, yeah, I'll...I'll be there in a minute, Alden...." His voice trailed off. Something wasn't setting well with the former mercenary's gut. He'd worked closely with Kindra long enough to pick up on some of her subtle cues. Which had in turn, helped with being her personal body guard. "Right there," he said, pointing to the harp case, "Kindra is left handed. I should know, I taught her how to shoot a pistol. And I know that harp case is damn heavy. She'd be carrying it in her dominant hand. Her left hand." He was about to mention that the dress didn't sway like Kindra did, but he'd already played the 'big brother' card. And that would be awkward.

Kinmont rubbed his chin and looked closer. Jonas was right… the person in the video might not be Kindra.

"Uh huh..." Whit arched his brow high and wide. "Reckon there's anything else you'd better tell us, Mr. Varrick?"

Busy with calling up the video feeds, Varrick gave Whit a saucy, but distracted, wink. "For a thank you I'd prefer a bouquet of daisies and bachelor buttons rather than roses." Behind the counter, a large vid-screen that had been displaying a series of advertisements for local restaurants flickered and changed to six partitions displaying the current feed from different areas of the hotel. The front entrance, the rear deliveries entrance, the stairwell, the lift, and two angles on the lobby in which they could see themselves.

"These are the main camera views. And before you ask," said Varrick, his gaze settling on Whit to give him a more direct answer to his open-ended question, "the hotel does not have video surveillance in any of the guest rooms. We would lose our certification. However…" he leaned toward Whit and lowered his voice. "The day manager fired one of the staff today for placing a personal device in the Companion's bedroom." Varrick turned his back to the lobby camera, took a personal cortex from his pocket, and played a video that showed Kindra wearing the red dress but without her veil, walk into the bedroom, look around, then walk out. "That's all there is. She must have been in the suite's sitting room the rest of the time."

Being no stranger to sleight-of-hand himself, Whit knew proverbial prestidigitation when he saw it. "Alright now, enough of this back and forth méngbì. Take the recording back to the beginning when the lady arrives and let it play from there to when she leaves. No more skipping around. We know what we're looking for."

Varrick regarded Whit drily. "Make that bouquet gerbera daisies and blue bachelor buttons." The screen flickered, and then displayed the same camera angles. The most dramatic change was in the lobby view, now partially lit by the sun, and full of people. After about three minutes by the time stamp, Kindra could be seen walking through the lobby doors, wearing a red dress and veil, and carrying her harp case in her left hand. The limo driver followed her to the reception desk and set her suitcase next to her. A few minutes later, a man in a suit picked up her suitcase and walked her to the lift. "That is the day manager," commented Varrick, "all very routine." Once the lift doors opened and they stepped in, the two could be seen on the lift-view screen, until they stepped out. The day manager returned to the lift four minutes later, and returned to the lobby. "Now what? Do you want to skip ahead to when the Companion leaves?"

The vid was still running, and in the lobby view a well-dressed middle-aged woman accompanied by a slim young man and flanked by two muscular, body-guard type women approached the lift.

"Stop it right there," said Kinmont. He'd been silent, quietly observing and taking a backseat to this amateur intelligence gathering. "Hold that lobby view and timestamp on your desktop screen, then fast-forward to just before the person in the red dress emerges from the lift, then normal speed."

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Meanwhile, over in the hotel bar, Alden hadn't needed to work hard to find the limo driver. Like many others before him, the Echo's captain purchased the required drink and - standing upright - leant against the end of the bar to listen to this promised verbal tale unfold for the nth time. Impatience coloured Alden's face, but his stance was still easy enough to reassure any others present that he didn't intend to draw either of the two weapons visible about his person. His trust in Jonas was implicit with regards any info to be gleaned from surveillance and Alden wasn't thinking past Kindra's safe return to even consider the entirety of Whit's potential.

"C'mon then, let's hear it," he nudged, avoiding any imbibing of beverages himself.

The limo driver reached for the newly delivered drink, corralling the glass with both hands to avoid spillage, and gave his benefactor a sloppy grin. "Why, thank ya. You wanna hear about that companion, eh?" He lifted the drink to his mouth and drank, then started to list to one side as he set it down again, but caught himself by holding onto the bar with his other hand. "Usual like, my passengers come and go from the Sub… Subliiime Nim… the Hotel. Ain't too often I get a Companion fer a fare, ya know? But today, I got a re-ser-va-tion by wave, pickup at the port. I'm expectin' a fine corvette ship, but no, I pull up ta the coordinates an' it ain't nuthin but a beaten-up ol' firefly."

Clearly this fella had indeed been selling his story for booze, considered Alden. Hopefully he had just enough sober in him to repeat the tale one last time. He did chuckle at the description of Fortune's Echo though. "Well, I consider her to be a mighty fine ship," he noted out loud, though the driver didn't pause for comment or argument.

"But then the Companion walks out all decked out in slinky red. She nods ta me all veiled grace and fanciness, and gets in the limo's back seat with that big case and leaves the little suitcase to me. Didn't say a thing all the drive here, sittin' in the back all formal, like a princess instead of... well, you know. I walked her inside, bringin' her suitcase, and waited until the manager escorted her upstairs."

Sounded legit so far, Alden thought. Kindra was always more worried about the harp case than anything else. Quiet, formal and introspective. Maybe, he wondered, she was missing him already. Or maybe just focused on the paying client.

