Olympe Viola Reese turned smoothly into the car park of the Police Department, found a slot next to a Tesla, and plugged her Vespa Elettrica into the power point to charge.

It was her first day on the new job. She had arrived early, to be sure of making her time despite the fact that it was day 4 of Shark Week, and she wanted to check the powder room facilities before any crisis could arise. She was dressed very carefully, light make-up, simple gold studs in her ears, and her favourite French blue trouser suit over a plain white blouse and flat heel boots, a handle bag with shoulder strap for her girl stuff. Her S&W Shield 2.0 in 0.40 caliber was clipped into her waistband under her jacket skirt.

Having cleared security Olympe strode confidently to the onboarding interview with her new boss.

“Tell me about yourself, Ms Reese. There is no doubt you have experience. How much undercover work have you done?” Henderson asked, and offered her a glass of water. She took a sip to gain time to compose her response.

“Thanks for your compliment on my CV, Mr Henderson. To flesh out what the paperwork says, I worked for a private agency in London for two years after graduating. We did a lot of financial fraud cases, which depended on gathering inside information and doing analysis of the accounts.

“In one of them I had to be a secretary. That was easy, because it was a rather old-fashioned kind of firm. All the directors were men, and they liked the junior female staff to show a pretty leg. I got the job for my high heels as much as my office skills. That was okay, I can play at being a girly-girl, in fact it's fun sometimes, and useful."

She gave a sunny smile.

"Their security was lax, passwords on Post-it notes, that kind of thing. It wasn’t hard to get into their secret files. One day I took in a spare micro-SD in a dual-sim smartphone, swiped all the important data onto it and swallowed it before going home, just in case they wanted to check my handbag on the way out. I got the chip back the next day, with the help of a colander.”

Judging by the moue of distaste which crossed Olympe’s face, that had not been a pleasant task.

"Anyway, we got them. I did a few more like that. I was good at playing the ditzy blonde. You let men think you’re an airhead, and it’s surprising what you can get away with."

“What other kind of undercover work have you done apart from office jobs?” Henderson asked.

“There was a case where we investigated a head patting cafe.”

“Head patting cafe!?”

“I know, right? It was run by some Japanese people, of course. They catered to tourists during the day, and expense account businessmen in the evening. The concept was you got a meal or maybe just coffee, and for an extra fee, someone would pat your head. I know it sounds odd, that’s why we were sent in to take a look. The landlord had a idea that maybe it was a front for something in the vice line, either prostitution or drugs, or both. Like happens sometimes with Karaoke boxes."

She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way.

“We rented an office opposite to do surveillance, traced their contacts, checked all the public paperwork and so on, but we got nothing. We decided we had to put someone inside. I managed to get hired, partly because a lot of Japanese men really go for a tall blonde. I hadn’t learnt Japanese yet, but they were fine with English and French. I did their training course, and became a star head patter. When I was trusted I was able to snap pics of their accounts and so on, which I just uploaded to the cloud and erased from my phone immediately. In the end the whole thing was completely innocent. They were just a bunch of oddballs who believed they could make the world a better place by patting people’s heads. They took it very seriously. I think there’s something in it, actually."

She smiled at the memory of the odd but satisfying job of being a professional head patter. That strange case had triggered her interest in Japan, which eventually led her to spend a year there learning the language.

“For another different example, my last big case involved a casino. I had to get a job as a bunny girl, would you believe? I mean, I’ve got the legs but not the bust, really. The costume has a padded bodice, so it worked out okay with the right bra. You would be surprised what a girl can do with the right bra, well, maybe not I guess, you look like you've been around. I’ve got a pic if you want to see it.”

She flips through her smartphone album and shows off a photo of three bunny girls.

“I’m the one in the dark blue outfit.”

It hardly looks like the same girl as the pixie haircut blonde being interviewed. The bunny girl’s hair is radically darker and longer, her heavy make-up changes the face, and her bust seems… completely adequate.

“I did the bunny gig because the other girl detectives flatly refused. I had to shave my armpits and legs. That was a nuisance because I don’t normally bother. I was a cocktail waitress, so I could go all over the place, taking and delivering orders. There are plenty of leg men in the world, though, and I got attention despite not being impressive up top. I wore a lightweight digital recorder under the wig, and that's how we got a lot of the basic evidence, clues that lead us to more detailed stuff. We nailed them good. When it was over I kept the bunny outfit as a souvenir."

It was impossible to see if Olympe’s legs were currently shaved or not, owing to her trousers and boots which covered them totally.

“That was my last case with the agency, because I made enough from the fees and reward money to take a year off. I went to Tokyo to live with my brother and his wife, to learn Japanese. I did some head patting on the side, to keep my hand in, and it was good for language practice too. That was in a hostess club in Kabukicho, which sounds kind of sleazy, but I stayed out of that side of things. It was mostly pouring drinks and listening to drunk businessmen talk about their crappy day. I got a lot of invitations but I didn’t take them up. I had a Japanese boyfriend and stayed faithful, until I went home and left him."

She paused, took another sip of water and regarded Jason evenly.

“What kind of undercover work do you mostly do, Mr Henderson?”

Olympe Viola Reese was working undercover again. Her new temporary boss, the target in other words, was a rather sleazy Japanese businessman called Suzuki who had possible yakuza links and an eye for tall blondes in miniskirt suits, which was how she got the job as much as for her language skills.

At the end of her first week, Suzuki wanted to take Olympe to late night Karaoke, “to help form a good working relationship with his new colleague,” he smarmed but she knew those tricks from her time in Kabukicho, where she hostessed for money and language practice, and to keep her head patting skills sharp. You never go to a Karaoke box with a horny boss unless you actually want to be groped at the very least. The individual sound-proofed rooms are very handy for assignations, and cheaper than Love Hotels, which is why so many Japanese high school students lose their virginity on a sofa to the unvoiced track of a recent pop hit.

*There’s a fething limit to this job* she thought, and suggested instead they visit a pole-dancing club, an idea he was very pleased with. She managed to spend a lot of Suzuki-san’s expense account enjoying the athletic gyrations of the dancing girls, while quietly pouring most of her drinks into a convenient pot-plant. Sometimes it was quite handy being bisexual. She wondered if she should take up pole-dancing, it was supposed to be good exercise, especially for the core muscles.

Still, she had to keep sweet-talking and flattering Suzuki in a mixture of his bad English and her good Japanese, until she got the necessary info recorded on the minute digital audio unit hidden in her wig. To ensure he would not remember spilling those clues, she mixed whisky highballs and matched him drink for drink. Luckily he already had a good start on her.

By 4 a.m. the target was only semi-conscious and she didn’t have to keep knocking his paws away, which was good because he had this joke move where he whipped his hand off her thigh just as she slapped, so she ended up hitting herself. She took $50 from his wallet and poured him into a taxi with instructions to deliver him to his long-suffering wife in the suburbs. She composed a brief, secure report to her controller, attached the audio file, and headed for a place where she could get a non-alcoholic drink and something to eat.

Sadie’s Diner beckoned, the kind of joint where Olympe had spent a surprising amount of time since she became a detective, because you could get refuelled at any hour of day or night, and sometimes you met some interesting people. It was a sort of waystation. Travellers bound on all types of errands, devious, weird, horrific or mundane, met and mixed for a spell, and perhaps sparked some change in each others’ lives. Plus, there was a professional angle to it. If you kept your ears open, you could learn all sorts of stuff about what was going on.

Bonfire Night / Fireworks


The disaster at the vampire ball was all over the local Twitterverse, thanks to reports from numerous bystanders. Some anonymous rich bitch had reserved the entire heritage fairground on the edge of town for a big, invitation only Halloween party. The well-heeled guests wore elaborate costumes, drank blood-themed cocktails, and cavorted among the carousels and side-show kiosks.

Something went badly wrong, or maybe it was deliberate. At any rate the fair caught fire. The flames jumped quickly from one dry wooden ride to the next. Panicked revellers fled in their fancy dress; vampires, werewolves, James Bond, a stage magician in top hat and tailcoat, a monochrome film noir detective towing a sexy red devil girl. The images were blurry, badly exposed due to the hellish, flickering infra-red.

The cosplay refugees dashed past the onlookers, refusing all offers of help, and dispersed swiftly and guiltily into the night. Fire and Rescue Service crews were on site now, searching the ashes for human remains and traces of accelerant.

Pia strongly suspected a scam. The carnival company was known to be financially deep underwater. The management's plan to turn the site into a novelty wedding venue had been an expensive failure. Business premises with desperate owners have an odd tendency to 'go on fire' of their own accord. She decided to reach out to the insurers and offer her professional services. She checked their contact details, and sent an introductory email.

It was sad news despite the opportunity for more work. She had visited the place on a lazy summer afternoon. It reminded her of the Hanayashiki funfair in Asakusa, where she and Hisashi went for a late spring date. They larked like children on the old-fashioned rides, calling out their delight in Japanese and French. After a marvellous dinner and wine at Les Deux Magots in Shibuya, they walked hand in hand up Dogenzaka Hill to Hotel Peach Pie, where a two hour ‘rest’ was 6,500 yen.

After joyful sex, Hisashi suddenly and seriously asked Olympe to marry him. She wept -- with joy he thought, and he hugged her tenderly -- but then she refused. Shocked, he asked why. She said she had decided a month ago to return home. He burst into a hot flood of tears. Sobbing, he tried his best to convince her to stay, reminding her of the wonderful times they had spent together, predicting the future they could have, a house, a baby, but she would not be persuaded. She was young and foolish. She wanted to go back to the detective life.

Next he blamed her for stringing him along. Olympe defended herself, though she knew she was in the wrong because it was her choice to prolong the affair in bad faith. There is no anger like unjustifiable anger. She flew into a rage. They left the hotel shouting furiously at each other in a mixture of English, French and Japanese, to stalk off in opposite directions.

She never saw him again. There was no chance for a change of mind, a reconciliation. Angry and hopeless, Hisashi threw himself in front of an express train that same lonely night, a bitter reproach to Olympe’s thoughtlessness.

*It was my fault. All my fault. Hikaru warned me not to break a boy's heart just for some holiday fun. It's the worst thing I've ever done.*

Pia looked at her tired face in the mirror. A tear drew a dark furrow of eyeliner down her cheek, like a dead rocket, spent of joy, trailing smoke out of the festive sky.

Mizu Shobai


The meeting room door opened. A civilian lady clerk came in, followed by an east asian looking young man in a smart suit and tie.

“Chief Detective Davis, this is Mr Komai from Tokyo.” The clerk went out, leaving the Japanese man standing at attention. His face seemed cool and impassive, but it was just the result of massive jetlag combining with a natural Japanese reticence to cover up his nervousness. Tokyo is 15 hours ahead of Chicago. His body thought it was around four in the morning.

Olympe did a double-take at the name and stared at the newcomer with wide eyes. Before Ms Davis could introduce the man she broke out in rapid Japanese.

“Komai-san! Doshite koko kitan desu ka?”

“Hikoki de,” he returned with a light smile.

“Nande sonna joudan to itte kai! Doshite ‘tte, doshite?” Her tone of voice sharpened and the words rattled like hailstones.

“Chicago de shigoto ga aru yo ni. Boku ga keikan da yo na.”

“Mou wakatta… Da kedo… Nan da yo! Atashi no koto no wa?” Pia almost stamped her foot in annoyance at Komai’s flippant responses.

“Gomen, hontou ni gomen. Reese-san ni bikkuri o suru no yotei ga nakatta jan. Sumimasen.” He bowed to her. “Chicago ni wariaterareta. Koukan no purogramu da na.”

Pia pouted and sniffed a sharp, audible breath. Her face told of a girl on the brink of a bad snit. Then she recovered her composure, but her eyes were twinkling with water. She turned to Ms Davis, blinked twice and bowed her head.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for my outburst. I knew Mr Komai in Tokyo. It was a shock to see him here suddenly.”

Olympe waited silently to be dismissed. Her exchange with Takayuki had been out of line in all respects. Her mind was in turmoil.

*Did Taka-kun follow me to Chicago? What does it mean? I don’t know what I want to say to him. He’s going to be a detective here? We’ll be colleagues. He might even sit at the empty desk next to mine…*

Jason spoke to Takayuki in rudimentary Japanese, greeting him.

*Jason’s trying his best to welcome the new guy,* she thought. *I must support him however I can.*

Her mind began to calm. She anticipated rebukes from Jason and Ms Davis but she figured she could plead the excuse of her shoulder wound, and they would make allowances. As a precaution she pinged a quick text message of apology to Jason, then wished she hadn’t because it seemed impersonal and evasive not to face him. Her mind wandered somewhat as she waited for orders.

*My shoulder hurts! Can’t we have a coffee break? I need a wee. Is Shark Week really over?*

* * * * *

Davis dismissed everyone without telling Pia off. Jason took Taka-kun to start getting him on-boarded. Pia quickly returned to her desk via the ladies’ lavatory and the coffee room. She arrived minus a panty liner, because it turned out Shark Week was not quite over, which was bad, but she was up a black coffee and a free cinnamon roll, which was good. The first thing she did was to take a paracetamol for her shoulder, then she booked an unmarked police town car for the afternoon, and began to search flights and hotels for Paris and Beirut. It didn’t take long to put together some useful information. She copied it into a file for later use.

Finally Pia updated her notes on the De La Croix case, then she was at a loose end, waiting for Jason to come back with Taka-kun. She stood looking out of the window at the distant lake shore, wondering where Jason and Taka-kun had gone, if they were talking about her.

* * * * *

Jason left Pia to take care of the administrative duties of the case because he didn’t like paperwork and he knew that she would cut through it like a machete. He took Komai along with him in his car to Stan's Donuts for a morning coffee and some donuts. Asking one of the staff for a tough guy cappucino and six assorted donuts to share, he grabbed a quiet corner table and brought out a sheaf of official forms, firearms license, concealed carry permit and so on, already filled in and needing to be reviewed and signed by the Japanese detective. Komai asked for ‘hot coffee’ and was given a medium size cup of black filter, which satisfied him.

"So Komai-san, what brings you to the Chicago police department? What makes you ideal for this job? You and Olympe, or Pia as I like to call her, have known each other for a while, so it seems. Are you here on your own, or with family? Did you have a relationship with Pia before, or know her from college?” he asked. “I know some of these questions may seem personal in nature, but I hope you understand that it is my duty to ask them. It’s part of the process of getting to know new recruits.”

Komai drank half his cup quickly before replying. He was feeling very sleepy and needed the caffeine.

“Yes, Sergeant Henderson, I understand. I am here because the Tokyo Metropolitan Police wants to improve its criminal investigations. For a long time there have been various difficulties in areas such as gathering of evidence and sharing of information locally and nationally. Therefore a number of detectives have been sent to various police forces in the USA and Europe, to learn new methods. I have to work in Chicago for a while, understand the way things are done here, and write a report for my superiors. I was selected for this duty partly because I can speak English fairly well, also I have a good record of investigations, and I have no family to bring with me. Eventually I will go home.”

He paused to eat a bite of donut.

“I met Reese-san… I will call her Olympe as that is the style in Chicago. I met Olympe in a hostess bar in Kabukicho. That is an adult entertainment district where there are many businesses such as massage parlours and 'pink salons' where men can have their urges relieved in certain ways in exchange for cash. This is the Japanese style of sex industry. We think it is better to have it legally controlled than operate in the shadows. The police are involved in checking and licensing that kind of adult business. I have done such visits as part of my duty. However it is not always successful.”

Komai looked directly at Jason for a moment, trying to judge the American’s reaction, then sipped more coffee and continued his story.

“Kabukicho is not only about the sex industry. There are also many cocktail bars, restaurants, music venues, and hostess clubs. At a hostess club you pay to sit and talk with pretty women. They are dressed in gorgeous party dresses. They wear full make-up, jewelry, and elaborate hairdos. They pour your drinks, listen to your troubles, and flirt with you. There are also “host” clubs, where handsome young men in smart suits perform the same services for ladies. Everyone understands that it is a game, not real, just playacting. After an hour or two the client leaves, and another one arrives, and the girl is just as pleasant and flirty with her new guest as with the first one.”

He finished his coffee.

“I went to the hostess bar for two reasons. One was to check that everything was being done correctly. That all the girls were over 20, for instance. The other was to fish for information that might be useful in certain criminal investigations. Hostesses often hear secrets from their clients. Sometimes they may pass these details on to the police, depending on their relationships in the network of legal and sub-legal authorities which exists in the… We call it the mizu shobai, the ‘water trade’. That is the name for the late night world of adult pleasures of many kinds, from a simple cocktail bar to a swingers’ sex club. The governing network of the mizu shobai involves the police, the yakuza, local government officials, loose groupings of mama-sans, an association of Korean owners, and others. There are allies and enemies, with family and social obligations in all directions. It is very complicated, and very Japanese. It may surprise you, but it is not usually very violent. Japan is a peaceful country. However, people who step on the wrong toes too hard have been known to disappear.”

The waitress came and refilled Komai’s cup. He thanked her with a smile and nod of his head, and sipped the hot black coffee.

“I had heard about a new hostess, a foreigner, a tall blonde, whose Japanese was not good but she could speak French and English. It was Olympe, of course. I interviewed her. She had taken the job for fun, to practice her Japanese. She was popular despite her low language skill because she was very charming, and many Japanese men like to talk with a tall blonde foreign girl. It is quite a popular fantasy. I found that Olympe understood the work well. She was sly, manipulative, very good at flirting. She knew how to read a man and take advantage of him. These may sound like character defects, but they are very good skills for a hostess. As I said before, it is a game. The client knows the hostess is only pretending to be concerned about him, but if she does it convincingly and sincerely for the time he is with her, then he will go away happy, and probably he will come back to see the same girl. I do not mean to say that Olympe is a bad person because she is like that. She is also kind, loyal, hard-working, generous, brave, and she believes in standing up for justice. That is why she became a detective in the first place, when she was in London.”

Komai ate the rest of his donut. Jason offered another, which he accepted with a smile.

“I visited Olympe a number of times to get to know her. In the end I recruited her as an informer. She did not accept any money for the work. She did it to help the fight against sex trafficking, which is a problem in Tokyo involving girls from many countries such as China and Romania. Olympe gave me some clues which were important in a trafficking case. This got her into some danger, I don’t think she realised how bad. I could not have a pretty blonde foreigner vanish and turn up dead in an oil drum six months later, so I had to get her out. She had to leave the country and let things cool down. This caused a sudden break-up with her Japanese boyfriend. He took it very badly and unfortunately he committed suicide. I felt very sorry, though really Hisashi-san overreacted to the situation. If he had waited, things would have come back to normal. Olympe blamed herself, though. We have rounded up the gangsters involved, and Olympe is now able to return to Japan safely.”

He looked quite sombre at the memory of that dreadful time.

“So, Sergeant Henderson, now you know the story of Olympe in Tokyo. I am sorry to have spoken for so long. Perhaps we should look at these documents now. I am sorry but I think I may fall asleep if I do not have some more coffee. The jetlag is very bad.”

Snowed In at the Beach

*I’m too good at this undercover stuff,* Olympe told herself, *That’s why they keep choosing me. Another anime convention, at some place called the Silverquill Beach Resort Hotel, and the target is [REDACTED FOR LEGAL REASONS]. Thank feck it’s not some ski resort or whatever, I hate the bloody mountains! At least I don’t have to be a bunny girl again and shave my legs. My Miraculous Ladybug costume still fits perfectly! With luck I will find another hunky Cat Noir to hook up with...*

She fell asleep in the taxi, and eventually was decanted, yawning in a snowstorm, in front of a wide two-storey hotel. It looked pretty hokey, inspired by log cabin design. Olympe paid the massive bill, pocketed the receipt for expenses, and trudged to the entrance towing her luggage.

*It’s a bit fecking parky! What’s all this snow for anyway, where’s the sun? I’ve never seen such a useless beach resort!”

The storm lifted for a minute and the view cleared briefly, revealing a broad expanse of steep, pine-clad white slopes and the edge of a mighty precipice, beyond which only the void and the howling wind could be sensed.

OH CRAPPP!1!

The acrophobic detective closed her eyes, put her head down and ran into the hotel’s lobby; she believed her life depended on it! Fortunately the doors opened automatically, though her thick, blue-black wig would have cushioned her head from an impact. Once inside, the feeling of warmth and enclosure began to sooth her spirits. She squared her shoulders and approached the reception counter with a cheerful smile.

“Hello… Samantha. Please would you check me in? Here’s my voucher.”

“I’m sorry, Ms, um, Ladybug but you’re in the wrong hotel. This is the Silverquill Ridge Resort, not the Silverquill Beach.”

“Great. Okay. Have you got any rooms?”

“Yes, Ms Ladybug, but only the cheaper ones at the back, with no mountain view.”

“Perfect! Please check me in. Here’s my driver’s licence for ID, and bill everything to this card.”

Olympe dispensed $10 notes liberally, because it was all on expenses, and a few minutes later she was safely installed in a nice suite with a minibar and no view. She connected her mil-spec smartphone to the hotel’s WiFi network and opened a VPN channel. No connection. The storm had severed the hotel’s links to the outside world.

“Brilliant! Brilliant! Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!!!”

Olympe stood at her window with a glass of Glenfiddich 15yo Solera Reserve, watching the storm whip snow through the evergreens.

*It’s like that scene in Aliens, or er, IDK, Fargo or something... Ice Station Zebra,* She shivered and put her glass down. *What’s that one in the mountain hotel? Kubrick. Jack Nicholson. -- ‘Here’s Johnny!’ -- Anyway, no use getting pissed, I need to figure out what to do.*

She posted messages on different social media apps and email, hoping something might get through to her controller, then revised her costume. She doffed her Ladybug suit and put on her Marinette outfit of pastel pink Capri jeans, white tee-shirt and unbuttoned dark grey blazer. Apart from the wig and coloured contact lenses it was a lot more ordinary than the scarlet and black Ladybug suit.

*The storm might last a couple of days. Room service is always rubbish. I’ll go and get something decent to eat and drink.* She went down to the bar, to see what other refugees from the storm there might be.

Pia had the odd talent of speaking English with a French accent when she wanted to. She got it from her mother, who had never lost her native Parisian diction. She could also speak French with a British accent. These foreign cadences were sometimes useful for disguises, and could be used for flirting with native speakers, who often found them charming.

Now she got herself into character as Marinette, the French teenager who changes into Ladybug to fight evil. She practised wide-eyed expressions, enhanced by anime contact lenses, and tried out some stock phrases in accent: “I shall say zhis only once!” She slotted her Miraculous earrings into place, and slung her natty bag, which contained some useful equipment, over her shoulder.

Once Pia felt fully in role she went down to seek food and drink. The large restaurant/bar area was practically deserted. There were only two other guests there, an older white guy in rather smart clothes, and a younger, tall black woman with straight long hair and piercing eyes. They were sitting apart from each other, which made it difficult to approach either one of them without it seeming a slight to the other.

Pia went to the bar to ask for a small glass of house red wine. The bartender carded her, which pleased her greatly. She wrote a large tip onto the bill and charged it to her room. The wine was average, certainly not bad but Pia decided to order something better if she wanted to drink another glass.

She went to the log fire. It was the type that’s open on all sides with a hood above. Pia leant forwards to warm her hands, which gave her companions a view of taut butt wrapped in pink denim, then turned around to warm her backside and see if they made any reaction.

“How lovely a fire! It is so, so cold outside. I call myself Marinette, I think I am here by an erreur, and now I am attrapped by storm. My phone has no bars.”

A waiter arrived, bringing the black woman a plateful of chili on grilled cheese sandwich. It seemed an odd combination, but Pia reflected on Japanese dishes such as Omurice Curry and Curry Udon.

*It’s so wrong, yet it seems so right! she thought, Perhaps I should have the same… Indians eat lots of curry, so I believe. Is it a dish for hot climates? What is good for snow like this? Her upbringing in temperate regions had not fitted the girl detective for the heat and cold which had to be endured in other countries. In Britain we have an awful lot of weather but it isn’t extreme…*

The storm howled outside the picture windows, thankfully obscuring the view with scurrying snowflakes. Marinette approached the elegant girl.

“Pardonnez moi, Mademoiselle, I am fascinate by your choice of meal. I have to order my own dinner. May I sit and talk with you? Good conversation is the spark of appetite.”

*I just made that up but it sounds pretty cool. Maybe I’m the next Oscar Wilde. Maybe I drank too much Glenfiddich wtf.*

Pia assumed permission and took a seat next to the black girl. She looked for the waiter and ordered a Croque Madame with Chili, a side salad, and a bottle of a hearty Cotes du Rhones. The waiter brought the wine quickly and uncorked it. He poured for Pia and she indicated him to serve her companion too.

“Please allow me to be so bold as to offer you this wine. It is French, very good of course, you will be warmed, we need it, in this climate.”

Marinette’s presentation was wobbling a little. The teenage girl was socially awkward, but Pia was such a flirt she could not help but try and engage with other people.

*Fuccit, I’m out of character. Gud thing we’re not at the anime convention. No-one will notice though, because they aren’t nerds like me.* She smiled and sipped her wine, waiting for her food to arrive. *Goddess, I’m so hungry!* When it came, she tore into the Curry Croque like a starving bear.

“Oui, asseyez-vous, what’s your name? Or should I call you Mademoiselle étrange? I’m iishe. Food is a topic I’m always willing to talk about.” The black girl sipped the rich wine and commented, “Cherries, pear, plum, delicious! ”

Pia nommed the Chili Croque 一 it was surprisingly good 一 and sipped her chonky red wine. iishe had some French, it seemed, though clearly not up to Pia’s native level, so she returned the girl’s sally in her French accented English.

“Ah well, I am supposed to be Marinette Dupard-Cheng, oo is zhe Miraculous Ladybug. I thought zhis will be an anime convention but some’ow I ’ave come to the wrong ‘otel. I wanted to be at the warm beach, I ‘ate zhe cold, cold montagne. Zhere is no point in doing a cosplay now because no-one will understand. My real name is Viola.”

Pia ate slower as the edge came off her appetite. She thought of other unlikely combos: Sushi omelette, spaghetti and Marmite sauce, Steak Tartare with grated chocolate, Brussels sprouts and Roquefort cheese.

“iishe, if you are interest in food, I ‘ave some ideas for other meals.” She explained a few of them. “What do you think? Would the kitchen be complaisant?

There was a discreet commotion among the staff. Service had been slow; now more waiters and maids appeared. They were going around in twos at that pace, just between a fast walk and a jog, you use when you’re investigating a possible emergency and don’t want to alarm the guests. Each pair had a torch and a walky-talky. Obviously a methodical search was in effect. The buddy system and scared faces showed it wasn’t a lost kitten situation.

“Iishe, what’s ‘appening? Is zhere some kind of problème do you sink?

Iishe advised against looking into the trouble but whatever she said, she was only a civilian. Pia felt she had to investigate. *It’s time I did some pro bono work.* It was an important principle of Kuudere detecting.

“I am sorree, iishe, but I must go to put on zhe powder to my nose. I will come back bientot.”

Leaving the rest of the wine she wedged $20 under her plate, and surreptitiously followed a footman and girl receptionist who were just passing. They led her through a Staff Only door, to a service corridor with various cryptically labelled doors. The man opened the first one and went in. Turning to look back down the passage, the girl noticed Pia.

“Who are you? No guests allowed in this area!”

“I came in by erreur, Mademoiselle. Please do not send me back en seul, I am scary of zhis place! May I remain with you, I implore you? You look so kind a personne.”

There was a sudden horrified shout from inside the storeroom.

“fething Hell Amy! You gotta see this. No, you don’t gotta see this, actually. Stay outside.” The guy came out, white as the cliche sheet. “Who’s that kid?”

Pia beamed at the unwitting compliment and tried to maximise her winsomeness with a cute, girlish smile, twisting one toecap on the floor.

“I am zjoost some keed, Monsieur…”

“She’s just some kid, Malcolm. Let her stay with us to be safe. What did you find in there?”

“A body.”

“Jesus!” the receptionist said, “Who is it? Why are they in there? What the feth is going on?”

“I dunno, Amy!!! The face...” Suddenly Malcolm doubled over and retched rancid bile onto the cement floor. Acrid fumes filled the air.

Pia threw open the door. The corpse was only recognisable as a woman because of her skirt. The head looked half ripped off, and the torso savaged as if by a bear. Pia had seen some pretty badly mutilated cadavers during her time with the Chicago department of detectives; this was up there with them. Bears didn’t stash their kills inside locked storerooms, though.

“Feccing great! We’ve got a maniac on the loose.”

Things are getting like that time at the island seaside resort. She’s alone, cut off from the net, with weirdos all around. But this place is worse. A mutilated body, no sunshine, cliffs and yawning voids on every side. No Plan B; her sailor friend with his yacht is over 2,000 miles away, having fun in the Florida Keys with a rich, beautiful heiress. You can't get a yacht up a mountain anyway.

On the other side of the scales, the catering is a lot better here, and someone else is doing the actual grunt work of running the place. And I thanked them, so… IDK, positive karma?

Pia considers whether she should flex her dubious credentials. Her Chicago PD star is genuine, though Colorado is well out of jurisdiction. Her private licenses from Illinois and the London Met might be good for Colorado, she can’t check due to No Internet. *I’ll try using the voice of authority, and keep the badges in reserve.* She turns off her Marinette shyness, faces the staff, and puts steel into her speech.

“Who’s in charge here? Who sent you on this search?”

“Mr Mendoza’s the boss,” says Malcolm, “But he’s just a figurehead. The real work is done by his manageress. She sent us.”

“Where did you get the keys?”

“The key safe.”

“How many keys are there. How many people have a key to this room?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Who would know?”

“Kieran, the janitor. He’s in charge of the keys.”

“Where’s Kieran gonna be?”

“Er, probably cleaning up somewhere, he goes all over the place.”

“You don’t know, then.” Pia turns to the receptionist.

“Amy, can you call Kieran up on your walk-talky?”

“Yes, what shall I say to him?”

“Just tell him to meet you in the lobby in 5 minutes.”

NOT TO BE CONTINUED.

NEW SCENE

As Lucas wobbles drunkenly away from The Outpost he is passed by a kid on her eager way in. He might not recognise her as the girl detective from the Milton-Arcadian hotel bar. That was months ago and she looks very different tonight. Instead of an elegant three-piece trouser suit she’s wearing skin-tight leggings and sports bralette with a snow leopard print, and an oversize varsity jacket on top. It’s white with sky-blue sleeves, collar and hem. The slogans are written in some language which must have come out of Star Wars because it certainly isn’t from Earth.

Pia’s regular go-bag kit of girl and detective necessities is accommodated in a black nylon waistpack slung trendily around her body, inside her top. Her long blonde hair -- actually a wig -- is drawn back into a full, high ponytail which she plans to flail like a weapon. She is topped off with a set of Japanese cat-ear Bluetooth headphones already flashing their LEDs to a beat only she can hear. The soles of her white, high-top sneakers are pulsing in the same rhythm of changing colours, driven by her smartphone. With heavy make-up including a cat nose, and three symbolic whiskers painted on each cheek, she looks like a 16 year old who’s raided her mother’s dressing table.

The catgirl dances up to the bar and slaps down an 11-Coin in exchange for an overpriced 470ml tin of Collective Arts Fest Pineapple Vanilla IPA. To her delight, the bartender cards her. She smiles wide at the compliment, shows her State of Illinois driver’s license for ID, and leaves the change for a good tip. The beer is cold and appealingly fruity. Pia switches off her music and light display to go and listen to the band. She came to get down. She wants to Shuffle, or an appealing partner with whom to throw some shapes.

Milling around the dance floor are a few people Pia recognises. The delectable Felice, owner of long red hair which cries out for styling. She’s looking wan, a bit worried but happy at the same time. She’s with some guy who’s got lush black Celtic curls and they’re dancing pretty close. *She won’t remember me, it was months ago. Good luck to her!*

Nearby is Mae, the vampire hunter from Sadie’s Diner whom Olympe kind of fancied at the time but she’s fixated on Maryellen now, or else the right boi… *Where to find him though? So many bois are so inept, I’m never going to sleep with anyone who can’t dance well, that’s how it all went wrong with Rachel...*

Mae’s throwing mad shapes with another east asian looking girl. They’re having a ton of fun, giggling at their ‘so bad they’re good’ old school moves, until some prick barges through the crowd like a bowling ball not quite making a strike. The floor is littered with fallen bodies and wobbling ex-dancers.

*Fecc! Outrageous. That arsehole needs to get telt. Shall I be the agent of karma?* But she’s not feeling it. She’s here to get jiggy, not get even, and Pia doesn’t believe in getting even anyway, she prefers to get ahead. She plops her half-empty tin next to Mr Feccwit's elbow and heads back to the floor.

The band’s good. They’ve got a kind of laid-back retro vibe which kind of reminds her a bit of Pizzicato 5, if that makes any sense? As long as you don’t want to rave it’s danceable at about 105 bpm. She moves onto the floor and begins to Shuffle at relaxed speed, her sneakers and ears flashing in time.

Pia notices Mae leave the floor abruptly, green around the gills. *I know that feeling, fresher’s week, tequila slammers, what a nightmare...* The band finishes their number and begins preparations for the next one, so she goes over to the smol east-asian looking girl who was Mae’s partner in terpsichorean crime.

“Hi, my name’s Reese,” -- her accent is English -- “Smooth moves by the way, you were burning up the dance floor. I’m not hitting on you, just, look, your friend you were dancing with, she seemed pretty ill just now. Shouldn’t you go and find her, help her? I mean, she’s probably just pissed and talking to Goddess on the big white telephone but… You’ve heard of Rohypnol and stuff like that? You can’t be too careful. I’m going for a beer. If you need my help just ask. If I’m not at the bar I’ll be dancing.”

She goes back to the bar and orders another tin of the rather tasty though expensive IPA, again leaving a good tip. Pia takes a couple of swigs at her beer and turns to Mr America.

"Hey dude, you're kind of a disco traffic hazard. Didn't you notice the members you knocked over, when you crossed the dance floor?"

The big dude slides a cold eye over her face, refusing to answer, and sneers away to pick up his Old Fashioned. If Pia was a boi, high on testosterone and six pints of lager, it would be time to get out in the car park, but she's a girl, high on dance. She mentally shrugs off the snub and necks the rest of her beer in a long, animal gulp.

*Fecc I need a wee!*

The tribute band at The Outpost finished their set. It had been good, danceable music and Olympe was tired. She wanted to stop drinking and get something to eat. Sadie’s Diner beckoned, the only place in town where you could get a well-priced meal at this time of the night, plus there were power sockets. Her headphones and sneakers were low on charge.

*Ms Moon Potato would approve me using someone else’s power,* she thought. The competent accountancy of that severe colleague was the only thing which kept the MPY Agency out of the bankruptcy courts, so Olympe always followed the advice she imagined her old partner would give her about money.

10 minutes later the scantily clad dancing girl bopped through the twin front doors on the last of her headphone battery. The place was surprisingly deserted; there no customers, no waitstaff, no hash slingers behind the counter, only a gently creaking service swing door, which might have been someone just gone out to the rear of the place where she had never been -- *it’s just storerooms and the staff lavatory and things* -- or the wind, if the back door was open for some reason.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

No answer.

She changed into the emergency water shoes she carried in her go bag, put her sneakers and headphones on to charge, and went through the Staff Only door to try and find something to eat.

“Feccing Helleshin!”

The scene which greeted her shocked Olympe to the very core of her soul. A soggy bag of defrosted pre-cut chips --(Translator’s note: French Fries)-- relaxed half-on, half-off the stainless steel counter like one of Dali’s clocks.

*OMG I know these places cut corners but not having a chipping machine? I mean, it’s actually cheaper and easier to buy potatoes in bulk and chip them yourself than rely on frozen stuff which needs a walk-in freezer.*

Like many university students, she had worked part-time in a pub restaurant to eke out her student maintenance loan. Olympe had been front of house staff -- those legs were made for tip trapping, not kitchen portering -- she talked to the bois in the back because she was naturally flirty. Accountancy wasn’t her strongest skill but when something intersected with food, different areas of her brain were activated, French areas, which prized quality as well as value for money. And knife skills. And guys who were good with their hands. Olympe had learnt important life lessons from those canny chefs.

*Such a mess! Hygiene hazard. Can I ever view this place in the same light again?* She began to bustle around, setting the area to rights.

Olympe finished cleaning up and went to haul the rubbish out the back to the dumpster. On the way she found a tall young man reclining against one of the big fridges. He looked a bit peaky. On closer examination she noted serious gunshot wounds to the shoulder and abdomen.

*Okaynotgood!* She plucked a mil-spec smartphone from her bumbag and dialled emergency services, summoning ambulance and police to the diner.

"Hey, man? Hang in there, yeah? Help's on its way. You're gonna be alright." There was no response. She held the man's hand between both of hers. He felt cold, not a good sign.

Just then a nearby toilet flushed, followed by the noise of hand-washing, and some guy came out of the staff bathrooms. Obviously the cook, judging by his kitchen uniform.

"Who the feth're you?" the man blurted, seeing a Snow Leopard Catgirl and a half-dead black guy blocking the passage to the rear door.

"I'm Reese. Who're you?" Her accent was cut-glass English.

"Deano?! I'm the cook on the night shift. You shouldn't be back here. It’s staff only."

"Story of my life, Deano but it's okay, I got permission. You need to stay with this casualty while I check the front of house. Paramedics and police are on their way, so just be chill and stick with this guy. Just... hold his hand, yeah?"

The shocked chef knelt next to the bleeder. Leopard Girl relinquished the casualty to him and sashayed back to the front of the diner. A waitress and another apparent casualty were sharing quality hugs in front of the best leatherette booths.

*WTF!? Where did they come from?*

*I can’t be dealing with this!*

Still half drunk and with zero prospect of the egg banjos she desperately needs, Olympe decides to cut and run before the authorities can arrive and probably tie her up for the rest of the night with annoying questions for a witness statement. She grabs her headphones and sneakers off the charging socket, shoes herself properly and exits stage left.

*Good luck to Deano and the shot guy but I can’t save all the world, I can’t even save myself half the time…*

The night is not yet young. For a semi-sozzled Brit, a kebab or some chips are essential to complete the evening out. Her flashing footsteps take the blondette back towards The Warehouse, a notorious rave venue which usually has a dodgy fast food van parked outside, catering for the sugar-crashed comedown crowd streaming out of the all-night party in the small hours. But there’s nothing, only a line of predatory minicabs.

Olympe doesn’t need a crazy taxi. Even in her current, depleted state she’s still got the wherewithal to haul her own ass back to her little flat. She switches on her headphones, starts a motivational playlist on her smartphone, and pounds pavement with flashing feet and ears until she gains the sanctuary of home.

THE END

PERFUME

They crossed the Champs Elysées and continued down the broad Avenue George V, until they turned into Avenue Pierre 1ere de Serbie, where Creed, the luxurious temple of the perfumier’s art since 1760, welcomed them.

Olympe had done her research online. She already had a good idea of the scents she required. Yet with something so personal as the interaction of the maker’s choice of ingredients with the wearer’s skin chemistry, it was essential to confirm her selections in person. Thinking Jason would be bored, she gave him his newspaper.

First she ordered a huge 500ml bottle of Erolfa, her go-to fragrance, citrus and marine, evocative of sunny Mediterranean coasts of pine and warm stone. It had become her favourite scent, which she wore almost every day.

She began to check other perfumes for different seasons and occasions. Olympe tested carefully with a scent strip, then on her wrist, asking Jason to give his opinion too. After each decision she wiped her wrist clean and cleared her nose by going outside to breathe the winter air. Her final selection comprised three 250ml bottles.

Silver Mountain Water was a light, mentholated fragrance suitable for warmer days. Fresh, boyish even, it promised relaxation and renewal with citrus top notes, and a mid-range of blackcurrant and neroli, layered over a base of sandalwood and musk.

Sublime Vanille combined Bourbon vanilla and tonka beans with Tonkin musk. It was oriental, sensual, provocative, calculated to enhance the wearer’s seductive powers. She anticipated that erotic encounters would proceed from wearing this perfume.

Royal Oud completed the trio. Its complex base of Oud, Sandalwood and Tonkin musk granted authority. Higher layers of lemon, pink pepper and bergamot conveyed elegance. It was equally appropriate for women and men.

All Olympe’s picks were unisex. She felt that only strong floral scents were essentially feminine, and only the most woody, musky combinations, without the relief of citrus, were thoroughly masculine. Between those extremes there was a vast range of sensual experience. The spectrum of desire was so wide and complex that it was silly to try and define it precisely. She refused to be limited in her choices.

There were no prices on display. Her quiet French consultations with the staff, and the discreet presentation of the bill, hid the total cost of her purchases from Jason. He would have been shocked that anyone could spend a month’s pay on perfume.

SADIE'S DINER


Olympe took off her wig and recorder in the cab and stowed them carefully in a tight-packed reusable shopping bag she kept in her purse for exactly this kind of situation.

The taxi dropped her right in the diner’s car park. She gave the driver a good tip from Suzuki-san’s cash, paused to smooth down her pale grey miniskirt suit, because she believed it was important always to be elegant, and went in. She scanned the whole interior, swaying slightly because she was drunker than she had realised. Before she even took a booth she had to go to the powder room for a quick vomit and a big wee. It reminded her of Fresher’s Week, not that great of a memory.

Olympe came out after five minutes, having tidied herself up and neatened her hair. Her physiology demanded caffeine and food. She sat at the counter and ordered a croque madame. Coffee came immediately, washing the nasty dregs of bile from her throat. There was a tired girl looking back at her from the mirror that lined the rear of the service area. Somebody had had a hard night. *I wish I had someone to pat my head.* She had tried patting her own head but it didn’t work. There were no benefits.

The sandwich came and Olympe ate slowly. Her stamina was drained. She had been up for 23 hours and used a lot of nervous energy during the long night, fleecing Suzuki of his secrets. But her youthful resilience began to rally with the help of the croque, one of her favourite meals, and plenty of caffeine. Olympe’s shoulders perked up, her back straightened and she smiled, remembering that the job was done, she had the info and wouldn’t ever have to see that lecherous wolf again, except perhaps in court. She drank more coffee and began to people watch in the mirror.

It was quiet. The radio was off and there was little talk because the few patrons were lost in their thoughts, as Olympe had been for some minutes, concentrating on cleaning her plate.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The whisper came through softly but clearly. Olympe turned to see if it had been directed at her, but obviously not. There was an East Asian looking girl slumped in a booth, nursing herself with a no limits refill mug of coffee which she had spilt over the tabletop. The skin of her arms and face was peppered with little cuts as if she had been dragged through a bramble patch. Even if her torn clothes were the result of modern fashion choices, she most definitely was not okay.

The woman who had whispered sat at the opposite end of the sartorial spectrum, very neatly turned out in a getup which Olympe’s well-tuned eye for style found admirable.

*Though a peplum wouldn’t work with my narrow hips…*

The smart girl’s face was somehow familiar, it tickled at Olympe’s memory… No… No… Yes! A byline somewhere. The redhead was a reporter or journalist of some kind.

“Are you okay?” The scratched up girl returned.

*Goddess, are any of us okay, really?* Olympe asked herself. She wondered what she was observing here, whether it might be a kind of hallucination induced by alcohol, fatigue, and stress. Her gaze flipped between the two other women.

“Um, yeah, no. I think I’m good. Is there anything I can do to help? I don’t mean to pester… You just look a little shaken up,” Ms Smart said quietly, in response to Ms Ragged Goth’s question.

Olympe was a fierce doer, once she got the bit between her teeth, but she needed first to understand what had to be done. She wanted to help, and she did not know how to intervene. She drank coffee and quietly ordered a plate of hot waffles with butter and maple syrup for the East Asian looking girl. She turned back to the counter to observe in the mirror.

Olympe loved a mystery, that was part of why she became a detective rather than taking some mundane office job. She continued to observe the shaken girl, to see what information could be got from her appearance.

*Early to mid-20s. Clothes shabby and torn but that’s a fashion now. No make-up. Bad nails. She doesn’t look like she works in a white collar job. She could be an electrician or something, but if she had a good job she would have a better phone because freelancers rely on them. Maybe she’s a post-grad student, or in a band.

*An odd pattern of fresh, undressed wounds. She hasn’t been to hospital or the police, so she’s probably been involved in a criminal enterprise, or a weird event like an alien abduction. She doesn’t think she’s being chased, though or she wouldn’t be sitting here, but she doesn’t have anyone to call for help.

*Who did she text? Boyfriend. Her bandmates. Maybe it’s someone else involved in this crime. She hopes they got away too. Why didn’t they run together?*

At this point Ms Smart reached a decision. She abandoned her seat and zipped over to join Ms Ragged Goth.

“Joelle,” she declared, “Or Jo, if you prefer. If I had a time machine, I would be the first to offer it. I know what it’s like to want to undo… something.”

By odd coincidence Olympe did have a time machine, at least she could get hold of one but it was a balky, unreliable model. The last time it was used, disaster resulted, sparking an epic rescue quest across space and time which, though it ended happily, convinced everyone involved that meddling with the fundamental rules of the universe was a bad idea. Anyway the battery was flat.

Leaving that aside, Ms Smart now had a name. Olympe Googled it, and quickly filtered the results to find a Ms Joelle [REDACTED], freelance journalist who had written a number of well-researched pieces for various papers and websites but whose career had never taken off.

Jo didn’t like waffles any more than Ms Ragged Goth, it seemed.

Olympe eavesdropped on Mae’s ragged stream of explanation, watching the girl in the mirror. What she said didn’t seem to make sense, but clearly something had really shaken her up so it must make sense to her. She was a witness to something which had really frightened her. She just hadn’t told the whole story the right way for someone else to understand.

It might be nonsense in the end, but a good detective kept an open mind until the evidence was clear. There was a clue to latch onto in the girl’s spiel. Olympe spun on her stool to face the booth with Jo and Mae in it.

“What was the bet?”

That was kind of abrupt, she felt, suddenly. She was tired and losing her edge.

“Sorry to butt in like that but I, er... My name’s Olympe. You can call me Pia if it’s easier. Can I have some of your waffles?”

"Er, yeah? Take 'em if you want 'em."

“Thanks,” she smiled at Mae, and brought the plate back to her seat at the counter. She switched on the digital recorder hidden in her shopping bag, aiming the tiny mic at the booth.

*Pia,* she told herself, *You can let the journalist get the info out of the girl, then you’ll have it too. It just might take a bit longer.*

She started to eat a waffle with her fingers, because it was quieter than cutlery. Her phone app showed the recorder was operating and picking up the conversation. The waveform looked pretty good. The waffles were lukewarm and sticky with maple syrup. It was good there were plenty of serviettes.

*The things I do to get clues.*

*New Challenger Appears!* Pia thought, *He’s HOTTT!*

The tall guy looked like a commando or a secret agent in his completely black outfit. He clearly had all his gak in one sock, unlike Pia herself, who was busy fending off the effect of 24 hours of accumulated fatigue with caffeine and her determination to solve the current mystery. She pushed the half empty plate of waffles away. She had to count her calories because she was drinking too much and not getting enough exercise.

*Don’t worry, liver, you’re going on holiday for at least a week.*

Buffy was another vampire reference, wasn’t it? That old programme which had been popular before Pia was born. Her father loved it, got her to watch it with him on Roku. It was hokey nonsense and a lot of fun. Anthony Head had been her first older guy crush, safe to lust after because he was just a fantasy. He looked like he would be good with his hands. Teenage boys don’t know what to do.

Pia wanted to find out why there was so much vampire stuff going on all of a sudden. Something in Joelle’s newspaper, Mae’s rambling fear, and now this Buffy Cassidy bloke. She started to do some research on her smartphone.

*Anyway, it's not long until dawn.*

Pia’s blue mood began to lift. She was fundamentally an optimist. She had learnt a very important life lesson from her mistakes in her affair with Hisashi, and she was a better person because of it.

*Now I have to deliver. I have to find a good end to the affair with Rachel.*

Some new guy came into the diner and sat down at the counter two spaces away from her. She subtly observed him in the mirror, and drew the quick conclusion from his jagged fumblings with coffee and sugar that he was coming down from something, a pretty common affliction at this time of the morning.

Pia didn’t do drugs herself, unless you count alcohol, adrenaline and the endorphins the body produces naturally in response to exercise, but she knew the signs. It was part of her training. She didn’t like working drug cases because she was ambivalent about the ethics of the whole thing. She actually thought most drugs should probably be legalised within a suitable framework, but as a detective often you have to go where you are sent. The law is the law, though it has soft edges a kuudere detective can navigate on a somewhat meandering course at times.

She checked her own appearance again, noted the tear track in her make-up, and began to do a quick emergency repair, using the kit from her handbag. She was beyond caring who saw it. At this time of the night, or morning, or whatever gakky witching hour it might be, even Pia’s usually high standards of elegance were beginning to slip.

She had missed some of the byplay between the vampire obsessed trio behind her during her emotional crisis, but it was all recorded on the micro-SD card in her wig. The hot black guy’s robust order was delivered, and he laid into it, sharing with the two girls. Pia watched, listened, and waited for more clues.

“But vampires aren’t real!” blurted Joelle.

Pia wasn’t so sure about that. She knew that wolf girls were real, part wolf and rather bitey, which was the same thing as werewolves basically, and they were only one step from vampires. Remembering the time she had got bitten, she reflexively touched her left ear, but fortunately the magic was dormant, due to the relative dark of the moon, and no mana sparkled as far as she knew. It would be embarrassing if the new guy to her left had noticed anything. When anyone mentioned the bite she explained it away as failed piercings but the blue glow was clearly unnatural.

“It was said that actors came to the city. Act-ors,” the journalist insisted.

*Maybe it’s just one of those real-life role-playing games* -- Pia thought -- *Like that zombie apocalypse one where a bunch of people dress up and wander about a deserted edge of town retail park groaning, and other people try to get away from them.*

The events of the vampire ball had looked just like that kind of scenario, except for the bonfire finale, which was pretty clearly insurance fraud.

Having got interested in ears again, Pia began to wonder if she should change the pattern of her earrings. At the moment she had a very conventional setup, an elegant gold stud in the standard place on each side. She took out her powder compact again, and started to turn her head left and right to look in the mirror. She was trying to figure out if a second hole could be fitted in, whether it would be necessary to let the current piercings heal up and have new holes punched. In the end it seemed like it would be a lot of trouble and probably inelegant, so she dropped the notion.

*I can just get climbers, or maybe some magnetic clip-ons.*

Pia took note of the final exchange between the two not vampire hunters and the journalist. She didn’t believe the black guy, it was too obvious that he was spinning a line when he said that the ‘vampires’ were just actors. That didn’t mean the vampires were real, of course. Cassidy might be just a LARP fantasist who believed in the stories he acted out. Mae could have been taken in by the realistic fakery of the scene. A scared girl running alone in the dark, her mind might have embroidered events with specious details.

But…

The odd couple left the diner. Pia should have let it drop there. All kuudere detectives do a certain amount of Pro Bono work, only you generally have to be approached by a deserving client. This was just a random overheard scene. Pia’s nerves were humming, though, she wanted to find out Joelle’s impression of the encounter. It never hurt to form good relationships with journalists. Also, she wanted to get Mae’s phone number.

As soon as the swing door closed, Pia quit her counter seat and slid into the booth.

“Miss [REDACTED], please forgive my abrupt self-introduction,” she said in a discreet voice, to fox eavesdroppers. “My name is Olympe Reese, I’m a detective.” She laid her card on the table. It was expensively printed in navy blue ink on cream coloured heavyweight board, but it carried no information except the letters PIA and a QR code. The private eye held out her hand for a shake.

“Journalists and detectives have the same basic job, don’t we? We investigate mysteries and try to find out the truth. The difference is that you want to publish it, while I might not, if it’s a private matter. Also, you want to make a name, while my undercover work depends on preserving my anonymity.”

She paused, to allow Joelle to consider these points, and glanced down at the serviette on which Mae had written her number, trying to memorise it.

The morning oozed into Olympe. She wobbled awake, wondering where the fucc she was. Sadie’s Diner, she realised in a series of slow blinks, sitting in the booth where, in the pre-dawn, there had been a discussion on the odd topic of vampires. She checked her watch -- 07:57. It was the bustling breakfast crowd of civilians which had roused her.

Joelle was long gone, with Mae’s scribbled phone number and Olympe’s business card. Pia yawned behind her hand, and a waiter brought fresh coffee. The staff looked after her well, because she looked after them, a long-standing principle in the hard-boiled detective business.

“How are you doing, Ms? Do ya want something to eat?”

“Egg banjo, please.” The boi looked blankly at her, not understanding her British slang. “That’s a bread sandwich with a fried egg in it. Easy over, cause I don’t like them too runny.”

While she waited for her sandwich, Olympe tried to remember what she and Joelle had discussed, but her mind was blank, wiped by 25 hours of uptime, stress, the lingering effects of whisky highballs, and the general weirdness of the pre-dawn hours.

*Bollocks! Well, I can always ring her up, if she doesn’t ring me.* It wouldn’t be hard to track down the journalist, who was a public figure, with bylines in various places. Mae’s number would be more difficult to get, if she couldn’t remember it, but not impossible. It would take some flirting or favours -- different types of social engineering -- *is it worth it?*

The egg banjo arrived. Olympe scarfed it down and decided to go home. She had earned a good, hard relax for the rest of the day. She summoned a cab, asked for the bill -- no, the check -- and paid with more than her usual generosity, to compensate Sadie’s crew for having blocked a booth during the morning rush. Soon Olympe was showering the city and the night off her, looking forward to a real nap in a proper bed.

END SCENE

R&R


Olympe woke in the mid-afternoon feeling a bit grody, the way you do when your sleep pattern gets disrupted and you take too long a nap at the wrong time.

*Exercise!* she told herself, *But first, better check in with the agency.* She wanted to take some time off if she wasn’t needed for the Suzuki case.

Pia contacted her controller, who had already reviewed the recordings from the night before. The evidence was good. They agreed that Pia could have 10 days off for R&R.

The tall girl dressed in her running kit of grey leggings and a pink hoody, strapped on her bumbag with some emergency girl and detective stuff in it, and went out for a 5K, carrying a water bottle. As she pounded the city streets, she planned a campaign of fun and personal improvement:

1. Less booze, more exercise.
2. A play date with Graham, so I can go sea swimming and eat fresh fish.
3. Learn to shuffle dance! She wanted to strafe the dance floor in LED equipped sneakers, like the sexy girls in those videos on YouTube.
4. Trace Mae Shui. Because there might be something in the vampire story after all.

She was rounding a corner on the return to her flat when she spotted a glum looking blonde girl ahead. The heel of her smart pump was snapped off, and she was on her phone, presumably calling for a taxi. Except for her worried face and awkward stance, caused by the broken shoe, she was quite stunning, hair and make-up artfully done, wearing a wonderful cream midi dress. Pia slowed down and stopped.

“Huff, huh, er…” The athlete was breathless from exercise. “I’m sorry to, huff, er… Hurrr. You look like you need a hand. Is there anything I can do?” Pia was sweating behind the ears, and felt very inelegant. She hadn’t done her hair or put on any make-up or perfume because what is the point when you’re just going for a run?

*That will be a lesson to me: Always be elegant!*


"Oh, I am so sorry!!! I just - yeah.. Yeah I do need a hand. I can't believe this happened, really, what are the chances. I've worn these only a few times, and here we go, walking like normal before this damn heel decides poof! We are closed for business!" Her brain caught up to her rambling mouth and she stopped suddenly in her dialogue. This stranger had no interest in knowing her 'how I got here' tragedy... A rosy blush warmed her cheeks from the despicable feeling of embarrassment. "But, you ... don't need to hear my life story..."

"Do you happen to know a shoe store near by? I walk past this section of the city so often, I should know..." She let herself stop speaking before she once more rambled on, the bees in her chest still furiously flying within because she had been found out. She was a country bumpkin fraud and she would ultimately fail. Or not.


“Don’t be sorry, honey. Don’t worry. Sh1t happens. You aren’t a real adult until you’ve navigated a shoe crisis, and sometimes a girl needs some help to do that. It’s no shame.”

Pia smiled and reached into her bumbag. “Here, borrow these.” She brought out a pair of yoga socks. “They’ll let you walk safely for a while.”

She helped the blonde to change from her broken heels into the grippy soled, heavy duty socks.

“I’m Olympe. I know a shoe shop near here, or we can go to Isetan, where we’ll find everything, or you can come to mine -- it’s just around the corner -- and borrow a pair if they’ll fit you.”

Pia focussed on practicalities.

“Where do you need to go? When do you need to get there? I’ve got a ton of shoes you can have, if they suit your needs. I’m guessing you’re on the way to an important interview or meeting, because you’re so carefully set up. Could I pretend to be your secretary and make an excuse?”

The tall girl replied, exasperated, "Oh, thank you! These are great for now I can look less like a hobbling old witch!"

Putting on the yoga socks, she flexed her feet on the ground, hiding a grimace on how socks outdoor felt. It was unnatural - but she was thankful for this, else she would have to hobble...

"Olympe, it's my pleasure. I'm Maryellen! Oh a shoe shop will do just fine, thank you so much! Lead the way." Her response came with a thankful smile, Olympe was a woman who was always prepared... It was something Maryellen felt that she lacked more recently this month.

"Oh! I am just running errands today, so I suppose I'm in no rush." This reply came taken aback slightly, shocked at how far this stranger was willing to go for a woman with a broken shoe on the street. "You are so kind, but it isn't that important! You won't be late to any class or anything?" She asked, making the assumption that Olympe was going to jog to some sort of athletic class and then jog back home, as many other women in the city did.


*She could never look like a hobbling witch. A hobbling angel, more like!*

“How do you do, Maryellen.” Olympe’s throwaway tone of voice indicated it was just a British stock phrase of introduction, not a real question. She wore a broad smile, though.

“You’re running errands, and I’m just running, ha ha!” she chirped. “I do a 5K for cardio twice a week. I’ve just finished, and I’m starting a 10 day holiday, so there’s no problem at all with time. Now, let’s get you to the shoe shop.”

She led the way down the street, around a corner, and a few hundred yards further along there was a large independent shoe outlet which carried a wide range of stock.

“You won’t find Louboutin or Jimmy Choos here, but they have plenty of good quality stuff for everyday wear. I buy a lot of my shoes here. In fact, there’s something I want to look for now, so I’ll hang around for a bit. Don’t you dare to leave without saying goodbye!” she grinned.

Olympe left Maryellen to engage with an assistant and start finding a replacement pair of heels. In the meantime, she searched in the youth fashion section, however she kept throwing a covert eye over the beautiful blonde. To be honest it was a sheep’s eye. Pia’s run provoked bloom had faded, only to be replaced by a clear crush blush on her un-made-up face. She fiddled around in the sneaker section until she found what she needed, bought it, and went back to wait for Maryellen to finish her shopping.

She sat down nearby, fiddling absently with her smartphone and glancing at the blonde’s ankles.

*She’s so beautiful it’s scary!*

Pia thought herself handsome rather than pretty. She tried to project her sex appeal with athleticism, fashion and make-up, it didn’t come naturally. In her eyes, Maryellen was glowing with a bright nimbus.

“How’s, er, how’s the shoe search going, Maryellen? Have you found a nice pair?”

After a considerable amount of back and forth and explaining, the shop assistant rushed off to the back to find a few styles that would be best matching. At one point, Maryellen found herself glancing at her sporty savior - *What an interesting person. Is she from here?* Olympe had glanced back and Maryellen tore her gaze quickly away, her light eyes returning to the shoe saleswoman as she shuffled back with 3 boxes.

Cashing out, she heard Olympe speak to her. "Oh! It's good, I found one. Looks like you found something!" She looked at the other woman cheerily, "What are you doing after this?" She needed to repay her for her kindness! The relief for her shoe drama being over, crushed any inkling of anxiety she'd normally feel.

Pia wasn’t much of a runner. Serious distance runners do a 5K or 10K four to six days a week. She ran a bit for cardio because it was useful for chasing or running away from crooks. If you run too much, you start to lose upper body strength, because that muscle is dead weight. That’s why all great long distance runners are string beans. Pia needed her muscles for rowing, and sometimes for fighting, though she tried to avoid it.

At any rate, both girls seemed to have bought something they liked. It was great to see Maryellen’s cheerful face now she was properly shod again. Pia admired the blonde’s elegant legs and ankles in the new shoes.

“Gosh, you look super in those, Maryellen. What a good choice!”

*Stop gushing, Pia!* She told herself, her face was reddening again.

“What am I doing next? Well, I need to go home and have a shower. Then I was going to watch shuffle dance tutorials on YouTube. That’s my next project, to learn to shuffle.”

She opened her shoe box to show a pair of white high-top sneakers with LEDs in the soles.

“These babies flash on the beat, and change colour. It’s controlled by an app. I’ve got some cat ear headphones with LEDs in them too. I got them from Japan. I’ve planned a snow leopard outfit.” Pia’s enthusiasm for her project momentarily distracted her from Maryellen’s hinted offer of coffee or something.

“Oh! I’m so silly!” She flushed again. “If you um, I mean, er, if you want to get a coffee or, er, that would be great, I mean, I would love to! If you’re not busy now, I just want to shower and change first... Maybe if you come to my flat and... wait, does that sound a bit weird? Maybe we should exchange numbers to meet up another time.”

*Quick, get her number!* Pia grabbed out a chunky looking mil-spec smartphone and held it forward nervously, hoping Maryellen would touch it with hers, to enable the two phones to ping their contact files to each other via NFC.

Maryellen smiled. "Anything works for me! I didn't have much on the to-do list that was so important that it can't be put off!" She took the phone and programmed her name and number into it quickly, returning it to its rightful owner with a few digital presses of a button. Was it right to go into a stranger's house? She hadn't given it much thought, the airhead, but in her mind, the reality of going to another strange woman's house was much less dangerous than if it were a man.

*Contact details GET!!* Pia exulted.

She led the way to her nearby flat before Maryellen could have second thoughts.

Pia brought Maryellen to a long gated community built on a former industrial site. A few gates and corridors later and they came to a communal stairway.

“My place is on the first floor, well, you would say the second. I don’t like heights. I keep it Japanese style, no shoes inside. Let me go first, so I can get you slippers.” She opened the door and went in, stepping directly into slippers waiting for her, and took some out of a cupboard for her guest.

“That’s the bathroom. The next one is the bedroom.” She pointed to the doors on the right of the corridor. They walked into a huge, open plan Living-Dining-Kitchen room and Pia stood in the middle, spinning like an ice-skater on valium.

“This place is far too big for me,” she laughed. “I’m rattling around like a pea in a whistle.”

The walls were a clean, inoffensive pale cream, the colour estate agents use because it makes any space look larger and pretends to some kind of personality. They were bare of pictures. Three tall windows brought in the late afternoon sun. There was an oval dining table with six chairs, a sofa facing a large wall-mounted TV, a couple of easy chairs. The other side of the room was a writing desk with some computer equipment on it, and an Ikea bookcase filled with manga books. Incongruously, two hefty fire-proof safes were bolted to the external, structural wall of the room.

“There’s no personality. I haven’t made enough time to shop.” She seemed a bit blue, suddenly, but then rallied to look after her guest, offering tea, coffee, soft drinks or wine.

“Please help yourself, Maryellen. Listen to music or watch TV, read a book, whatever you like. I’ll take a very quick shower.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

As far as Maryellen could understand, Olympe had a bubbly, cool exterior that was an inexplicable attraction to anyone who crossed her path! How could anyone not be so interested in such a textbook extrovert? When the women entered the apartment, Maryellen was not surprised to recognize how extroverted even her home was. It was almost devoid of decor, something that made her almost tip her soft smile into a frown. She hid her expression before it could fall away, laughing as Olympe twirled and twirled like a top.

"It's really lovely...!" Maryellen replied, noting the tone of her voice when even Olympe noted its lack of personality... In her mind, bare walls in a home was the sign of instability, of not enough time to become fully at one with her home. *Did Olympe move a lot? She must have recently moved in... Did she have nobody to decorate with? Nobody to decorate for?* Her mind buzzed with questions and before she knew it, the other woman had scattered off to go prepare herself, leaving Maryellen alone in the oppressively under-decorated, very sterile home.

She took her phone out of her purse, flicking through social media mindlessly as she thought about how she herself would decorate this house. It was a silly thing to think about when she was in a stranger’s home one hour after meeting the person... But she couldn't help it.

Minutes later Pia came out of the bathroom and walked naked to her bedroom. If Maryellen glanced at her, she might notice faded long scars on Pia’s right buttock and upper left arm.

Maryellen looked away quickly, her heart jumping at the sudden nudity. *What was that!?* She thought, flabbergasted as the rouge of blush crept onto her warmed cheeks.

Pia was delighted by Maryellen’s blush at her nudity. *Hee hee!* Her eyes and mouth crinkled, but she said nothing. The minx reappeared in a cream silk slip and dangly gold earrings. She held a pink midi dress up against herself. It was elegant, short-sleeved, plain, with a flowing skirt.

“What do you think, Maryellen, won’t we match pretty well? I’ve got to put my face on before we go. I’ll be quick.”

She spent 15 minutes to do a light make-up; the basics plus eye-liner, mascara and defined brows, some eyeshadow, blusher, and dark pink lipstick. Back into the bedroom, and out again in the pink dress, thin gold bangles on each wrist, and her long hair done up. It was a wig, since Pia’s natural hair was pixie cut to help with disguises. She felt the dress needed something more formal and structured.

She was feeling bold. *If I’m going to set my cap at Maryellen, I’ll do it right.* She approached the tall blonde preceded by a provocative waft of Creed Sublime Vanille, her most luxuriously sensual perfume, designed to release the wearer's seductive prowess.

“I’m so sorry to have made you wait, dear Maryellen. Now we can go out and have some fun. Where shall we go? Shall we drink cocktails and dance?”

Maryellen commented positively as the other woman made her appearance known, and clapped softly. "You look absolutely darling! That would be delightful."

On the way out, Pia put her new sneakers on the floor, toes towards the door. She took a pair of nude court shoes from her crammed cupboard. The two girls stepped out in search of fun.

“I’m sorry I left you for so long with no pictures and everything, but you see the problem is I am utter rubbish at decorating. A couple of weeks ago I bought a lot of stuff from a fancy design place. As soon as it was installed I hated it and had to send it back. I must find someone who can help me with interior design.”

Pia cruised very smoothly on her 3-inch heels. She swung her handbag and smiled, smug with her athleticism.

“There are several places we can go, Maryellen. The Milton Arcadian hotel bar -- I had a Screaming Orgasm there once. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I hoped, actually. The bar snacks are… *interesting*. There’re restaurants as well. I hate eating alone but it would be fun with you!”

She turned a bright smile to her companion, earrings swinging and sparking in the sun.

“There’s the Upscale Bar. They do very good cocktails, but the ambience was flat when I went. I felt rather sad for the staff. They were glum and bored. It might be worth a try. It’s supposed to be a place where you go to be seen, and we deserve to be seen.”

*I’m so stupid! Maryellen may get a blister in her new shoes.* Pia slowed down to a relaxed stroll.

“The Outpost does cocktails and has live music but I’ve heard it can be a bit, well, tequila slammers, cash only… You get the idea.”

She stopped to look at the signs at a cross-roads.

"That way is a pole-dancing club. I had to go there once on business. It's rather louche. If we met someone we knew it would be an absolute scream!"

Her brows arched over eyes sparkling with anticipated amusement.

“Or there’s another place, it’s a bit farther away but it’s very interesting. It’s called The Server.”

Pia flagged down a cab. 15 minutes later the girls were standing at the entrance to a somewhat dingey edge of town industrial estate. There was no-one around, no activity, no noise except for the distant cars on the ring road. Dusk was gloaming. It was the twilight hour, when parallel worlds and different timelines intersect. Things were a bit *spooky…* She felt horripilation on her neck.

“There’s a place I can take you, Maryellen. It’s hard to find if you don’t know the path. You’ll have to trust me, hold my hand and walk with eyes closed. I know it sounds a bit dodgy. I was kind of worried the first time, but once I got there I found a friend and then everything was alright. If you let me take you, I promise you will be fine, because I’ll be your friend.”

Pia stared into Maryellen’s eyes with a peculiar intensity.

“I would die to defend you. That’s a promise. I keep my promises. Here, to show you how serious I am, take this. ”

She held out her hand. Lying in the palm was one of those novelty cigarette lighters, the type which looks like a pistol. You pull the trigger and the flame comes out of the muzzle. But this was real, an actual tiny semi-automatic pistol which only looked like a toy. Pia racked the slide, aimed at a nearby concrete road block. It looked like a giant Lego block. She squeezed off a shot. The gun popped. The tiny bullet drew a puff of dust and chips from the grey cement and whined off into the evening light.

“There. You see it’s real. You can carry it and if anything happens you can shoot me and get away.”

Maryellen was getting scared. She couldn’t understand what this girl was, who ran a 5k before rescuing a stranger from a shoe crisis, bought LED sneakers for Shuffle dancing, swanked around her flat nude, then invited her on some weird mystery tour at the edge of town. But the pistol gave her confidence. She thought no-one would hand a gun to their kidnap victim. Besides, whatever her oddities, Olympe had been gentle and kind all along. She seemed genuinely to care for Maryellen.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

Olympe took her hand and she closed her eyes. They began to walk slowly. The ground was smooth. Even with eyes closed Maryellen had no fear of tripping. She followed Pia’s lead, hearing the clicking heels, felt a series of turns, left, right, left, up!? Pia gasped and squeezed her friend’s hand. If Maryellen peeked, she would see that Pia was walking with eyes tight shut through a strange space, with an infinite vista and gravity that seemed to wobble at times, and diverge from the normal plane.

“Don’t worry, Maryellen! This bit always scares me, but we’re nearly through.”

The dark, mysterious walk continued for another few minutes, then…

“You can open your eyes now!” Pia said brightly, and let Maryellen’s hand go. They were standing in what looked like an ordinary modern city street, but as she looked around differences began to reveal themselves. There weren’t many cars. People were walking around in all kinds of fashions, some of them contemporary, others like cosplayers from the past, from fantasy, and from SF. The signs were in various languages; mostly English but, it could be Japanese, and something from India? The sky was filled with stars, and a fat moon -- the familiar one of Earth -- hung on the eastern horizon. There were several smaller moons near it! Maryellen felt the hair stand up on her neck and scalp.

“This isn’t Kansas, Maryellen, but it’s perfectly safe. Well, mostly harmless.” Pia drew close to the girl and hugged her slightly hesitantly. “A lot of new members are scared the first time they see what it’s like. The channels are so like home and so weirdly different in little ways. It creates a cognitive dissonance. But you’ll be fine as long as you stick with me.”

The tall blonde stared at Olympe wide-eyed.


NOT TO BE CONTINUED

NEW SCENE -- PARIS/BEIRUT

Pia’s sleep was disturbed by erotic dreams, and she got up relaxed but somewhat tired.

*Is there time for a run?* she wondered. *Maybe not. We’ll probably have to get to the Interpol office by 10 or 11 at the latest.*

She washed quickly and did a simple make-up, then dressed in her houndstooth jacket, black turtleneck sweater, denim jeans and zip up heel boots. It was 8:30, easily time for breakfast. She thought she should get Jason up if he wasn’t moving already of his own accord, but he was already knocking on her door.

Pia opened the door at Jason’s knock. Her female intuition wasn’t operating at full power this morning, but she got the impression that he was possibly suppressing an urge to get rather close to her. No sheep eyes, though.

*I hope I didn’t overdo things last night. We’re both lonely and horny and it’s common for partners to get involved, nothing wrong with that. But there’s a job of work to be done. I must avoid flirting too much.*

“You’re looking well, Jason, how did you sleep? I had some interesting dreams, I might tell you later. Your outfit is very American! In a good way, of course. Nice cologne. Let’s go to breakfast. I got a ping on my phone from Berenice. We need to be at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs by 10. That’s alright, it’s on Quai d’Orsay which is only 10 minutes drive from here. We’ve got loads of time.

*Actually the skirt of this jacket covers my bum,* she realised. *There was no point wearing jeans!*

“Sorry Jason, this jacket is a bit warm for inside the hotel, I think I’ll leave it in my room.”

She came back out with a handbag and walked ahead of him to the lifts. Her jeans were tailored for a stylish close fit but not completely skintight.

They were soon availing themselves of the excellent breakfast buffet. Pia had fresh fruit and yoghurt and a cup of hot chocolate, to satisfy her French nature, then a single egg benedict and a pot of black coffee. There was no need to eat a lot, or sneak pastries into her handbag, because she was sure they would be well catered for at the Ministry.

“What do you think Berenice will say to us, Jason? She’s had enough time to start setting things up in Beirut. Maybe we will fly out tomorrow.”

“Yes, I got the same message from Berenice. It sounds like they have something for us,” Jason said. His eyes wandered a little over her frame. He was full of smiles. He chose traditional scrambled eggs on toast with a side of bacon, juice and a coffee, white with one sugar.

”I think you’re right, Pia. The meeting has to be about setting us both up for Beirut. Sounds like another horror red eyed flight for us, unfortunately,” he sighed, finishing off his breakfast.

Jason slipped on his jacket again. It was times like these he wished she had her jacket handy, so he could help her into it. But anyhow he made do with helping her out of her chair. Not that she needed any help. But it was the gentlemanly thing to do. He led her by the hand up to her room.

”Hmm, I love your perfume today. But I better not hold you up,” he said, mere inches away from another kiss. He thought better of it this time.

Pia took note of Jason’s gallant attentions to her, his helping her from her chair, and the compliment for her perfume. She preened herself mentally. She was wearing Creed Erolfa, her regular daytime fragrance, the one she liked so much she had bought a half-litre bottle of it the day before, an astonishing extravagance it would seem to many people but in her mind it was easily worth the price, like her other luxuries, because it gave her elegance and increased her confidence in her female powers.

“Thank you, Jason,” she smiled. “I just want to brush my teeth and check my make-up is perfect.” She went into her own room.

*Shall I put my anime contacts in?* she pondered. *No, it’ll be too obvious to him right now. I’ll do it this evening, perhaps.*

Pia had various contact lenses she used for disguises. Most were natural looking, just altering her eye colour. The anime ones, though, had a dark outer ring which made her natural irises subtly larger. Coupled with a wide-eyed look they gave her face a subtle boost of cuteness, which often appealed to men.

She came back out with her big handbag, the one with a stab hole through it. She had loaded it with her usual girl and detective necessities. The two detectives went down and caught a taxi to the Quai d’Orsay, pausing briefly en route for Pia to buy an English language newspaper for Jason.

The cab dropped them outside the massively impressive building of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs at 10 to 10. They checked in through security, and their pistols were taken away, to be returned on exit. The guards showed them to a waiting room, where a guide collected them, and walked them through ornately decorated corridors. Eventually they reached a conference room where Berenice and Nassir were waiting with two men who were introduced as an interpreter and a secretary.

There were refreshments of water, coffee and pastries on a side table. The main conference table had a big screen at one end, and there was a view of the Eiffel Tower through the tall windows.

Berenice briefed them in her confident, French-accented English.

“You are booked to fly out on Middle East Airlines departing Paris Charles de Gaulle at 07:50 tomorrow. It arrives in Beirut at 11:35. The yellow folders in front of you contain new passports and flight vouchers, plus some operational information such as your local contacts. Please read it carefully and memorise it. We shall destroy the briefings before you leave this office. There is also some special equipment for you.” She gestured to her partner Nassir, and he slid a small box over to Olympe.

"I see we’re getting straight to the point." Jason opened up the manila folder containing his new passport and credit card, in the name of Mr Jack Tremblay. Checking the passport, he found he was now married to Olympe, but her name was Viola. His cover was an accountant for a respected international firm, which had been hired by Ahmad IV Pharmaceuticals to reconcile certain cash flow discrepancies. Ahmad at present employed around 150 people and had a capacity to produce over 65,000 IV bags daily, plus 35,000 liters of dialysis solution, 40,000 ampoules and 50,000 sets of IV lines.

Olympe, or rather Viola, was his new French wife, bilingual in English and French. She worked as an interpreter. They had met when she accompanied him on some working trips around western Europe. He flicked through a couple of photos noting who was in charge at Ahmad.

Berenice went on; “The cover story is that you are newly married and are combining a short honeymoon with a business trip. Your local contact is a gentleman called Dalil. He has contracted you to do this accountancy work. We are sure the export of the new drug Cake is being organised using the facilities at Ahmad for cover. Once you’re inside, you can use the credit cards, which are disguised cameras and audio recorders, to capture evidence. The staff may talk Arabic in front of you, so record that too. You can upload the data with the reader, even if they take your smartphones away for security purposes.”

Pia picked up the small box containing the reader. There was also a USB stick. She held it up and raised an enquiring eyebrow at Nassir. He spoke in French.

“That is loaded with computer intrusion software. It will run automatically when you plug it in, to install backdoors and keystroke loggers which will allow our cybersecurity team to access the company network. The accounts they will show you will have been well doctored and will prove nothing, so we’ll try to get at the real accounts and consignment details once our hackers are in their system. With enough data it should be possible to find statistically significant correlations between the company’s exports and arrivals of Cake in western Europe and Chicago.”

Pia was surprised suddenly to be married! *I have a ring at least…* she reminded herself, and took the plain gold wedding band from the depths of her handbag. She carried it as a kind of totem. That simple 18K ring was the very first disguise item she had bought for detective work, based on the idea that married women are not so often hit on in bars. Also she enjoyed wearing jewellery. She soon found out that there’s a particular type of man who likes to seduce other men’s wives, and the ring had made her a more attractive target in some ways. *That has its uses too, though…*

She slipped the ring onto her finger to help her get into the role. *This will not be so difficult, since I am already rather hot for Jason…* She dalekked her chair closer to his, touched his arm and smiled at him. Studying the dossier she rewrote the most essential facts onto scrap paper as a way of training her memory.

“I will be the interpreter, then? My husband must handle all the accountancy. I am not very good at accounts.”

This was true. Pia’s talents were more for spending than investing. She left her money in the capable hands of a wealth management firm. Fortunately, her monthly income usually exceeded her outgoings by a good margin, except those times when she splashed out hard, such as on the new car, when she had to dig into savings. Pia went to the side table and brought Jason a coffee and a pastry, the kind attentions of a loving wife.

She extended her left hand to admire her wedding ring. Gold never tarnishes, but if you wear a ring constantly, like you do a wedding ring, it gradually accumulates micro scratches and after years it no longer looks brand new. You can see the difference between the outside and inside. Her ring was still very fresh, as she only wore it occasionally. It was shiny bright in the sun streaming through the tall windows. She had never gone undercover as someone’s wife before.

She checked her passport. It identified her as Viola Ysabelle Tremblay, a French citizen newly married to an American. The document was practically new, as befitted a newlywed wife who had recently changed her family name. The biodata and the photo had been copied from her real French passport. The appropriate marriage visa for the USA was already installed.

*It’s going to be interesting,* she thought. *I hope they’ll put us in a nice flat. Shall I have lots of sex with him? It might help the deception, by giving us that tired but relaxed newlywed glow.*

She giggled, but then she thought seriously: *We must be very careful. It could be dangerous. These drug people are really nasty.*

She looked at the data upload device and the USB stick and saw they was small enough for her to hide somewhere very private,*Which won’t be particularly comfortable, but it’ll be safer, besides if they ever find it there, I really will be fethed.*

Jason brought her coffee and cake. She smiled gratefully, and went on reading the instructions for the intrusion device and the card reader. They seemed simple enough to operate.

“Thanks for the coffee, Jack. I think I’ve got all this info memorised now. Let me just read things back to make sure I understand everything. We’re going undercover as a married couple and I’m your secretary and interpreter as well as your new wife. We’ll have a couple of days of honeymoon in Beirut before visiting the laboratory, then you’re going to audit their accounts and I’ll mess around a bit, probably getting bored. Maybe I’ll flirt with some of the guys, just so I can nose around and insert the intrusion software anywhere I can. Anything suspicious we find, we have to try and record with these credit card cameras, and upload the data. So we should practice using them. I think we should get advice from Takayuki too. He knows a lot about computer crime. Shall I email him to ask?”

Pia got out her mil-spec smartphone and looked at it a bit sideways. She loved its power and strength, but it didn’t seem right for her new role.

“I need a new phone if I’m going to play the ditzy blonde. This mil-spec one looks wrong. I need something girly for taking lots of selfies and tourist pictures. And we must practice being married, so please take me somewhere romantic for lunch and we’ll go shopping afterwards and then you can buy me a new dress. I must call you Jack and you must call me Viola all the time, or you could say Via which is kind of a short version and sounds like Pia if you made a mistake. How do you like my ring?”

She stood up and took her ring off and handed it to Jason.

“There, now you can put it on me like during a marriage service. Be gentle, it’s a tight fit.”

Jason suppressed the urge to chuckle about her finding a new phone, taking lots of selfies, shopping and then taking her somewhere romantic for lunch. He knew they weren't far from it, right here in the centre of Paris, the city of lights. In fact the romance was happening in Jason's head already.

"With you I'm always gentle, Viola," he said with a smile and a wink, then took her hand softly. He placed the ring on her ring finger. There was slight friction and a resistance, so that a little force would be required to bring it back over the knuckle. This prevented accidental loss.

"With this ring I thee wed. You know what comes next, don't you, darling,"? he said with a beaming smile.

Jason knew he wanted to have another kiss from her and now seemed like the chance to get one. After all, from now on it would be no holiday or honeymoon. It would be extremely dangerous where they were going. Probably the fate of the free world depended on them both. That's what he was imagining anyhow, in a kind of James Bond fantasy. He held up Pia’s hand and kissed the back of it. Leaning in towards her he got a whiff of her perfume again. She knew how to make herself so attractive. He kissed her on the lips. Her mouth was warm and moist, with a faint hint of coffee that made him smile. Then he gently pulled away.

"Mrs Viola Tremblay, it appears as though the fate of the entire world is dependent on us. Are you ready to face it together with me?” he asked sheepishly.

Viola accepted his ring on her finger, carefully placed. He was good with his hands, which promised well for later. A girl, like a horse or a boat, handles better if you’re gentle with her. They embraced, Jack so romantic, passionate and so serious, caught up in more than the undercover role… He released her.

Swept away in the moment, she snaked her arms around him, feeling his male strength, pulling him back close to her, inhaling his manly fragrance, Bois du Portugal, the one she had bought for him from Creed. She opened her mouth, thrust her tongue at him, probing his lips, and of course he allowed access. She tasted the coffee he had drunk, which she had brought him, a loving attention from his new wife. She felt renewed, her passions were high, and she wanted to make love. It was going well beyond the undercover role, but she had begun to feel like this before Berenice cast them into the position of husband and wife. However… shopping called!

The French officials raised their eyebrows, exchanged glances, and smiled at the display of passion.

“I see you are already adopting your cover stories,” Berenice said. “If you are ready, I will destroy the dossiers and you can go to your next appointment.”

Viola broke away from her new husband, and held him at arms length to speak seriously.

“Jack, however much you try to distract me with kisses, I want that new dress you promised me. I'll need it for Beirut, and I need a new handbag too, and it’s lunchtime. You must be hungry. Take me to Le Bon Marché, it’s the best department store in Paris. We can eat there and do all our shopping afterwards. It will be an experience to remember.”

She wiped his mouth free of her lipstick, which had been smeared by their passionate kiss -- Viola felt there was no point wearing lipstick which wasn’t smeared by a strong kiss, it was important to leave her mark on a man, or a girl for that matter -- and went to repair her face with the aid of her little mirror. Her look was restored in a few minutes, and she waited for Jack to lead her to the next venue.

"I have the perfect place in mind, Viola. Relax, I will take care of everything. We will first get a taxi over to a restaurant called Dupin. Have a nice lunch, then it's a three minute walk to Le Bon Marché, okay?” he told her, without waiting for a discussion.

The meeting was over. Jack and Viola left by way of Security and retrieved their weapons. Outside the main gates, he hailed a taxi and opened the door for his wife.

*Thank goodness for smartphones!* Viola thought. Jack had quickly searched up a wonderful place for lunch. Dupin was a beautiful collision between ancient wood beams and clean modern design, serving what looked like Michelin starred sandwich boxes. They had the vegetarian selection, a partly deconstructed falafel wrap with salad leaves.

“This is very nice, Jack, you chose well. We’ll have plenty of time for shopping and then can eat a good dinner this evening. We must be early to bed tonight, since the flight tomorrow is ghastly, we have to be at the airport by 6 in the morning. It’ll be such an early start. You should make sure to pack tonight or we will be late. Would you like me to pack your things for you? I am very good at packing.”

Pia didn’t eat too fast. She wanted to savour the elegant French food and make another memory of Paris. When she was finished the young couple hooked arms and walked to Le Bon Marché, certainly the finest department store in Paris, and therefore one of the best in the world. It reminded her of other great shopping venues, Selfridges and Peter Jones in London, Isetan and Takashimaya Times Square in Tokyo, places where a girl could wander all day, and lose herself in the dangerous vice of fashion.