"Lo and behold, not an hour later she knocks on the limo's window. I'd been, uh… takin' a break… in the back. I jump on out, and she drops the suitcase and that big case – damn heavy it was - at my feet and climbs back in, hurried-like. So I load her luggage into the boot and ask her where she wants to go. She says two words - train station. So, I drive her to the train station. I tried askin' questions but she jus' shook her head an' didn't answer. I offered to carry her luggage inside, but she put the two cases on a trolley and went on inside." The driver shakes his head, throws back the last of his drink, and slurs, "I figure her client stood her up. Got a better, close-up look at her on the second trip, an' somethin' a-lackin, if ya know what I mean. If'n you're lookin' fer paid companionship, I be a-recommendin' Sunny Delights."

Alden chuckled at the 'break in the back' comment, but frowned darkly at the follow-up comment. "She dropped her cases on the street?" He pressed for confirmation. "Both of them?" That was weird. What the hell had Kindra so flustered she wasn't thinking of her harp.... a worrying train of thought started trundling into Alden's brain. No polite request, no please and thank you. "What do you mean - something was lacking? Was she scared? Angry?"

And why the hell wouldn't she have contacted him, or just come straight back to Echo? Why was there no message, no communication, no Kindra?

The limo driver nodded to confirm his handling of the Companion's luggage, and knocked back the rest of his drink. He stared at Alden with inebriated slowness and considered the man's queries. Nobody else had questioned his story this way. "No… not scared. Not angry. Huh… I'd guess it was more like nervous. And… uh… you're gonna think this is weird, but…" He leaned unsteadily toward Alden. "On the way to the hotel she smelled good. Really good. That's why I got in the back after walkin' her in. On the way to the train station she smelled… different." He shrugged and cast a covetous look to Alden's untouched drink.

Luckily for the driver, Alden's focus was heavy on the Kindra-being-missing and light on the back-seat-alone-time. The Echo's captain didn't linger in conversation now, but shoved his drink into the other man's hands and high-tailed it right back to Jonas and Whit in the lobby.

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"We gotta go," was Alden's opening statement as he planted himself heavily between Shepherd and Blood-Brother, urgency wrapped uncomfortably about his words. "Kindra might've come in here for a client, but she sure as hell didn't leave with the limo driver." He glared at Varrick. "You have cameras on the other exits?"

"Right there on the large-screen, Sweetums," murmured Varrick. The large screen behind the reception counter was still partitioned into six fast-forwarding views within the hotel: the front entrance, the rear deliveries entrance, the stairwell, the lift, and two angles on the lobby. The displays abruptly slowed to normal speed. "Here we are, just before the Companion leaves the hotel, as requested."

Once again in a lobby view, they could see a person wearing a red dress and carrying Kindra's harp case and suitcase emerge from the lift and walk across the lobby. At the same time, in the stairwell view, they could see the four people in the stairwell. A slim person in trousers and a white button-down shirt, face obscured by a large hat, was apparently unable to walk and was carried down the stairs supported on both sides by two muscular women. The three were followed by a well-dressed middle-aged woman. The four reached the ground floor and exited the stairwell. A moment later all four appeared briefly in the rear deliveries feed, then they were gone.

"Yeah, we gotta go. This ain't sittin' right in my gut," said Jonas. He turned to Varrick. "Do 'ppreciate your help in all of this." He gave the man a nod and a smile.

"Much obliged." Though Whit wasn't one for flowers like Varrick had asked, he did spare a cred he flipped toward the man. "We were never here."

In a rescue-mode rush to head out the door, Alden caught himself mid-step, hand grabbing the doorframe. He looked directly back to Varrick and rolled his eyes. "We don't know where we're going to," Alden spoke his realisation out loud with a small measure of chagrin wrapped about his tone.

"Varrick - you know any of those folks from the stairwell?" Since they seemed like a fine place to start eliminating suspects. And before the other man could immediately confirm or deny, Alden pushed on through his expectation of the other man's first response. "Or do I need to get in touch with the Companion Registry Team, get their people on this?"

Expression smooth, Varrick considered the question. Three of these men had personal connections to the missing Companion and had asked convincingly for his help, and he was glad to give it as long as helping didn't put hotel guests in danger. None of the four were local, since everyone in town knew who the woman in that vid was. But no way in hell was he sending four armed and dangerous men Ginny Angel's way. He'd be putting too many innocent lives at risk. "You'd better contact the Companion Guild then, Honey. Shall I send you a wave if I hear anything?"

"Fine," Alden's voice had an edge to it now. Impatience. "Don't bother," he told Varrick, a little unfairly, but Alden was tired, worried and frustrated now.

"I think I know who that woman is, or was," said Kinmont. There was something familiar about that woman, and he'd been searching on his cortex, trying to figure it out. He held up the display showing a younger version of her and a man, both in formal attire. "Here she is with James Buccleuch. She was a Companion, by the name of Genevieve Stanford. Likely going by another name now."

"Wellll, little Jimmy B. runnin' around again," said Jonas. "Figures."

"Buccleuch, you say?" Whit's cobalt eyes turned stone-cold. "My but don't that change things..."

Alden stepped out of the way to answer an incoming call on his cortex, instantly frowning as Drake's voice sounded in his earbud. "Say that again?" the Echo's captain's voice echoed in the wide space of the hotel foyer. "What do mean you've got Kindra's harp?" He added, as he stepped a little further away to listen to his brother's explanation.

Without apology, Whit held out a folded piece of paper taken from the hotel desk's stationary pad. The old man's frozen stare thawed not a bit despite the seemingly playful waggle of his eyebrows.

Stepping back from the short conversation with his brother, Alden looked up to see the shepherd's eyebrow action and frowned. "For me?" He asked as he took the paper from Whit's hand and flipped it open. Written on the previously hidden side was a name and some numbers that made some kind of sense to Alden, but he didn't have what he figured was the right book handy right now.

Ezekiel 25:17?

One raised eyebrow. One unasked question. And then a sigh and his face darkened in overt anger.

"If that's about killing, count me in," said Alden. "James has Kindra."

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