*But Jack will get bored if I do that, so let’s focus. I need a dress and a handbag and some nightwear.* Having decided she was going to sleep with her partner in full interpretation of her undercover role as his wife, she wanted both of them to enjoy it to the full. That required a sexier nightgown than she had bothered to pack.

But somehow Viola ended up with three new dresses, a rather slinky bodycon number, green with a yellow pattern, a more conservative, loose fitting dark blue minidress with bishop sleeves and a bow detail, and a fitted sheath dress with exotic patterns. This also demanded new shoes and a second new handbag to match, so in the end the bill was larger than planned. Everything had sleeves to hide her still bandaged shoulder.

“I will pay for these but there is something else you can give me as a present, Jack. Please would you carry some of the bags?”

She led him to the lingerie department. The floor spread out ahead of them, filled with racks of intimate apparel, and partly clothed mannequins; bras, briefs, camisoles, slips, basques, suspender belts, hosiery, chemises… everything a woman might need to delight herself and a lover.

“Here, Jack, I want you to choose me a new nightgown. Whatever you pick, I will wear it for you. Don’t feel embarrassed to be here. Look at everything as much as you want. It’s fine because I am with you.”

Jack couldn’t help but blush when asked to give input. His bachelor frame of mind coming to the fore. He actually couldn’t make up his mind so in the end he offered her a choice between three night-gowns to try on.

”I think you would look beautiful in all three. But the Grecian night-gown looks elegant, as well as being sexy. You pick the one you like best and I will pay for it,” he said, feeling his body temperature rise a little at the prospect of her wearing it for him.

Viola looked at the three gowns, holding them up against her body to try and judge the effect. She had thought Jack would go for something hot and sexy, like the short red one with hip high side slits, for example. He did pick that type, in fact, but only as one of three. Actually the long floaty Grecian one seemed to be his first choice. It was hers too. The frilly minidress was cute but perhaps a bit fussy for her taste. The red one was very sexy. *Really it’s a little bit tarty! Sometimes that kind of nightwear is good to have in your wardrobe, I suppose, but it’s for bustier girls than me.*

The Grecian style was elegant and very sheer. Its flowing folds of nearly transparent fabric would conceal and reveal at the same time, and she could team it with different coloured underwear to change up the look. *Like he’ll see a hint of my nipples though it but I can put on plain white panties for a more innocent look, or another time they can be lacey, or red maybe, and he will get excited again. Also it’s good that it’s shoulderless because he needs to remember my wound. And it’s practical because it’ll dry very quickly after washing. Actually it might look rather good with a push-up bandeau bra underneath.*

“I choose the Grecian one. It’ll be very comfortable in hot weather, and in cooler weather I can wear a chemise too. I’ll try it on now because it’s important to get the right length. You can’t come into the fitting room, but I’ll only be a few minutes.”

It was never really true to say that all of Viola’s clothes shopping was done, because she could always find a reason to buy something else. However, her immediate urges had been satisfied. *There’ll be great shops in Beirut too,* she remembered, *But Jack may need something now.*

“Jack, cheri, thank you very much for my new nightdress. I am all done now except for my phone which will be easy to buy because they sell them in the consumer electronics department here. Is there anything you need from menswear? Remember the climate in Beirut will be warmer than Chicago or Paris. At this time of year it’s usually between 50 and 65 degrees.”

"Viola honey, I think what I might need for Beirut is good denim jeans and decent leather dress shoes. So from here let’s have a look at the Google map. There is a Levi's at Rue de Rennes. I could get jeans over there. Unless you know of a better place? The leather shoes I can get from here perhaps?”

Jack carried Viola's bags and they went to the men’s footwear department, where he got the shoes he needed. Next they went to consumer electronics, where Viola simply asked for the best camera phone. The assistant was more than happy to sell her the brand new, top of the line Samsung Galaxy S21 Ultra, bulging with technical specifications, and a chic case. Viola had a bit of a thing for phones. Like a man she would obsess over the technical details. But they were very important for her work.

*I’m so glad I have plenty of money!* she thought. *My Blackview is still best for a detective because it’s tougher and has a bigger battery, and the thermal camera is really good at night. But the Samsung is better for playing an airhead tourist and it has a huge screen and a telephoto lens and loads of memory. I hope no fether tries to steal it off me in Beirut.*

* * * * *

In Japan, female workers customarily celebrate Valentine's Day by giving chocolates to their male colleagues. Usually a guy will get several small packets of so-called 'giri choko', obligation chocolate. Sometimes he'll receive something rather special, possibly handmade, and know he has an admirer. If not, at least the giri choko tastes good. The gifts are reciprocated a month later on White Day.

This Valentine's, Takayuki Komai is disappointed not to receive even one small present from the women in the Chicago Bureau of Detectives. As the morning wears on he notices that none of the men get anything. He begins to understand that the custom is not followed in America as it is in Japan, and he feels better.

Returning from lunch, Takayuki finds a small gift bag on his desk. It’s a neatly wrapped atomiser bottle of Creed Himalaya, a luxuriously expensive French eau du parfum. The maker's pamphlet describes it as "fresh, woody and adventurous, inspired by the rugged landscapes of the Himalayan Mountains. Citrus top notes of bergamot, grapefruit, lemon and mandarin, are complemented by warm notes of sandalwood, nutmeg and cedarwood. At the heart of this masculine fragrance, you will discover notes of gunpowder, giving Himalaya its innovative edge. The pure seductive dry down of tonka bean and ambergris make this an irresistible signature scent." There is also a note written in kana.

チョコレト より こんな おとこらしい かおり が いい でしょ ね~?


There is no signature, only a heart drawn in lipstick the colour Olympe-chan is wearing. Clearly this is another of her little manipulations but, as always, it's such a pleasant one that he's unable to resent it.

Taka-kun hides everything before Sergeant Henderson can notice and get jealous.

**Jason @ Olympe**

"You can light up any room with your beauty, strength of character, and confidence. Thank you for lighting up my life! Happy Valentine’s Day!"

The arrival of a romantic Valentine message from a lover should fill a girl's heart with joy but now Olympe erupted in a geyser of panic. She hadn't got any present or card for Jason. Worse, she had left a very expensive Valentine gift on Taka-kun's desk. Following British tradition she hadn't signed it, but the lipstick kiss mark on the card was clearly hers by the colour.

*Oh gak! What if he opens it in front of Jason? gak, gak, gak! I’m so stupid!!! Why did I do it?*

She knew why. She wanted to provoke the two guys into rivalry over her, and experience their passions.

*I'm so shallow. I've got to stop this before I hurt another boy.*

Jack and Viola Tremblay undercover


As they walked to Levis, she felt Jack’s arm slide around her, his big hand warm on her hip. She responded by leaning into him a little and snapping a selfie of them together with her new phone. She giggled. It was fun and flirty to pretend to be married and enjoy these little physical attentions.

*He’s smitten. It’s rather cute. I’ve been flirting too much and spoiling him. Will he fall in love with me for real? Will I fall in love? I haven’t been properly in love for such a long time. But look how it ended… Maybe it’s a bad thing for us to fall in love.*

She wanted to turn away from dark thoughts, so she concentrated on shopping. They both bought jeans, Viola choosing a tight fitting white pair. *White jeans make a woman of any age look sexy, if she’s got the right butt and legs.*

After Jack bought some shoes they headed back to the hotel by taxi. It was too far to walk carrying all their bags. They went to their rooms to begin packing.

Viola had expanded her travelling wardrobe to the extent of three new dresses, two new handbags, another pair of shoes, the jeans, the Grecian nightdress and a camisole to go with it. Her Moncler coat was far too hot for Beirut, but it stuffed down very well. She was an efficient packer while travelling because there was no option but to pack everything. Having chosen her clothes for the next morning she went to knock on Jack’s door.

“Jack, how are you getting on? Do you need some help packing? Shall I check us in online? We should do it before we drink anything or we might make a mistake. I’ll need your passport and the flight vouchers. Then we should have dinner.”

"Yes honey, that might be a good idea. I'll give you my passport and vouchers and for dinner we can try out the L'Abreuvoir. How does that sound,"? He said while he let Viola into the room. He typically was trying to put too much stuff in, when some of it could go into his carry on luggage instead. Viola tutted and began to repack everything neatly and efficiently.

Their late dinner was a rather quiet affair for Jack. He was thinking about the flight and the mission. Some things he didn't want to end and this place was one of them. He knew he would miss it.

"Viola, you ever have that feeling that you wish things wouldn't end, but you know deep down that they will. We could be putting ourselves in harm's way soon. Paris has been like a dream coming true," he said, just peering into her eyes. *It didn't matter,* he thought, holding her hand and rubbing the back of it. He sipped his red wine. The Chicken Normandy was long since devoured. Now just the tantalizing aroma of French pastry bombarded his senses, as the waiter brought their puddings. It felt strange, almost like this was the last supper though he knew such thinking was silly.

"I'm going to miss this place but I can count myself lucky to be taking something of Paris with me." He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. Neither of them noticed a blond-haired gentleman reading a paper, watching them from the corner of the room. In fact he was the same guy who had followed them onto the flight from Chicago.

TO BE CONTINUED...

"Oh Jack, mon cheri! We can be very happy! We've had the best time for a couple of days. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and the wax museum and everything, lots of good food and wine, lots of shopping, it's been amazing! Paris is the City of Lights and Love, we'll come back here and have another special time, I promise. And Beirut will be great. I know it's work but we'll have time to ourselves too. We won't eat out every night. I'll cook you something special, and we'll relax together at home."

She returned his kiss with genuine feeling, caressed his cheek. She wanted to bring him to the hotel and make love all night. She decided there and then she was going to do it.

"Eat your crème brûlée and pay the bill, Jack. We need to go back as soon as possible."

They cabbed back to the Pullman Hotel. The magnificence of Paris surrounded them, the river shining in the moonlight, the grand palaces and gardens. The Eiffel Tower glowed with its copyright lights, a symbol of the City of Love known all around the world. But by the time they got to their rooms, Viola had come to realise they could not afford to make love tonight. They were tired, there was a very early start in the morning and a stressful flight to endure. They had to arrive in Beirut with their wits sharp. It was enemy ground. She buried her sexual instincts under a pile of intellectual resolve. She snaked her arms around Jack, held him close and joyfully ruined her lipstick before she broke off their close embrace.

"Good night, Jack."

The next morning was a hellish early start. Viola wasn't feeling her normal self. She needed more exercise to sharpen up. This ideally could come as running or swimming or weights, but athletic sex also counted and would satisfy other urges too. She dragged herself from bed shortly before 4 a.m. and got ready to face the day. A shower, hair styling with a blonde wig which she put up, intending to wear her beret. Full make-up and a good spritz of Creed Erolfa, then dressing in lacy black bra and short style panties with a slip, white blouse and black men's necktie. Her sharp yet comfortable houndstooth check skirt suit on top, short stockings and her favourite zip-up heel boots. The new box style handbag. She admired herself in the mirror.

*One must always be elegant.*

At 5 sharp she knocked on Jack's door, hoping he was ready to start their mission in earnest.

*What the hell! Who would wake me up at this time? Oh feth maybe we are getting too close to the drug cartel after all!?* he thought. A little bleary eyed, quietly reached for his handgun in the top dresser. Then gingerly crept up towards the door. He racked his pistol to load it in anticipation of violence. Sweat beaded from his brow.

He opened the door. His jaw dropped and eyes blinked a few times in shock and surprise. He put down his gun straight away and looked back nervously at Viola.

"V-v-v-Viola is th-th-that you hmmm?" his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets taking in her gorgeous petite frame.

Stuttering, he let her in then closed and locked the door behind her. A quick glance back at the digital clock told him it was 5am. He smiled at her suddenly realising what she wanted. pulling her towards him.

"It’s 5am I t-t-take it you’re not exercising in your room early t-t-today. I mean this morning?” He noticed he was breathing a bit more rapidly now. His eyes seemed fixated on her. He pulled her in close towards himself, and gave her a quick kiss on her lips. He could smell that delicious aroma of her Creed perfume. He felt intoxicated by it. He peeled away hesitantly from her.

Jack opened the door wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He eyed Viola up and down and pulled her into the bedroom, kissing her and inhaling a deep breath of her perfume. He held her at arms’ length to admire her.

*Oh God, he’s forgotten we’re supposed to get up early to go to the airport. What shall I do?* Viola wasn’t angry at her husband; she had got used to his somewhat cavalier attitude to paperwork that didn’t involve actual money. That's why she handled so much of the general bureaucracy of their caseload.

*I should have got up earlier and made sure of things. Ooh! That’s not a gun in his pocket, he really is pleased to see me!* The compliment did not go unappreciated. She took a quick glance at her wristwatch.

*We can spare 10 minutes, then he’s really got to get moving.* She slowly, theatrically knelt down in front of him. Her eyes locked on his from that submissive position that men love to see girls in. But Viola was controlling the action now.

*I can easily redo my lipstick while he’s getting dressed.* She reached out with both hands.

`FADE TO BLACK`

Thanks to a delayed flight and the time difference, it was early evening when they got to Beirut. The taxi ride from the airport could be described as interesting. Traffic was dense and the rule of the road apparently was more of a guideline than a law. Still, wrapped up in the back of the big Mercedes cab with her new husband, Viola felt safe enough. Her memory of the early morning encounter piqued her sensuality. She wanted only to get to their room, unpack, wash, relax, and fold herself together with Jack so he could bring her body the pleasure it ached for.

The taxi driver rattled on about places to go, and the best shops, all belonging to various cousins it seemed. Viola had studied this kind of social behaviour in her psychology degree. It was a cultural difference between the European and the Arabic world. It didn't mean that things were more corrupt out here, just that loyalties worked in a different way. Japan had its own different loyalty system too.

*I'm not here to judge,* she thought, *It's just interesting to see things at first hand. We'll need to form a good relationship with our local contacts, so I must work to fit it with them.* She had bought a French language guide to Beirut at the airport, and studied it on the flight, while Jack alternated between watching action films and holding her hand. She had already learned some basic phrases in Arabic.

Beirut was surprisingly modern in architecture and people. It was that kind of Middle Eastern place which only got into major international news when something bad happened, like the huge explosion at the port a couple of years before. She had a vague mental image of some kind of ancient Arabic architecture, souks and sand coloured walls, gleaned more from Star Wars films and TV shows than from serious research.

When they arrived at the hotel, it was a 21st century skyscraper with at least 25 floors. It would have looked at home in Chicago or Tokyo. *I must do more reading before we go out.* They were quickly installed in a spacious suite, a ‘deluxe room’ of 51 square metres, with a small terrace overlooking the city. *I’m not going out there!* Viola decided immediately, and drew the curtains even though the presence of the terrace prevented her acrophobia from being triggered by the tall windows.

She went to tip the bell boy, remembered it was her husband’s job now, and simply thanked him in basic Arabic, then coughed to remind Jack of his duty. The young man smiled, accepted a few dollars gracefully and withdrew. Once they were alone, Viola had a good look around the whole suite. It was beautifully decorated and furnished.

“This is luxury, Jack! My brother’s entire flat in Tokyo is smaller than this room. The Japanese are really clever at using space, though, so it’s got everything. Alright, what shall we do? I want to unpack and have a shower and change into something more comfortable, and have something to eat and drink, and then… Why don’t I unpack for both of us while you order room service.”

Viola had a large suitcase, and a slightly smaller one which fitted inside the big one, but she had paid excess baggage to be able to use it for the extra things she had bought in Paris. She also had a carry on spinner case, plus her largest handbag. She still had spare capacity and hoped to do some shopping in Beirut.

She knew little of Jack’s personal habits and wanted to make sure his clothes were properly taken care of. *Now he’s my husband, I will make sure he is properly turned out for every occasion. He must become elegant like me, although I’ll allow him to be casual if it’s stylish!* She knew he wore boxer shorts but not if he wore a vest or tee-shirt as underwear, or long or short socks. Now she discovered these interesting facts by carefully storing all his apparel in the suite’s drawers and wardrobes.

“Haven’t you got a suit, Jack? Every man should have at least one good suit. We can go to that tailor the cabbie mentioned and you could have something made for you. It wouldn’t hurt just to visit, anyway."

This was just girlish chatter so she could hear the sound of her voice as she went on putting everything away neatly. Meanwhile Jack ordered room service. The menu was splendid. The rolling trolley arrived in half an hour. Viola noted a bottle of red wine from the famous Bekaa valley, and a bottle of champagne resting in a silver bucket of ice.

“Oooh, champagne! I know something fun we can do with that…”

Viola was committed to enjoying the erotic aspect of her sham marriage. That morning she had favoured her husband with her best vanilla BJ, which he liked very much. The minx looked forward to further exploration of his sexual geography.

“Before we eat I want to shower and change, Jack, so you must undress me, slowly and carefully. Think of me as a gift from Japan, so beautifully wrapped that it would be a crime to just rip off the paper. We’ll both enjoy it.”

She stood in the middle of the room and awaited his service.

Jack’s slow undressing of her, mixed with kisses and caresses, heated Viola’s blood. She thought he would start by kneeling but he surprised her with something even better, the careful removal of her stockings by mouth, followed by kisses of her sensitive feet. His attentions continued. By the time he got her skirt off, she was in need of a change of underwear. She stared at his excited, still slightly nervous face, wanting to strip him quickly and take full advantage of his ardour.

*Shall I let him take them off me? What will he do when he sees how I am? He’ll go mad, of course.*

She stepped away and flopped backwards onto the bed with her lower legs dangling off the edge. Her thighs rolled apart slightly. Her state of arousal was disguised by her black panties. *No! We must both shower first.* She closed her thighs and rolled onto her front, giggling and slow kicking her legs in the air to keep Jack off if he tried to jump on her.

Viola had no objection to sex when she had a clean fresh sweat from exercise or heat, but there was a limit. The dirt of a long day of travel needed to be washed away before she could enjoy love making. *Besides, I must change my wound dressing.* It was over 8 hours since she had last been able to examine the partly healed scar of the bullet she had taken during the case of the body in the orchard. She rolled over again and stood up.

“Please open the wine, Jack, and have a glass if you like but be careful not to drink too much. It’s bad for men to drink too much on their first night with a girl.”.

She smiled and skipped to the bathroom, stripped, and began to cleanse herself, first removing all her make-up, then the wound dressing. The stitches were probably no longer needed and ought to come out soon. The site was a healthy colour, showing good knitting of the skin during the healing process. It still hurt somewhat to use that arm vigorously.

Viola showered and made her face again. She didn’t bother with all the layers on her skin, however she paid close attention to her eyes and lips, the most sensual elements, and inserted her anime contacts. She put a light dressing on her shoulder, and took a painkiller. Finally she applied Creed Sublime Vanille to her pulse points, her wrists, the inside of her elbows, behind her ears, and between her thighs.

She came out of the bathroom fresh, naked and fragrant, and turned the lights down a little, to let Jack see her partly clothed in shadow as she chose her nightclothes. He already knew she didn’t shave her armpits or legs. Now he saw that she trimmed her bush neatly. She slipped into a fresh pair of white, lacey shorties, and her new, white silk camisole, with the Grecian style nightgown, the present from him, on top.

She sat at the little table which had been laid for their intimate dinner. The floaty dress draped her legs elegantly. Her arms, shoulders and upper chest were bare, the camisole concealed her from bust to hips. Depending how she sat, moved and arranged her legs, her companion would be afforded discreet sexy glimpses of her knickers. Viola gave Jack a wide-eyed look. She knew her pupils would be enlarged due to the reduced light and also her desire, which has this physiological effect -- it’s a tell in poker. The special contacts subtly widened her irises. She hoped her anime eyes would stimulate his loving thoughts.

“Would you like to eat first or have a shower, Jack?”

*What a wonderful seduction scene!* she exulted in her whirling mind. *We are like binary stars which have fallen into a spiral orbit. We’re circling and circling and in the end we will come together with such an explosion.*

"I think I had better go and have a shower first," he said with a nervous smile, getting up from his chair. Quickly making an exit to his dressing gown and a pair of silk boxers. Nothing special and he felt so underdressed in front of her, like a peasant with a goddess. The thought gave him a quiet chuckle as he went to the bathroom.

The shower wasn't a long affair but it felt good and refreshing. Finishing by giving his face a close shave for good measure, followed by a liberal splash of that French men's perfume on his neck and cheeks. The butterflies fluttering away in his stomach gave him a feeling he was attending an important meeting or a job interview. But this was something more intimate than that.

"You look beautiful Viola. I would say I could easily fall in love with you. But then I think that already happened back in France. You look absolutely divine and this is quite magical," he said loosening off his dressing gown. Affording her a brief look at his masculine frame and abdominals as he only wore silky boxers underneath. Nowhere near the same quality as her own luxurious nightgown and accessories.

“Be careful of loving me, Jack, I’m dangerous to love. The last man who…” She broke off the sentence with a slight frown.

Viola watched Jack as he primped and preened himself to the best of his male ability. *Men have such limited options in their wardrobe,* she thought, not for the first time, and was again glad to be a girl and have the power of flexing her look with different styles, makeup, and jewellery. She understood the attraction of the female body, its smooth lines and curves, its outward softness and inner strength. *It’s the muscles in men, their raw bones, jaw and hands. When they combine that strength with inner gentleness, that’s what makes them really attractive.*

He arranged himself at the dinner table, clearly displaying his physicality. He seemed a bit nervous as well as excited. *Boys get nervous because it can go wrong. The penis, such a silly soft thing until it blooms and stands proud with the heat of passion, and then it’s wonderful. A man has to be confident or it won’t work, that’s his vulnerability. I can always just lie there and pretend to enjoy it.*

Jack was attractive, he kept himself in shape, not obsessively like Viola, *Maybe I try too hard, for my silly pride.* It was easier with male hormones. Anyway, he had nothing to be ashamed of. She eyed him with a smouldering smile, to set his mind at rest. *I’ll show him how sexy he is, but we’ll have dinner first.*

They drank a toast, linking arms and sipping from each other’s glasses. Viola served the food, a mezze selection of Lebanese dishes, all good to be eaten cold: flatbread with labneh yoghurt and garlicky hummus for spreading; meatballs; baba ganoush made of mashed aubergine; two different cheeses; falafels of course; and tabbouleh salad with bulgar wheat in it. It was beautifully presented, looked delicious, and she had to restrain herself from eating too much.

When the edge was off her appetite, Viola became flirty again. She leant forwards to pour Jack’s wine, and serve him more food. She got tactile, briefly touching his hand or knee. Leaning back she sipped her wine, raised an elegant leg and gently rubbed Jack’s leg with her foot, gazing hotly at him with those huge hazel eyes. She was wearing the long earrings again, they swung with the movements of her head, throwing glints of light. She slowly arched herself from her seat and got her new phone. Sitting again she tapped out a message. Jack’s phone pinged for attention. The screen showed the subject line: My Kink List.

“You’ve already guessed I’m quite adventurous, Jack. There’s a lot of stuff I’d like to do with you, if you want to try it. I didn’t learn it in some expensive Japanese sex academy. It’s all on Cosmopolitan.com these days but most boys don’t read girls’ websites. You’d be surprised what filthy minds we have.”

She got up again and went to switch on the music system, leaving Jack to read her message. She put on the album Big Calm by Morcheeba, an old-time trip-hop epic mixed with elements of electronica and alternative rock, and began to dance slowly. Her limbs rose and fell, her skirt flowed and swirled as she spun like a ballerina on valium, revealing some of her panties and peach-like buttocks. Her trimmed hair was visible through the lace.

NSFW:

“Why don’t you open the champagne, Jack, and we’ll dance?”

Viola spun and spun to the music. She became a whirling dervish, her skirt fanning out while she held her balance by spotting on Jack, her gaze directed constantly at him except for the flicks when she must turn her head to make the next circle. He read her message and blushed, sent a response… *What has he written? Is he shocked?*

Jack deftly opened the champagne and poured two glasses. He approached her, his excitement only partly shielded by the loose folds of his dressing gown. Viola stopped spinning to accept the glass but she was still dancing, swaying to the beat. She downed her wine in one gulp, wanting to become intoxicated. She liked to be fairly drunk when having sex. It made things easier, released her inhibitions and got her blood and juices flowing.

They danced together in close hold, the kind of slow dance teenagers do at high school proms, who haven’t learnt the proper ballroom steps. It was naive and sexy at the same time, their warm bodies fronted close to each other. Viola’s breasts pressed softly on Jack’s chest, her nipples perky, channelling the sensual excitement generated by the swing and pull of her earrings. His excitement prodded at her. He pulled away and spun her, twirling her in a move which allowed him to see her body from all sides.

“I need more champagne!”

She broke away from Jack and refilled her glass, then came close to him again, let him hold her while she was reading the reply to her message.

“Pineapple rings? Ooh, that’s a good idea! We’ll try that some time. That reminds me, do you like oysters, Jack? I know something fun to do with them. For now though, I want to show you a trick with champagne. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

She knelt, her sheer skirt flouncing around her, and pulled him close. She filled her mouth with the cold, sparkling wine but she did not swallow it; she looked up at Jack’s eyes and leant forwards…

`Fade to Black`

Viola used only a few of her erotic tricks during their love-making, such as the champagne surprise and some Japanese style nipple play. She wanted to deploy her sexual arsenal gradually over a number of sessions, to see how far she and Jack could go together. She had so many ideas to try out that they couldn’t all be done in one night anyway, quite apart from the need for certain pieces of equipment still at home in Chicago.

*Nothing very kinky, well, the butt plugs, I guess, and the bondage tape. I bet he hasn’t tried nipple suction cups before either. And I’ve never had a chance to peg a guy. It’s going to be so much fun!*

These delightful thoughts sharpened her appetite. It was months since she had enjoyed sexy time with a male body and her satisfaction was complete. She slept well, and woke up slightly tired but very relaxed. She put on a dressing gown to eat breakfast.

“If you enjoyed last night half as much as me you’re a lucky guy, Jack. Also, congratulations on remembering my name. You must be deep in the role, to have called me Viola right at that moment. But I’m looking forwards to a time when we can use our real names again."

"Honey, there's a message from Berenice."

"What does she want? I suppose we’ve got to get to work.”

But it was just a calendar appointment for a video call at 10.

“An hour and a half. That’s fine. I can put my face on by then, a basic do at least and tailor it afterwards according to whatever instructions she may give us. I won’t bother to dress, though. The stuff I’ll wear to the Ahmad facility will be different to my tourist outfits. When we go I’ve got to prepare to hide the electronic bits and bobs. ‘Keep them safe, keep them secret,’ as Gandalf said to Frodo, kind of.”

Viola’s plan was to pad the equipment with some tissue paper, tie it up in a condom and insert it inside herself like a tampon. She’d done this before with small things like that and knew it would work, but it wouldn’t be particularly comfortable so she didn’t want to do it until it was essential.

At 9:55 she was sitting in her dressing gown with a cup of coffee, setting up the VPN on her mil-spec phone to avoid using the hotel’s insecure network for the video call.

The video call with Berenice and her sidekick Nassir began on time. The French Interpol agents explained the target, Ahmad IC, a medical supplies and equipment manufacturer with a significant manufacturing and shipping capacity, based in Beirut. They were suspected of being the channel by which consigments of Cake were exported to Europe.

"But we do not think the drug is manufactured there. We think it comes from a lab somewhere else in the city, Ahmad package it, perhaps as dry saline solution powder, perhaps as bags of finished saline, then send it under cover of their significant legitimate exports. Jack, you are an accountant hired by the head office in Paris to check some discrepancies in the cash accounts. Viola, you are Jack's newly married wife, working as translator and interpreter. There is a Japanese visitor today, a Mr Komatsu, so your Japanese skill may come in useful. Do your work, use the intrusion devices if you can, and find out what is going on."

The mission’s flightplan wasn’t clear, but that was to be expected with this kind of undercover job, which was as much about exploration as anything. It looked like Jack needed to get his feet under a desk, capture any useful accounts information he could, and install the intrusion software. Viola would help by delivering the card reader and USB device.

“Okay, so we have to try and find out several things: Where is the drug made? How is it packaged and shipped out with the legitimate medical goods? Plus any information we can get about unusual payments and delivery schedules.”

“Exactly right, Viola,” confirmed Berenice.

“Well, Jack and I will go to the plant together. I’ll dress up very girly and once Jack’s busy at work I’ll ask for a tour, just to nose around a bit. We need a clue about where the drug lab might be. Beirut is a big city. Hopefully Jack can find out something during his computer work. If the drugs are made elsewhere they will be delivered to the Ahmad plant in a van or something. Maybe we can spot a cargo coming in, then I’ll follow it back. I’ll hire a scooter and dress up very different. I’ll be careful wherever I go. What do you think, Jack? Berenice?”

"Smart and modest is the best way to go in Beirut Viola. Nothing overly branded particularly if it has an American flavour," Berenice advised.

Viola decided to wear her new navy blue minidress with the bishop sleeves over a black tee-shirt bra, and her kick to kill zip-up heel boots. It seemed like a good compromise between glamorous and businesslike, considering she was to work as an interpreter, not an accountant. She made up her face with full lip liner and eyeliner, enhancing the green of her eyes. Gold stud earrings and a couple of light chain necklaces for jewellery, and for disguise, a fairly long blonde wig, which she put up and tied up with her new blue patterned scarf from Charvet. Then a spritz of Creed Erolfa. Her various necessities including her pistol and a spare magazine went into a handbag with a light sling to it.

Finally she did the important job of concealing the espionage electronics in what some erotic authors would coyly describe as her ‘woman’s place’, but she preferred to think of it more earthily as her She put a panty liner inside her modest black shorties, in case of seepage of the lube.

Viola would have liked to paint her nails but it was nearly time to go, so instead she practised walking and posing, to check that she looked good and her ‘payload’ wasn’t going to be too uncomfortable.

Jack and she cabbed over to the medical supplies factory, where they were immediately plunged into the tedious process of being inducted by human resources.

*Ho hum, here we go, of course I’ll never collect the pay for this interpreting job. I hope my Japanese is up to scratch.* Viola didn’t have any real experience with medical terms. She assumed a lot of them were just Japanese versions of the English work. *And I can use my smartphone to look things up.*

Posing as a newlywed she hung on her husband’s arm when they were asked to tour the place. Once they had obtained their all important magnetic swipe access card and identification badge with employee number, they were given a treat of Lebanese morning tea. But it wasn’t a hot drink this was iced tea made with rose water and pine nuts, served with sugary syrup laden baklava.

*So yummy but packed with calories!* She took one to be polite. It was fresh and delicious.

Then it was time for them both to go their separate ways for the remainder of the morning. Viola was taken to a conference room where the Japanese visitor waited for a video conference call. Jack went by lift to the accounting offices on the top floor, and was seated at a desk with a computer and big pile of paperwork. He sighed and reached for the first file.

Jack worked all morning, and uncovered some suspicious examples of discrepancies in payments and shipments. He made two separate sets of notes, one to be presented to the auditors, the other for his private use in tracking possible drug transfers. By lunchtime he was longing to see Viola. He went to the staff canteen, where the food on offer was Lebanese; tabbouleh and fattoush salads, fried balls of kebbeh, kafta and falafel, and of course flatbreads with dips like hummus, baba ghanoush and moutabal. It was good and fresh. Viola came in and spotted him.

"Hello Honey, how was your morning? Accounting can be a bit boring at times. Preoccupation with numbers, the guy had a mound of reconciliations for me to sift through. But I think there are sums of petty cash flowing towards an obscure address in South Beirut. It's in a local market place. They sell things like gold, jewelry, herbal cosmetics, clothes, trinkets and Lebanese sweets. Anyhow that's enough from me, how did you go?"? he said, smiling. He took a look around him to make sure no one was within earshot of them.

"Can I tell you how sexy you look right now?" he whispered.

Viola was pretty tired from a couple of hours interpreting between French, English and Japanese. She hadn’t eaten much baklava at elevenses, knowing their devastating calorie content, though the tea was welcome. *I’ve got to get out for a run or something, maybe swim in the hotel pool.*

Lunch looked good, though. The Lebanese diet seemed to include a lot of vegetables, pulses and grains, all contributing to a healthy intake of fibre and non-animal protein. Jack obviously had started to get hangry but he was cheering up now, perked up by seeing her again.

“Hello Darling, how’s it going?” she asked, sitting opposite. She dug into the tabbouleh and falafels, munching and talking rudely at the same time, a deliberate ploy to foil eavesdroppers. Non-native English speakers were much less adept at interpreting the kind of half-stifled murmurs she now used to convey her news.

“The Japanese bloke, Komatsu, I met him in Tokyo, Jack. When I worked in a hostess bar. I don’t remember if I ever told you the story but I helped the Tokyo Police to nail a sex trafficking gang. Takayuki was my controller. This guy wasn’t part of that but I’m sure he’s something to do with the yakuza. It can’t be a co-incidence he’s over here arranging to buy medical equipment. Surely it’s got to be a cover for shipping some of the drug to Japan. I don’t think he remembered me. It was dark in the bar and I was dressed up to the nines with a big hairdo and elaborate make-up.”

She went on browsing from her plate and reached out to take Jack’s hand, the natural gesture of a wife to a husband. She used it to transfer the USB stick into his palm.

“I managed to load the stick into the computer in the conference room, when the rest of them went for a break. Can you try and load it into another computer in your office? I think we should bin it after that. Get it out and destroy it.”

NEW SCENE

The sleazy diner's door swung open to admit a white woman, mid 20s, hair concealed under an Arab style headscarf, her eyes hidden by heavy sunglasses. She wore a blue business suit jacket which buttoned left over right, a white shirt, and tight white jeans blotched with crimson stains, black and white plimsolls on her feet. There were two gold-mounted pearl brooches dangling from her left lapel. She took a good look around the diner before she seated herself at the counter, removed her sunglasses and headscarf to reveal fresh makeup, hazel-green eyes and long, honey-blonde hair done up with pins.

"Un Croque Madame and coffee, please," the newcomer requested, in French accented English.

The blonde dug into her large sling handbag, bringing out a small holstered pistol, a spare magazine and a box of ammunition. While waiting for service she began to fiddle with the weapon and spare bullets, unloading cartridges, setting them out neatly on the counter, counting them and reloading them in a different combination.

The staff and customers alike were aghast at the open display of weaponry. A chorus of protest arose, involving much swearing and demands to take herself elsewhere.

The blonde's eyes popped at the sudden admonitions coming from four different directions. Taken aback, she hung her head in shame.

"I am verry sorree, Mesdames et Monsieur, I did not know eet ees a rrule. My 'usband, 'ee is Americain. 'Ee made me buy eet when we 'ad to go to Beirut, because 'ee was afraid for me, but I 'ave found out zat Beirut is less of crime zan most cities in ze USA. Eet is true, you can look on Google! So now I am nerveuse 'ere and I carry eet always. Zere is no need to zrow me out, I will put eet away and go."

She put the gun and bullets neatly back into her handbag, laid 5 dollars on the counter and got off her stool, ready to leave. She slung the bag cross body.

"Please may I 'ave some coffee to drink in ze parking while I wait for a taxi? I am very thirst."

The boss lady jerked her head to signal the waitress to hand out a paper cupful.

The blonde took the coffee with a grateful smile.

"Sank you, Madame, I will drink eet in ze parking as I promised."

Outside, she curled her lip at the grimy concrete pavement which bounded the diner's walls, but she sat anyway. Her jeans were already heavily soiled. The blood probably wouldn't come out even with a boil wash. She sipped coffee and dialled for a cab. Her phone was a brand new Samsung, glossily expensive. Streetwise, she hid it in her bag as soon as she was done. She got up to pace to and fro, though the taxi must be at least 10 minutes away.

Suddenly, a rough looking white man stepped round the corner and menaced the girl with a knife.

"Gimme the bag!"

She reacted instantly, aggressively, threw her hot coffee in his face, grabbed his wrist with both hands and turned the knife away from her. She rammed her sharp knee at his groin. Startled he jumped away, pulling his knife hand from her grip. He took a stance with legs apart and arm cocked to attack.

The girl whipped her right foot up in a punt to his crotch. The mugger hooted and dropped his knife. He grabbed his balls, sagging to the ground. The enraged girl swept up the blade and put it in her bag, then began to deliver kicks to the man's shrinking body and head, punctuated with French insults.

"Salaud! Espece de merde! Cochon! Ta guele!"

It was lucky for him she was wearing plimsolls rather than the Jimmy Choo combat boots she had put on at the start of her day. As it was, the last kick hit his teeth. She stubbed her toe and began to hop up and down in pain.

"Aie! Aie! Ceci c'est ta faute, fils de putain!"

The man got up to stagger away, but the blonde limped after him and kicked him in the back of the knee. His wobbly legs collapsed. He knelt on the grimy asphalt, tears rolling down his cheeks, blood dripping from his split lip.

"Whaddaya want, lady? You already beat the gak outta me and took my knife. Can't you just let me go home and die in peace?"

"You owe me un café. Give me five dollars or I'll call ze police!"

"Thas blackmail, y'know."

The sorry looking man held out a 5 spot. Her hand snapped it up as quick as a snake.

"Sank you. You can go."

He slouched off like a dilapidated zombie.

Viola strutted up and down, limping. Took out the knife and put it back. Slotted the pistol holster under her jacket skirt. The adrenaline reaction to the fight made her jumpy, dried her mouth. Now she had nothing to drink.

*Puis-je demander encore de café?* she wondered. *Non. Pas amicaux là-bas. La dame plus âgée était gentille mais elle n'est pas la patronne. Bof! Au moins j'ai cinq dollars.*

Eventually the taxi arrived. She asked the driver to take her home via a drive-thru fast food place. When he saw the state of her jeans he wanted an extra $20 for cleaning the rear seat. She was in no mood to argue, simply shoved the notes into his hand and climbed in.

*Alors, je vais prendre un très long bain chaud chez mois. Et du vin.* Despite fresh coffee from the drive-thru she was asleep when the cab reached her little flat. The driver, a middle-aged family man, looked at the girl, young enough to be his daughter.

"Miss, miss, we're here, it's time to wake up." He nudged her shoulder.

"Oh Daddy, you ate the last chocolate biscuit!" She blinked owlishly. A dream had spanned the Atlantic to grant precious minutes with her English father. She paid the fare with a good tip, thanked the kind man, and finally gained sanctuary.

Jason thought about the Japanese man who Pia had met months ago in the bar in Tokyo. Of course it couldn't be a coincidence that he was over here. But for what? They were soon going to find out.

"I'll see you in the foyer after work today, honey. I know what you're thinking about these tasty Lebanese sweets. But you're missing your exercise routine. Well, fortunately there is a swimming pool and gym in our hotel. We can both avail it later on," he smiled.

He knew he needed a quiet and relatively isolated cubicle to view the contents of the archive. It was part data, part Word file. Some of it was written in Japanese. But the part he did read in English was the name of the distributors: Amir Al Shahba Pharma & Cosmetics in Syria, Rawafi Pharma & Cosmetics in Jordan, The suppliers Roche in Lebanon, Ahmad drug laboratories in Lebanon and Mitsubishi Tsunabi in Japan. Then, circled in red, the street name Yarmouk Chatila. Then highlighted a shop, Az Zusra: Lebanese cosmetics importer and exporter in Southern Beirut. The correspondence between Mitsubishi Tsunabi in Japan and a relatively obscure shop in Southern Beirut did not reconcile but it appeared goods were traded between Az Zusra and Ahmad drug laboratories in Lebanon.

Just then he heard a knock on his door. Jack immediately clicked the screen into boss mode. He would need to remove and destroy the USB stick before the end of the day. He had seen enough. There was an address, a business name also.

*Numbers that don't add up and what really does Ahmad want me to do here? Because it indicated that they are losing money to a Japanese business with little to show for it? Meanwhile business is doing great with Ahmed's trade of dialysis products to both France and the USA. But also why is part of the profit being funnelled into countries like Syria and Jordan? Something is very fishy here and I need to tell Viola, is this company financing weapons and drugs through the blackmarket?!*

After work he met up with Viola again in the foyer. There was so much to tell. Plus he wanted to have a good dinner, work out in the pool. He made sure he crushed the usb stick under his heel, and had it flushed before leaving.

Viola greeted Jack with a relatively chaste hug and kiss after work, because she didn’t think a scorching tongue wrestle was appropriate for the foyer of a major Beirut medical supplies company. They went out and walked in the street for a bit, to get some fresh air and take in the atmosphere of the city. But the air wasn’t fresh. At the end of a long day of traffic, it had got to about twice the EU limit of noxious gasses and particulates. The view of the distant sea was shrouded with piss yellow haze.

“Let’s get a cab, Jack. I wanted to go running but it’ll make me ill to run in this bad air. I’ll run on a treadmill at the hotel.”

They easily caught a taxi, then sat in stop-start traffic for 30 minutes before they got to the Four Seasons. The cool, filtered air of the reception was a relief. The couple came to their suite, and Viola switched on the sound system, searching for a talk radio station. If the room was bugged, semi-random human voices were a better cover than music for their conversation.

“I went to Japan partly to see my brother. He works there and he’d got a Japanese girlfriend. I mean, she wasn’t quite his girlfriend back then, the first time I went, which was just for a holiday. Everyone wanted them to get together because, well, all sorts of things but they were really right for each other and he’s such a slowcoach, because of... Stuff… things which happened before. Anyway, they became a couple in the end, and now they’re married and they’re so happy! I’m glad I helped.”

She was getting lost in nostalgia.

“Sorry, Jack. The thing is I went to live in Tokyo for a while because I wanted to learn Japanese. That was when I worked at the hostess club. There’s this thing in Japan, a whole world of night-time adult entertainment called the Mizu Shobai. That means the Water Trade. It covers everything from snack bars where you just eat and drink and talk, to pink salons, which is somewhere a man can go and get a beer and a blowjob. Actually it goes farther than that. There are full-on sex clubs. Hostess clubs are in that spectrum, towards the more innocent end. I mean they are about flirting and talking rather than sex. Hostesses do hook up with clients sometimes, it’s true, but it happens outside the club. You go to a Love Hotel. I never did that. Even so I heard plenty of drunk chitter-chatter in the bar, and that’s how I got into the thing with Takayuki, the sex trafficking case. I couldn’t sit still and leave it alone. Innocent young girls were getting traded like pieces of meat!”

She walked around the room in agitation, and finally floofed onto the bed.

“The point is, Komatsu is dodgy. He wasn’t part of that sex case but he was in with the yakuza somehow. If it’s not sex it must be drugs. And money. Money is always involved somehow. That’s why your work on accounting is so important. Follow the money!”

Jack came and sat down near her. He recognised the ruse that she was playing right now. The ambient noise from the radio would be enough to mask their subdued conversation. *Good work,* he thought.

"It's good to know we can't trust that Japanese guy Komatsu, honey," he said softly.

He went to the minibar and pulled out a couple of beers. He cracked open the bottles and offered one of them to her, then sat beside her leaving the talk radio blaring in the background.

"Well, I am super glad that you got out of that sex trade, I never liked that sort of thing. I know this Komatsu has frequented a shop called Az Zusra. It's a Lebanese cosmetics importer and exporter in Southern Beirut. Goods are definitely traded between Az Zusra and Ahmad drug laboratories in Lebanon. But there is no record of the actual items only transfer of cash. It’s like Ahmad drug laboratories are trading more than just mere dialysis products to Europe and America. The figures don't match or reconcile, although there is no denying that they make a profit with exporting dialysis products. I’m thinking the extra cash is being used to buy something else, maybe from Al Shahba Pharma & Cosmetics in Syria, also Rawafi Pharma & Cosmetics in Jordan. With both of those two companies there is no record of pharmaceuticals being traded at all although there are cash transfers. The places where the money is withdrawn are in fact Hezbollah known areas. It could be used to purchase arms perhaps?"

He took another sip of his beer then held her hand as he spoke.

"I don't think we have a choice now, honey. One of us has to go and check out this shop called Az Zusa in Southern Beirut. We need to track Mr Komatsu's movements now. I know they are expecting me to work out where that money has gone. They keep piling mounds of paperwork on the desk. But this sounds dangerous. I need to be in touch with you constantly. We aren't in a position to blow his cover or whoever is running this business either. But we need more proof before we can get the green light to shut this whole drug operation down. Then again we need an extraction point, a safe house if necessary. That information will come from Berenice I hope," he continued.

Viola took the offered beer and sipped it. She was hungry and thought she might get fuzzy headed if she drank a lot on an empty stomach.

“Well, that’s interesting, because Komatsu has finished most of what he came here for. He’s got to wait for the legal people here and in Japan to swap documents and go through them for corrections, then sign them off. They expect it to take a couple of days.”

She sipped again, squeezing Jack’s hand.

“The point is, he’s not going to the office tomorrow and he asked if he could borrow me to accompany him around Beirut. I said I don’t speak Arabic beyond a few simple phrases, but French and English are widely spoken and he’s happy with that. His English isn’t very good. Maybe he fancies me, too. Some men like the challenge of seducing someone else’s wife. Anyway, I’ll go with him and see what clues I can find out. Maybe he’ll go down to this Az Zusa place, and I’ll see something there. In case he did recognise me from Tokyo, I’ll take precautions. I’ll bring my pistol and rape spray, and I’ll leave the location app running on my phone, so you can track it all the time from yours. Okay, just a minute.”

She got up and went to the bathroom, coming back in a couple of minutes with the card reader, giving it to Jack so he could upload the data he’d captured.

“Once Berenice has a chance to look at that, she may come back with some more plans for us. I don’t think there’s enough evidence yet. Even if we can get it tomorrow, it’ll take her two or three days to set up raids on the drug lab and the Ahmad plant. Maybe we’ll work with the raiders but from the inside. I don’t know. It depends on how things go tomorrow, probably. Look, if I’m out with Komatsu tomorrow, you had better leave the card reader here. You can’t risk taking it in. You can't hide it like I can.”

"I had better upload the data right away for Berenice," he said, took the card reader and inserted the fake credit card. It would upload in a couple of minutes. "Tomorrow I will continue the tedious reconciliation of the accounts, while you accompany Mr Komatsu hopefully towards that Az Zusa shop. I will also need to be prepared at a minute's notice to leave the department. To possibly come and help you out if the situation gets dangerous."

Jack wasn't sure when Viola wanted to get in her exercise up in the hotel's gym or swimming pool. But he figured she may want to eat first and get room service. Then worry about that later. He smiled as he picked up the phone and asked for room service. He was thinking of the wonderful time with her in Paris.

“Let's try all the Lebanese foods until we get tired of them and want something familiar," Viola agreed. "Everything’s been good so far and it's a very healthy diet. Get that for dinner, then we can go to the gym. I want to do some running. I’ll do some weight machines, because I can control the range of movement of my shoulder. I need to see a doctor about it before I go swimming. I think the stitches are ready to come out.”

She changed into her sports outfit while they waited for the room service trolley to arrive. Patterned blue, high waist leggings and a sports bralette with a Studio Ghibli flower print tee-shirt on top, and her essential kit in a waist pack to be slung cross body. Viola had quite a streak of paranoia. She never went anywhere without a minimum emergency kit containing a credit card and some cash, a weapon, and girl necessities, even if she was just going from her bedroom to the hotel gym.

The food arrived, and created a space in which to discuss possible future operations.

“This is very good," she smiled. "I like the different spreads, the labneh and hummus and so on. The meatballs are rather nice too. If we find concrete evidence tomorrow that Az Zusa is the drab manufacturing lab, and the drugs are being moved to the Ahmad plant for shipping onwards, then my guess is Berenice will work with the local police to set up simultaneous raids on both locations to shut them down, capture all the evidence and as many of the smugglers as possible. Who knows, we may find clues such as emails or documents that point onwards to Paris and Chicago, as well as which, the gang members will be questioned. Shall we wait 30 minutes for our food to digest before we go to the gym?”

But Jack had other ideas. The sight of the athletic blonde in her tight leggings, digging lustily into the good food, had aroused another appetite in him. He took her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers, tasting the garlic in the hummus they had eaten, and the juicy lamb in the meatballs.

As Jack began to smooch her, Viola realised she was very horny. She responded eagerly, relishing the flavour of their shared meal and the rich wine in their mingled saliva. *It's the time of the month,* she thought, *Nearly my best chance to get pregnant according to my apps, so I better be extra careful. Ooh! What shall I do?* She moaned into his mouth and tightened her arms around him, reclining onto the sofa and drawing him down on top of her. But then she turned her head away to speak into his ear.

"Jack! If we carry on like this now, I won't be able to go running, because my leggings will need a wash. I really want to go running. Let's go running and we'll get all sweaty then we'll rush back here and have some fun. How many condoms are left? I can't risk getting pregnant now."

But although Viola's mind told her to stop making out and go running, her body had other ideas. She was grinding her hips against her husband without realising it. She kissed him again, then broke off.

"Damn it! We can get up early and go running. Put some nice music on and let me drink my wine."

She began to try and wriggle out from under him.

Jack was pleasantly surprised to find Viola already horny towards him. He could definitely get used to this idea of being married. He had almost forgotten that she was really Pia or Olympe. Still a brilliant linguist, a police detective from Chicago. It was all too easy now for him. He knew going back to Chicago their lives wouldn't be the same. The stakes were much higher now; espionage, drugs, disguises, aliases and the like. Life would no longer be normal and mundane. Then he heard her speak as he found himself on top of her.

"Wh-what was that? Oh protection? You want to go running now, is that it?” he asked, as she squirmed to move out from under him. When she changed her mind he was reminded it was always a woman's prerogative to do so. He eagerly complied, fumbled around in his baggage for the spare condoms, pocketing them before going over to put on the radio. There was a news flash, something about an explosion in South Beirut, but Jack changed the channel to a music station. He came back over to her, placed his hands around her waist so he ended up cupping her behind. Then planted a kiss on her lips. Before gently swaying to the music with her. Twirling her around on his hand then moving and swaying almost in a slow rumba style of dance. The music had a slight reggae feel to it but it was modern music.

For a moment Viola thought they should listen to the radio news. Maybe there was some incident linked to the case they were working on. Her sexual arousal overruled the idea, though. The news would be available later, with more facts and analysis, better quality information. Now was the time for sexy dancing.

She quickly stripped off her leggings, leaving her legs bare below the hem of her tee-shirt, and returned to Jack’s warm arms. They danced together, close at first, then he spun her and began more of a rumba style. She began to dance the proper steps, being confident in more than the basics. She laughed at her mental image of the young couple dancing partly clothed in sports kit, and her long pale legs flashing in the lights. They danced three dances to different tracks, then Viola slowed down, put her arms around her husband’s neck and drew him close for warm body contact. She nuzzled her face into his neck.

“Let’s go to bed now, Jack, and make love at least twice, only no missionary position tonight, I’ve got some other ideas, nothing too acrobatic, I promise, then we’ll shower and sleep, and early in the morning I’ll take you to the gym for some running. Also, I hate to mention work but Berenice will probably want to speak to us at some point.”

Their passions were already high, from the dancing and anticipation. The lovers were infatuated. It was the first flush of their affair. Viola unwound herself and gently pulled Jack towards the huge cool bed.

Viola was woken early by her alarm. She got ready for the gym, a one hour session consisting of a 5K run and some light weights, including warm up and cool down. She enjoyed her workout, the first decent bit of exercise she had managed to get since leaving Chicago. Her 5K time wasn’t far off her personal best and her shoulder didn’t twinge too much on the weights machines. *I should get the stitches taken out,* she thought, then saw her husband was also in the gym. *Good! He needs to keep fit too, lots of sex isn’t really proper exercise and he spends all day sitting at a desk, which is bad for your posture. I won’t let him take me dancing if his posture gets bad. He must always be elegant.*

She went back to the room, showered, rearranged her wig, made her face, and changed into the outfit she had decided on for the day; red sports bralette and boyshort style panties, the new white Levis with a black leather belt and a white collar shirt, short black socks, Jimmy Choo combat boots with a cute white panel on the ankle cuff.

She put her powder blue suit jacket -- the one which buttoned up man style, left over right -- on top of everything, and added a black beret to be worn outside. She surveyed herself in the mirror, satisfied she looked smart and sexy, but not very clever. *White jeans really do go best with a restricted colour palette. I bet Komatsu will be wearing a boring suit and tie. Someone’s got to brighten up the scene.*

Jack arrived and after he showered and changed they went together to breakfast. Viola left her jacket in the room, but took her shoulder slung handbag. A small packet was waiting for her at Reception, probably the wire unit from Berenice so she bagged it to look at later, thinking she should leave her hair down to give the electronics maximum coverage.

After breakfast they went back up and checked the wire. It was a neat unit with two pickups disguised as large, gold mounted pearl earrings, the clip-on type for people who didn’t have pierced ears. They connected to a smartphone app through Bluetooth, which was used to control them, record audio and upload it into the cloud automatically. *It’s going to use a lot of battery,* Viola thought. *I’ll take both my phones in case the Samsung runs out. Anyway I'll put my hair up, because nice earrings shouldn't be wasted.*

Jack looked at Viola with a gleam in his eyes.

“You know for a super secret agent you look absolutely stunning, love,” he said, and gave her a kiss on the lips.

Viola preened at Jack's praise of her appearance. It was one of her weaknesses, the insecurity which led to her to strive so hard for the validation of other people’s eyes.

"I know you're worried for me, Jack, so I'll keep Glympse running all the time. That will let you track my location. Also, you'll be able to eavesdrop on what's going on by listening to the audio from my earrings. But don't get too distracted from your accounting work. If someone catches you doing that, both our covers will be blown. And look, I'm not defenceless, I've got my rape spray and my pistol."

After a slow cab ride they were at the Ahmad offices, where Jack was to spend the day with his head buried in accounts. *While I cavort with Komatsu,* she grinned, *Except it might be dangerous. I must keep my wits about me.*

Komatsu was waiting for them, somewhat annoyed because they were late due to the bad traffic, but he concealed it and bowed politely. The Japanese businessman was wearing a cream linen suit with no tie, and carried a large leather manbag. He had dressed more casual for a day’s touristy shopping, so Viola’s outfit matched very well. She flipped into translation mode.

“Ima sugu ikimashou ka, Komatsu-san?” Shall we go straight away?

“Hai. Sono takushii ni noru na.” Yes. We’ll take your taxi.

Jack was still paying off the fare. When he had finished, he gave Viola a caress on the hand, and headed off to his desk. Komatsu was waiting for the car door to open by itself, like a Japanese cab, but of course it didn’t. Viola opened it for him and he got in. She took off her jacket, not wanting to crease it more, and slung her bag again.

“I want to go to South Beirut, Mrs Tremblay. There is a good market to explore and a particular shop I want to visit.”

“Yes, Mr Komatsu. I only have a few phrases of Arabic but French and English are widely spoken here, so I think it will be alright. Besides, when money wants to change hands there is always a way to communicate.”

As the car inched through the bad traffic, they exchanged smalltalk about Viola’s life in Tokyo. She concealed the fact of her work as a hostess and emphasised involvement with her brother, his Japanese wife, and the language schools she had attended as a student of Japanese and as a teacher of English. It was easy to convince Komatsu that she had taught English conversation part-time, rather than hostessing. Plenty of young westerners with minimal qualifications did it, because for many Japanese it was just a way to enjoy an hour's chatting with an attractive foreigner.

Eventually the taxi reached the entrance to a souk and they got out, to continue their exploration on foot. The traditional market place was a large, complicated network of alleys, wider streets and open squares, crowded with shops and stalls of different sizes, selling all manner of goods. It was moderately busy, and noisy, the air filled with sales calls by vendors, the chatter of their customers, and a variety of exotic scents. Komatsu led the way, navigating with his smartphone. They soon reached the front of Az Zusa, with signage in Latin, Greek and Arabic scripts.

The store had narrow aisles. Posters featuring gorgeous middle-eastern models, showcasing mascara, lipstick and eye-shadow, adorned the walls. There were lots of items in haircare, skincare, and health treatments. A section devoted to Lebanese herbal extracts and tinctures featured Sage, Zatar, Marjoram, Fennel, Thyme to name a few. Viola was enthused by the prospect.

"Ooh, will you buy a gift for Mrs Komatsu? How lovely! I hope I may have a chance to buy something for myself."

A young woman wearing a pastel coloured shawl over her long brunette hair, a dark blue conservative dress and a white long sleeve shirt spoke to the foreigners. "Pouvez-vous parler Francais?" she asked.

"Euh, bien sur je parle Francais, parce que je suis Francaise!" Viola replied, but the shop girl continued in English.

"How may I help today?"

Mr Komatsu looked at his interpreter, then back at the woman behind the counter. "I have an appointment to see Mr Faisal."

The Lebanese woman went out the back and returned a minute later with a middle-aged of Arabic appearance, sporting a beard and short black hair, greying at the temples. But judging by the look of indifference on Mr Komatsu's features he wasn't the right man. There seemed to be a bit of argument going on between two shop staff. They were talking in Arabic. The young woman then spoke in French explaining that both Viola and Komatsu had to be blindfolded before they would be taken to see Mr Faisal, who wasn't inside this shop, but one block away in an undisclosed area. They were to trust this protocol as it was necessary to conduct the business.

Viola felt this was not too risky a proposition. If the Arabs were in the drug trade it was natural that they would take such precautions as blindfolding people and searching them. She explained the conditions to Komatsu in Japanese, adding that she was scared but trusted him to look after her. Obviously her pistol was going to be discovered. But it could be explained away as something insisted on by her paranoid American husband. Even violent gangs need to have more ways of dealing with each other than just killing everyone. In the end, she trusted that the Glympse trace and the earring mic uploads would identify her location to Jack if the gak hit the fan. She assented to the search and blindfold without serious objection, hoping Jack was keeping an eye on things.

Jack was eavesdropping on the conversation thanks to Berenice’s state of the art surveillance gear. His heart was thumping. But the Lebanese fortunately had no suspicion of her innocent looking earrings.

"Look what we have here! This lady has a nice looking weapon." It was Viola's SIG Sauer P365 SAS, a slick little gun with the kind of laser sight you use if you're not a good shot. The man confiscated it. "If you don’t mind. At the meeting these are not allowed."

“My husband is American, monsieur. He is so worried and made me carry a gun because he thinks Beirut is dangerous but really Chicago is worse. I am sure you are polite and will give it back to me. He will be very angry with me if I lose it. Please be kind.”

*Oh feth, careful Viola. That was damn close!*

”Mr Tremblay, what are you doing?" It was the lady accountant Amira. "The company isn’t paying you to surf the internet. Start reconciling these accounts. We have lots of ledgers when you're done with that."

”Yes, I’m right on it, Mrs Amira. I’m up to the Jordanian accounts now,” he replied. Fortunately he managed to minimise his screen of the Glympse trace before she could see the details.

Viola had been in some sticky situations before, like the time she posed as a bunny girl to get the evidence to nail a gang of oligarch money launderers at a classy casino in London. The key was to keep cool. *There’s nothing surprising about a pistol in criminal circles…* she reminded herself.

She and Komatsu were blindfolded and guided to a new location. The careful walk took about five minutes, which was farther than she expected but she could tell by the various turns they took, that they were not going in a straight line. They arrived at a new place and their blindfolds were removed. Two men were sat at a table. Komatsu and Viola sat the other side. The Japanese put his case on the surface and pushed it over. It was opened and the contents removed and examined, very clearly bundles of high value US dollar notes wrapped in bands like you get them from the bank. The Lebanese nodded approval and placed a well-wrapped bag of some kind of powder in the case, then slid it back over to Komatsu. He took it out to check.

Viola had been hoping not to see Komatsu doing the drug deal but it was pretty blatant. She played up her ditzy blonde persona to try and convince everyone that they needn’t worry about her witnessing the transaction.

“Sono tokubetsuna komukigo wa oiishi go-men ni narusou wa ne, Komatsu-san.” That special flour looks like it will become some delicious noodles, Mr Komatsu.

The Japanese man looked at the Arabs and rolled his eyes.

“She is… useful, very pretty, but… not, uh…. Yes, Mrs Tremblay, it is a very good new type of flour from organic chickpeas, to be made into noodles. I want to make these special noodles a new thing in Japan. We Japanese like new varieties of foods. It will become a boom and make me a fortune.”

The exchange of cash for the neat package of powder was accomplished quickly. The visitors were again blindfolded and ushered to another building where the Arab men restored Viola's weapon and left them. It seemed they were free to go. Viola waited for Komatsu to give a lead. He started to walk along the corridor and down the stairs. There was a spring in his step. Clearly Komatsu was pleased with the success of the deal. Viola walked a step or two behind him, the traditional place for a Japanese woman accompanying a man.

As they descended, a man wearing a patterned red Shemagh head scarf began walking up. He had a cream linen jacket over a white shirt, and dark blue trousers. There was a newspaper draped over his right forearm. The Arab man blocked the stairway and spoke, "Bonjour, monsieur..."

Komatsu replied in English. "Do I know you? Speak to my interpreter, please," motioning over his shoulder to Viola. But the man raised his arm, there was a click and a hiss of gas. Komatsu took it in the face, he swayed and began to collapse.

The attack happened in a rush. Viola smelt the characteristic bitter almond scent of cyanide and held her breath. Komatsu didn’t stand a chance. After collapsing from the poison he fell down the stairs, ending a limp, misshapen bundle at the bottom. His head was bleeding from a cut, and cocked at an angle that argued for a broken neck. The assassin grabbed the drugs bag and ran off.

Thinking quickly Viola checked for a pulse. There was nothing. Komatsu was dead from a combination of poison and the fall. She shoved her mil-spec phone into the dead man’s inside pocket to mark the location of the body, then gave a scream of horror -- "Oh my God! my God!" -- and ran after the disappearing assassin. She hoped the drug dealers upstairs would assume she had run away in panicked fear.

The man’s bright red head scarf bobbed and weaved as he moved through the crowded market. As she ran Viola began to change her appearance. She ripped off her black beret and dropped it in the gutter, unbuttoned her jacket to let it flap open and expose more white shirt front, swapped her slung bag to the other shoulder, and put on her big sunglasses, which hid most of the top half of her face. It wasn’t much but the murderer had only got a quick glance at her, so even a few small changes would make it harder for him to spot her following.

The man wasn’t running fast. It was hard to get through the crowd without bumping into people. After a couple of minor collisions he slowed his pace to a jog and Viola found she could keep him in sight fairly easily. She began to whisper a commentary to Jack, hoping her Samsung phone was relaying the audio and her changing position.

“Jack, Komatsu did the deal but he’s been killed. I’m following the killer through a market. He’s got the bag with the drugs. I left my other phone on Komatsu’s body, so we can track it. Get in touch with Berenice and ask for help.”

Fortunately Jack was hearing all of this take place, her running commentary in his earpiece. His heart almost skipped a beat hearing that Komatsu being killed by what must have been an assassin. But was understandably worried that Viola was now chasing him on foot. He needed to act now and contact Berenice on another secure line.

He mentioned to one of the accountants that he needed to go to the rest room. As Jack walked away briskly without much fuss, one of the accountants told him not to take too long. He found an empty Janitor's cubby to make a secure phone call to Berenice. She picked up instantly, and heard his succinct report.

“Jack, don't worry about the dead body. I have agents in Beirut who will carefully recover it. It is clear that Mr Komatsu was involved in this drug trade, and there is a connection between the Az Zusa shop and the Ahmad plant. Thank you for reporting this. You must help Viola and track down the assassin. If at all possible we need more hard evidence in this case. Do I make myself clear?” she said.

“Very clear, I’m leaving the office now,” Jack replied.

Soon Jack left the office walking at a brisk pace, which raised some eyebrows among the staff. He exited and got in a taxi, relying on Viola's Glympse signal to track her last known position. He told the driver to head for the souk, and unobtrusively screwed a silencer into the end of his Glock 9mm semi-automatic pistol.

Meanwhile, the Arab man wearing the red checked shemagh head neck scarf was still escaping the crime scene on foot. Ducking and weaving through the crowd, past handcarts and motor scooters. Pushing past trolleys with fruit and dates. Knocking over crates and fruit. Heading down an alleyway. He occasionally looked back to see if Viola was still hot on his tail.

Viola decided she needed to change her appearance further. She paused for a few seconds to buy a woman's cotton head scarf in white with a blue stripe, and set off after the killer again, putting her sunglasses away and hiding her blonde hair with the new shawl.

They left the main open square of the market and went into the tangled net of roads and alleys which surrounded it. The wider streets were lined with shops selling all kinds of goods, colourful spices, dried beans and nuts, household items like cooking pots and crockery. *I must come back some time* she thought while trying not to be too obvious pursuing the runner but it was getting more difficult as the number of people in the streets thinned out.

Suddenly the man dodged left into a narrow alley. Viola got to the corner, paused, and poked her eye round to check for an ambush. The runner was still going. She cocked her pistol, let him get around the next bend, then took off again, gun in hand. He wasn’t tiring, but they hadn’t gone very far yet. The alley was deserted. The cushioned strides of her Jimmy Choo boots echoed softly from the tall walls of the enclosing buildings.

*Can my phone get a signal here?* she worried, *GPS gets cut off by masonry.*

She ran faster to get back into sight of her quarry, careless if he heard her. There were no civilians around to act as stalking horses anyway. The runner reached a T junction and went right. When Viola reached the corner she again paused to check for an ambush. The alley ahead was straight and clear as far as the eye could see. The man had gone into one of the buildings ahead of her. But which one? She ran her gaze up the higher stories, hoping for some clue. She rang her partner.

“Jack, I’ve lost him but I’ve got a rough location. There are three different doors he could have gone into. What should I do? I’ll stay here as long as I can. It doesn’t feel safe to go on alone.”

It took Jason’s taxi 20 minutes to reach the souk, then he had to make his way on foot to Viola’s position. He had a rough lock on her from her Glympse trace but the signal was flickering. He told the taxi driver to drop him off as close as possible to her last known position, then explored on foot. He looked around before taking off, to check that no-one noticed. The buildings interrupted the phone and GPS signal, making their relative positions strobe in and out of view. His adrenaline kicked in and fuelled his legs. Moving down a deserted alley, he turned a corner and slowed as he spotted the T-junction. There was a woman wearing a cotton scarf, like a shawl, covering her head. *Is that Viola?* He couldn't recognise her. Then his eyes drifted to her long legs in tight white Levi jeans, those unmistakable Jimmy Choo combat boots with the white stripe on the ankle. *That’s my Viola!* he thought.

He wanted to come up and kiss her but that would be so out of place. Not to mention out of touch with middle eastern customs. As she was wearing a shawl now covering her head. He came up close to her before whispering, without touching or embracing her. It was extremely frustrating but he would be an idiot to blow her cover.

“I got your message, Viola. I have my weapon ready. Shall we both try the middle doorway? Berenice is sorting out Komatsu's body. But let's get this son of a bitch.”

Viole was practically sweating bullets by the time Jack found her.

“Thank God you’re here, Jack. It’s the one on the left. I saw a woman come out onto the roof terrace and hang up a red headscarf which looks like the killer’s on a drying rack. He’s probably changing his clothes, maybe having a shower. He was wearing a white suit and dark trousers. I think I’d recognise his face anyway, if I get close. Hopefully the physical evidence is in there."

"I'll go first and kick the door in, then you go ahead to the first piece of cover. Then we leapfrog each other according to training."

"No, let me go and knock on the door. Perhaps the woman will answer. I’ll say I’m lost and ask for a glass of water. She might let me in, then I’ll hold the door open and you can rush in. She’ll probably scream at that so be very careful because he might be armed. He has a kind of poison gas gun anyway and he might have a pistol or something. If she doesn’t answer maybe we can smash the door down but that will give him more warning. Let’s try my way first.”

He nodded. The idea was sound.

She took off her dark glasses to look more friendly, buttoned up her jacket and knocked on the door. After a minute it was opened by a middle-aged Arabic looking woman wearing a headscarf. The lady of the house looked puzzled at the newcomer.

“Bonjour, Madame, je m’appele Viola. Est-ce que vous parler Francais?”

“Oui, un peu. La mademoiselle a-t-elle besoin de l’aide?”

“Je suis un touriste perdue et j’ai gros soif. S’il vous plait, donnez moi du l’eau?”

“Ah, oui, oui, entrez, entrez, mademoiselle.”

Viola stepped into the entrance and began to unlace her boots, since she had read this was the strict custom in Arab homes as well as Japanese. The lady smiled approvingly and went down the corridor, presumably to fetch some water. *It’ll be fine to run around inside in just my socks,* Viola thought, and turned to beckon Jack.

He waited for Viola to step aside from the doorway. Once that happened he entered the house like a bull in a china shop. Storming inside, gun in hand, he had no time for pleasantries. The lady screamed in terror as he rushed past. He knew the killer was nearby.

“No one has to get hurt here. I’m here for someone else,” Jack told the Lebanese housewife, but she only screamed again. Suddenly a shot was fired from an upstairs room. It narrowly missed him. As his gun was already loaded he fired a volley of shots, working up the stairs. The silenced gun coughed and hissed. Hot brass tinkled back down the stairway, and the smell of burnt propellant filled the air. Bullet holes were making a mess of a half-open door.

He ran towards the room then barrel-rolled into a nearby room which turned out to be the bathroom. As he rolled the suspect fired another shot at him from behind the bullet riddled door. He felt pain in his thigh. A quick check showed a bloodstain but he could still move his leg. *It must have grazed me?* he thought, breathing heavily.

The lone gunman was holed up inside the main bedroom.

Viola saw Jack run past, gun in hand, and the woman screamed at the intrusion.

“Je suis désolé, Madame. Nous sommes la police.”

She didn’t have a badge to show, because it was back at the hotel to prevent discovery in a search by the drug gangsters, but her pistol granted authority of a sterner kind. She jogged cautiously and quietly after Jack, wary in case there were other criminals in the house. There was a gunshot from upstairs, then the quieter sound made by Jack’s silenced pistol as he returned fire. She ascended the stairway, gun held in both hands and laser sight activated. The green dot swept across the doors on the upper floor as she got near the head of the stairway. One of them was filled with bullet holes.

Jack dodged across her field of view and rolled into a room Viola couldn’t see. The door on the right opened slightly wider, and the muzzle of a pistol was pushed out, but she could not see the man behind the door holding it. He fired at Jack. Viola shot three rounds through the door, hoping to hit the gunman at random but they all missed. She was shaking with adrenaline and wasn’t shooting well, plus he was a hidden target so she needed some luck to get a good hit.

“Police. Lâchez votre pistolet. Drop your gun!” She shouted.

The criminal opened the door a bit wider to take a shot at Viola but he couldn’t see her well because she was ducking down in the stairwell. His bullet hit the tiled floor, kicking up a cloud of dust and ceramic chips.

She returned fire, shooting four rounds through the door at where she thought his chest must be.

Sweat beaded on Jack’s brow. He couldn’t see anything but heard Viola swap some lead with the killer.

Seven shots left, he reckoned, before he had to load a new magazine. He heard some broken glass crunch inside the gunman’s room. Then rolled out of the bathroom. Towards the doorway he went. Then spun around in the midst of a spray of bullets. He felt a hit on the side of his chest, but did not stop moving. He kicked the door open and aimed. His mouth dry, Jack saw the Arab perched on a chair, blood on his shirt, on the floor. Viola must have hit him?

”Give up, you’re surrounded!” Jack yelled.

“No fething way,” was the reply and the man raised his pistol in a shaky hand. Jack fired two quick shots, both finding their mark in the killer’s chest. The man folded and slid off the chair.

”Viola, finish him, my leg hurts,” Jack yelled, and collapsed on the floor outside.

Viola checked her compact pistol. There were two rounds left in the magazine and one in the chamber. She loaded her spare magazine, then quickly ran up and shoved the door open to check the gunman. It was the young man from earlier, the one who had killed Komatsu with cyanide. He was barely breathing, frothy blood seeping from his mouth and several wounds in his chest, one of them fairly central. Most likely the bullet had hit his heart or aorta and he would die by blood loss in half a minute. His gun lay on the floor. She kicked it away from him and surveyed the room.

Komatsu’s case sat on a console with the lid open. The bag of Cake was inside, and some typical Japanese man’s stuff, a bottle of energy drink, a copy of the sleazy magazine Friday -- full of celebrity gossip and soft porn photo sets -- a mint flavour breath spray. Detritus of another sad life. Also an odd metal tube, which she guessed might be the cyanide gun. She snapped on vinyl gloves from her first aid kit, put the killer's pistol in the briefcase, opened the drawers and found some manila files, which she added to the haul, then went to see to Jack. He was lying on the floor in the corridor. There were patches of blood on his right trouser leg and right chest.

"Jack, you’ve been hit! Is it bad? Can you stand up?”

She ran down a mental checklist:

1. Stop the bleeding.
2. Drop a pin and send it to Berenice with a message.
3. Get the feth out.

“Get your shirt off and trousers down so I can check the wounds. I’ll put dressings on. Then if you can, put them back on and shove a small towel or a flannel in to create compression. That’s all we can do for now. We need to get out of here.”

Thankfully the wounds didn’t look very bad. The blood was oozing rather than spurting. Jason’s thigh was grazed and bruised. The bullet to the chest looked like it had glanced off a rib, probably breaking it. She sent Berenice a quick message with a location pin attached, then spent a few minutes to patch Jack up as well as possible.

While her husband put his clothes back on, Viola thought to take some pics of the now dead gangster and the house in general. She found a box of spare 9mm rounds and took it, recovered Jack’s empty magazine, then they set off down the stairs, with Viola helping support Jack, but a shot came in through the open front door as soon as their legs appeared in sight of the street. The woman of the house screamed from the back room where she was hiding.

“gak! We’d better go up and get out onto the roof,” she exclaimed.

They went back up and found the way out onto the roof terrace. Moving in a crouch so they could not be seen, the couple went along a row of adjoining terraced houses until they got to the parapet at the end.

“Jack, look and see if there’s a way down. I’ll keep guard.”

She lay down behind a big pot containing a small tree. She pointed her gun back the way they had come, in case some gunmen were going to follow them. They were on the roof several houses down from where the woman screamed.

Jack could see a couple of men come up on the roof. They spotted him trying to find a way down, and raised pistols. Over the edge hung an awning above what looked like a marketplace. It wouldn’t take the gunmen long to reach them. A spray of bullets ricocheted off pots and the roof.

As the two gunmen advanced, Viola began to shoot slowly and carefully, in the hope of slowing them down by scaring them. Her compact pistol wasn't designed for accurate long range fire. On the plus side, she had good cover and a very stable firing position. She began squeeze off shots slowly, one every couple of seconds, to recover fully from the recoil and aim carefully again, shooting when the attackers moved towards her. The first three rounds went wild, but the fourth hit a low wall right next to one of the men, narrowly missing him. He ducked into cover, then poked his head up and her fifth bullet hit his forehead, killing him instantly in a ghastly spray of blood and brains. She ought to have felt sick and guilty but a cold satisfaction filled her heart.

*I'm only fething defending myself and Jack!* she thought, *They started it.* The other man hid. Viola grabbed the chance to crawl over to where Jack wanted her to jump from.

“Viola, we need to get down fast. There's an awning from a shop front. Must be the market area,” he shouted. Then not waiting for more shots to be fired. Grabbed her hand and led her to a place where they could jump. “Don’t look down, honey, I’ve got you this time. An awning will break our fall. We will slide down onto the street below,” he said, beckoning for her to come with him. He winced a bit as his wounds were fresh.

She holstered her pistol to take his hand and closed her eyes, nearly panicked at the terrifying prospect of the void below. She managed to allow him to pull her over the edge. Together they fell to the shop awning below. Its supports creaked alarmingly and it began to collapse from the force of their impact. It turned out to be an advantage not to be wearing shoes. Viola slid easily down the fabric and ended up in not too bad a pile in the street, Jack beside her. He seemed to be dealing okay with his wounds so far. The pain would get worse as the adrenaline wore off.

The shopkeeper was too shocked to get angry yet. Viola took 15 or 20 seconds to pick herself up and grab some cash and her emergency shoes from her handbag. She offered the cash to the shopman and slipped the black and white plimsolls on, not wanting to run around a busy market in only socks.

"Come on, Jack, we need to get out of here. It hardly matters which way we go to start with. Let's try and find a main road where we could catch a cab maybe. How fast do you think you can go?"

They jogged limping through the market until they found an area filled with clothes kiosks. Viola shopped quickly for new headscarves for herself and Jack, and a butcher's apron to give some camouflage to his bloodied clothes. Newly disguised, they slowed to a walk, partly to save Jack's legs.

"Jack, can you ring Berenice for help while I try to find the best way out using Maps?"

He got on his phone and contacted their controller. The French detective answered immediately.

“Ok Jack, you and Viola have two places you need to get to. The French embassy is the closest to your position. However I need to call ahead and secure your entry, so don't go there yet. In the meantime I need you to head towards a safe house. It's opposite the Safsouf sweet shop. You have to speak to the owner there. Her name is Jabira El Din. Say Berenice sent you and I will take care of the rest. You can have temporary lodging there, until your emergency papers are sorted,” she instructed him.

“Ok honey, we have a safe house about three blocks north west from our position. It's in the Mala'ab Al Baladi zone. There is a mosque on the opposite corner. I think I can make it there if I don't have to run,” he said quietly to Viola.

*Maybe I should have bought a walking stick. But he looks too young! It’s too late anyway.* Viola dismissed the issue.

The couple walked on slowly. She gave Jack Komatsu’s briefcase to carry, which looked like a man’s luggage, and took his right arm with her left, the way a wife often will, to lean on her husband, but in fact she was helping support his weight. She wanted her right hand free to draw her pistol. Her left shoulder began to ache a bit from the strain. It took over half an hour to reach the Safsouf sweet shop. Viola led Jack in and asked the assistant for Madame El Din.

“C'est moi,” the lady behind the counter said. She was wearing a dress conservative by European standards, and a thin headscarf.

“Mademoiselle Berenice nous a envoyé. Je m'appelle Viola Tremblay. Ceci c'est mon marie.”

"Je vous attendais. Je vous emmènerai tout de suite.”

The middle-aged Lebanese woman let them into the safe house, telling them to make themselves at home, then went back to her shop. They looked around, not knowing what to expect. It seemed like a typical small terraced house with two floors and a rooftop area. *Not going up there* Viola told herself. She found some towels in the bathroom and put them on the bed to stop blood getting on it, then made Jack lie down.

“You need to rest. I’ll organise something to eat and drink, and we’ll check your wounds.”

Viola found the kitchen. She put her phone and one earring on to charge, and started to boil water for tea. then checked her pistol. There were six rounds left in the gun, and two more in the spare mag. They were police issue, designed to penetrate an obstacle such as a car door and still deliver a deadly impact.

The box of ammunition she had picked up was 9mm NATO calibre, a make she didn’t know. Although Viola wasn’t an expert on guns and ammunition, she knew that the quality of the round might affect performance. *I’ve got no choice,* she told herself, and reorganised her two magazines with 10 rounds in each, all her police issue cartridges at the top of the one she put back into her gun.

Viola made tea, and brought it with some flatbread, cheese and hummus for Jack to have something to sustain himself. She gave him two of her Codeine tablets. She sat on a chair and began to eat. She wasn’t very hungry, but she knew she had to have something.

“I wonder how long we’ll have to wait?”

Jack gladly took the codeine from Viola. He didn't object to her ministrations and found it a welcome relief. As usual she was right again about his needs. The pain was stinging and he needed to rest. Resting his own gun, a 9mm SIG Sauer pistol with silencer on the side table, he reclined on the bed.

"Thanks for the tea and snacks. I guess that's the end of my Accounting career here in Beirut," he said with a slight chuckle, and winced a little. He started to drink his tea. It brought instant warmth and comfort. He nibbled the flatbread and cheese also.

They settled into the little house to wait. Jack, eased by the Codeine, fell asleep after eating. Viola checked his wounds as best she could. There was no evidence of serious blood flow, so she left the dressings and packed towels in place. *He ought to be cleaned and stitched up at a proper hospital. Antibiotics, maybe, and painkillers, but basically it’s alright. He’ll survive.*

She ate bread and drank tea. Her spirits, maintained so far by adrenaline and a sense of purpose, began to ebb. To distract herself she took Jack’s pistol to check. It was a SIG like hers, a larger model with a longer barrel, full size grip for a man’s hands, and a high capacity magazine. She took out the mag, unloaded it and refilled it to the maximum of 15 rounds with the captured ammunition at the bottom. She refilled the spare magazine too.

*We’re as well armed as we can be now,* she thought, and began to play with her phone. She zoomed in on their current location and studied the local road layout. The French Embassy was only a few hundred metres away, the other side of an area full of narrow streets and cul-de-sacs, which looked like a bad place to get chased. There were too many blind alleys you might duck into by accident. Her nervousness began to spike as she imagined being cut off by pursuers.

*We should go the other way, get to a main road and take a taxi. Or maybe I could get a scooter, they’re faster in traffic. Imagine being stuck in the back seat of a cab, surrounded by gunmen!* She shivered. *I could just steal a scooter. They’re easy to hotwire.* There was a public parking lot nearby. It would be crammed with scooters.

She went for a wee, noticed blood on her white jeans. It was Jack’s, picked up when she was helping him. *feth it! Maybe it will come out with bleach. This detective life is tough on my wardrobe…* She made a mental note of her sartorial losses: *My blue suit jacket and a blouse ruined, an expensive handbag stabbed through but maybe I can get it repaired, and I left my Jimmy Choos at the drug house.* Her mood slumped. She indulged her melancholy with a good cry for a few minutes, then pulled herself together with the thought *It’s a great excuse to go shopping!*

Viola began to brighten up again. She went to the bathroom and remade her face to the best level she could with her emergency kit. She slotted small gold studs into her ears, and clipped the pearl mic devices to her lapel instead, like a jaunty double brooch. She found some more beautiful looking pastries and made fresh tea to enjoy them with.

It was late afternoon. Komatsu’s copy of Friday beckoned. Her reading level in Japanese was pretty poor, in truth, but the photo sets of scantily-clad Japanese girlies would be a fun distraction. *No! Find some gloves and look at the files you took.* She got a set of Marigolds from the kitchen and began to examine the folders of papers from the drug house, taking pictures of each page with her smartphone, uploading them to the cloud.

*When will we hear from Berenice?*

She used her phone to track her other phone, the mil-spec one she had left in Komatsu’s jacket pocket. *Hopefully Berenice got that back, because it cost about $600. Maybe she got my Jimmy Choo boots as well.* It was on the map, now in a different area of the city. It wasn't possible to know who had possession of the device.

Viola began to feel rather impatient for the next step in the case.

Thoughts on the 4th of July

If you're a Brit abroad, there are certain local holidays which create a cognitive dissonance in your mind.

Christmas in Japan is one of them. Like in the UK there's a build-up over weeks. Trees are put up and festooned with decorations. Piles of prettily wrapped parcels appear in department store windows. Festive lighting with Father Christmas, snowflakes, reindeer, and other seasonal symbols goes up all over town.

It's traditional for a guy to treat his best girl to a luxury dinner on Christmas Eve, give her an expensive present, preferably involving diamonds, and take her to a love hotel, or overnight at a real hotel if she's independent from her parents so you don't have to make sure she catches the last train home.

Olympe enjoyed that part of the holiday. The earrings Hisashi gave her were surely more than he could afford, and she helped out his finances by taking him back to her little flat, where they became suitably tired and relaxed.

The next morning she got up and went to work as usual. By the evening of the 25th the bunting and decorations had vanished, replaced with Japanese New Year symbols, pine branch garlands, fresh cut bamboo, and so on. Boxing Day was even more of a non-event.

Olympe's first 4th of July in the USA creates an equal but opposite impression. People are going about normal life and then suddenly at the beginning of July everyone's buying fireworks, and you can't find barbecue charcoal anywhere. The Stars and Stripes everwhere. What is it with Americans and flags? she wonders. At home in Britain the 4th is nothing, just another day. The last holiday weekend in the UK was the end of May and the next is the end of August. If you want a break, you go to the seaside to eat fish and chips in the rain.

She braves the horror of her little balcony to watch the people of Ravenswood Terrace Apartments celebrating around the commununal grills in the grounds, and wonders if she can join in. Someone notices the blonde hovering nervously, waves, and calls her down. Olympe smiles, glad for once that Americans are so open and friendly. She grabs a couple of bottles of wine and a box of left-over charcuterie and cheeses, and goes to make some new friends.

>>>

The guy's name was Michael. He was kind of cute, a late 20s white boy, tall, thin, jeans and a Hawaian shirt. He had that slight stubble so many guys wear nowadays at the end of the weekend because they didn't bother to shave. It's not a fashion choice, it's convenience.

Shaving's a nuisance, Olympe thought, remembering when she had been a man and needed to razor her chin every day or sprout the kind of hair called 'jorijori' rough in Japan. Real hard bristle to start with, almost like sandpaper, it actually tore up some of his clothes, the collars and so on, through long contact. But now as a woman, men not shaving was a nuisance because sometimes she got a fierce rash when they gave her head. And none of Olympe's lovers lasted more than one night if they didn't give her enthusiastic head, it was a basic life rule.

But I won't make him my lover, I'm with Jason now and it would be wrong. There's always the reliable Hitachi Magic Wand. Jason was away on some family get-together.

"You're English!" Michael said, surprised, as her voice announced her nationality.

"Well, I can be French eef you like eet bettaire..." Olympe joshed, using her party trick of speaking with an accent. She got it from her bilingual upbringing. Her French mother and English father had imparted both their native and foreign accents to her.

He laughed. He was already half drunk, feeling loose and just wanted a good time, to get on with everyone and have fun. "Here, what can I get you, French English girl? We've got all the classics, hot dogs, burgers, er... burgers, and dogs." The smell of the grills wafted all over the gardens, hot meat, burnt gas, appetizing or sickening depending on your hungers.

"A hot dog, please. I brought wine if you would like a glass?"

"Thanks Olympe, but I'll stick with beer. It's better in hot weather so I believe."

She nodded agreement. White wine spritzers were the way forward on hot days, or watered red. She accepted a glass of weak American lager, Coors or something, they all taste the same anyway, and he brought her a fresh hot dog in bun wrapped in a paper serviette. The bread was the usual American crappy muck, no bite, no flavour, but she did not complain. It was all part of the experience.

"Thanks, Michael. How long have you lived here in Chicago?"

"Moved here last year from California. How about you?"

"Nine months. I was in Tokyo before."

"Tokyo? Wow! What did you do there? Do you speak Japanese?"

"I was a language teacher, English and French conversation. I can speak Japanese pretty well, but I can't read it properly." This was mostly true. She had worked in language tuition but the way Olympe had made her real money was by hostessing, a somewhat louche occupation which pretty blondes can do very well at if they've got the right kind of flirty skills. Her long evenings in Kabukicho, the neon drenched nightlife hub of Shinjuku, had been several kinds of education.

"It was very interesting," she smiled. It had been scary at the end, when the Yakuza enforcers circled round and Taka-kun had to extract her cleverly. Everything that happened with Hisashi. She wanted to get off the subject. Feelings were still raw. She sipped her beer.

"Why did you move from California, Michael? The weather is much better on the west coast, isn't it? Winter is brutal here, the wind off the lake. I had to buy a car."

"Hah, yeah I guess that's true. I was in San Francisco, doing software development at a fintech startup and got an offer I couldn't refuse to move up here."

"Chicago's a pretty nice place. Small, but it's got all the facilities anyone could need."

"Chicago small!?" He was astonished at the idea. The Chicago metro area has over 2.5 million people.

"Well, compared to London or Tokyo it's small. Anyway, what are the plans for later? I've never been to a 4th of July party before. Will there be dancing?"

"Hah, maybe if we get drunk enough. Also someone will set off fireworks. There they go!"

Rockets began to ascend the darkening vault of heaven, trailing sparks and exploding with a joyful bang and shriek. They were the new Japanese type. Smiley faces looked down at the crowd.

INTERLUDE

A Lazy Afternoon in the MPY Kuudere Detective Agency Office

"Don't look at me like that."

"Pia, I'm wearing mirrorshades."

"I just know you're doing it."

"Right. I am taking off my mirrorshades and giving you a hard stare."

"Oooh that's harsh! Why Chanmi, what did I do?"

"You know exactly what you did. You ate the last lemon curd donut. I had my eye on it."

"I ate it to save you from yourself, a noble act of self-sacrifice. They're full of calories and you've had too many already."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Nnnnng... Cuddly. Ow! Ow! Get off me!"

Chanmi chased so hard that Pia had to run all the way to the Scarlet Cathedral before the cuddly cyberpunk began to slow down. The long blonde minx danced inside, where violence was forbidden by universal custom.

"That was a good run. Now we're here I'll prove my point."

Pia lit incense and consulted the Oracle.

Q: Does Chanmi eat too many donuts? A: Probably not.

"Hah! I win! You owe me a donut."

"Okay, let's go get it."

They linked arms and strolled back past the corner diner, where Pia gave her friend a lemon curd bun and a warm hug.

"Thanks for the donut."

"Thanks for chasing me. You must have burned off some calories, anyway, so... Don't look at me like that!"

INTERLUDE

Olympe Does Not Have a Head for Business

To Olympe's great surprise, her wonderful Frog Café was a huge failure. She lost her entire investment, and had to rehome all her cute froggies on the banks of the East River. Olympe had loads of resilience, though. She was sure she could make another fortune because she'd won and lost several of them before. She went back to detecting again to work up some seed money to gamble with.

The blonde minx got lucky, a case involving undercover work in a hostess club, which was easy because she'd done it in Kabukicho, the neon soaked nightlife hub of west Tokyo. It wasn't as sleazy as it sounds. Olympe was good at chatting and flirting, she knew how to read a boi. She quickly became popular and received a lot of presents, mostly clothes her admirers liked on her, but some of it was accessories such as jewellery.

When the case was over she had the reward money and a wardrobe bulging with gifts, not all in the best possible taste. Olympe sold the ones she didn't want through Vinted; she always was good on a smartphone. To save postage she zipped around Server City on her electric Vespa, making deliveries and collecting cold hard Coins.

She saved the Coins in a frog shaped piggy bank which she kept hidden in the weapon safe at the MPY office, where The Gun was kept. Yancey had never liked The Gun. It was hard-boiled as fucc and triggered his dark history of violence. The Gun liked Yancey because it wanted to be fired; that was its nature. Once he threw it off the Edge of the World to get rid of it, but it came back by itself. After that he just never went into the safe if he could avoid it. When the change happened and Olympe replaced Yancey, of course she inherited The Gun. She didn't care about it though. It wasn't elegant.

Her last item sold, Olympe cracked open the savings and poured them onto her desk. It was quite a sight, a ragged pyramid of gold. She chortled, and began to sort and tally the Coins. There were plenty of 5s, 11s and 23s, some 47s and 83s, several 167s, even a rare 331! She carefully noted the total in an account book. The prospect of another scolding from Ms Moon Potato was intolerable.

Now I can splurge on candles and incense for The Oracle and find out how to redeem my wealth, she exulted. Money's so useful!

BEIRUT / SAFE HOUSE / EMBASSY


Jack awoke feeling pretty good. The Codeine helped a lot. Viola had put on some fresh make-up and looked a bit more relaxed. He smelt pastries and the aroma of hot tea. The sugar and caffeine hit brought him back to the land of the living. He curled one hand around Viola's slim waist, kissing her on the cheek.

”You did great today, honey, with that jump off the roof. Let me find out our status from Berenice,” he said. He was about to pick up a tempting baklava but instead he began to call for a taxi to pick them up, from the pastry shop rather than the safe house.

“Well honey, how about me and you do some shopping in north Beirut? I might get a tailored suit made.”

“No, Jack, we are not going shopping!" Viola was shocked. Obviously her husband was addled in the head from the effects of wounds and Codeine. "You are going to the hospital. What are you thinking of? You have two wounds and all I have done is give first aid. You must be properly treated. I will knock you out and carry you there myself if I have to! You wait here. Don’t go anywhere until I come back.”

Viola stamped angrily down the stairs and out. She went over to the bakery to see Madame El Din. She asked to borrow a scooter. The lady’s young cousin had one which sometimes they used to deliver pastries to private addresses. Viola gave $100 to borrow it for the rest of the day. She got a helmet and went back to the safe house.

“Jack, come on. I have got a scooter. I will take you to the Embassy. They will let you in because I am a French citizen and you are my husband. Our passports prove it. Then you will be treated properly. Come with me now.”

She began to try and drag Jack down to get him on to the scooter. He knew better than to argue with her. Eventually after a bit of grumbling he complied with Viola's wishes and hopped on the back of the scooter with her, holding on tight around her waist. He knew the traffic would be a nightmare around here. He leaned in to her ear before taking off.

Viola would have enjoyed riding the scooter more if the situation wasn’t so worrying. The engine’s torque wasn’t as good as her electric Vespa back home, but there was still fun to be had from nipping through the gaps in the lines of stalled cars. The air was thick with fumes. Although her passenger didn’t have a helmet, she hoped they would not be stopped and fined. It was only about $35, but the waste of time!

They made the French Embassy in under 10 minutes. Her completely valid French passport in the name of 'Viola', nom de jeune fille 'Reese', nom d'epoux 'Tremblay', easily gained their admission. They surrendered their various weapons at Security and were brought to an interview room where a counsellor came to meet them. He began in French, but switched seamlessly to English when Viola informed him that her husband was American.

“Madame Tremblay, this is an unusual situation.”

“Monsieur, I think that it is very normal. We are detectives working undercover for Interpol in an important case. Our position has become compromised and my husband is injured. We require the assistance due to a citizen and an officer of the law in the performance of their duties. If you do not have the full information about this, please speak to our superior, Capitaine Berenice Laurent. She will confirm all I have told you.”

“Please be calm, Madame, I have already spoken to the Capitaine. We did not expect you so soon, that is all. She requested me to offer you assistance, and a porter is coming now to bring your husband by wheelchair to our infirmary. I notice your clothes are dishevelled, perhaps you would like to change? One of the female staff will be happy to lend you something.”

“Oh, thank you, Monsieur. That is very kind. May I borrow a dress, perhaps? But first I would like to see my husband made comfortable. He will need new clothes too, actually.”

“Certainly, Madame. We will go to the infirmary now.”

Viola wanted to stay and hold Jack’s hand while he was worked on, but the medical people asked her to leave so she would not be in the way. One of the female nurses took her away and comforted her. She offered Viola a bottle green midi-dress. It had a low V neck, spaghetti straps, and a long slit up the left thigh. It was simple and sexy.

*A bit too sexy for Beirut, perhaps,* Viola thought, *I can wear my white blouse underneath.* She thanked the nurse and changed, sponging traces of blood from her legs. The bloodied white jeans went into one plastic carrier bag and her jacket into another. She put her headscarf on again, and looked at herself in a long mirror. The colour scheme of the bold green dress, white shirt, taupe scarf and black shoes seemed to work. *Black and white go with everything,* she thought, *and Taupe is a grey-brown, an earth colour, it goes well with the green. Hm!* She smiled in satisfaction. *But I need better shoes, low heel slingback sandals, perhaps.*

“Très chic, Madame,” the nurse congratulated her. Soon it was time to go back and find out how well Jack had done in surgery.

Jason woke a little groggy from the half hour procedure. Still in his hospital gown with post IV treatment for fluid replacement. A Recovery nurse with black short hair checked his vitals, then gave an approving nod.

“Mr Tremblay, at this rate you will be fine to leave the infirmary by the end of the day. Do you have a next of kin that’s able to take you home?" She asked.

“That would be my beautiful wife Viola, thank you,” he answered with a smile.

As he sat watching television all he could think about was seeing his wife and leaving hospital. He wondered how long he had been out of it for? Would both he and Viola need another disguise? When was the Interpol crack squad team coming to make the drug bust on the illegal cake operations? Where would they stay now? Would there be time to go shopping again? He thought about all of this while he waited for his wife to arrive.

Viola came in soon, wearing a rather lovely green dress.

“How are you feeling, Jack? The doctor said everything went well, and you should recover completely. You must do your exercises, though! I will help you. I have been through it with my shoulder. The nurse took out my stitches and I am nearly 100% healed.”

She sat and took his hand.

“I’ve spoken to Nassir. He’s going to come and collect the evidence we got. Some of it is very important. The bag of drugs, for instance, and the cyanide tube. I don’t know if the documents I snatched are useful, but your accounting researches will be crucial.”

She sighed.

“Berenice is organising a big raid. They will try to shut down the lab in South Beirut and the shipping operation at Ahmad at the same time. It will be difficult. Actually I’m glad we're not involved. You're wounded, and that kind of big action scenario isn’t really my thing. I’m better at the undercover work, being a secretary or a hostess, or even a bunny girl, and finding information with my feminine wiles. Yes. We are to stay here in the Embassy overnight. You will sleep in the infirmary and I will have a cot next to you. Now, you must be hungry. I will ask for some food for us.”

They watched TV together. There was cable, Netflix, anything they wanted. Local news in Arabic, French and English on the Al Jazeera channel. Viola was tired of reality. She wanted to divert herself with something purely comic. She took command of the remote controller from Jack and searched up the classic comedy Black Books. Soon the sound of her therapeutic laughter was ringing around the infirmary. The nurses would have come to complain if Jack and Viola weren’t the only patients.

It was well and good Viola changed the channel on the TV. Jack was tired trying to keep up with current events with subtitles. The classic British comedy Black Books hit the spot for him. Not familiar with this series, having binged on shows like “The Goodies” or “The Young ones” this one wasn’t familiar. *There’s that guy from Star Trek,* he thought. Nevertheless it made him laugh. Holding her hand he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. She made a wonderful nurse in addition to being an amazing spy and loving wife.

A nice young man took a quick glance of Jack's notes at the end of the bed, then gave him a smile. “Monsieur and Madame I will leave you a menu card for tonight's dinner. Monsieur, you will be required to stay overnight here. Madame has requested a cot next to you,” he said, then left them alone.

Jack closed the curtains for a moment to afford some privacy with Viola before speaking in hushed tones.

“You and I will be returning to the US soon. Then you may be partnered with a new police officer to train. I will return to ordinary police detective Jason Henderson filling up reports. Then you perhaps as Olympe Reese having to train up a new recruit. I wish it wouldn’t end like that. Olympe I cannot lie when I say that I’ve fallen in love with you for real this time,” he said quietly and softly.

He then reverted to Jack when he next spoke.

“Viola, I'm going back to work as a humble police sergeant. Getting swamped in mounds of paperwork and administrative duties. It would be a fate worse than death. What can I do?” he said quietly.

Viola turned the volume down while she listened to Jack’s, or Jason’s, concerns. Olympe lived most of her life in the Zen moment, with little thought for the long term future. Right now her worries were what to have for dinner, what to shop for tomorrow if they were let out from the Embassy, and how soon Jason would be fit enough to have sex. Of course she made plans for the future, in the sense of general goals, like becoming a detective, and then she would carry out the actions needed to achieve them. But that wasn’t how she lived her life day to day. Now, his words concentrated her mind on serious matters.

She thought about the two different but connected points. Jason said he was in love, but really it was infatuation, the chemical rush you get at the start of an affair, provoked between them by shared experiences, the pleasures and dangers they had gone through together. Living as man and wife, having all that sex only added to it, *And I spoiled him with dinner and presents, the sexy cabaret and everything, but it was fun!*

*Is it shallow and cruel of me to pretend to be in love with Jack, Jason, whoever he is? Am I pretending? The husband and wife thing is part of the undercover role. What’s real?*

At this stage, Olympe liked Jason a lot and enjoyed the sex but she hadn’t fallen for him deeply. Yet. He was an oasis in the sex desert she had wandered in after the end of her affair with Rachel.

*The only man I really loved was Hisashi… he killed himself over me! I can’t let another guy get hurt.*

She sighed.

“Jason, there are…”

...

“Jason, do you really want my advice? Maybe I’m the wrong person to ask. I, er, I’ve made bad mistakes.”

She paused, watching the low volume TV. Olympe had a bit of a thing for the actress Tamsin Greig. She looked totally hot in Black Books and was still a real hottie 20 years later in her 50s.

Viola switched to the weather channel.

“Maybe Sergeant is just a stage you have to go through to become a Lieutenant. I don’t know. You don’t have to stay in the regular police. We could resign, start a private agency of our own. Or Berenice might get us into Interpol if this drugs case ends well. We’ve done a lot for her, gathered evidence at considerable risk. That’s worth something. Let’s get through Beirut and see how things look the other side. Try not to worry now. Your most important decision tonight is what to have for dinner. You have to rest and get well, Jason, before you worry about the future.”

Feeling like his balloon had been popped, Jack was a little deflated by Viola's response. Seemingly thinking he should only worry about dinner. Then have adequate rest. He wondered if she was a nurse in a previous past life? But he knew she listened to his concerns. He was still full of smiles. Then laughed at the banter on the television. That is until she changed the channel to the weather

"Viola honey, we all make mistakes. But I know one thing. Hiring you was no mistake. If falling in love is a sickness. Then I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t looking to flash. I think I’m looking at a cure right now. Hey, honey can we watch the comedy channel please? The weather is depressing if I’m stuck in here,” he said with a beaming smile.

He settled back in his bed adopting a more resigned serious look.

”What’s for dinner anyhow, I’m starving. You know what they say about hospital food. It’s Umm,” he added with a cheeky smile.

Poor Jack! His confession of love seemed to fall flat. Viola took no notice and concentrated instead on his career woes.

The fact is, Viola is used to people falling in love with her. She's handsome, elegant, flirty, kind and generous, a good dancer, and gives great head, so of course boys and girls are going to fall in love with her. That's just how the world works, in her view of it. At least four boys and two girls have fallen in love with her before now, and one of them killed himself for her, and now she's suddenly crushed with guilt and shame at that memory because Hisashi was the boy she actually loved, those long months ago in Tokyo and he killed himself on a whim, after they fought because she pushed him away to protect him.

*I should have told him the truth. I should have accepted him and Taka-kun would have got him safely out of the country like me. I don't know if I can ever go back. Hikaru-chan may never forgive me for what I did. I could be married now, with a baby, and a house in the suburbs. A part-time job teaching English and French conversation for pin money.*

She flips the TV back to comedy and hunches forwards to prevent Jack seeing her dry sobs. Perhaps he will take her jerking shoulders for laughter.

*Or I should have stuck with Roger!* She tells herself. *He was fun and warm and sexy, a good dancer. We both knew it was just for the sex play and we never got serious emotionally.*

But Olympe needs love in her life, not just sex. She needs someone she can be open and vulnerable with. She reaches out with her hand until it finds Jason's. She doesn't look at his face because she wants to hide hers. She doesn't know what it will show. She doesn't know what to say to him.

... A minute passes ...

"Thank you for loving me, Jack, Jason. I'll just go and help the nurse bring your dinner. All the food will be good because it's French."

She goes out in a swirl of skirts, to fix her face.

<<NEW SCENE>>>

It was a dank, grey, misty morning in The Server. The Deep was even darker than usual. The old-fashioned tungsten filament lamps of the MPY Kuudere Detective Agency struggled against the gloom. Ms Moon Potato, Janjan and Chanmi moped at their desks, nursing coffee and donuts from the nearby corner diner.

Olympe's chair was empty because the flighty minx was late again, but her desktop was majorly blocked up with a black violin case ranged between the upright Corona typewriter, massive Bakelite dial phone, and Yancey's Rolodex.

The instrument case had not been there when everyone left the night before. Moon was the last one out, and she had locked the door, so she was certain no-one could have got in and put the thing there. Except maybe Olympe herself, who had a key of course, inherited from Yancey when she took his place.

The three detectives weren't yet used to Olympe. She was different to Yancey in various ways apart from the obvious one. Maybe she would do something odd and jokey with a violin case. Who knew? They drank coffee, nibbled donuts, and gave sideways looks at the portentous box.

Janjan broke the silence. "Where's Ms Olympe, and why's she got a violin case?"

"Fucc if I know," replied Moon. "To either question. I'll speak to her about her tardiness." Moon held a moral ascendency over the tall blonde detective because it turned out that Olympe was even worse at accounts than Yancey had been. "As for the violin case, well, maybe it's just a violin?"

Chanmi nommed half a chocolate praline donut, and shuffled her butt restlessly. "She told me she plays the piano. And sings. But not at the same time, it's one or the other. If you play piano and sing why would you have a violin? Maybe it's got drugs in. If it's drugs I'll happily dispose of them through my… connections."

"Yan(dere)?" Moon asked, "No, forget I said that name." She stared at the gloss black shell of the violin case as if her steely gaze could drill through to the secrets within. "Olympe's not into drugs. Maybe it's drink. I can imagine her carrying a kind of a picnic setup for making cocktails, but why put it in a violin case?"

They had observed that Olympe was much fonder of cocktails than Yancey, he had been a rye and water boi, so Moon's theory was plausible. No-one wanted to check the violin case, though. It kind of brooded, all black and silver, mysterious, like religious equipment from a priest's portable paraphernalia. There was something ominous about it, in the yellow half-light of the green shaded desk lamp.

The office door opened. It was a tall girl in a boi-ish, French blue trouser suit and a black pillbox hat with a net veil. She had a large handbag in her left hand and a brown paper sack in her right. The detectives gave the stranger all their attention. They thought it might be Skyen the Mod, who wore a veil when she came incognito to brief a case to them, but Skyen usually wore skirts, owing to her tail.

The newcomer advanced and put the paper bag on Chanmi's desk, then swept her hat off and slung it blithely at the coat-rack. It missed and sailed into the kitchenette.
"Bollocks!" She had a posh British accent. "I could do that okay with a snap-brim."

Moon grinned. She and Yancey always used to flip their hats at the coat-stand, and usually hit the mark. Her black beret hung there now. His fedora didn’t.

With her veil gone Olympe’s identity was revealed. Her pixie cut hair glowed in the room's yellow lights, and the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.

"Morning everyone," she chirped, "How's tricks?"

"You're late, Olympe," Ms Moon Potato said in a voice which verged on a growl.

"Yeah, sorry. I walked for the exercise and there was a new window display at Isetan so I got distracted. Anyway I'm here now, and I brought donuts."

Chanmi had already detected this important fact. She was arranging the fresh supply of pastries on a plate with the leftovers from earlier, and worrying about the calorie count.

"Ms Olympe," said Janjan, "We're all wondering what's in your violin case."

"What violin case?" The tall girl danced behind her desk. "This violin case? It's not my violin case. I don't know what's in the violin case. Shall we take turns to guess?"

The others shook their heads. They were wary of the contents and didn't want to prolong their apprehension with a silly game.

"No? Let's see, then." Olympe unlatched the lid. "Oooh! It's The Gun! How curious." She took out the various pieces of a 1930s style Tommy-gun; the steel firing mechanism, a grip, a wooden shoulder stock, and a chonky drum magazine, pregnant with cartridges. She began to slot them together with metallic clicks.

"Put it away, for Goddess's sake!" snapped Moon. "You know what Yancey might do if he was here!?" The Gun always was liable to trigger Yancey’s dark history of violence.

"S'okay, I'm not Yancey." Olympe brandished the weapon theatrically, making sound effects. "Dakka Dakka Dakka! Ha Ha Ha! ... No. It’s simply not elegant." She locked The Gun in the safe where they kept their most dangerous weapons.

With The Gun safely stowed away everyone relaxed. Olympe grabbed a mug of coffee and a donut and sat down.

"How did The Gun get into the violin case anyway?" Janjan wanted to know. "It's supposed always to be locked up because, you know..."

Olympe cut him off. "It is locked up now, and it'll stay there. It came out by itself because it wants to be fired. You can’t blame it, that's its nature.”
Her face was glum. “It misses Yancey," she maundered. The others eyed each other.

"Look," said Olympe. "I know you all miss Yancey. I'm sorry I can't be Yancey for you. I'm going to try to become a better Olympe instead. Moon, I'll be on time tomorrow, I'll even be early. I'll bring donuts, everyone's favourites, and a newspaper and I'll stop mucking around so much, I promise. Cause you were all my friends before and I really need your help now, so, um...” She hung her head. “I'm really sorry."

Moon got up. "Olympe, come here," she said soothingly, grabbed the taller girl and pulled her in for a warm hug, then held her hands and spoke directly to her eyes.
"You're right, Olympe. I miss Yancey a lot. We all do, but you're here now. You just need to... Believe in yourself. Become a better you. Let's say that's what was in the violin case, a better Olympe, and you got her out and you just have to polish her up a bit. We're all gonna help you." Janjan and Chanmi joined the group hug.

Olympe's eyes were twinkling with tears. They overspilt and ran down her cheeks, and she smiled as broad as the sun.

"Thank you."

<<<BEIRUT - THE FRENCH EMBASSY>>>

"feth that hurts! Nurse!" Jack almost shouted as he awoke. The anaesthetic had worn off during the night. The nurse came flying in. She knew exactly what he needed.

"Be tranquil, Monsieur Tremblay, I have some painkillers for you to take right now." She helped him to sit up and gave him some medication, then checked his vital signs and noted the observations on his patient record.

"You can have breakfast soon, Mr Tremblay. You will be able to leave us today if the doctor allows it. You will need to do physio so we will explain it to you."

Viola had gone out for a shower. Now she came back wearing the green dress again over her white shirt. Her face was not yet made up. She looked wan.

"I'm here, Darling. How did you sleep? Are you in pain? We can rest here for the morning. Berenice gave me another VPN connection and we can watch some of her raids using our phones, if you want to. The SWAT teams have got Go-Pro cams. It's going to be like a videogame, a 1st person shooter, Call of Duty or something. Only the blood will be real. I don't know if I want to see it. It hasn't started yet. You should have breakfast, Jack, and you have to learn the exercises for rehabilitation of your wounds. The raids can wait. We can watch the edited highlights later if we want."

She sat and took his hand.

"Jack, Jason, I had a nightmare last night. The man I shot, I don't know if you saw it, we were on the roof terrace and two guys were coming for us with guns. You were looking for the way to get down. I was guarding our backs. You must have noticed their bullets and me shooting back, all the noise. You probably didn't see it but I shot one of them, right in the head. He must have been killed. No-one could survive that kind of a hit. I didn't care at the time. I was defending myself and you, but in the night, last night... Everything came back to me...

Her head drooped.

"I didn't want to be a killer, Jason. I carried a gun because you have to, in the USA, and I don't know, I did all the training but maybe it never really took. Maybe I shouldn't be in this job."

Jack heard her say both his real name and his cover name. He chose to speak his mind after hearing her confession about her nightmare.

"Pia, it's ok. It's perfectly fine to have those feelings. The mind is a tricky thing at the best of times. I've also experienced that feeling. An image of the person I killed also plagued my mind for a time. You wouldn't be normal if you didn't have those pangs," he said in a softer tone, holding her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Pia smiled at Jason's kind words.

Breakfast arrived, brioche, a puffy fluffy toast with poached eggs that looked beautiful stacked on it. She had eaten earlier and had just a coffee to keep him company. The rest of the morning went by quickly. The physiotherapist came to show Jack his exercises. New jeans were brought for them and Viola gave back her borrowed dress with thanks. *I must have one like that, so graceful with the long skirt!* she thought.

Eventually a message arrived from Berenice to say the raids had been completed successfully, and the couple could safely return to their hotel. An official car took them and they spent a quiet afternoon. Viola came back from the gym feeling stretched, calmed and sweaty. She showered and made sure Jack did his exercises, then began to pack their stuff for the return to Paris.

Viola wanted to glam up for the flight. She chose a dramatically colourful, green, purple and gold patterned dress with matching handbag and high heels with a bit of a platform. She made her face quite bold to compliment the striking outfit, then hid her glowing eyes behind chunky shades. It would have been fun to go shopping but there wasn't time. They took a cab to the airport. At check-in, Viola offered her card and requested their tickets to be changed to first class.

As Jason buckled up his eyes briefly closed and he smiled. He felt his body sink deep into the chair as the aircraft’s engines roared into the take-off. He knew right then that his career path had changed. There was no going back to playing traffic cop or teaching new recruits. With Pia by his side he felt invincible. He also knew he may never find a woman quite like Pia. It was incredible but he was besotted by her.

It was still early evening as the plane arced around Paris on its approach to Charles de Gaulle. The lights of the city spread out below, the Eiffel Tower, and the characteristic pattern of the great boulevards, and monuments such as Montmartre and Notre Dame.

”We are here, honey, finally. I never thought this flight would end. I could eat a soufflé right about now. Can you smell it?” he asked looking at her. He reached out to hold her hand. The air hostess told him to put his seat in the upright position for landing.

“Flying first class is pretty good, isn’t it?" Viola replied. "It’ll be even better on the flight back to Chicago because it’s much longer. We can have soufflé for dinner at the hotel. I don’t suppose you’ll want to go out with your leg.”

The plane touched down. Jack and Viola got fast-tracked through immigration and baggage claim. They were soon out of the airport and in two taxis heading once again for the Pullman Eiffel Tower Hotel. Only this time, they checked into one large room as man and wife, still using their undercover identities. A message from Berenice arrived while they were beginning to unpack. She was still in Beirut, flying back the next day. They were asked to report to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs at 10:30 the day after.

“That’ll be for debriefing and to find out what happened," Viola remarked. "I’d like to know how much our undercover work helped them plan the raids, and whether everything is wrapped up. The bonus is we’ve got a whole day free in Paris if you feel up to doing anything, Jack. You need to keep up the physio exercises but don’t strain yourself.”

Viola doffed her travelling outfit to wander around in a slip while she finished unpacking. Then she brushed her teeth, fixed her make-up and put on a simple black, long sleeve minidress and pumps.

“What do you want for dinner, Jack? Do you want to eat in the room, or do you feel up to the restaurant?”

Jack unpacked sketchily and began his regimen of getting ready for a night out. A nice hot shower, shave, moisturiser, and a liberal splash of after shave.

"The hotel restaurant sounds fine."

They were both soon ushered to their table for two. They could see the tall terraced buildings illuminated in lights, and people sitting outside alfresco style, in the warm evening. They had picked a busy night, it seemed. Jack ordered Pinot Noir and the wine was poured. He reached out and lightly held onto Viola's hand before speaking.

"So we have a whole day in Paris? How far is the Palace of Versailles? Could we visit there? Perhaps some more shopping?" he asked.

Another evening in Paris, the City of Light, in another wonderful restaurant. Jack was being manly and masterful, picking the wine decisively, and making light of his injuries which must actually hurt like hell unless he was taking plenty of Codeine.

*He's half out of it. I must keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t over do things,* Viola thought. *I’ll check his wounds when we go back. Men aren’t good at taking care of themselves.*

She sipped her glass with relish and looked up the Palais de Versailles on Maps.

“Versailles is about half an hour’s drive. We could go there in the morning, have lunch out nearby and come back to Paris in late afternoon for shopping if you like. The shops are open to 19:00, some of them later, the big department stores and the shops along the Champs-Elysees. What do you want to shop for, Jack? You look very nice in your suit, would you like another one, or perhaps a good coat to match it? Maybe a raincoat for the summer. Or shoes. You should try Les Bottes Gardianes, they are a kind of French cowboy boot from the Camargue. Wouldn’t that be interesting? They make other boots and shoes too. I might get something.”

"French cowboy boots? What did you call them, Les Bottes Gardianes. That sounds interesting, I think I would like to buy a pair. Good coats are always a good idea. I'm ok in the suit department for the moment," he answered. "What about your Jimmy Choos? we don't know what Berenice recovered from the drug house yet, do we?" he added.

Viola was impressed that Jack even knew what Jimmy Choos were and what they meant in terms of fashionable footwear.

*I’ll replace them with more Jimmy Choos too, actually, but Jack doesn’t need to know that. They are cute with that white ankle stripe as well as functional. Perhaps tomorrow I will flash my Louboutins at him, and see if he understands.*

She went into a brown study, thinking of all the wonderful styles she might add to her collection when they visited the special shop. *They will have a seasonal collection now, too!* Hidden under the table she rubbed her thighs together, starting to feel a literal sexual excitement at the idea of browsing and selecting from the iconic French maker’s range.

*I can buy some boots and some sandals and some flats, maybe lace-ups and slip-ons. There must be some interesting colours… I must relate it to the rest of my wardrobe, of course. There’s always a way to wear brown and black shoes, and white if you’re clever. Maybe I should have something wild, like leopard or snakeskin. Snow leopard would go with my catgirl outfit. Dare I try shuffle dancing in something like that? Yes, surely it can be done. How can I get everything home? Of course. First class means a bigger baggage allowance! And I can reclaim the VAT on everything, Ha Ha Ha!!!*

Her dangly earrings swung and tugged at her earlobes, and the excitement transmitted itself to her nipples, which perked up under her dress.

*Why am I so horny?* It was the time of the month. Viola tried to turn her mind back to the table and Jack. The waiter brought the appetisers. She drank more wine. She gripped Jack’s hand tightly.

“Yes! We will go to Versailles tomorrow and then we will go to La Botte Gardiane and look at shoes.”

Jack could feel her hand tighten on his. He remembered this feeling from her before. He knew he had to take it easy with the codeine and alcohol too. Fortunately the pills he took earlier had cut the edge of lingering pain in his thigh. The hot, aromatic stew had the desired effect coupled with the wine. Enough to melt away all the cares of the world. Then sitting across from him the catch of the century as far as Jason was concerned. It was no wonder that he fell in love with Paris. Now all he needed to top it all off was a change in career path. That would be the icing on the cake.

Paris in the evening, dinner and wine, a handsome partner, the prospect of exploring Versailles and the hallowed halls of La Botte Gardiane, all combined to erase Pia's lingering doubts and worries from the previous few days in Beirut. She decided to dedicate herself to pleasure and forget work for the next 36 hours. They both savoured rich Boeuf bourgignon and pommes de terre sautées. The world became a better place. She chose Poires belle Hélène for her pudding.

"Pears! It is a decadence I can think healthy. Please may I have a glass of Sauternes as well? I will go running early tomorrow, before breakfast."

After dinner they walked slowly in the dark streets, to enjoy the ambiance and give Jason some gentle exercise. When he grew tired Pia flagged down a taxi. Back at the hotel they undressed and she helped him to shower, inspected his wounds carefully for any sign of infection, and bandaged them again. They watched TV until Jason got sleepy, then Pia put him to bed. She removed her make-up, did a full skincare regimen, and got herself off with the help of the shower, to avoid the buzz of her Magic Wand. She hoped her moans were covered up by the running water. She didn't at all mind being overheard in the throes of passion, but she worried it would prevent Jason from having a good night's rest. *If he heard me I hope he doesn't think I'm bulimic!* Pia counted her calories but she dealt with the excess through healthy exercise rather than purging.

In the morning Pia got up early and went for a run in the nearby park surrounding the Eiffel Tower. The weather was perfect, sharp and cold. She felt marvellous! The beautiful surroundings and the view of the great monument made the kilometres fly by. It was the first really good exercise she had managed for several days. When she returned to the hotel Jason was up and getting himself ready. She had a quick shower, then redid her make-up and picked an outfit for the day. Bluejeans, black turtle-neck sweater and her houndstooth check jacket on top, black zip-up heel boots. To add more interest she put on a long wig then tied it into a loose ponytail with her blue patterned Charvet scarf. She admired herself in the mirror.

Jason had the wit to match her style with jeans, a white shirt and a dark blue blazer. They had a simple buffet breakfast and hopped into a taxi. It was about 10 when they got to the Chateau de Versailles, opening time, so it was perfect. There wasn't much of a queue for tickets, and they were soon wandering the vast palace and gardens, checking the map for the most interesting things to see.

They went into the Hall of mirrors first.

"This place is amazing Pia! French royalty stayed here right? They called this their home?” he asked. There were 30 painted compositions on the vaulted ceiling by Le Brun, depicting the glorious history of Louis XIV during the first 18 years of his reign, from 1661 to the peace treaties of Nijmegen. "Was this king a good one, Pia?" he asked.

"What is a good king, Jason? I don't know. Louis lived a long time. He fought a lot of wars and made France the most powerful nation in Europe, until the British organised a coalition against him. Then it all ended."

They walked in the amazingly richly decorated halls of the palace. There were oil paintings, elegant furniture, tapestries, and gold leaf everywhere. But not enough toilets. In historical times ordure was found in all the secluded corners.

"All these riches and the money for Louis' wars came from taxation of the lower classes. The economy was in ruins when he died," Pia objected. "Ordinary people just want a quiet life and enough to eat. I'm not saying it was better in the UK."

Pia felt maudlin, thinking about those ancient woes. She did not want to infect Jason with that mood. Instead she smiled and led him to the extensive formal gardens, where manicured nature would refresh their spirits. Far from the traffic of central Paris the air was clean and healthy. Spring was in the air; flowers such as daffodils and crocuses bloomed and the trees put forth their buds, bright fresh green to announce the renewal of life after a bleak winter. The grounds were adorned with water features including fountains and pools, and many statues.

"Anyway I suppose people are proud of it all today or it would be torn down, like the Bastille was. I mean, it is beautiful, really. Jason, you must tell me when you get tired. Your wounds are still fresh. You must not overdo it. We can have lunch very close by. There are several good restaurants."

The architecture was all very beautiful and the gardens manicured with precision. But he did feel a bit tired now, only taking Panadol so as not to make himself sleepy. He didn't want to spoil his chance to view the sights over some minor discomfort and niggling pain. But he was just being his macho self in this instance in front of Pia. It was so damn good to forgo the facade of being Jack now and revert to Jason. He no longer looked at Pia as an undercover married partner to Jack, or a police partner for Jason, but definitely as a girlfriend and now more repeatedly as his nurse. It annoyed him just a little that his body lacked the same enthusiasm as his heart or mind!

"Lunch sounds like a good idea Pia, I'm a little sore still but will soldier on," he answered.

He looked up his Google Maps and found a restaurant close by, Ladurée. Then a quick look at what's on offer in the savoury range. Avocado toast with asparagus, or salmon, Caesar salad, or Ladurée club sandwiches, which all looked tasty.

Versailles was such a huge place that there were kind of little road trains and golf buggies to help disabled people get around the grounds, or if you were just tired or lazy and wanted to ride. You needed a ticket for the train and you could jump off and on, but the buggy was like a taxi. Jason swallowed his macho pride and admitted to Pia that his wounds did not let him walk so far as the restaurant.

“It’s okay, Jason, you’ve worked enough today for physio. If you overdo it you’ll set back your healing. We’ll get one of those buggies back to the main entrance. I know Ladurée, they do the most excellent macarons. I think I’ll buy some to take back to Chicago.”

They got one of the buggies to the main entrance, and it was a short stroll from there to Ladurée. The restaurant was mainly a baker and patissier which sold high end sandwiches and salads as well as various kinds of pastries, their famous macarons and, at this time of the year, expensive Easter treats. They were ushered to a table set for two, and began to check the menu. The club sandwiches looked amazing.

“Let’s share, oh please can we share, Jason? If you have the bacon club sandwich and I have the smoked salmon, we can taste both. But the grilled cheese with fruit looks so good too!!! Do you think we can have all three and share?”

"Of course we can have all three and share a plate for two. Then while we are at it try some of those macaroons," he said and ordered a club sandwich mix plus macaroons for them both to try out. While he was waiting he took a couple of panadol with some mineral water. The pain was still there in the background but he was taking it easy. It didn't take long for the food to arrive along with more mineral water.

"The Queen Marie Antoinette and the Dauphin who became Louis XVI were married here in Versailles. Hey, didn't they both lose their heads on the chopping block during the French revolution?" he asked.

He started eating the club sandwiches, relishing the taste. The bread and filling were so fresh. He ordered a fresh pot of tea for them both to compliment the macaroons.

"Wow, they are tasty aren't the,y these macaroons just melt in your mouth right?" he asked, heading straight for the dessert as usual. He wondered if there was more to see here but then realised that they still needed to fit in some shopping still. "Pia, when do we need to go to that shop, what was the name? That's right, La Botte Gardiane for shoes. Can we see a little more of the palace though, is that possible do you think? Like the King and Queen's bedroom?" he asked.

“Of course we can, there’s plenty of time. I think they had separate bedrooms partly because Louis spent a lot of time with his various mistresses. Royal marriages weren’t about love, really, they were about sealing major treaties. Still, it will be interesting to see. Probably his bed is bigger than my flat in Tokyo was.”

She bit into her salmon sandwich with pleasure. The texture of the bread was so mouth filling and delicious. They munched through the whole meal for three, then Jason got stuck into the macarons and tea. Pia had one, which was as dreamy as something angels might eat. *Ambrosia? I had better stop at one. I have to watch my figure. I’ll go to the gym this evening.* She reduced her calorie load by taking lemon in her tea rather than milk.

“I just have to pop into the powder room for five minutes, Jason. Why not buy a box of macarons to take back to Chicago? We can give them to everyone in the office as a change from donuts. They keep for several days.”

She went for a wee and to touch up her makeup. Pia wanted to be immaculately elegant throughout her stay in Paris. It took a lot of work to be effortlessly chic. Coming back, she began to search up Louis the 14th’s mistresses while Jason was finishing his macarons and tea.

“Ha ha! One of Louis’s mistresses was called Olympe, what a hoot! They didn’t have any children together and she got exiled later. Probably for the best. The man was an absolute goat, you know! He had mistress after mistress and dozens of children, it says here. I mean they didn’t have proper birth control but probably he wouldn’t have cared anyway. A bit tough on the women, though. I’m glad I can decide when I want to have babies. I suppose they put up with it for the prestige and wealth. It was better than being a peasant wife anyway. Until you got your head chopped off in the revolution.”

They finished lunch and went back to see the King’s bedroom in a tour group. As suspected, it was separate from the Queen’s. In fact, they had completely separate apartments, each consisting of half a dozen rooms which visitors could only enter according to strict protocol, the guide explained. There was a passage linking it to his mistress’s small apartment.

“Well, his bed isn’t bigger than my Tokyo flat but his bedroom is about as big as my apartment in Chicago, and it’s only one room, and he’s got like six rooms and it’s only a little bit of the whole palace. When you think of all the money this must have cost, you can see why they had a revolution in the end.”

"Wow, talk about opulent! You're right, it's no wonder if the rest of the country was going it tough while these guys lived in luxury. I guess that's why they lost their heads in the end isn't it?" he said. "It says here In Versailles the queen had a series of small rooms beyond her State Apartments which were reserved for her personal use and for service by her ladies-in-waiting. Marie Antoinette acquired more space by fitting out new rooms on the floor above. Such as a Billiard Room and even had a miniature summer apartment built on the ground floor, which opened onto the Marble Courtyard and contained a bedchamber, library and bathroom," he added.

The exit was through the gift shop, of course, where a wide variety of tasteful merchandise was offered, including costume replicas of Marie Antoinette’s sumptuous jewellery. The real items had sold for millions at auction just a few years previously. It all looked quite impressive. There were bags, purses, commemorative coins featuring the king's portrait. Books, honey jars, writing implements, quill and ink, candles and other trinkets and souvenirs. Of course Jason wanted to purchase a book such as the life of Louis XVI for starters. It was available in many languages.

"Olympe, would you like a Marie Antoinette necklace, broach, or pearls? I will get it," he asked.

“Oh, would you like to give me a pearl necklace, Jason?” She smiled and arched an eyebrow suggestively. “That’s a lovely idea, but the replica is too splendid. I don’t know when I would ever wear it. Perhaps a little broach would be nice. Something I can wear every day.”

She chose a piece in the shape of a loosely tied ribbon. It was enamelled and mounted with many small Swarovski crystals in place of the diamonds the original must have had. Once Jason had paid, she let him pin it on her lapel.

“Thank you very much! It is beautiful. It will sparkle so well in the light. Now, would you like to explore elsewhere, Jason, or go back to Paris? I am not so mad on shoes that I have to go shopping if you are tired or want to do something else.”

"Why don't we go and see the Notre-Dame de Versailles it's not far from here. Of course we can get a taxi ride. I do need to still take it easy. But we should go and see that shoe place after this though. I'm still up to that if we go easy on the walking," he said.

Jason hailed down a taxi and they both got inside he looked over towards Pia half feeling sorry for her. As he knew she liked to walk to most places.

"I'm sorry Pia, I know you loved walking and all. But say, I like your broach, it does look nice on you," he said as they took off into the streets of Versailles. Weaving in and out of traffic, taking in all the sights and sounds. The taxi pulled up close by to the church another piece of amazing architecture. It was Louis XIV who ordered that the church be built for the town. In 1791 it was declared a cathedral but converted to a Temple of Reason in 1793. After the Revolution the bishop of Versailles chose the Church of Saint-Louis as his seat instead, which is now the Versailles Cathedral. Between 1858 and 1873, a new chapel was added by the architect Le Poittevin, who also built the market-halls of the Marché Notre-Dame. The church contains sculptures by Pierre Mazzeline and Noël Jouvenet.

Walking with Pia and holding her hand it felt wonderful being a tourist again. He didn't seem to grow tired of the architecture either.

"I'm amazed at the amount of work and detail that goes into this Pia. You see, not all kings could have been that bad to warrant having their heads chopped off. I wonder why they called this a church of reason in 1793? This place still looks like a Catholic church to me." As he walked with her it was a combination of her expensive perfume and her athletic physique that made him a bit dreamy around her. Holding her close and noticing these things seemed natural.

“People have built all kinds of amazing monuments to religion," Pia remarked. "In Japan there are incredible temples and shrines for Buddhist and Shinto belief. What happened in the French Revolution wasn’t a denial of spirituality so much as a rejection of the established control of religion by the state. The people were so angry at the traditional power structure that they went a bit mad, really. They even invented new months of the year and a decimal system of hours and minutes as well as rejecting religion. The whole system was torn down and rebuilt, but it came back in some way.”

They wandered in the vast space, amazed by the intricate carvings, the stained glass windows, and the feeling of peace.

“I don’t know," Pia said. "I’m not religious really. My parents are basically agnostics. I’m not against religion. The best of it is about kindness and helping our fellow humans. If people are good to each other, does it matter if they do it because of one god or another goddess or just simple humanity?”

They walked hand in hand. Pia worried if Jason was alright, considering his wounds were still rather fresh. *I must be sure there is no infection and he does his exercises, or he will not recover properly.*

“Listen, Jason, we don’t have to go shopping. Let’s take a cruise on a bateau mouche. It’s a big boat which goes along the River Seine and some canals in Paris. You can have dinner and see all the sights. Wouldn’t that be a good way to spend some time?”

"You mean a romantic dinner for two on a river boat cruise. Sure, it sounds great, but I know you like your shopping. I will have to make it up to you later on," he replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Jason reluctantly agreed with Pia on this idea but he wanted to look at one more thing before heading out to the boat. He hailed down another taxi then after paying the required fare for them both.

"Okay honey, one more place before we go out to the boat if you don't mind, it's called the Queen's Hamlet," he told her, as they climbed in and the taxi took off again to its new destination. "It's okay honey, just a little walking then on the boat you and I can relax, have dinner, have some champagne and wine. Enjoy the sights. I've taken some panadol already. I'm right for a little more," he said.

The queen actually used the hamlet as a place for relaxing walks, or to host small gatherings. Tthe hamlet was also a functioning farm, a point upon which the queen insisted, which meant that it served an educational role for the royal children.

During the Revolution, the Hamlet had quite a rough time. Built without much thought for longevity, as was the norm for such follies, the cottages aged badly and were damaged by bad weather. Napoleon ordered a full restoration between 1810 and 1812, but in doing so had the most dilapidated structures torn down, including the barn and the working dairy.The farm, which almost totally disappeared over the course of the 19th century, was reconstructed in 2006 and is now home to a variety of animals looked after by the Foundation for Animal Welfare.

"Isn't this place amazing, Pia? The Queen did a good thing here and I'm happy the French restored this place. She must have thought highly of the Royal children to consider their education," he declared.

The little preserved hamlet put Pia in mind of two royal places she knew from her own life. Near her parents’ home in Kew Gardens in London was a kind of chalet called Queen Charlotte’s Cottage, which had been some kind of tea house or retreat for one of the Georgian queens. In Tokyo was the Empress’s Fishing Pavilion of the Meiji Jingu shrine, a quiet building next to a pond where the Empress used to go to relax. Both places were delightful, secluded houses where the women of a royal household were able to enjoy themselves apart from the company of their royal male counterparts.

*I mean even if you’re a queen you still have the right to look after your own children,* she thought quietly, while still doubting the life of wealth and privilege such people had enjoyed at the expense of the bulk of the populace. *Still, Jason’s quite the culture vulture, bringing me to this kind of place as well as the cathedral and everything. All I wanted to do was go and buy shoes. I ought to be ashamed of myself. Philistine!* But she was already calculating a way to achieve all their ambitions.

“Jason! Listen! The bateau mouche cruise with dinner doesn’t start until 20:30. We have time to go to La Botte Gardiane and look at shoes, then join the boat cruise afterwards. Look at the menu, it’s superb!

She showed him the 'Excellence Menu' on her phone.

**Aperitif**
Glass of Moët & Chandon Champagne (125 ml)

**Starters**
Duck foie gras, mango chutney and raisins
Lamb fillet mignon, cauliflower tabbouleh, herb pesto
Scottish salmon with basil focaccia
Open crab ravioli
Creamy pea soup with peppermint and fresh goat cheese

**Mains**
Scallops, sweet potato risotto, seaweed cream
Cod steak, tomato tagliatelle, cardamom sauce
Fillet of beef, pea pudding, veal gravy
Seared duck breast, Anna potatoes, honey and lemon sauce
Risotto of black rice, coriander and confit tomatoes

Trio of Seasonal AOP Cheese

**Desserts**
Sweet chocolate pastry with crispy sesame biscuit
Exotic entremet
Creamy strawberry & vanilla pastry
Trilogy of exotic fruit sorbets
Strawberries in basil syrup with yoghurt ice cream

Coffee or tea & «Martell» VSOP Cognac

**CHOICE OF WINE**
Mouton Cadet, Réserve Graves
Crozes Hermitages - La Rollande
(1 bottle for 2 guests)
1 bottle of Evian (750 ml) for 2 guests
Or 1 soft drink (330 ml) per guest

There were also vegetarian selections, which she knew Jason did not require.

“It all looks good. The wine’s nothing very special but it’s definitely not plonk. This seems like an excellent menu overall, and we’ll see wonderful sights from the boat, and it will return us nearly to our hotel at the end of the cruise. We can walk back from the pier, as long as your leg is alright, or we’ll get a taxi. Shall we go?”

"It doesn't start until 20:30? That means we still have time to go to the shoe shop. As for walking back from the pier I will see how I go later on. At the moment I'm still good as long as the walking is limited," Jason replied. He hailed down another taxi. He certainly was enjoying today's sights. Then as he opened the door for Pia, he tried out some French with the driver.

"Pouvez-vous nous emmener à La Botte Gardiane s'il vous plaît," he said slowly. The taxi driver chuckled a little with Jason's pronunciation but fortunately was able to understand the destination, and drove them both there. It didn't take long. Jason helped Pia out of the car and paid the taxi driver the required amount.

"Well, we are finally here Pia, what colour do you think would look good on me?" He was checking out some short boots. "How do these look? I bet they would go well with jeans? What shoes are you after exactly,"? he asked.

"That's a good boot, Jason, a distinctive style which takes you away from the American cowboy look. That warm tan colour is nice, kind of camel I'd call it maybe. A black boot would look good, too. Suede is more casual, obviously. If you got them in black I'd let them get a bit distressed, because very shiny black boots will make you look like you're in the army or something. If you wear them with jeans you can either go with skinny jeans inside the boot which would show off the French styling or boot-cut jeans of course, which is basically flares which are really on point this season so that's good but don't go too far, if you have a very wide bell-bottom it's going to look too wild and loose. You don't want to look all undisciplined, certainly not at work and even off duty you don't want to look like a hippy. Or maybe you do?

"Basically I think guys have to look more buttoned down than girls but when you think about flower power and psychedelic fashion from the late 60s, early 70s maybe I'm being too unimaginative. Why shouldn't boys be able to wear colourful and flowing outfits? Whatever you choose is good by me."

Pia's mind was rocked by her sudden men's fashion thoughts but she decided to put the idea of Jason in a caftan to one side and concentrate on choosing some new footwear for herself. The range was impressive, and you could choose a style and order a custom colour version.

Some knee-high, tight riding boots might be fun, kind of a dominatrix look but more practical... she mused. *But actually I won't today. I'll have some Gardian boots for sure, though, cause that's their signature style, and something practical, and something a bit more unusual too. I mustn't spend too much.*

She bought a pair of 1/3rd Guardian boots in black, a nice pair of Maury slip-on flats in a nude colour which would be comfortable and practical, and for the unusual pick she had a pair of man-style Derby lace-ups in white leather.

"What do you think, Jason, won't these go well with lots of outfits?"

"All of them would look good with your outfits Pia. I don't think I want to intentionally look like a hippy though. But I think I will finalise my purchases also," he said.

Jason had selected two types this time, the full Gardian waxed split and the Jules coffee low boot. Having gone up to the counter to finalise payment with the Sales Clerk, he waited for Pia to finalise her purchases. Time was getting away with all the trying on of shoes and browsing. But it was half past eight for dinner on the boat. He had another look at the menu with so many choices it all looked good. But he wondered if there would be time to look anywhere else? But something also caught his eye as he hailed down another taxi he wanted to see the Pantheon in Paris.

"Ok, let's go and have a look at the Pantheon in Paris." He helped carry her bags of shoes.

Pantheon Paris is a majestic archeological site situated in the Latin Quarter. It is the most ancient structure (125 AD) from the Roman Empire, and one of the city's most magnificent spectacles and this grandeur is visible from every corner of Paris.

After paying the taxi driver again Pia helped her out of the taxi but didn't realise that they both had quite a few bags of goodies. Perhaps they should drop off all this shopping back inside their hotel room first? But then thought after this they most definitely will do that! But there was one thing here that captivated him and that was the Foucault pendulum.

IN 1851, PHYSICIST LÉON FOUCAULT demonstrated the rotation of the Earth with an experiment conducted in the Paris Panthéon. By constructing a fixed 67-meter swinging lead bob beneath the central dome, Foucault was able to prove that the earth was in fact in rotation at all times, as the plane of the pendulum never changed, yet it seemed to move with earth’s rotation.

"Wow! Look at this, Pia. This is how we know the earth rotates on its axis."

“I’ve never been here before, Jason. It’s amazing! Somehow I remember seeing a big pendulum like this, maybe it was in London or, I don’t know, maybe I came here when I was very little and I don’t remember it clearly. Anyway it’s great to find something so important to science in such an old building. Thanks for showing it to me. You really have taken Paris to your heart, finding such amazing things here.”

She held his arm close and together they watched in silence for several minutes as the long pendulum made its weighty arcs and began visibly to trace a path around the circle, showing it was holding a true course while the Earth rotated underneath it. The ornate marble of the floor added to the scene, creating a sense of Victorian era magnificence.

"If someone made this experiment now it would probably all be grey and beige concrete or something. I wonder what Flat Earthers think about it. I ought to have some idea, because I studied Psychology. I expect they would reject the evidence as a forgery. Something to do with confirmation bias.”

She checked her wristwatch. It was time to move on.

“I’m sorry, Jason, but if we want to go back to the hotel to drop off our shopping and freshen ourselves we should go now or we may miss the start of the Bateau Mouche cruise. You look lovely of course, you do not need to worry, but I must change my dress for something more appropriate for an evening out. I promise to be as quick as I can...”

They caught a cab. During the ride back to the Pullman, Pia thought about her change of clothes. It had to be a dress, something feminine, elegant, not too ornate or too revealing. *Nothing’s going to happen tonight anyway, his wounds are too fresh to let him go dancing, let alone… * Her wardrobe was limited to her travelling selection. *Hmm, hmm… I’ll wear the dark blue bishop sleeve dress again. That fits the requirements.*

Back at the Pullman Eiffel Tower, Jason had to wait 3 minutes for Pia to change and 17 minutes for her to refresh her make-up. She kept the long wig and added some light necklaces to her jewelry, the gold contrasting well with the dark blue cloth, and she pinned her new Marie Antoinette broach to her breast. They jumped in a cab and quickly reached the pier, boarding in good time to be shown to their seats for the luxury dinner cruise.

“Here we are!" She chirped. "I’ve never been on one before, actually. It’s like that rule that if you actually live somewhere you never visit the important things tourists go and look at. I don’t know. London and Paris both have so many wonderful places to go to. I’m really looking forwards to this cruise, Jason. We’ll see glorious sights, I’m sure.”

<<<TO BE CONTINUED LATER>>>

<<<NOW, A COMEDY INTERLUDE>>>


A young woman rendered incognito by her net veil sat at the counter of Sadie's Diner, nursing endless black coffee and a plate of egg banjos she had personally instructed the so-called chef how to cook. It's a delicacy unknown in the entire continental United States but when you get into the detail it's a bread sandwich with a fried egg as the filling.

The tall blonde was waiting to be joined by a Japanese police detective on secondment to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, whom she had assisted in a sex trafficking case in Tokyo's neon soaked clubland of Kabukicho a couple of years previously. But Taka-kun never showed, and she sighed, not knowing if this was a good or bad sign.

As the girl began to eat her egg banjo, a Honda Super Cub in the scarlet and gold livery of the Royal Mail burbled to a halt in the parking lot. The pimply young rider dismounted and entered the sacred space of the diner, his white, open-face helmet tucked under one elbow. He extended a telegram envelope to the blondette at the counter.

"Sir... Ma'am... Ms... Your Majesty... Highness..." he faltered. The address 'Frog Prince' on the message seemed incongruent with the apparent reality before him, a clearly feminine human who was enthusiastically nomming a messy egg banjo. Olympe put her half-eaten sandwich down to give the messenger boi the hairy eyeball.

"What is it?"

"Telegram for you, sir, miss, er... please would you show me your ID?"

Olympe dug into her handbag and held out her right palm with a small token of some kind lying on it, which clearly satisfied the PO boi of her credentials, since he saluted awkwardly and handed her the envelope. She slit it open with a table knife and scanned the contents.

"Is there a reply, my lord, lady? It's pre-paid."

"Give me a blank, please."

He opened his satchel and handed her a clean telegram form. She took a ballpoint pen, filled her answer up in a moment, and handed it back with a 5-Coin.

"Thank you very much!" It was a generous tip. "I'll go back to the post office directly." The boi saluted and rushed off to get the telegram into the message system ASAP.

Meanwhile Olympe considered the import of the odd signal. It was from Lord Yuzu, who habitually communicated by rather indirect methods since he detested modernity, apart from some exciting bits of it such as his illicit orbital gunship, but the less said about that hobby the better. *You can call it a shuttle all you like, Yuzu, no-one who's seen it will be fooled.*

Once again 'Yuzu would be delighted if the Frog Prince would favour him with her presence at his country home, Cowley Court, blah blah...' Actually the wording was not that prolix:

+++NEED YOU HERE SOONEST+++BALLS+++YUZU+++

Olympe could think of several reasons why Yuzu might need her down at Cowley, some of them not so savoury, but the wine cellar was heaving with fine vintages and her socialistic principles demanded she absorb as much of the elite plonk as possible. Hence her reply:

+++TOMORROW+++PIA+++

The tall blonde left an 11-Coin on the counter and went home to pack for a long weekend with dancing.

The new day dawned fresh and misty, a wonderful, crisp, early autumn morning with the promise of some warm sun later. Olympe buckled her steamer trunk to the luggage rack of her two-seater and set out on the long drive to the Mellow West, where Cowley Court promised various amusements -- lawn tennis, billiards, contract bridge, the primal savagery of croquet, boating on the lake, cocktails, and white tie dinners -- Yuzu's cryptic warning of 'Balls' was particularly intriguing.

Two hours later the energised detective crunched to a halt on the gleaming gravel in front of the honey coloured stone pile which Yuzu called home. The east and west wings seemed to spread forever, promising gracious accommodation for any number of weekend guests. She leapt from the car, and footbois fussed around to unlatch her luggage and move the sporty roadster to some remote garage.

Olympe went into the front hall to sign the visitor's book and see who else might have arrived for the weekend.

For some reason there were no staff in attendance to conduct Olympe to her room. She waited, whiling the time away by flipping back the pages to see who had been invited to earlier weekends. No-one of much significance, it seemed. She stifled a yawn.

There was an exciting rorting noise from the drive and in strode a tall, dark, handsome man in motorcycle leathers. He signed the book before he clocked the tall, hot blonde.

*I should have worn a heavier scent!* she thought, miffed.

"Nice seeing you here," he said.

"Have we met before? I don't think we've been formally introduced. I just arrived a few minutes ago. I don't actually know where the butler is... So, um..."

Her embarrassment was saved by the arrival of two saturnine figures, the butler-bot Michiko, and a taller, more human presence whom Olympe quickly recognised.

"Muun? What in The Server are you doing here?" she chimed in a cut-glass English accent.

"Good afternoon, Ms Olympe. Lord Yuzu has invited a significant number of guests this weekend and felt the need for a 'full court press' as he put it. I admit I did not fully understand the import of the term at first but I am led to understand that there are certain doings afoot which require the utmost professional support, hence my presence as a backstop to Michiko-bot." The female butler clandestinely gestured at her rather doddery looking bot companion with a sideways nod of her head, and a lofted eyebrow.

"Oh, I see." Olympe tapped the side of her nose with a forefinger. "Well, that's all to the good and hopefully there will be no teetotalitarianism in effect. I don't think I could survive. Listen Muun, Yuzu summoned me with a dark and cryptic warning of 'balls'. What do you know about that?"

Before Muun could reply, Michiko-bot buzzed a greeting.

"Good day, Mr... Bip Bip Bip... McDaniel. I shall summon a footboi to carry your appurtenances to your accommodation. Your room is in the West Wing, between Ms Olympe's and Doctor Mayoy's. Light refreshments are currently available in the 3rd withdrawing room."

"Excellent!" Olympe interrupted. "Mr McDaniel, shall we take tea together or do you prefer to go up to your room and unpack?" The tall blonde positively twinkled. "I don't think we need to change, it's very informal. Oh! I'm so sorry, my name is Olympe Reese."

Kevin scratched the back of his head before the robot gathered his attention. “You can have my helmet if you want, though I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything else with me, haha.” He wasn’t planning on staying long anyway.

Then suddenly, by some miracle of the heavens, he caught the full attention of the woman he laid eyes on at the very beginning. But this time, there was a name attached - Olympe Reese.

“Kevin McDaniel. And yes, tea would be nice.” He offered his hand for a shake. It’s the least he could do, being a gentleman and all, though he wondered if anyone else had any plans of showing up to this event. It’s a bit awkward feeling being the only two here in this rather empty building. Nothing can be done except to make the best of it. And with the way things are starting now, he concluded it can only get better.

Olympe shook the offered hand, said "How do you do," and went to lead the way down long, wood panelled corridors, around corners with Chinese vases on stands, past mullioned windows which give views over manicured lawns, a tennis court and, in the distance, a lake. There was a white flying boat sitting on the water, a two-motor high-wing monoplane.

The pair reached a large, well-lit room equipped with lavish amounts of occasional tables, soft furnishings, oil paintings, standard lamps, and other such decorabilia. Tall french windows stood open to allow a gentle breeze, scented with roses, into the space. There was a sumptuous tea buffet laid on a long sideboard.

"Here we are!" Olympe chimed. She helped herself to a cup of Assam with a spot of milk, and a digestive biscuit. She sat with her left leg draped elegantly over the right, swinging her foot slightly. She was wearing gloss white derby shoes with a man style low heel. Her tea length skirt allowed her trim ankles and calves to twinkle in the warm early autumn light.

"Now, what shall we talk about, Mr McDaniel?"

The young man grabbed himself a glass of unsweetened tea with lemon, a sharp contrast to what his newfound companion chose for a drink. He’s a simple guy, preferring names that are easy to pronounce on items of worth and other things. Though admittedly he felt like a sore thumb.

Wearing only a white shirt with a leather black jacket with jean pants and plain sneakers, he looked comfortable if anything. Then again, it would be a bit strange to wear something formal while riding in a motorcycle. Regardless, he came as he is and Olympe doesn’t seem to mind, not that it mattered to him in the least.

“Well, I overheard you talking to your friends about Lord Yuzu,” Kevin commented. He took a sip from his tea before continuing. “Who is he?”

"Who's Yuzu? That's a good question. You've clearly got qualities. Well, you can see Yuzu's rich. He's got more Coins than anyone. He's so rich he isn't even on the leaderboard because he's too high above it. No-one can tell how many Coins Yuzu's got because it's all hidden behind a firewall of alien Base-8 code. But a place like this, and his hobbies, well, really this place is one of his hobbies."

The blonde sipped her tea.

"Actually it's a metahobby cause the cricket team and the weird aircraft are part of things too. Yuzu's very eccentric. All he wants is to play this game of gracious English living like he was in Downton Abbey. You have to go along with it or he'll cut up rough. I've tested the boundaries. He tolerates me because we're related in an odd way and I've been helpful to him a couple of times, plus I've got nice ankles and can dance. You'll need better clothes to fit in but don't worry, I know where we can get you some. Yancie left a lot of his stuff here so I'll ask Muun to root it out for you. There's even a penguin suit. I can tell by looking at you it will fit pretty well, so that's okay. But look at this:"

She delved a folded telegram form from her handbag and handed it over. It read: +++NEED YOU HERE SOONEST+++BALLS+++YUZU+++

"What do you make of that, Mr McDaniel?"

He took the note from her hand and began to read it carefully, only to do so a second and then a third time. His eyebrows raised upon the word ‘balls’. Intriguing, if a bit odd. Though if this is a sign of Yuzu’s eccentric behavior, then he should proceed with caution.

He’s not comfortable dealing with the strange and foreign, which from Olympe is what Yuzu is. And if her words are any indication, he won’t be able to get out of it. For now he had to play along and wear another man’s clothes just to be a part of the status quo. And here he thought this was a bed and breakfast kind of affair, but in a country club. Needless to say, he was wrong.

“It could mean anything, Ms. Reese,” he commented while returning the letter to her. He relaxed in his seat before grabbing his tea once more.

“Perhaps he’s in need of tennis balls. Maybe he’s throwing a party - a ball per se. Maybe it has to do with his sexuality. The possibilities are endless.”

"His sexuality? Interesting idea! That would explain the presence of Doctor Mayoy but she's very professional and would never let slip any patient's details. She was very kind to me when I had my trouble. So that's a dead end. And actually Yuzu is throwing a party. This whole weekend is basically a long party. Mayoy may be here for social reasons. There probably will be a ball, or an informal dance at least, so I hope you can dance or you'll end up a wallflower, which would be rather a shame." Olympe's eyes measured Kevin's frame again, and she spoke on.

"If you have to come all the way out here you may as well try and enjoy the occasion, I always think. However there are two main reasons I come to Cowley. One is when I've got a scheme to liberate some of Yuzu's Coins and put them to better use. Always entirely ethical, I assure you! The other is because Yuzu wants me to do something for him, and it's often something not necessarily to my advantage. For instance there was the Case of the Cursed Cow Creamer, which is rather a long story but it ended happily. Even the bit where the Palace got set on fire. This message looks very much like he wants me for another job like that. Not burning things again; it was an accident anyway."

Olympe stopped swinging her leg, unhooked it, planted both feet on the ground and sat up straight. The clustered tiny diamonds in her earrings sparkled as she spoke.

"Look, Mr McDaniel, I had better let you know I am a private detective. Yuzu calls me in when he's got a secret to hide or discover, or some other odd problem. Usually I bring a partner but this time everyone else in the agency was busy so I had to come by myself. It was lucky I met you in the hall. Well obviously it wasn't luck, it was narrative causality at work. You need someone to help you navigate this place, and I need someone to stand by my side when I talk to Yuzu. To bear witness to whatever malarkey he has in store. Do you think you could do that for me?" She smiled in a most winsome way.

Kevin blinked, still holding on to his tea. He didn't have the chance to taste it due to listening and attempting to understand the millions of words that came out of Olympe’s mouth. *A very chatty woman she is, not that it’s a bad thing.* Though he’s afraid that by meeting her he had gotten himself into a mess he wasn’t planning on participating in. And here he thought he was meeting a random woman to possibly flirt with, not a detective!

“Uh… sure,” was his reply to her question, an answer that he knows he’ll regret later. But she asked so nicely and she needed his help! “Couldn’t say no to a beautiful woman.”

Though something is troubling him, the seemingly seriousness to the matter. He is a stranger, not at all versed in the ways of a detective. If there is cover to uphold, he could easily blow it. If there is evidence to find, he might accidentally hamper with it without notice. He’s an equivalent to a child wearing shoes on the wrong foot. He had no idea what he’s doing.

“…The mission itself isn’t dangerous, right? Cause I would like to live to see my next birthday.”

He’ll be thirty-three years old next month. Still in his prime with many more years to experience love, adventure, and other meaningful things.

"Oh thank you! Thank you, Kevin!" She grasped his hands and leant forward. Her fragrance wafted over him, citrus and marine, the scent of Mediterranean coasts, sun-baked rock, pine, lemon and bergamot.

"May I call you Kevin? You can call me Olympe. I can't tell you what it means to have the support of a strong boi like you. Now listen, the mission isn't physically dangerous, at least I don't think it will be. I've been shot three times--" She indicated her left shoulder, her right buttock and her heart, "--But it was never anything to do with Yuzu so don't worry, you'll be fine. Would you like to have a gun even so? I've got a spare one." She rootled in her handbag and brought out a tiny pistol. It looked like a toy, or one of those novelty cigarette lighters which lights the flame out of the barrel when you pull the trigger.

"Please don't shoot anyone! I'm sure you won't need to, Kevin."

Suddenly a shadow fell across the pair of them. A presence in the french windows, a medium tall girl in a white midi dress and plimsolls. She carried a wooden tennis racket. Her face was east asian, very attractive, and she had wonderful straight black hair falling to her shoulders.

"Oh hullo!" said the stranger. "I hope I'm not interrupting something. I only wanted some tea after practicing against the stupid robot machine."

Olympe slipped the little gun back into her purse as she leapt up.

"Mayoy! How nice to see you."

"Ah, excuse me but I don't think we've been introduced, Ms, uh..."

Olympe flipped back the veil on her pillbox hat.

"Pia, it's you! When did you arrive?" The two girls hugged and air-kissed like old friends. Olympe then gestured to Kevin and said; "This is my associate Mr Kevin McDaniel. He is assisting me on a case."

Mayoy, presumably the Doctor who attended both Lord Yuzu and Ms Reese for unknown sexual reasons, extended her hand.

"How do you do, Mr McDaniel. I hope she's paying you the going rate."

"Oh!" exclaimed Olympe, and pulled a smartphone from her clutch. Dramatically anachronistic, it was clearly mil-spec, laden with armour and exotic sensors. She tapped rapidly at the screen. There was a subtle 'popping' noise and Kevin found his jacket pocket suddenly weighed down with something. If he took a look it was various disc-shaped tokens denominated 1, 5, 11 and 23. They seemed to be gold plated plastic and totalled to 50.

Kevin was taken aback at the amount of times Ms. Reese had been shot, even more so when she mentioned it flippantly like it was nothing. He was about to protest at the thought of having a gun and was just as ready to bow out as quickly as he had accepted the mission, until another woman came along with the typical introduction, leaving all eyes on her.

He looked up and down at said woman, her curves so ample that a tent was pitched in his pants. Of course, that short burst of arousal was too soon; he realized that she was a friend of Olympe, meaning that she’s also one of the crazy ones. Yes, he’s calling Ms. Reese deranged, but he won’t say it out loud, at least not yet.

As usual, Kevin didn’t get the chance to speak, though his eyes turned to the detective once her friend mentioned about paying him. It wasn’t long before he felt something in his jacket, only to take it out of his pocket and observe the gold plastic that amounted to 50 in currency.

“Thanks, Olympe.” He responded with a small smile, believing that the amount given was enough for him to have a change of heart in abandoning the mission. Regardless, he still sees her as a nutcase and no amount of pay would change his opinion of her.

He puts it back into his jacket before he turned his attention away from the detective and towards Mayoy with a curious expression on his face. Is it possible that she knows of the current mission they’re in? Perhaps she could help them out; a three stranded cord is stronger and more reliable than two, after all.

“Care to join us in our case, Ms. Mayoy?” he asked, his arm now propped up on the table with his head resting against his hand. “Surely that alone beats tennis with a robot.”

"What case is that, Mr McDaniel?" Mayoy's accent was New Yorker. "I've assisted the kuudere detectives several times, always indirectly. I'm not an action girl. I like sports well enough but I know when I'm out of my depth. If we went onto the lake I'd prefer you or Olympe to be rowing, or sculling, whichever it is. I'd sit in the back of the boat, watching you do all the work."

She sat in a chair set at right angles to Kevin's, crossed her legs and laid her tennis racquet on the floor. Olympe went to the buffet to refresh everyone's drinks. She came back with a glass of cold *hojicha* for Mayoy and a fresh black tea with lemon for Kevin. She shuttled back and returned with another cup of Assam for herself, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"Here, something for you Americans." She sat down and nibbled her McVitie's Digestive. It was exciting enough for a English girl. Olympe waited to see the interaction between Kevin and Mayoy. *It was fun when we were engaged but we're both better off apart,* she thought. *Mayoy is so wise!*

While Kevin, Doctor Mayoy and Olympe conversed, a Gordian Knot of social precedence was under consideration in the butler's pantry. Michiko-bot and Muun were wrestling with the intricate problem of seating for the *informal* black tie dinner they had to plan for the evening. The pair reviewed the guest list:

**Girls**
Lady Sakura
Olympe Viola Reese
Doctor Mayoy
Chormy#6184
Firegirl VioletMist
The Garden Fairy Yura
Major Dammijj

**Bois**
Lord Yuzu
Det. Sgt. Takayuki Komai
Mr. Kevin McDaniel
Doctor Foster
Mod Tsuchimursu
The Reverend Scarlet
The Hon. Algernon

**Also**
Dsam Muscle Primcess

Lord Yuzu and Lady Sakura were fixed in their positions as host and hostess at the head and foot of the table. Olympe must sit at Yuzu's right hand because she was the Frog Prince and technically outranked Yuzu in the Imperial hierarchy while her Husbando was Frog Queen. Tsuchimursu merited an elevated seat due to his Modhood, but the Reverend Scarlet was also also a Mod, and a boi of the cloth too. Although the Garden Fairy Yura was complaisant, Firegirl VioletMist had a surprising capacity for upsetting conventions. The two butlers planned out a configuration with wargame models, scrapped it and made a second one, then a third. At this point Michiko-bot suffered a stack overload and shut down to reset her OS, leaving Muun to complete the plan by herself.

*I'll just serve stronger cocktails and no-one will notice the fine details of the seating,* she decided. Muun was very good at accounts and understood the principle of proportionality. There was no more time to waste on the table plan when the fine details of the wines for each course had to be resolved. She began to give orders to the footbois and maids.

“If I recall, correct me if I’m wrong, Olympe,” he responded when the detective arrived with fresh tea and cookies. “It had something to do with Yuzu and his letter. We were both trying to figure out what it means, since the only thing he wrote out of the ordinary is ‘balls’.”

He grabbed a chocolate chip cookie before continuing. “Ms. Reese wanted me to accompany her when she meets him. And I guess that’s it.” He took a bite out of said cookie; the chocolate bits easily melted in his mouth and the baked dough was soft. It reminded him of home when his mother used to bake them on the weekends when he was little.

“Apparently I might need a gun and she was about to give me one when you arrived, not that I needed it. I mean, I would rather not put myself in harms way if the mission required such.”

If he had to return the 50 back to back out, so be it. Nothing, in his eyes, is worth a life lost, especially when you still have a lot to live for.

Just then another person entered the refreshment hall, an elderly man with a smile so genuine it’s contagious.

He was wearing a striped, long sleeve shirt with a pair of suspenders holding his blue dress pants. Brown shoes were worn for this occasion, if not than it would be worn at church. They were his lucky shoes, always granting him luck every which way he goes. Possibly why he’s still alive. He thanked his good luck shoes for that.

“Well hello there!” The elderly man said to the young group of whipper-snappers who were sitting nearby. “Mind if I sit with you? Of course you don’t, Haha!”

Before anyone could say a word, he took the nearest available seat. He had to take his time though, no thanks to his arthritis.

“Name’s Jimmy John Oscar, but you can call me Jimmy John or Jimmy for short. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance!”

He continued speaking. “You know, this must be my lucky day being invited to Lord Yuzu’s home. I thank my God in the year of our Lord… forgot what year it is, but I also thank these lucky shoes of mine, see that?“

He lifted one of his legs to show off his prized possession.

“My wife brought me these shoes on my 60th birthday, bless her heart. She couldn’t make it today, had to do with IBS. Don’t know what it stands for, but she said to go on without her. That I did and it’s been a long time since I smelled some fresh clean air, woo-whee!”

He chuckled lightly until he saw the plate of cookies on the table.

“Are they sugar free? If not, can’t have them cause of my diabetus. Sugar and I aren’t a good mix, but can do with some tea! You have any black tea? Reminds me of a black friend I had, name is Malcom. I think black is his favorite color since he talks about it all the time. Anyway, what’s your names? Already told you mine, right? Name’s Jimmy John Oscar, but you can call me Jimmy John or Jimmy for short.”

Doctor Mayoy was looking somewhat sideways at the blonde detective as Mr Oscar doddered into the withdrawing room.

"Pia, you weren't going to give him *The Gun*?" she hissed.

"Goddess' sake no, Mayoy! It's safely locked up. I just thought Mr McDaniel might like a discreet pistol to strengthen his Aspect."

"No-one needs any pistols, Pia," the Doctor stated plainly. "Mr. McDaniel will be fine with his native wits. You've just got to get the poor boi dressed properly and guide him through some social niceties."

Mr Oscar seated himself with the creaky aplomb of age. Olympe stood in respect for the ancient and responded to his self-introduction.

"How do you do, Mr Oscar. I am Olympe Reese, this is Mr Kevin McDaniel, and here is Doctor Mayoy so fear not about your diabetes but don't eat the cookies, I'm sure they're crammed with sugar. I'll ask for something more suitable."

She went and pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. When the maid arrived, Olympe requested low sugar biscuits. A plateful of diabetic friendly Rich Tea was swiftly procured. She brought the treats and a cup of black tea to Mr Oscar.

"Ha ha, when I was a child we played a game to see how many of these you could cram into your mouth and eat at one go!" Rich Tea are one of the driest biscuits known, almost like crackers. "But I'm not going to do it now!" She smiled broadly and played with her jewellery. "Would you like to go on the boating lake, Mr Oscar? I'd be happy to scull you around before cocktails."

Meanwhile Mayoy was anxious to reassure Kevin about the dangers of the weekend.

"Mr McDaniel," she addressed him directly, "There's been a bit of a misunderstanding. Pia here, Olympe, I mean Ms Reese, has had some odd adventures but she's never lost an associate. Well, that blonde girl in the forest of ghosts but it was a very difficult situation and anyway the victim was reincarnated so it doesn't count. But look, there aren't many chances to be killed in Cowley Court. I suppose you could fall off the roof or drown in the lake, but we have two doctors on hand because my sempai Doctor Foster is here this weekend. So don't worry." She patted Kevin's hand in encouragement. "How 'bout a game of tennis? It's good, healthy exercise and not nearly as dangerous as croquet."

Kevin was a little relieved when Dr. Mayoy explained the situation in detail, though the reincarnated lady bit had him concerned. There’s more to Olympe than he originally thought; not only is the blonde nutzo, but she also had dealings with the occult! How else was she able to perform something like that?

“Yes, we should play a game of tennis.” If anything, it’ll keep him occupied and not think too much about the inevitable mission. “But go easy on me. I know you’re a pro at it, so try not to make me look too bad on the court.”

He had his manliness factor to uphold after all.

Jimmy John grabbed a handful of the dry cakes and began to nibble on one of them, putting the rest in his pocket for safekeeping. He heard Olympe speak to him about a … coat? He isn’t too sure since his hearing isn’t up to par. Perhaps the hearing aids are low on battery; you can’t tell these days with the elderly.

“I think the weather’s too nice for a coat, but it’s almost autumn, right? Now that’s coat wearing weather! Or do you mean float? Now see, I love root beer floats - the diet non-sugar kind, you know, cause of my diabetus. It’s a rare treat, but it’s worth sharing with the grandbabies.”

He added, “I have three little ones who visit me from time to time - Thanksgiving and Christmas. Then I don’t see them again until next year. Figured they don’t like the sugar free candy I give them… or maybe it has to do with something else? I’m getting old, so it could be that. Never know with these youngins.”

"Children have to go where their parents take them, Mr Oscar." Olympe told him. "I've eaten diabetic sweets. They taste a little flat compared to standard recipes but there's nothing wrong with them. I loved visiting my grandparents when I was little. I used to steal dog chocolates from their pantry. Did you know chocolate is poisonous to dogs, so they have to have special treats? Cats too. The doggy chocs were pretty yucky though. We also had homemade chocolate cake, which was much nicer, and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Now listen, Mr McDaniel and Doctor Mayoy are going to play tennis, and I'll take you out on the lake. Mayoy will stay with you while Mr McDaniel and I get changed. We'll be a few minutes only. You can have another nice cup of tea in the meantime."

She beckoned Kevin up to the first floor (second if you're American) and easily found their rooms because Olympe had visited Cowley Court a number of times and knew the layout well.

"This room used to be Yancie's," she told Kevin. "It's a suite with a bath, very nice." They went in and found that the staff had filled the wardrobes with the clothes Yancie had brought the last time he visited, when he had to leave in such a hurry that a lot of things were left behind. Olympe went through them with easy familiarity and quickly set out two outfits.

"Here you are! White trousers, shirt and plimsolls for tennis. You can use a tie, I mean a necktie, instead of a belt. That adds a very stylish touch, you'll be quite the dashing young beau. Don't get a lot of ideas about Doctor Mayoy, though, because Mod Tsuchimursu is sweet on her. Once you've finished your game, change into this evening wear for cocktails and dinner." The evening suit was severe black with a stiff fronted white shirt, and a bow tie which looked difficult to do up, plus patent leather shoes.

"Will you be alright, Kevin? I've got to change into my sculling kit."

He began to think about the owner of this room. Who is he and what is he in relation to Olympe? Where could he possibly be now and why wasn’t he invited to the party?

“Ms. Reese, I do have a few questions if you don’t mind.” He stared at the two outfits that were placed on the bed. The evening one seems to fit his style somewhat, but the other for tennis, not so much.

“Firstly, do I have to wear that?” He pointed to the tennis uniform. “Secondly, who is Yancie? Is he your brother, cousin, husband, or…” He was running out of ideas on what to possibly call him, but surely she got the point.

“And lastly, was he invited? I would think so if he lives here and I’m wearing his clothes. Speaking of that, wouldn’t he be bothered? I would be if someone sees me in it without asking for permission.”

Olympe was opening all the closets, riffling through the suits hanging within; there were at least seven or eight plus the dinner jacket outfit she had already laid out. She paused her caresses of the luxurious fabrics at Kevin's questions, and turned to face him. She made a moue, in fact she looked like a girl on the verge of a snit.

"Please call me Olympe, or I shall feel you don't like me. Yes, of course you must wear the tennis outfit, Kevin, because you'll look absolutely super in it! There are some very nice girls here this weekend. You should take any chance to impress, or if you like bois it's the same, there are some very nice bois here too. You must look smart! You look smart now as a motorcyclist, yes, but tennis requires a new look. We always change our clothes a lot on these weekends. I don't know why you should mind about it."

She ran out of steam, turned to open a chest of drawers and began to go through the shirts and accoutrements inside, in some kind of displacement activity.

"Yancie is my older brother," she said over her shoulder. "I've never been married. I pretended to for an undercover case once, I still have the passport. I was Mrs Tremblay, a French woman with an American husband. Yancie's in IRL Tokyo at the moment, with his Japanese girlfriend Hikaru. They'll get married if I have anything to do with it, they're so right for each other."

She closed the drawer and turned back to look Kevin in the eyes. She was smiling again. She unpinned her hat and set it on a surface. Her hair was in a choppy pixie cut and she had gold stud earrings.

"Here, I'll show you some pictures." Olympe searched up the photo album on her smartphone. She showed Kevin some photos of a young man, mid-20s, tall, with shaggy honey-blond hair and hazel eyes. In one he was dressed in a pink blazer and black trousers, and there was a white girl on his arm, wearing a flapper dress. In another he wore technical hiking gear in greys, greens and blacks, and his right hand was in some kind of plastic brace. In a third he was wearing a rather preppy outfit of khaki chinos, a sky-blue long sleeve shirt, and a dark blue pullover slung around his shoulders. Yancie and Olympe looked very similar. They could almost have been twins.

"He wasn't invited because he's busy. Anyway I'm just as good at detecting as Yancie. Since he's my dear brother I think of these clothes as mine, although obviously they're too big." She picked up the dinner jacket and posed with it, checking her look in a tall mirror, then laid it out neatly again, and got rather close to Kevin. He could smell her scent, citrus and marine, evocative of warm, craggy Mediterranean coasts. Olympe rested a hand on Kevin's forearm and lifted her face to search his. Her eyes were hazel with gold flecks. She wore light make-up, with only a little eye-liner and no shadow.

"Your concerns do you great credit, Kevin. I believe Goddess put the right associate in my way when she brought you to Cowley Court. Please wear the clothes, enjoy the atmosphere, relish the food and drink, play the games, flirt and dance. It's going to be a fun weekend. I'll help you through any little difficulties."

She stepped back and watched the tall biker's reaction.

Kevin frowned. “It’s out of respect, Olympe. It has nothing to do with liking you or not, or having an interest in you.”

At first, back when he was signing his name in the visitor’s book, he was thinking about flirting with the woman. But that was before he discovered that she was a detective, was shot three times, insisted on him joining a mission involving Yuzu, and finding out that she had reincarnated someone. And if that wasn’t enough, she was forcing him to wear clothes he doesn’t even like! Not to mention that it belonged to her brother of all people. If that’s supposed to be her way of a pick up line, then all she’s going to get is the busy signal.

“And I’m not here to attract men, as they’re not my type, nor women… well, not at first, but that’s besides the point.” His mood had changed for the worst; it came from flirty to confused to fear to now downright anger. Perhaps it’s time he finally put his foot down.

“I was here only to eat a little something and leave, but somehow I’ve gotten myself into this mess with you wanting me to look special in front of people I don’t give a damn about. I could care less about Yuzu and his ‘balls’ obsession, Dr. Mayoy, Yancie, and especially you.”

He continued. “All you do is yap yap yap about gak. That’s right, bs. And I’m getting really fething tired of it.”

He was seething at the detective, wanting to say more. He wanted to tear her a new one if it was possible. But instead, he took a few deep breaths, turning away from her as he tried to recollect his thoughts. He had likely overstepped his boundaries when he just wanted to air out his frustrations. Insulting Olympe wasn’t part of the plan, and for that he needed to apologize.

“…Look, I’m sorry. I lost my temper,” he admitted before he turned to the woman with anger still boiling within him. He’s doing his best not to explode again and felt the need to leave the room. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to play tennis right now.”

What he wanted to do was smoke a cigarette and get out of this nightmare he’s in. He believed that he’ll wake up from this and be in his bedroom, ready to start a new day early in the morning. It had to be that, right? It had to be.

Olympe drew a very deep, slow breath, huffed it out and spun on her heel. She went to the sideboard, where there was a tantalus with decanters of whisky and brandy. She set out two glasses, poured a finger of whisky into one of them and squirted a splash of soda water in for health. She took a deep sip of the whisky then faced Kevin again.

"Thank you for your apology, Kevin. I apologise in turn for my behaviour. I've pushed you too hard. I've talked too much and too fast. I forgot what it's like to be a n00b in The Server, all the strange jargon and customs which are so confusing until you start to get a handle on things. I should have gone more slowly. But listen, there's no shame in being a n00b. Even I was a n00b once, and I turned out alright. It's just important to have fun and learn from higher level members. Let's have a drink and I'll shut up and answer your questions. And if you want to leave after that, of course you should but I hope you'll stay for dinner at least. Don't bother about the tennis. Mayoy can shift for herself, she'll find someone else or maybe she'll play with Mr Oscar. And I'm sorry again for talking so much, it's only because I'm a girl and we have twice as many words per day as bois. I didn't make that rule so you mustn't blame me. Would you like whisky or brandy, or something else? I can call a servant."

Kevin sighed deeply, his hand sliding down his face before it rested under his chin. Thoughts were racing in his mind; to just leave Olympe with the drinks and have a drag is more preferable, especially since she’s talking again with a pisspoor excuse to back it up. But maybe he’s being too hard on her who’s trying to make amends. The least he could do is take the olive branch extended to him.

“…I'll take a shot of whisky, please,” he muttered before he went to take a seat across from the detective. He said nothing more, simply going into his pockets to take out the 50 that was given to him, along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

With his fingers, he slid the currency towards Olympe’s direction, before he lit up a cigarette to take a deep drag of the much needed nicotine to calm his nerves.

He sighed right after, smoke blown from his mouth like a tea kettle overheating on the stove. Leaning back on the chair and with eyes closed, he rested in an attempt to get his mind together. He was in familiar territory, not having a care in the world. It was like that when he rode on his motorcycle and he’s trying to get that now. Hopefully she doesn’t mind his unhealthy habit in her brother’s room, but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?

Olympe poured a finger of whisky in the other glass and gently placed it within Kevin's easy reach. "Glenfiddich 15 year old Solera Reserve," she remarked, leaving the Coins on the tabletop for now. She opened a window, to let the smoke out. There was a view towards the boating lake. *I wish I was out there...* she thought, *I've overdone it with Kevin and now he's in a bad mood, sulking or moping. What should I do?*

An ancient wisteria clad the outside wall. Its great, tough limbs spread in all directions. offering a gnarly living scaffold which could be used by someone agile and daring to climb from the ground up to a bedroom, or sideways from one bedroom to another. The leaves were still verdant though summer's flowers had long faded and fallen.

She sat down and sipped her drink, leaving a lip mark on the glass, then pulled a powder compact and lipstick from her handbag, and checked her make-up. She got up and put her pillbox hat back on, adjusting it rakishly and folding the net down over her face once more. Sitting down again, Olympe got out her smartphone and pointed the camera at Kevin. Tapping the screen several times she quietly hmmed and put the phone away.

"What type of motorbike have you got, Kevin? How fast does it go?"

Whether Olympe noticed or not, Kevin was eyeing her the entire time, observing her physical features while she did this and that around the room. He took another drag of his cigarette when he glanced at her hips, so round and sumptuous… Admittedly the detective is more beautiful when she’s talking less.

He let the smoke escape his mouth while he reached for the drink, taking a good gulp of it before slamming the nearly depleted glass down on the table, not breaking it of course. The alcohol content was strong, but it felt good the first go around. He’s not ready to drink the rest in the glass, but instead went back to smoking what’s left of the tobacco stick.

Another drag, another spread of smoke escaping out of the window, and Kevin felt completely spent. He doesn’t like to get angry as it takes so much out of him. At least watching Olympe checking her makeup and putting on her hat was keeping him entertained.

“I ride a Yamaha Super Tenere ES. It’s my baby,” he responded, prideful of his bike. “I don’t try to test the speed, as long as I can feel the wind against my body… that is what matters most to me.”

Being that he doesn’t see an ashtray in sight, he dropped the cigarette butt into his cup. It won’t burn the glass or anything as there’s still a slight bit of liquid left inside. The residual alcohol popped into blue flame and burnt off in a moment.

“Why?” Kevin asked, his position in the chair more upright than before. “Do you have one yourself?”

Olympe was a veteran of the male gaze. She had been a bunnygirl cocktail waitress in a casino in London, a hostess in a louche bar in Kabukicho, Tokyo, and a bikini-clad barmaid in a skimpy pub in Western Australia, all roles she performed with some skill for undercover investigations. She knew exactly when bois were eyeing her up. *Goddess gave girls curves so bois' eyes would want to rove over them,* she thought, and remembered Chanmi the cyberpunk's wisdom; *Just make it a glance, not a stare, unless we're in a nightclub and you're serious.* She sipped her whisky and soda again.

"A Yamaha Super Tenere sounds awesome. I've got a Vespa Elettrica scooter. It could probably beat your Yamaha over the first 50 yards, cause it's electric and got torque out the wazoo, plus I got the plates put into the police traffic computer so I never get any speeding tickets, which is great. But basically it's for buzzing around town, top speed of 45mph in sports mode and a range of maybe 40 miles. Any long journeys I go by car or train. Did you ever do a road trip on your bike, Kevin? That would be pretty cool, cruising dark desert highways, and staying in remote motels."

She got up to wash Kevin's glass and dispose of the cigarette butt.

"It's cocktails soon so maybe we should stop at one drink."

He nodded. “When I lived in England, yes. Would travel here and there around the UK to relax and get my bearings. Just moved here weeks ago since I needed to start over with a clean slate. Not saying that it’s bad over there, just… memories that I would rather leave behind.

A bad relationship involving infidelity on his then fiancée’s part had nearly broken him. It left him with months of binge drinking and prodigal living; he was going downhill fast. But ever since he thought about ending his life by riding off a bridge in his motorcycle, the sense of becoming one with the winds of Mother Nature had forced him to change and not to allow himself to hit rock bottom ever again. What was meant to be a weapon for suicide had became his saving grace. He loved his motorcycle dearly and wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“Don’t tell me I have to wear your brother's suits for this. Well, I mean I would do it just this once… as long as it’s not that tennis outfit.”

He chuckled weakly. “Anyway, I don’t plan on drinking more than I did. Need not to overdo it for… personal reasons.”

Taking a shot of whiskey was one thing, even though it was a risk on his part. He doesn’t want to get drunk as past times were less than pleasant and it nearly destroyed his life. He can’t start over in a different country performing the same unhealthy habits again. Hopefully Olympe would understand his limits to such things and not pressure him to drink at cocktail hour.

*Does he have a dark history?* she wondered, trying to interpret Kevin's face and demeanour. *Well, he is not the only one.*

"Kevin," she said kindly, "You're not the first member to come here seeking a change of life, a chance of healing. Most of us find it in time. You can't truly die, so you can have all kinds of adventures, explore many ways to change yourself. The thing is, the emotions you will experience in The Server are just as effectual as the ones you have IRL. What I mean is that if you fall in love here, you fall in love. Love is wonderful, and it's dangerous. I found that out the hard way. When I first got here I treated it all as a big game. Of course in one way it is, that's the point, therapy and education through role-play. But, uh... I don't regret what happened to me. I'm learning so much from it."

She finished her own moderate drink and glanced out of the window. Someone had gone out on the lake, a tall girl with short blue hair in tight athletic costume, splashing quite a lot as she paddled wobblily along in a wooden racing skiff.

"I think that's the major. She had to learn to scull for some expedition she was on. I'll introduce you to her if you stay for cocktails. No-one will care if you drink soda water and fruit juice. I do so hope you'll stay, and wear the dinner suit. I can't make you but it's a wonderful suit and you'll look so handsome in it. All the girls will want to be the one you lead in to dinner."

Kevin rested his head on his hand as he pondered Olympe’s words. *Even the most chatty can give you some nuggets of wisdom,* he thought to himself. *Yet still...*

He closed his eyes, trying to remember what love really is. It came out to be a lie, everything was. He’d given up so much of himself to her, only for her to throw it away to be with another man. It hurt more than anyone could ever realize, it was worse than death itself, the pain. He doesn’t know if he could learn anything from that. And even if he did, well… he doesn’t want to go there. He had mostly moved on, but the massive scab in his heart remained. He’s afraid to pull it away to see if he has truly healed. Will it bleed again? Will fresh skin be revealed instead? He doesn’t want to know. Now is not the time to wonder about such things.

He chuckled softly when the detective complimented him. Directly or indirectly, it doesn’t matter. Perhaps it’s his turn to return the favor. It’s worth a shot; and if the end result becomes awkward, well… the show must go on.

“I would rather.. lead you into dinner tonight, if you don’t mind.” He said in all honesty. Truth be told, his heart is pounding in his chest. “I... I would like to know you a little more, not as a detective and all that. I want to know the real you.”

Olympe watched Kevin with a level gaze as he made his play.

*I'm dangerous to love,* she thought, and looked away for a moment, but it seemed an abdication of responsibility just to tell a boi that and leave him to Fate and his own devices. *I can't forget what happened to Hisashi. I was responsible.* Her head dipped as she remembered, then she braced up and straight eyed Kevin again.

"I'll permit you to squire me around Cowley for the weekend and we'll see how things go. Let's start with the cocktail hour and dinner."

When silence fell in the room, all he could hear was his breathing and thoughts, the latter so loud he couldn’t tell if he was speaking to himself.

*Did I move too fast? Does she hate me? What if she refuses?* They were running through his mind like an Olympian on track going their fastest to earn the gold. He couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t a good idea when Olympe turned away, leaving him hesitant to speak on his behalf. But when she spoke the words that granted him a chance to woo her over, he smiled.

“Thank you, Olympe.” He didn’t want to tarnish his chances by saying anything beyond that.

A breeze seemed to be rising in the extensive grounds. The wisteria leaves began to rustle, and there was a flirring sound. Olympe turned to look out of the window again. A face appeared beyond the mullioned aperture, a broadly smiling white girl with wavy brown hair to her shoulders and a crown of flowers.

"Sorry, Mizz," the apparition said, in a Floridian voice, "They told me Olympe was up here so I flew over to say hi, uwu. But as she's not here I'll leave you alone. Bye now, see you at cocktails maybe... Uwu..."

Before the odd girl could vanish Olympe flipped her veil up and called out, "Yura, it's me!"

The stranger did a double take. "Oh yeah! It's you, Olympe. Can I come in, uwu? I'm getting tired."

"This is Mr McDaniel's room so you need his permission, Yura." Olympe stepped away from the window and gestured to her companion.

"Please may I come in, Mr McDaniel, sir, uwu?" the newcomer smiled.

His curiosity took the better of him when he noticed the detective at the window talking to someone, only to introduce him not a moment later. He stood from his chair and walked over to Olympe’s side, looking down at a young woman who appeared to have a verbal tic. He simply waved at her before replying.

“You are free to come in, if you want. But make it quick since I need to change clothes.”

He wouldn’t dare undress in front of a total stranger, even more so with Olympe. Sure he’s kinda sorta maybe starting to ‘date’ her, but he’s not comfortable doing such and so soon. Instead he’ll wait patiently until they’re done. Who knows, maybe he’ll join the conversation. After all, her friends do seem to be an interesting bunch, even if they seem to be on the crazy side.

Olympe stepped to Kevin quickly and whispered into his ear.

"You may be a bit surprised at how she looks but Yura's lovely." She stepped back to the window to help the visitor climb into the bedroom. They hugged and kissed cheeks the way girls do.

Yura drew herself up to her full height to be introduced. She was very smol, under five feet, slightly built but feminine, pretty in a *girl next door* way, with warm brown eyes and light make-up. She wore a short sleeve, spring green shift dress, knee length, gathered at the waist with a black sash from which hung two tassle bags, one chonky, the other smol and sparkling with a faint blue glow, or perhaps that was a trick of the afternoon light. She had on black ballerina pumps, and her back was adorned with translucent wings, currently furled. Their shape was difficult to see. Her age looked mid to late 20s.

"Kevin, this is The Garden Fairy Yura, a dear friend and colleague. I mean she is a fellow detective, though not from my agency. Yura, this is Mr Kevin McDaniel, my... um..." *My associate...?* The small pile of Coins still lay on the occasional table, symbolic rejection of their earlier compact.

The fairy girl curtsied, a quick bob. She grinned broadly and her eyes twinkled.

"Your new boifriend, Pia? You're such a *fast mover*, uwu!"

"He's not my boifriend!" Olympe protested.

"But you're in his room unchaperoned. You gotta admit it's suggestive, uwu."

"Only because I wanted to show Kevin Yancie's wardrobe. No-one knows Yancie's clothes better than me or Muun. Kevin's borrowing them because he arrived by motorcycle with no luggage."

"You're on first name terms, uwu!" The observant detective pointed to the outfits spread on the bed. "And you're helping him dress for dinner. Case proved, uwu! I could almost wish I had got in first, though Tsuchimursu would be so jealous." She held out her hand to Kevin for a conventional shake. "It's so nice to meet you, Mr McDaniel, uwu. Welcome to Cowley Court. It's my first time here too. Everything's lovely! The park is beautiful and full of wonderful nature. I love flowers and plants and all creatures, even the naughty snails who eat up my Hostas, hora." A spasm of ire for the naughty snails fleeted across her brow. "Well, maybe I don't love them quite as much." And her irrepressible smile returned after this brief contemplation of gastropod devastation.

"The Garden Fairy has a lovely home in the Sub-tropical Cays, but snails are rampant in the foliage there. I helped her out once, to return a favour." Olympe explained rather obliquely.

Never in his 32 years of life had he met someone as original as Yura. A garden fairy wasn’t someone he was expecting to meet, since he thought they belonged to stories and fables little children would hear around bedtime. He didn’t think that they existed in real life; then again, one’s childlike innocence and beliefs in such things usually disappear around adulthood. Still, Kevin’s glad to see that they are real and get to see one in the flesh. It’s something to add to his book of first experiences.

“Contrary to popular belief I’m not her boyfriend, Miss Yura,” he replied respectfully as he always tended to do. “She’s allowing me to prove myself however. We’ll see if it becomes official after this weekend. Nice try on your detective skills though."

He shook the fairy’s hand and smiled at her, listening to her dislike of snails ruining plants and other things. He’s not one for flowers, unless it’s a gift to someone he cherishes with his heart. But other than that, he knows nothing of them except how pretty they are.

“You certainly have a way with words, the both of you,” he said, complimenting the women. He then focused on the fairy. “And the way you dress, you’re sure to attract some positive attention if you plan to attend cocktail hour with us.”

"Oh yeah, cocktails!" The fairy girl exclaimed. "Actually I'm going to change into something more interesting. I'll see you downstairs, Mr McDaniel." The visitor bustled out of the door the conventional way. Olympe closed it and turned to Kevin.

"Yura's the loveliest member, so kind and gentle, very good with children, and she caters splendidly in an informal American style. Just don't make her angry, because her combat Aspect is surprisingly fierce, but I'm sure you won't. Now. I'll leave you in peace to change because I have to redo my make-up. I've already planned my outfit. I'm saving my flapper dress for another night, so I'll wear a little black number and some jewellery, nothing excessive. Oh yes, that reminds me..."

She went to a sideboard and rootled in a drawer. She brought out a silver boutonnière holder, and a gold chain and fob, designed for a gentleboi's formal waistcoat.

"Here! Gold and silver together are so on point now. We'll be the cynosure of fashion." She tapped at her phone. With a gentle pop a furled white rose appeared on the dresser. The stem was neatly trimmed and wrapped in wet tissue and silver foil, leaving a pair of green leaves to accentuate the bloom. Olympe removed the foil and put the flower into the boutonnière holder, adding a few drops of water to keep it fresh. She stood the arrangement upright in one of the whisky glasses.

"There! That's perfect. Will you be alright, Kevin? If you have any difficulty with your bow tie just knock me up, I'm only next door."

Kevin didn’t say a word. Instead he made his way over to Olympe, placed his hands on her shoulder from behind her, and proceeded to gently escort her out of the room.

“I will meet you in your room, once I’m ready. Please don’t worry about me and get yourself changed.”

With that said, he opened the door and led her out into the hallway, only to close and lock the door behind her before she could say a word.

With a sigh, he picked a dark blue suit from the bed and began to change into them. Of course, he had to take off his jacket, shirt, and pants, revealing himself in only his boxers. It didn’t take long for him to put on his formal attire, though he was having slight trouble with the boutonnière.

Unfortunately the flower stem broke in half during the process. He cursed to himself before he attempted to salvage it; a flower with no stem and a few missing petals were all that’s left, but at least it’s on his suit now.

He looked in the closet to find some shoes to wear as his current ones weren’t formal enough. He found a pair of black suede shoes and decided to put them on. Amazingly, they fit just about right. He then made his way to the door and unlocked it, closing it behind him when he made it to the hallway. He decided he’ll wait for Olympe rather than speeding her up by knocking on the door.

If she takes too long, he’ll just go to the cocktail area to see and talk to Dr. Mayoy, Jimmy John, and Yura. Besides, they aren’t a couple nor are they dating. They don’t necessarily need to wait on each other, right?

Gaining her own room, Olympe cleansed and redid her make-up, using eye-shadow, blusher and dark mascara to create more of a dressed-up feminine look than she normally wore. She reviewed her perfume arsenal -- Erolfa, Royal Oud, Silver Mountain Water, and the erotically charged Sublime Vanille -- all from the house of Creed. She spritzed with Royal Oud, whose complex base of Oud, sandalwood and Tonkin musk granted authority. She felt the need to brace herself for confrontation with Yuzu. Higher layers of lemon, pink pepper and bergamot conveyed elegance rather than sensuality. *I don't know I want to seduce Kevin yet.*

Her little black cocktail number was sleeveless, off the shoulder, fitted in the bodice, with a slim, relaxed skirt falling from the waist to halfway down the leg. It exposed a lot of upper torso skin. She wore it with a serious push-up bra to make the most of her slim bustline, concealing the straps with a short, open front bolero jacket whose sleeves ended in slit cuffs just past the elbow.

She slipped naked legs into black Jimmy Choo slingback sandals, and began to play with her jewellery, admiring the gold, silver and pearl accessories, some of which were actually disguised surveillance devices. She selected gold stud earrings in the shape of a crescent moon filled with tiny diamonds, a delightful trinket she had come across while working a freelance case in Atlantis. Finally she oohed and aahed over her new Chanel cocktail ring, a dramatic sun and rayburst of white and yellow gold with many diamonds, which had cost more than her car. Sliding it onto her right index finger, she posed and admired herself in the mirror.

Olympe preened, postured, practised her poses to maximise her impact. She knew The Server's algorithms would react to the theatre of the members and provide support for their Aspects. She reinforced her detective role by including her tiny pistol in her clutch purse. Satisfied, she waited for Kevin to call on her.

While Kevin and Olympe primped themselves, the other inhabitants of Cowley Court were preparing for the evening in their own ways. Michiko-bot finished her reset and reactivated, to oversee the menu. Muun dealt with the problem of the seating plan by sending it to an associate, Chanmi the cyberpunk sidekick, who was an expert on spreadsheets. Chanmi handed it off to her AI, who in a flash returned a slightly odd placement because he was too busy solving crosswords to worry about some stupid human issue of 'boi-girl-boi-girl'.

The bois assumed their Bondesque black tie outfits, while the girls prepared themselves for different glory. As the portentous hour drew near, many hearts throbbed with excitement and expectation of delight. Finally, Muun and a pair of lesser servants formed ranks in the 1st withdrawing room, spirits, mixers and equipment arrayed, awaiting the arrival of Lord Yuzu's guests.

Tap, tap, tap was the foot hitting the floor while Kevin waited for his not really date. With arms crossed, he looked at the time on his smartwatch; they have fifteen minutes left until cocktail hour. At least, according to said watch, he reached his walking and exercise quota for the day.

With his patience running thin, he made it a mission to knock on the door rather than wait for her to come out on her own. And that he did with three successive knocks on her door, followed by a quick message.

“Hurry up, Olympe! We only have fifteen minutes!”

He’s not one for being late on special occasions.

Meanwhile, Jimmy John Oscar was fully awake from his nap, deciding that now is a good time to stay away from the sugar free cookies or risk getting into a no sweet coma. He wanted to meet Lord Yuzu and his entourage in person. If only he could take pictures, but his flip phone doesn’t have the capabilities to do such a thing. Oh well.

Slowly but surely, he stood up from his seat and began to walk around the waiting room. He noticed the two bots and just watched them from afar, thinking to himself loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

“Must be nice having robots to do your chores. You see, back in my day, we youngins had to wake up early in the morning to make our beds and do chores before we had a bite to eat. Nowadays, this generation thinks they can just sit around and play all day. They’ve gotten lazy, I tell you what. You kids wouldn’t make it if they were born in my day. No siree!”

Olympe was practically outraged by Kevin's early knock-up.

"15 minutes!" she shrieked, "It's an eternity." Her door snapped opened. "Haven't you heard of being fashionably late? Come in here if you can't wait patiently." Olympe, shining in glory, pulled Kevin into her boudoir, where lacey underwear disappointingly was not spread around the furniture because the taut blonde was relentlessly organised. You couldn't call it OCD but she liked to know all her stuff was neat.

There was a wide bed, a writing table, a dressing table crowded with make-up paraphernalia and luxurious looking scent bottles, an occasional table with an easy chair, and two large wardrobes. Olympe's room was not as well appointed as Kevin's suite. She had a handbasin but no bathroom and would need to use the shared facilities along the hall.

"Sit down while I do my lipstick," she invited him. The door was left open as a defence against any suspicion of impropriety. Olympe's lips were already perfect but she spent five minutes examining them on the general principle that a boi must be made to know his place.

While Kevin made his forlorn hope assault on Olympe's door, Muun and Doctor Foster were grappling with the issue of Mr Jimmy John Oscar, apparently a revenant of parties past. They wanted to inveigle him into a jacket and string tie which would suit his attire and give him the air of a gracious Southern gentleboi, a disguise Muun thought would bear Lord Yuzu's examination. "It's only black tie so Lord Yuzu will forgive nearly anything for an American," Michiko said. Muun nodded. They offered the senior the garments and guided him towards the reception room where cocktails were ready for dispensation. On entering they found several guests had already assembled. Doctor Mayoy, wearing a black, off the shoulder midi length dress, shaped but not fitted, and black high heel court shoes, hastened to welcome the newcomer. Her hair was gathered behind and bound with a silver clip or barrette, allowing her elegant ears and silver hoop rings to be viewed.

"Mr Oscar, how are you doing? Let me introduce you..." There were already several girls and bois waiting to be let loose upon the bar. Muun stepped into position and began to serve while Mayoy was making introductions. She didn't worry about precedence so the order came out pleasingly random.

"Major Dammijj." A six feet tall girl, strong and athletic, with somewhat east-asian features and bob cut navy blue hair. She wore a midnight blue military uniform with trousers, half-boots, rank badges and medal ribbons. A ceremonial (?) dagger and a pistol hung at her belt.

"The Reverend Scarlet." A medium tall boi in red priestly robes and biretta. He smiled kindly, and began to voice some benison, but Mayoy swept the poor elder right along. "You'd be stuck for hours..." she whispered in his ear as she brought him to:

"The Honorable Algernon." A tall, thin boi in a conventional DJ. He had dark hair and a pencil moustache. "Call me Algie," was the first thing he said.

"Firegirl VioletMist." Another tough, athletic girl, maybe 5' 7" in a scarlet bodicon minidress and combat boots with a white flash on the heel cuff. They were Jimmy Choo if you knew your footwear.

"Dsam Muscle Primcess." A short, wide and muscley member wearing a cerise DJ with a massive buttonhole. Xe pressed Jimmy John's hand warmly. The good doctor left Mr Oscar to go and get herself a drink. Goddess knows, she needed one.

“It was nice to meet you, but I’m here for Lord Yuzu,” Jimmy John commented. “Is he late to his own party? Probably stuck in traffic or some such. You would think that someone who’s in charge will be at his party on time, but nope! What a shame.”

Lord Yuzu was in his study. He had dressed for dinner but he wanted to examine an odd artefact he kept in one of the cabinets which housed his extensive collection of objets d'art. This particular item was the reason he had summoned the detectives to Cowley Court, however he was now having second thoughts about involving them. His previous dealings with the members of the MPY Agency had had mixed results. The Affair of the Formosan Frog was a success, but the Case of the Cursed Cow Creamer had been extremely taxing. His worry weighed on his mind, and he was beginning to think that asking Olympe might be an overreach. But there weren't many detectives in The Server, and there was a lot at stake. *I'll lush her up with a good dinner first,* he thought. *Then I'll put the matter to her.* He locked the treasure away, and made his way to the reception.

Upstairs, Kevin couldn’t help but smile, leading to a soft chuckle when he took his seat on the easy chair. With impatience now gone and being replaced with amusement, he watched as Olympe put on her makeup.

‘Never seen you this upset before,’ he mused, learning more about the detective with each new situation that occurred. Note to self: never rush a woman while in the process of beautifying herself, you might get shot… or worse. In this case, he received an earful.

“You look marvelous, for what it’s worth,” he eventually commented on her appearance. “I feel like the luckiest man alive to have you on a not date tonight.”

It felt like a real date, even though it’s just him going through a trial period to win Olympe’s heart. He wondered if there’s more to her than she let on, any secrets that she isn’t willing to share with him. It’ll take time, that much he knows, but he wondered if he’ll get the chance to know the real Olympe. With Lord Yuzu and his friends showing up, it’s likely he won’t get his chance tonight.

It appeared that Dsam Muscle Primcess could talk the hind leg off a donkey.

"Don't worry, Mr. Oscar. Lord Yuzu will be here in his own time to get a cocktail. He'd never miss that opportunity. Where are you from, by the way? You remind me of someone... who is it?... Yes! Colonel Sanders! Actually I'm allergic to the coating on some types of fried chicken. Are you from the South? I'm from California. I don't know why I was invited but I'm glad to be here cause there're so many interesting members to meet. Let's get some cocktails and circulate. I'll introduce you to anyone you like cause I just don't care." Xe took Jimmy John's hand under xer arm and led him to the bar, where Muun and assistants were deftly producing nearly any arcane concoction you could think of.

As Jimmy John and Dsam requested drinks, new arrivals also wanted refreshment. The room began to ring with happy chatter and the clink of glasses.

Meanwhile, Olympe concluded her dilatory lip inspection and eyed her beau in the mirror.

“I feel like the luckiest man alive to have you on a not date tonight,” he told her.

*That's right,* she thought, *So don't fuccing blow it! Ooh! Black suede shoes are an interesting fashion choice!*

"I'm ready, Kevin. Let me just check you and we'll go down." She fussed over his bow tie, her massive ring throwing glints and sparkles. She noted the sad disrepair of his buttonhole and turned again to her phone. A few seconds later a fresh, delicate rose was neatly slotted into the silver holder.

"You're rapidly getting more valuable. But I gave a moon to the Princess so you've got a long way to go. You need some scent. Borrow my Silver Mountain Water, it's unisex." There had been no cologne in Yancie's room because he took it with him when he was hospitalised.

Olympe anointed Kevin with the icy, mentholated perfume, which held zesty citrus top notes of bergamot, blackcurrant, galbanum and orange. As it warmed on his skin, it unfolded hearty aromas of green tea, layered with salty ozonic scents, building from a base of sandalwood and musk. She inhaled with satisfaction.

"Let's go." She led the way down to the reception room and allowed Kevin to have whatever he wanted, and to bring her a French 75. The tall glass gripped elegantly, she began to cruise the scene with the aid of a guest list discreetly provide by Muun.

Det Sgt Takayuki Komai (B)
Doctor Foster (B)
Doctor Mayoy (G)
Dsam Muscle Primcess (T)
Firegirl VioletMist (G)
Lady Sakura (G)
Lord Yuzu (B)
Major Tomoko Dammijj (G)
Mod Tsuchimursu (B)
Mr Jimmy John Oscar (B)
Mr Kevin McDaniel (B)
Ms. Chormy#8164 (G)
Olympe Viola Reese (G)
The Garden Fairy Yura (G)
The Hon. Algernon (B)
The Reverend Scarlet (B)

"The point of a cocktail party is to mingle and meet members. Who do you want to talk to, Kevin?"

Little does Dsam know, Jimmy John can talk up a storm just the same.

“Well you should care! Why back in my day, we respected others. As the good Lord once said, ‘do unto others as they do unto you’, something like that. Though I’m surprised you’re showing me a great deal of respect, feeling quite… well, I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels really good!”

As the two walked over to the table of cocktails, he complimented on the drinks.

“I tell you what, they’re all quite colorful like the rainbow. I used to drink a lot back in my day, but can’t do so now cause of my heart. You don’t mind if I have a glass of water instead, do you? You can have whatever you want, of course. I won’t stop you, haha!”

He looked up at them with a smile. “I’m glad you came to accompany me. Without my wife by my side, feeling quite lost like a child not knowing how to get home. I know they have these devices called ‘gps’, however that’s pronounced, it’s too complex for my old brain. Cause we used maps back in my day; we weren't blessed with technology like you youngins are.”

He shook his head. “Just shows I’m getting old…”

Kevin wasn’t sure whom to talk to, since originally he wasn’t planning on staying this long. Now he’s having a not date with Olympe and the many drinks lying on the tables are making him a bit uncomfortable.

“You go on ahead and talk to whoever you please. I think I need to be outside for a bit.”

The temptation to drink is strong, but he had to resist or risk falling into bad habits. He knows he won’t stop if he chance it, especially with a seemingly unlimited amount at their disposal. He fidgets, awaiting the detective’s response.

Olympe was scanning the room, identifying other guests to introduce to Kevin, as they approached the table where the cocktails were made:

`"I think I need to be outside for a bit."`

"What is it, Kevin? Is something wrong?" Olympe asked, with a worried look. The tall, taciturn Mod Tsuchimursu, and the voluble Reverend Scarlet, were both circulating. To be drawn into such company as a n00b would be a trial for anyone. "We can go out and sit quietly if you like." She read his face... realised *He's a drinker who doesn't want to be. Of course he's unhappy in a cocktail party. I'm so stupid!* "Here, come with me. I'll show you the way to the gardens."

Olympe quickly led the suffering young boi down a corridor, through some french windows, out into the rose arbour. The dusk of an early autumn evening, still warm, and glowing with the westered sun, filled the gardens. The sky overhead was midnight blue spattered with brilliant stars. The low light made it difficult to tell the colours of the blooms, but their scent drifted in the air. Industrious bees were still operating; their wings lent a gentle buzz to the otherwise silent vista.

"it's alright, Kevin, you're going to be okay." She took his hand in both of hers. "You don't have to drink, you can have fruit juice instead of a cocktail, or we'll just wait here and talk until the dinner gong. There'll be wine with the meal of course, but just stick to mineral water. I'll speak to Muun. She'll arrange it so you're not poured any alcohol."

She watched Kevin closely, wondering if his sudden aversion to drink was connected with his dark history.

"It's a pleasant evening. Let's stroll and take the air." Olympe coupled herself with Kevin, put her right hand under his left elbow so he could lead her, and subtly nudge-guided him to walk her around the gardens. "This is the southern aspect. We can turn left and go to watch the moons rise over the Edge of the World, or we can turn right and see the sun set over the lake. Both views are beautiful. All views are beautiful in Cowley, if only your heart is at peace. And maybe someone with a troubled heart could find peace here."

Meanwhile Dsam was making sure Jimmy John had the drink he needed. Fresh spring water was served in a highball tumbler, with chonky irregular ice cubes clear as glass, and several thin slices of yuzu fruit.

"That looks so good I'll have one myself!" Dsam exclaimed, and followed Jimmy John's suit. "Please call me Dsam if you like, Mr Oscar. I'm a very bad member but I misbehave in the right kind of ways to have fun. Who do you want to talk to specially? It's a cocktail party. We can talk to everyone and we should!" Xe led xer senior companion towards a nearby pair of members, one a slim, medium tall white girl with long pink hair, in a wonderful, warm yellow midi dress with shoulder straps and a bow on the left shoulder, relaxed bodice and full skirt without crinolines, nude sandals. Her partner in chat was an east-asian boi wearing a conventional dinner suit. He looked very straight up overall.


*Troubled heart finding peace… is that even possible? With Cowley, perhaps anything is.* Kevin mused. He had seen fairies, robots, and many other out of the ordinary people and situations that show that he doesn’t have to blend in to the norms most of society dictates. To a degree, he can be himself, just not around Yuzu for obvious reasons. Still that little bit of comfort is like balm to the injured soul.

“Let’s see the moons rise,” he suggested before he led Olympe on the leftward path that would take them there. He walked quietly, contemplating on what else to say or do. Lately the detective had been aware of his limitations and boundaries, and therefore is being quite respectful in regards to that. But what could he do in exchange for her kindness? Perhaps, maybe...

“I appreciate your kindness towards me, Olympe.” He started while he glanced towards her with a small smile. “If this would help repay all you’ve done for me, I would like to become your associate again and help solve the case, no credits needed.”

He figured that’s what was most important to her, otherwise he would not have been offered it from the get go. He shouldn’t have denied it then, but he hoped that she’ll reconsider and allow him to somehow pay his dues. He owes her that much.


Jimmy John took a sip of his drink with both hands. His fine motor skills aren’t what they used to be, so his hands are a bit shaky. Luckily he didn’t spill his drink and is enjoying the added flavor of yuzu fruit.

“Why, I just want to talk to you!” He cheerfully replied. “I was taught by my mother, who was taught by her mother, to always give someone your undivided attention. If I talk to someone else, then I’ll be ignoring you which is quite disrespectful and I don’t do disrespect!”

With that said and done, he continued.

“Dsam… that’s an interesting name. Hard to pronounce though, makes me think the d is silent. But it’s a creative name, better than Jimmy John Oscar!” He then began to laugh. “There’s a lot of Jimmy Johns in the world, but I’m sure there’s only one of you! Makes you special.”


Outside, Olympe followed Kevin's lead round to the east side of the Court. The far distant Edge of the World wasn't actually visible from here. The Server was configured with some curvature so it was below the horizon; you had to get pretty close to see the actual edge. The moons had risen, one great large one the same as Earth's, lambent yellow in the evening rays, the familiar figure of the rabbit with his mallet and mortar full of mochi partly concealed by a dark arc of shadow. Half a dozen smaller moons swam to the left and right of the big one, all sporting the same bite out of their discs, a gaggle of ducklings following their shining mother up to the river of heaven, the Milky Way flowing overhead.

`I would like to become your associate again and help solve the case, no credits needed.`

"Thank you, Kevin," she smiled, and patted his forearm with her unengaged hand. "I haven't done much for you so far, though, just got you some decent clothes. My partner would say if you work as my sidekick you deserve paying in real Coins at the standard rate of 25 per hour, plus expenses. It's all gonna come out of Yuzu's pocket in the end if I've got anything to do with it. Anyway, let's put the Coins and the case on the side for now. Yuzu's obviously a bit diffident about it or he would have braced me soon after I got here. He's probably counting on me enjoying my dinner too much to say no to him afterwards. So let's enjoy our stroll for now. We can miss cocktails but we must go back in when the dinner gong is sounded. No-one's had the chance to admire my ring yet, and I can't wear it again tomorrow."

The elaborate sunrayburst sparkled in the yellow moonlight as she lofted her index finger from the clasp of his elbow.

Olympe leant to and fro to subtly influence Kevin's steps around the walls of Cowley Court. Honey coloured stone, lingering warm from the day's pleasant sun, glowed in the encroaching dusk as they perambulated, the scent of various flowers, roses, hollyhocks and cosmos mingling with her Royal Oud and his Silver Mountain Water.

"This is the twilight hour, Kevin, when the walls between the worlds are their thinnest. Can you hear anything, a secret message phasing in and out of reality like Mexican radio in the southern borderlands? Where would you like to go, if you could go anywhere? I can't promise to take you there, I'm no sorceror, but I'd like to hear your dream."

Kevin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out as if to meditate on her words. His dream… what is it exactly? It shattered back home when his ex fiancée cheated on him with another man, resulting in a near suicide among other terrible choices. He never really put into thought what he should pursue in the here and now. He remained silent as he pondered, letting his mind and heart do the talking for him.

“I suppose I want to be free, though I get that from riding my bike.” He said this after opening his eyes with his attention on the detective.

“I suppose what I really want as a dream is to have a family of my own, a loving wife and children to greet me whenever I’m home from work.”

He added, chuckling while shaking his head. “Call it a fantasy, but I want to love again… but…” he trailed off, turning away from Olympe as he looked at the sky above.

He could hear light chatter in the distance. Likely a few had gone outside to enjoy the night air like they are currently doing, enjoying each other’s company. He could only hope that Olympe doesn’t mind his own.

Though compared to her, he felt out of place. She was leagues ahead of him in terms of well… everything. He’s just a country boy trying to get by. What could he possibly offer her?

“…What about you? Surely you have some dream in mind you haven’t accomplished yet. Tell me what you desire… perhaps I too can help you just the same.”


Dsam chatted like a champ as xe led the gentle old man closer to possible new acquaintances. Ms Chormy#8164 of the beautiful yellow dress loomed, with her Japanese interlocutor, or xe and Jimmy John could swerve away in a pre-prandial jack move and engage with the urbane Algie, the taut Firegirl VioletMist, or even approach the lofty Mods Tsuchimursu and Reverend Scarlet.

"Ha, Jimmy John, you're special even if you share your name with someone else. I know a boi called Richard, and the place he works has like five of them, Richards I mean, so yeah, the office is full of Dicks but they're alright from what he says, just a bit confusing when you're on a conference call. My name's pronounced Deesam btw, thanks for talking to me cos there's members who wouldn't. Your mother spoke true wisdom but don't forget at a cocktail party we can talk to each other, then meet someone and talk to them too. I don't know a lot of members here either, so I want to find out. But first, what're your hobbies and interests? I'm into baking and doll couture. I make special cosplay suits for dolls, most of which I sell. It's pretty good Coin actually. I make some full size outfits too, but that's more difficult. I made this dinner jacket I'm wearing. What do you think? Do you like the colour, the texture? Here, stroke it, it's velvet. Lots of girls like a DJ they can stroke."

The buzz of conversation filled the room, interspersed with the merry ting of cocktail glasses being tapped for greeting toasts, and the shaking up of fresh drinks. Muun favoured the sensuous 'Tokyo Roll' technique but she was more than happy to rattle the hard ice vigorously if someone wanted their Negroni to fizz pink with micro-bubbles and spicules. The guests began to spill out onto the Eastern terrace where they could enjoy the moons rising.

Jimmy John placed his hand on the velvet jacket and began to feel its surface. He ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ in response, only to place another hand on the jacket. His interest in the texture caused his hands to roam all over. If it made Dsam uncomfortable, the elderly man wouldn't have noticed. He was too absorbed in how the velvet felt against his fingers.

“Now what, this is velvet? Oh my… oh my indeed, I tell you what. Never had I felt fabric so soft and… I don’t know how to describe it, but my wife never had anything like this. Why… it makes me all giddy inside! Wish those robots gave me something like that, but nope! You should’ve been the one to dress me Dee-Sam, but I don’t think my wife would like that.”

He released his hands from their body and coughed. Perhaps he’s clearing his throat? You can never tell with Jimmy John.

“Now where were we… oh! Dollies!” His hearing aids concluded that word rather than hobbies. “My wife collects Dollies, you see? Though she wanted the raggedy Anne kind since she lost the one her mother gave her. She told me she wanted one to hug and to sleep at night, so I tried to find one with no luck! Dagnabbit!”

He frowned, but immediately perked up. “Say wait a minute. Didn’t you say you play dress up with your Dollies and for grownups too? Maybe you can make a Dollie for my wife. She’ll appreciate it. Heck, I’ll even pay you for a job well done!”

"A Raggedy Anne doll? The dear things of childhood!" exclaimed Dsam. Xe whipped out a phone to search up patterns.

"Yes! I could borrow a machine. There's a haberdashery shop in the village. Yes! With luck you shall have a Raggedy Anne this weekend. We'll go to buy the fabric together. It's going to be fun. Now dear Jimmy John, I insist on introducing us to some of the other guests."

Dsam, energised by the prospect of xer new dollie project, squired the old gentleboi towards a pair who were talking in low voices. An athletic looking white girl in a scarlet minidress, whose long sleeves and combat boots lent some glaze of modesty. Her hair was a black bob. The Reverend Scarlet was her interlocutor. Their costumes glowed ruddy. A snippet of the conversation overheard...

"Being a mermaid was okay in the end, kind of fun, y'know. You shoulda tried it too, Scarlet."

"No, it's not for me. All that violent swimming and jumping, the waves... I get motion sick so easily, I find even taxicabs rather violent. I go everywhere by train or trolleybus."

"Hiya!" Dsam piped up brightly. "I'm Dsam Muscle Primcess and this is my new friend Mr Jimmy John Oscar. I'm gonna make him a dollie."

* * *

'Surely you have some dream in mind you haven’t accomplished yet. Tell me what you desire… perhaps I too can help you just the same.'

"There're things I’d change, Goddess knows, if I could have my time over. I loved a boi once, he loved me, and... It didn't end well, he... He died." She hung her head, fiddled with her ring. "There were factors I was unaware of at the time. But that's the past, tricky to change. Time travel's a dangerous business, Kevin. I've used up all my luck in that direction. I live in the Zen moment now. Maybe things will change but I've no Disney dreams in mind."

She sighed, braced up and smiled.

"I refuse to be maudlin! We're here for fun, Kevin. Whatever Yuzu throws at us we'll deal with it and come out on top, I promise you!"

The gong for dinner rang out, measured notes reverberating throughout the Court and the immediate grounds, summoning the guests to the formal table.

Jimmy John nodded in agreement to Dsam’s claim of making a Raggedy Anne doll for him, so much so that he had to put his two cents worth to the tale.

“Yes they are! And I can’t wait to show it to my wife, she’ll be so pleased that I’ll have to take a picture of her sweet little smile. But I only have a flip phone and it doesn’t take pictures well. Don’t know why not. Just have to get one of those big phones the size of your entire hand! And they talk too, believe it or not. I swear technology these days is blowing my mind away, woo-whee!”

His attention went straight to the Reverend Scarlet, ignoring everyone else because surely they know about church.

“A pleasure to meet you, Reverend! Like my new friend said, I’m Jimmy John Oscar, but you can call me Jimmy John or Jimmy for short. Now I have to ask you what church you’re from, because I have an inkling you’re one of those preachers on TV. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind seeing you there, but I prefer to hear the word in person, you know? Just not the same!”

* * *

“My condolences…” Kevin managed to let out before Olympe’s behavior changed quickly and for the better. He listened to her words afterward and shook his head, not at all agreeing with what was said.

“I know we’re here for fun, but it’s okay to show a side that makes you… vulnerable.”

He then heard the dinner dong and cursed. This is not the time to head back, not when she shared a part of herself that he wanted to see - the sensitive and real side of Olympe that isn’t all posh and glam.

He sighed, only to take her by the hand and gave her a small smile. He’ll have to discuss that particular part with her later. If she’s willing to take Yuzu on with whatever she has in mind, then Kevin should too.

“Let’s go, Olympe. As much as I want to, we can’t be fashionably late on this one.”

"Quite right Kevin, we must make a good entrance. Allow me to show the way." She held his hand and took the lead, guiding him to a room where the guests were all assembling prior to entering the dining hall. She stopped just outside, gently removed her hand from his and held it in position to rest on his left forearm.

"Please lend me your arm, Kevin, and we'll enter in glory!" Her splendid cocktail ring coruscated in the subtle multidirectional lighting, returning glints and fulgent flinders. "You are seated to right of Major Dammijj. She's tall with short blue hair, military uniform. Just follow her because she's being handed in by Yuzu. I am between you and Mr Oscar. It's quite informal tonight so don't worry."

They entered the fray. The Major was instantly visible, taller than everyone except Tsuchimursu. Next to her was a shortish middle-aged white boi, rather round but looking full of energy. His eyes gleamed as he chatted with his statuesque companion.

"That's Yuzu," Olympe murmured, "He's mad for all this stuff, this Downton Abbey cosplay. It actually is fun once you get into it, so best to go along with him. The major's a space marine, head of security on a starship, very sporty, great fun. You'll like her. Let's go over and I'll introduce you."

She waited for Kevin to lead her.

A slight degree of confusion had resulted from the challenging modern seating plan, developed by a professional structured methodology in which Muun had handed it off to her associate Chanmi the cyberpunk sidekick, who handed it off to her AI, Taek_00000101, who didn't understand differences between genders and was too busy solving crossword puzzles to spend many milliseconds on the problem. As a result, Mr. Oscar was to lead in The Garden Fairy Yura. Now Dsam put the couple together.

Yura was wearing a laurel green mini-dress, fitted bodice with a scoop back and a short puff skirt with crinolines, matching ballet pumps. Her wings were furled neatly, and a warm smile wreathed her face.

"Mr Oscar. It's a pleasure to be led in by you." She dipped into her tassle bag and sprinkled a pinch of fairy dust over the elder. He felt his energy lift, a genuine renewal powered by natural magic rather than the false vitality of drugs.

Dsam took xer leave. "I'll see you later, Jimmy John, we can discuss the doll after dinner."

"A doll, Mr Oscar!? Are you interested in dolls? I do love dolls," exclaimed the pixie girl. "Do you have a special favourite?"

Kevin admittedly was nervous, but was trying not to show it. He simply nodded and followed Olympe here and there as she explained who’s who in the room. When she mentioned Major Dammijj, he glanced over in her direction and took in her tall form. *Must be something to have your own starship,* he mused, wondering if he’ll be able to see it in person sometime this weekend.

When his eyes turned away from her and towards Yuzu, he simply blinked. He had thought that he'd look more like a royal and not dressed in such a way that doesn’t bring forth that kind of aura. *Perhaps he’s trying not to bring all the attention to himself? Who knows?* Then again. Olympe did say this is informal, which could explain Yuzu’s current attire.

“Ready when you are, I guess…” he said with a nervous chuckle. He needed to pull himself together or risk embarrassing his not date which would open a can of worms that he didn’t want to deal with.

When Jimmy John felt the pixie dust on him and with his strength renewed, he laughed joyfully as if he was the happiest man in Crowley.

“Ho ho, what wonderful magic you have! I feel like I’m in my 40s, ready to take on the world!”

He gave Yura a warm hug before continuing.

“Never would I thought I’ll see a garden fairy, didn’t know they exist like the tooth fairy. You two are in competition in stealing the hearts of youngins and kids at heart, which my wife always told me. I love kids!”

Surprisingly, (or was it due to the pixie dust?) his hearing aids were able to correctly decipher the question given to him.

“I don’t have a favorite doll, but it’s for my wife. Dee-Sam was kind enough to make a Raggedy Anne for her, bless their heart. I tell you what, you all have been so kind to me, it warms my little soul…” He then began to wipe his eyes as tears began to form.

“Excuse me, just being emotional I guess. Give me a minute and I’ll be back to my jolly old self again!”

Yura returned Jimmy's hug and patted his back.

"Of course we are kind to you, that is our way, uwu." She gave him a handkerchief to dry his eyes, and waited for him to compose himself. "Now, let's get sat and we can enjoy a lovely dinner."

As Kevin led Olympe to the table, she whispered in his ear.

"If you've got any doubt about how to use something, glance at me for a clue, but don't worry, once you're in the flow you'll begin to channel an Aspect, and it'll get much easier."

The phalanxes of gleaming silverware did not seem so forbidding. Some odd memory was tickling the back of his mind; in some way the names and purposes of all the different implements were familiar, even ones he had never seen before*. He squired a glamorous girl, his suit fitted beautifully. He felt dapper as he led Olympe to her chair.

"Thank you, Kevin," she smiled as he seated her, then threw her gaze around. It was amusing to see the grand Lady Sakura handing Firegirl VioletMist to her seat. Doctor Foster was escorting...

*Oh my Goddess Taka-kun's going to sit right opposite me!* Olympe twigged. She tried to cover her sudden agitation with a close reading of the menu card.

Dinner

Gazpacho (V)
Fishcake
Meat loaf, or Vegetable lasagna (V). Roast autumn vegetable medley (V).
Salad (V)
Tapioca pudding (V)
Cheese

(V) Vegan

The good doctors Mayoy and Foster made a rapid clinical decision to swap seats, allowing Mayoy to sit between Takayuki and Foster, and opposite Jimmy John Oscar.

Lady Yuzu asked the Reverend Scarlet to say a grace. He stood, composed himself, and orated in a sonorous voice.

"We join our hands to offer up our grateful thanks to the beneficent Goddess whose bounty, provided through the diligent cultivation of kindly nature by skillful and hard-working members and bots, will soon fill this lengthy table with sights and smells to provoke our appetites, and food and wine with which to satisfy our appetites and bodily needs..."

Scarlet drew a deep breath and looked set to continue but Lord Yuzu quickly gave a loud “Amen” and thanked the Reverend for his words. The worthy prelate looked somewhat deflated as he sat.

Waitrons poured water, and the first wine, a well chilled vinho verde with a delightful spritz. Gazpacho soup was ladelled from silver tureens into fine china plates decorated with the Yuzu emblem, a bright red frog sitting on a yuzu fruit. The assembled company began to eat, drink and converse. Olympe sipped her wine and began to engage with nearby members.

"Taka-kun, how are you? I expected to see you in Sadie's Diner yesterday. Did something happen?"

"I am sorry, Pia-chan!" He bowed his head for a moment. "I was delayed and my phone lost signal so I could not call you. When I arrived you had already left. We will catch up later, yes?"

They both nodded understanding, and turned to talk to their neighbours.

"Jimmy John, you look splendid! How are you finding everything?" Olympe asked.

Repromotion: The Case of the Halloween Hauntings.

https://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/0/781178.page#10593624

A saga for the spooky season.

While Olympe started to converse with Jimmy John, Kevin decided to give it a go by getting Major Dammijj’s attention.

“Hello Major,” he started, allowing the Aspect to keep him in check. If it wasn’t for that, he'd be a nervous wreck. “I was told by Olympe that you have a starship. Is there by any chance you have pictures or is that classified?”

He went to his soup, using the right spoon for the occasion. He never had Gazpacho before, being a meat and potatoes kind of man. Though after tasting it served cold, he nodded. It isn’t something he’ll have on the daily, but it tasted good overall.

Jimmy John was about to talk to Yura about her wings, wondering if they felt like velvet and if she’s comfortable with him touching them. That is, until Olympe asked a question.

“Quite well, thank you er… I don’t think I recalled ever hearing your name. No matter, I would just call you Miss and that’ll nip it in the bud, haha!”

Of course it wouldn’t be Jimmy John Oscar if he didn’t add more to the conversation.

“I tell you what, this tomato soup tastes pretty cold. Don’t they warm their soups or cook them? I don’t know, but it seems kinda strange to serve you cold soup. Not good for the soul!”

He added. “My wife used to fix tomato soup back when she could cook. Add a little cheese and crackers and boy, I’m in heaven! Mmm-mmm good, I say! I do the cooking at home now and I’d say it’ll taste better than this slop! Least I have my sugar free cookies, cause of my diabetus of course, so might as well munch on that…”

He reached into his pocket and grabbed three sugarless cookies from earlier, nibbling on them slowly and loudly. Can only do so much when you have little to no teeth.


"We met this afternoon, Jimmy John, I served you tea and biscuits. My name's Olympe. Between you and me..." She lent close to whisper, "Our host is split between generosity and meanness. He gets lots of tomatoes free from the kitchen garden, but to make a good cream of tomato soup would mean spending Coins on heating it up. So it's served cold in silver tureens!" She sat upright and spoke at normal volume. "Hot tomato soup's lovely. What a pity your wife could not come this weekend. Is she... very indisposed?" She threw a glance over at Doctors Mayoy and Foster, caught Mayoy's eye and made a double eye flick towards the ancient before returning her full attention to him. "Whatever you want you shall have, dear Jimmy. We must respect our elders because we will be them one day."

Olympe looked for Muun, who leant close. "Please would you bring some cheese and crackers for Mr Oscar?" The consummate butler smoothly organised the out of sequence provisions. A plate of table water biscuits and three blocks of assorted cheese appeared after only a minute.

The Major was a handsome girl with somewhat east asian features. Her prim uniform gleamed with badges.

"Please call me Tomoko. I'm only in these duds because I'm no good at fashion. It's not my starship, actually, I'm just the head of security. She's the Starship The Heart of Choko, a semi-demilitarised, fast light reconnaissance cruiser. Difficult to spot and the speediest ship in the fleet." She grinned pridefully. Tomoko sounded like a native English speaker with an odd foreign accent. "Also very luxurious because we mostly carry VIPs around, ambassadors and royalty. It's a pretty cushy duty usually, though we've had to get out of a couple of hairy scrapes. Here's an image."

She unrolled a sheet of grey plastic into a phablet. "The Choko in stealth mode." The picture showed a sky full of stars. "Here's a landing display..." A pic of a gleaming shape wreathed in fog pierced by glittering laser beams. Her exact form was hard to make out. "That was shot when we were on the way to deliver the Princess Himawari to the Planet of Wonder. What a mission! I was still a captain. If you'd like a ride I can take you up in my dropship, Mr McDaniel. Perhaps we could discuss it later this evening. Which room have they put you in?"


Jimmy John was munching on what is now a half of a sugarless cookie, covered in his own saliva. He placed it on a napkin along with the other two cookies that were in his hand and replied.

“Well you see, my wife can’t come because of IBS. Something to do with the bathroom I guess. She wasn’t feeling well and told me to go on without her. But I’ll be able to cheer her up some when I come back home by surprising her with a Raggedy Anne dollie from Dee-Sam!”

Ever the talker, he continued. “Aw shucks, Olly-em-pee, you don’t have to treat me special! All I really wanted was some warm tomato soup! Though it’s mighty kind of you to give me cheese and crackers, but it’s just not the same, no sir!”

He added. “Tell you what. Tell me where the microwave is and I’ll heat it up myself! Won’t cause a dime either, so Lord Yuzu can keep his change.”

Kevin blinked and marveled slightly at the pictures. They were interesting to say the least, but it wasn’t what he was hoping for. At least Tomoko is offering a ride on her ship, which is something he couldn’t refuse. But there’s one little thing he needed to ask her before accepting the offer.

“I would love to, but only if Olympe could come with me. It’ll be a nice surprise for her too.”

With the question asked about his room, he answered. “I suppose Yancie’s room. He’s Olympe’s brother by the way. I’m also wearing his clothes.”

He chuckled. “ Honestly it wasn’t in my plans to stay this long, yet here we are.”


"Cowley Court has a way of drawing you in, I guess. There's a lot of fun things to do." She laughed briefly and her blue hair shook. "Yancie's clothes suit you very well, Kevin," she smiled, and ran her eyes slowly up and down your frame. She leant close to take in your fragrance, then leant back to eat soup. "Sure, we can take Olympe up for a spin if she wants to. She might not want to, though, so better check it out with her first. If she doesn't like the idea, maybe we can go on the lake, or play tennis. Just you and me."

Lord Yuzu interjected: "Olympe's down here on business, so I'd be best pleased if you don't fly her off in your ship tonight. There's an important matter concerning the cricket club to resolve first. Once that's dealt with you can go wherever you like." He had finished his gazpacho and was sipping wine. He turned back to Tsuchimursu.

"Let's enjoy dinner for now," Tomoko said, and finished her soup. "Michiko-bot will tell me your room and I'll pop along later, so we can work out a flight plan."

Olympe cast a glance leftwards, trying to keep track of Tomoko and Kevin's conversation while she entertained her august companion. She turned back to Jimmy John.

"What a shame your wife couldn't come! I'm sorry the soup was cold, Jimmy. It's just a modern style, they're taking it away now..." The waitrons were busy removing the gazpacho plates. "I'll make sure you have hot soup tomorrow night. The fishcake will be lovely and hot now, with mayonnaise and dill and a piece of lemon, I hope. Won't that be nice? I'm going to have the Farl and Dulse myself. I'm not a vegetarian but I do love some good seaweed, it's so full of minerals. Excuse me..." She turned back to Kevin.

"Did Yuzu say something about cricket?" she whispered. *It could be a clew."

When Tomoko decided to go into his personal space by sniffing him and checking out his current set of clothing, Kevin blushed and laughed nervously, feeling a lump in his throat. Seems like the Aspect wasn’t capable enough to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah… I guess Cowley is special to a lot of people. Maybe I’ll find someone or something here while I’m still around.”

He said this while looking away… and straight to Lord Yuzu who apparently had other plans with Olympe. He sighed, feeling a little disappointed in the fact that he couldn’t spend time with the detective on the ship. He’ll either have to wait til the other’s done with her or refuse the trip altogether.

“Sorry Tomoko, but I’m not comfortable doing anything alone with a woman, especially while I’m on a date. Well… it’s not a date per se, but still… I would rather not unless Olympe is with me.”

Jimmy John rubbed his hands with glee. “Oh, I love fish sticks! They fit right in my hand and they’re easier to bite into. Of course I could use a fork if I’m going to dip them into ketchup, so I won’t make a mess of myself. Though I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to add some mayonnaise to it, especially if you mixed it with ketchup! My grandbabies show me that trick and I couldn’t believe how good it tasted with some fries, you know the curly ones? They’re my favorite, I tell you what!”

Apparently, the pixie dust had worn off, meaning that his hearing was whacked out again.

While the elder awaits his fish(sticks), Kevin whispers back to Olympe.

“He mentioned a cricket club. Don’t know what that has to do with balls unless it features another country club where only men are invited…”

Once again, Yuzu’s sexuality is being questioned. Unless the detective could think otherwise, that’s the only logical conclusion. At least in Kevin’s eyes anyway.


"That's an important clew, Kevin. Yuzu's chairman of the Cowley Cricket Club. Cricket's a team sport. It's too complicated to explain now but balls are very important. Well. So he wants me for something to do with his cricket club. Again." The blondette made a moue. "The situation must be serious, considering what happened the last time. Oh, well, let's enjoy dinner at any rate." She perked up as a plate of steaming hot potato farl, artfully slathered with dark green slime, was placed in front of her, and her wine glass was refilled.

Tomoko noted the aside between Kevin and Olympe.

"You're on a date/not date, huh? I know the feeling. Look, Kevin, if Olympe's trying you out, you're in with a chance. She's got pretty high standards. We'll take a rain check on the dropship until you and Olympe work out what you wanna do." She turned to Yuzu. "My Lord, how is your *shuttle* performing?"

"Oh, I never use it nowadays, Tomoko. Mistress Kou told me it’s too alarming, so I go by airship or seaplane if I have to go anywhere.”

Olympe waited for Jimmy to be served a fishcake with ketchup as well as mayo.

"There, eat up while it's hot, Jimmy." She leant back as he leant forward and reached out to tap the Garden Fairy's shoulder. Yura looked at her. Olympe made a dip and sprinkle motion with her thumb and forefinger, as if sprinkling sea salt. Yura took a pinch of fairy dust from her tassle bag and let it drift over Jimmy's head. The blue sparkles, accompanied by a subtle tinkling sound effect, renewed his energy once more.

"How is your fishcake, Jimmy John?" Yura asked. "Mine is very good. I might ask for ketchup too." She resumed conversation with the old boi, leaving Algie to talk to Scarlet, who had been chatting with Lady Sakura. A ripple went around the table.

Olympe turned to talk to Kevin again. “Where were we?”

“Maybe the ball he mentioned was a prized possession, a special kind of ball you can’t find anywhere else,” Kevin whispered back. “He might have lost it and wanted you to look for them or perhaps it was stolen…”

He took a glance over at Yuzu before whispering to Olympe once more.

“Though maybe we shouldn’t assume, and just ask him upfront. It’ll be a lot easier for the both of us, I’m sure.”

When Tomoko caught his attention, Kevin responded in earnest.

“Thank you for understanding. And yeah, she’s pretty high standard… but that’s keeping me on my toes, so that’s a good thing, right?”

He turned to the detective again and smiled, turned back to the Space Marine before he continued.

“I may not deserve her, but I’m glad she’s given me a chance. That’s at least something I can cherish here in Cowley. And if nothing else, we can still be friends.”

Jimmy John felt a great deal of energy upon him, not knowing of the pixie dust used again by Yura. He felt renewed once more with good hearing being top notch. It left him surprised at the fish with ketchup and mayo however, when he probably would’ve refused to eat it.

“This is the funniest looking fish stick I’ve ever seen, but it looks tasty alright. Let me…”

Grabbing a fork with one hand and a knife with the other, he carefully cut a small piece of fish. He then dunked it into the ketchup, doing the same with the mayonnaise, and popped it into his mouth. After a few chews, he swallowed it and his eyes beamed with delight.

“Oh my, this is the best tasting fish stick I ever had! It’s so fresh I could taste the ocean! My word!”

The elder repeated the process over again, only to comment indefinitely about the fish until there was no more on his plate.

Keven laughed in response to Jimmy’s love of fish, until Olympe seeked his attention once more.

“We’re on the subject of balls and asking Lord Yuzu for better clarification. But I suppose we can push that aside now and enjoy our meals for the time being. We can do the rest later at his convenience.”

"Yes, let's concentrate on eating, Kevin."

The fishcake is handmade. Fragments of hot smoked salmon and poached smoked haddock, mixed into mashed potato with finely chopped dill, formed into patties, coated with flour, beaten egg and Japanese panko breadcrumbs, fried in sunflower oil and served piping hot, sprinkled with Maldon sea salt and more dill. Fresh mayonnaise, also handmade, and tomato ketchup for those guests who would like it. The plate is completed with half a lemon wrapped in a square of muslin. Yura helps Jimmy to squeeze the fragrant juice onto his portion. She crunches into her own serving, the crispy panko crust yielding to her knife with a crackle, revealing the aromatic contents. She forks up a watering mouthful, closes her eyes in bliss as she savours the contrast of salt, sharp and smokey flavours, the crunch of crisp panko and melt of the soft potato.

"Oh, it looks so nice, perhaps I should have chosen it," Olympe commented. "When I was little my parents often took us to restaurants and they would share their meals, swapping a piece of Daddy's steak or Mummy's chicken for my fish or my brother's pasta, that sort of thing, and I naturally believed that is how all meals are eaten, and even now I like to exchange a bite with my neighbour." She eyed Kevin's plate meaningfully. "Would you like to taste my farl and dulse?"

"In Japan we have many types of fish stick called *kamaboko*, different shapes and flavours." Takayuki Komai, speaking across the table to Jimmy and Yura. "One type is part of New Year celebration for us, good luck to eat for first breakfast. I think you would like them, Mr Jimmy John."

The buzz of conversation rolled around the table, members talking in pairs with one neighbour or the other, or joining three way chats sideways and across the white linen expanse. The plates were gradually emptied and the staff prepared the next course, with a change of wine, a hearty red Cotes du Rhone.

"Will you have meat loaf or vegetable lasagna, Jimmy?" Yura asked. "There are lentils in it, very tasty. You can some of both if you want."

“Uh… sure!” Kevin replied before he cut a big piece of his fishcake and placed it on her plate. “You don’t have to give me... whatever that green stuff is. I don’t think I’ll like it that much, if at all.”

The green parts, which he assumed are the dulse, are too slimy looking for his tastes. In all honesty, anything green is no good for a meat and potatoes fan. With wine kept being delivered and served, it’s making Kevin very uncomfortable. He excused himself and went outside to have a smoke. It would calm the nerves and help him focus on other things that don't involve alcohol. At least he made it this far without falling into temptation, but it was a test he doesn’t want to go through for a while. He’ll wait a while until dinner is over with.

Jimmy John however is enjoying the talk of fish sticks with Takayuki Komai.

“Well I think I might like them myself too! Though I think my grandbabies would like them more cause of the shapes. If they look like dinosaurs or trees, then I’m sure it’ll be a hit for the kiddos! Though it’s probably best if it was chicken nuggets with various shapes and all. They like them better that way, though my wife doesn’t. She would rather have chicken or fish soup. Soup of any kind would do wonders for her!”

The elder was finished with his fish and was nearly full. But when Yura asked for a choice of what to eat next, he declined.

“I’m sorry Miss Yura, but I’m about to burst! Can’t eat anymore, though if Lord Yuzu doesn’t mind, I’ll have a doggie bag to save for my wife. Shame she can’t come, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bring it to her! With that and the dollie, she’ll be overjoyed! Would love to see her smile.”

"We'll have Michiko-bot put you up a picnic parcel to take home and enjoy with your wife, Jimmy," Olympe told him. "Takayuki-san knows all about fish sticks. Taka-kun, please tell us."

"Of course! Well there are many variety in form, like loaf, or tube, or crinkly cylinder, or kind of fish or leaf, maybe" he made shapes with his hands, "And there is usually some colour or pattern or something in the middle."

"It's like seaside rock!" Olympe broke in, "But you get that in the UK and it's sugar."

"I have not eaten any rock, Pia-chan." The Japanese continued, "So kamaboko can be sliced like a loaf and you eat cold or in hot soup. Also there is *chiizukama* which is cheese and kamaboko combined. Very delicious."

Yura licked her lips. "I'd like to try cheesekarma, uwu. Where can I get some?"

"In Server City there are Japanese cafe where you can have it. I heard there is a head-patting cafe, actually, maybe it is there, or of course a good grocery store. They are easy to eat, no cooking needed, just cut in slice. You should have it with soy sauce."

"I went to that cafe! It's Italian food but the owners are Japanese and you can get your head patted. I like to have my head patted and pat other member's heads," Yura smiled at certain memories.

As the lively exchange continued, Olympe worried about Kevin's absence. She made an excuse and tracked him down by his smoke. *Smell IS important in detecting, I always said so!* She found him in the rose garden, watching the last rays of the sun glow up the boating lake. She stood at his side and looked at the seaplane, painted orange and pale blue in the dusk.

"Is it the wine worrying you, Kevin? I don't think you're alcoholic but you seem a bit shy of it, which may be a good thing. I used to drink more than I should, but I'm sensible now. Did something start you on it?" She put a hand to his arm.

“Those fish sticks sound mighty interesting!" Jimmy said, "Though I may have to go to a Japanese restaurant rather than Japan to try them out. Though they don’t need to give me luck since I get that from my lucky shoes! And so far, I’ve been blessed!”

With all this talk of patting, he decided to do so to Yura’s head. “You don’t need to go to a fancy restaurant for patting. Heck, I’ll do it for you as many times as you like! Least I could do for all this fairy magic you put on me. I feel like a brand new me, thanks to you!”

He then spoke in whispers while patting, saying: “Now who’s a good fairy! That’s you, yes you are! Good fairy!”

Kevin was startled when he heard Olympe’s voice, so much so that he nearly dropped his cigarette.

“It’s just… I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he admitted before he turned away from her. If she wanted to know the real Kevin, might as well give it to her.

“Some bad life events led me into using drinking as a crutch. All day long I would drink to take my sorrows away.”

He then took a drag of the cigarette, allowing smoke to pass through his mouth afterward.

“Quit cold turkey. Wasn’t the wisest choice, since I ended up drinking again. Just this time it’ll be a can here or a glass there, nothing more.”

He turned to the detective with a sad smile. “I’ll be alright, Olympe. You go back there and have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

Olympe read Kevin's sad face, looked down at the ground, stared at the lake for a bit, and looked back to him again. A slight tension of the eyebrows was her only expression. She locked his arm up with both hers, but she didn't pull.

"It's very brave of you to be open and vulnerable with me, Kevin. I'm not going to leave you here all alone to mope. I've done enough moping myself, I know how horrible it feels. It was a girl I suppose, someone you loved who didn't love you back, or worse, she loved you and left you."

She squeezed Kevin's arm. Her regal scent filled the air.

"I'm not going to tell you to pull yourself together. I never pulled myself together without help. Either a friend helped me or I got an idea, an objective, a purpose. So I'll help you. Let's go inside and finish dinner without wine. Then we'll hear Yuzu's proposal. That may give us a worthwhile goal. What do you say?"

In the dining hall Muun continued service to the other guests. If Olympe and Mr McDaniel chose to miss a course they must have a good reason. But their absence was noted by Yura and Takayuki, who had the same idea of what it meant but different reactions.

*Hee, hee!* the Garden Fairy sniggered silently, *I'm not such a bad detective after all!* She hid her giggles in her reaction to the head patting. "Ha ha, it tickles, Jimmy! You must have a talent, uwu, or maybe it's patting your grandchildren so much and I'm only smol. But please let me go because I want my meat loaf, uwu."

Takayuki's face looked like stone. *Mata ososugiru'n da zo. Kuso!* `I'm too late again. gak!` His meat loaf was put in front of him. He ignored it.

"Are you okay, Mr Komai?" It was Chormy of the beautiful yellow dress. "You were in a brown study."

He shook his head. "Yes, thank you Ms Chormy, my mind was elsewhere for a moment."

Outside, Kevin blinked. Was he that easy to read? Likely so, as Olympe had hit the nail right on the coffin. It was about a girl not loving him back and went as far as to cheat on him rather than telling him up front that it’s not working out. He sighed, dropping the cigarette butt on the ground before mashing it with his shoe. Might as well make the best of tonight while it’s still here rather than dwelling in the past for now.

“Alright, alright… let’s go.” He said to his not date as the two went back inside. Jimmy John stopped with his doting of Yura and frowned at Takayuki.

“Now, I don’t know what you said, but they sound like fighting words! And we don’t fight in another man’s house, you see? So why don’t you talk to old Jimmy John here and tell me what’s the matter, cause you look like one of my grandbabies who was put on time out.”

He gestured to them to eat the meatloaf.

“And if you won’t eat your meatloaf, then you just wasted the cook’s time in making it for you. Why, if you weren't hungry, you should’ve said so beforehand like I did! Now I suggest you put it in a doggie bag so it won’t be thrown to waste. I tell you what, the one thing I hate more than disrespectful children is wasteful adults who have no concern for others and the less fortunate!”

Jimmy John was no longer the jolly fellow that folks know of. He was actually pretty angry and was letting it known, especially to Takayuki. "Way to go, Taka-san. You just made Jimmy John Oscar mad. Here’s a gold star for your efforts. Bet you feel good about yourself now, huh?"

The Japanese man smiled. "I am fighting with myself, Mr Oscar, so I need a lot of strength." He head bowed to the old man and began to eat. Chormy looked concerned. She glanced to Tsuchimursu, who seemed content to ignore the by-play. The big Mod turned to Lord Yuzu.

"I have never played cricket. Could you give a short explanation of the rules?"

"Yes, easily! Let me see... There are two sides of 11 each and one side bats first. They are in, but only two at a time, and the other side is out in the field. Their job is to get out the batters who are in, by bowling the wicket over or catching the ball and so on. The batters try to hit the ball as far as possible so they have the most time to run to and fro and score runs, but if they hit it a very long way they don’t run because it’s a four or a six. When a batter is got out he goes into the pavilion and another batter comes in until he’s out. Once all 10 are out..." Tsuchimursu and Chormy were hanging on Yuzu's words. Tomoko smiled. She knew this story from other parties.

"I thought there are 11?" Tsuchi asked. At this point, Olympe and Kevin re-entered the hall and took their seats without fuss. The waiters bustled to put their plates in front of them.

"Yes, but you can’t bat by yourself so the last man in is always not out." Yuzu continued. "So now the side that’s been in goes out and tries to get out the other side who are coming in. And when both sides have been in and out, you do it all for a second time, unless someone has already won. But often it ends in a draw."

Olympe whispered in Kevin’s ear, “He always makes it seem so difficult.” She pushed her red wine glass away untasted.

"How long does it all take?" Tsuchimursu was stunned.

"Up to five days for a first class test but village matches are a day."

"Surely you get hungry, with all that bowling and running?" Chormy asked.

"There are breaks for lunch and tea." Thirsty, Yuzu paused to drink water. Yura piped up.

“Guess what, Olympe! Jimmy is a head patter too. He gave me such a nice patting while you were outside.”

Jimmy John’s mood then was of anger, but it changed to that of shame. Takayuki fighting against himself is a battle that no one should have to face alone. He coughed a bit to gather the other man’s attention and replied.

“Now you see, I didn’t know that you’re fighting against yourself, cause that won’t be a good thing if you lose. Who then would lift you up? My offer still stands on being one to talk to about your problems. I may not know about the world and technology, but ole Jimmy John got some common sense!”

He then continued. “Not sure if you’re a believer or not, but the good Lord will give you strength. And if not, then I would like to give you my lucky shoes. They always bring me good luck and I think that now you need it more than I do.”

With that said, the elder took off his shoes and passed them over to Takayuki under the table, giving him a wink in the meanwhile. May his shoes grant him peace and all kinds of luck in this troubling time.

Kevin didn’t touch his wine, though it was staring at him, taunting him and testing his resolve. The drink he saw Olympe pass away was testing him as well. But instead of falling into temptation and let alcohol win this round, he quickly called for a waiter to replace his and Olympe’s drinks with tea or water.

“Please…” Kevin insisted. “I cannot drink this wine and I’m fighting real hard to not drink it right then and there. Get it out of my sight, if you can.”

He later sighed, wiping the sweat off his brow. Hopefully there won’t be any more alcoholic drinks being served for the rest of the night. As much as he hates to admit, he does have a taste for some and isn’t sure how much longer he would last seeing them within reach.

Jimmy John laughed in reply to Yura’s statement. “She’s a sweet little gal, glad to have patted her the best way I know how! I know my grandbabies don’t like it much. Heck, my wife doesn’t either! That’s why I need a pet of some kind to pat all day, to give me a lick and slobber my face and eat up my socks and shoes.”

"Nooo-ah!" Yura giggled, "Hee hee! I can't be your pet and eat your shoes, Jimmy, I've got a job already, uwu. Besides you don't have any shoes now cause you gave them away! Maybe Olympe can find you a pet."

"I can easily find you a pet as long as it's a froggie. Wouldn't you like a lovely froggie, Jimmy?" Olympe asked the lively elder.

"Frogs Are Our Friends," intoned Lady Sakura solemnly, as if it were an important slogan.

"That's right!" Olympe agreed. "I once opened a frog petting cafe, actually, but I lost all my Coins and had to work as a hostess for a while." She winked at Takayuki, who smiled back. He seemed more cheerful. Watching him, Chormy smiled too.

"Thank you very much for your lucky shoes, Mr Oscar," Takayuki told him, "I regret I cannot accept your gift. Please forgive me."

Chormy slipped off her chair and dove under the table. She gathered the loose footwear and handed the lucky shoes to Olympe, who had also dropped to the floor. The girls were fiddling with the laces when Muun's face appeared below the hanging edge of the tablecloth.

"Miss Olympe, I will take Mr Oscar's shoes to be polished. Here are slippers for him." She handed them a luxurious pair of blue suede carpet slippers. As Olympe reached for them, a new pair of hands intercepted the footwear. It was VioletMist, come to join the party under the table, glowing red in the subdued light.

"I'll put these on him," she said, and began gently to fit the slippers to Jimmy John's feet. "Chormy, are you getting sweet on Takayuki? Seriously, he's kind of cute. I might take a shot at him if you're not interested."

"Who are you interested in, VioletMist?" demanded the Garden Fairy, as she crawled together with the other girls. "Olympe's interested in Kevin, that's obvious, hee hee! Let's have a party under here, no! Let's have a midnight feast later on, uwu, no bois allowed! We can steal some food from the pantry."

Their whispers and giggles could not be heard clearly above the table. Jimmy felt his feet embraced by soft, supportive slippers. The four girls reassumed their chairs.

Olympe whispered to Michiko-bot, "Please remove the tantalus from Mr McDaniel's room and put it in mine."

“Well, I don’t know about a frog," Jimmy smiled. "Maybe a puppy dog or a kitty cat, even a rabbit will do! I’ll have to talk to my wife first to see if she wants a pet, cause I think she’s allergic to them. Hmm… on second thought, maybe a frog would be a good idea! Oh!”

Before he could continue, he felt something covering his feet. It wasn’t his lucky shoes, but comfy slippers. The elder became excited at this new discovery.

“This is the most comfortable pair of slippers I’ve worn in my life, better than my old ones! Cause you see, my old ones look like sheep, cause they’re cute and they help you sleep. My daughter gave them to me as a Christmas gift, said it’ll keep my feet warm. But dang it, these take the cake. And I’m not talking about pound cake either! Woo-wee, love these shoes already!” He wiggled his feet with glee.

Kevin shrugged at Jimmy John’s excitement with shoes and decided to ask Lord Yuzu a question. He doesn’t have much to say to the others, being new here and doesn’t know anyone well, so he figured that discussing the mission would help make time go by faster. After all, he isn’t much for small talk.

“Lord Yuzu,” Kevin said respectfully. “Olympe asked me to join in your case. I ask if there’s any info to help us along, being that all we know so far are cricket and balls.”

"It *is* about cricket and balls, Mr McDaniel, so you're on top of things already. It's good Olympe has found such an astute sidekick. Between you and me I've thought for some time the agency needed more boi logic. I'm sure you'll agree that girl intuition can only get you so far **OW!**" He jumped suddenly. "Major!"

"Sorry, my lord, a sudden clonus in my leg," the blue haired space marine deadpanned.

"Hum! Well, I hope you’re alright now." Yuzu turned to Kevin again. "We'll speak after dinner, detective. There's an... artefact... involved which needs careful examination."

"Goddess!" Olympe was agitated. "It's not the Cowley Cricket Club Cursed Cow Creamer again, is it, Yuzu?" She frowned. "Remember what happened that other time. Yancie left a trail of chaos. He fell out of a window and got concussion. He sank one of your boats. He set the Palace on fire."

"No! No! It's nothing to do with the cow creamer, Olympe. I managed to unload that fearful item a while ago. This is something else, something I, er -- *acquired* -- on a club tour in the far east. I keep it locked away unless I need it. You must be patient until we've finished dinner." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "It's not something to discuss in polite company."

Olympe sat back with a moue. She plied her silverware to demolish the rest of her meat loaf in silence. She paused to whisper to Kevin. "You need some context. I'll tell you about the Cow Creamer before we see this new thing Yuzu's got. We'll dodge the coffee and petit fours and talk outside.” She turned to Jimmy, who was still cooing over his new slippers.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you on the lake and we’ll find you a nice froggie. I know just the place.” She patted his arm.

“You’ll be in safe hands, Jimmy," Yura reassured him. “Olympe’s very good at rowing.”

“Sculling,” said Olympe. “I’m good at rowing too, of course, though I say it myself.”

There were blank looks all round and a moment of silence. Then the conversation restarted and rolled on. Olympe sighed and looked for her wine, but it was gone.

“Uh… yyeeaahh…”

Kevin wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the full details concerning the cursed cow creamer, believing that it’s possible this current mission would be just as or crazier than what she described. He shook his head before finishing the rest of his meatloaf. Perhaps he had spoken too soon about asking Yuzu for more information.

Jimmy John was getting tired. It was past his bedtime and he was yawning up a storm. He’s trying to stay up though, for what it’s worth.

“Tomorrow would be fine, Olly-em-pee. Just not tonight, because I’m getting tired. All this good food and chatting could wear a person out, I tell you what.”

He yawned again before continuing. “Maybe it had to do with these slippers. Must be magical cause I didn’t feel sleepy till it was put on my feet. No matter, I just need to rest my eyes some. Let me… know when… zzzz…”

Poor Jimmy John Oscar had fallen asleep, his head resting against the back of the chair. His mouth is opened slightly, meaning he’s bound to snore any minute now. Better now than later since it appears he will have a busy day tomorrow with finding a pet frog and discussing with Dsam about the doll for his wife.

Kevin noticed that his not date was looking for her wine, so he decided to tell her of its whereabouts.

“Sorry Olympe. I thought you weren't going to drink anymore for the night, so I told the waiter to take it away along with my own for my sake. I could ask them to get you a fresh glass if you want.”

He felt guilty for having to do that, but he wished he had asked the detective first beforehand. He’ll make it up to her in some form or another. She will get a glass of wine if she desires one.


END SCENE

The Case of the Tall Dark Handsome Stranger

Ms Olympe Viola Reese, kuudere detective, sat sighing at her desk. It was late, her comrades had all left for the day much earlier, and she was struggling with a knotty problem of accounts.

"Oh! What am I to do? I've lost that important receipt and now I can't make it add up at all!" She rested her jauntily coiffed head in both hands and closed her eyes. Her shoulders heaved as she drew deep breaths to strengthen her mental energies.

Suddenly the office door crashed open. Olympe flinched and stared. A tall boi stood in the portal. He was wearing evening dress and a white silk scarf. There was a pistol, a sleek and deadly Beretta, in his hand!

"Are you Ms Olympe Reese?" the dark stranger demanded. Olympe nodded silently, her normal loquacity utterly quelled by the unexpected intrusion.

"Come with me, I've something I need from you." He fixed a stern eye on her and waved his gun in a rather menacing fashion. The blonde detective hastened to don her coat and hat.

"But who are you?" she gasped. "Where are you taking me?"

"Never you mind, I'll tell you when the time is right. Call me Maybe for now."

The mysterious Mr Maybe hustled Olympe down the stairs with a forceful hand in the small of her back. She resisted, not wanting to be manhandled in such a way.

"Wait! What kind of name is Maybe?"

But her interlocutor said nothing; he merely grabbed her wrist to tug her along. The pair jogged out into the cool night of The Server. An expansive six-seater Buick-Hudson Thunderbolt was waiting in the channel. Its long nose betokened a powerful Packard straight eight engine, and its great headlamps and sidelights were glowing bright. Olympe waited to be handed into the rear cabin but Mr Maybe simply lofted and bundled her into the boot. She gasped as he shut it emphatically.

In the close darkness Olympe felt, as much as heard her assailant jump into the driving seat and start the engine. The huge motor roared with energy as the car accelerated away from the kerb. Her body was rocked to and fro as the powerful vehicle made turn after turn, speeding and slowing according to traffic conditions she could only imagine. After a few minutes the car halted. The lid of the boot opened and Mr Maybe was there, his gun now concealed but he was so tall, so dark and implacable that Olympe dared not attempt anything from her disadvantaged situation. The strong boi extended his hand.

"Here, let me help you out. We've got a few minutes. You must prepare yourself. Your dress is... more than adequate."

Olympe was wearing a clinging, scoop back shift dress in dark red silk, part lined, with a midi length skirt, side slit to reveal a lot of leg. She resettled her hat and strappy sandals and went to open her handbag, which contained violent remedies for her predicament but Mr Maybe clamped his firm, warm hand on her wrist.

"I know what you have in there, you minx. We're going into the Scarlet Cathedral for you to mend your make-up, so don't try anything."

Olympe cast her gaze around. She quickly recognised the architecture of the Great Piazza, the centre of Server City where the tall Scarlet Cathedral on the west side faces the gaudy neon palace of the Niziiro Casino on the east.

"Let me go, you ruffian!" She tried in vain to shake his grip, but his male strength was too great to be defied. Olympe had no choice but to be conducted into the stone vastness of the cathedral, where shrines, altars, pews, confessionals and other major items of spiritual equipment were evident. Mr Maybe paused at a votary to light a candle and some incense. He muttered a prayer to The Oracle. Olympe was unable to see the reply, however, he smiled broadly.

"Fortune favours the brave," he declaimed. "I did well to take you, Ms Reese, you will bring me luck. Now, make your face presentable for a glitzy venue." He pushed her into a dark confessional.

Olympe sagged to the wooden bench and opened her handbag. She had all the things she needed for an emergency make-over. Using her smartphone's flashlight, she remade her face with smokey eyes, and spritzed herself anew with scent, Creed Erolfa, which evoked warm Meditarranean coasts with citrus and marine notes. She opened the door somewhat hesitantly.

The tall boi stared. "You look superb!"

Olympe brandished her pistol, the tiny Colt 25ACP automatic she kept as a weapon of last resort. It looked like a toy, one of those novelty cigarette lighters where you pull the trigger and a flame comes from the muzzle.

"Let me go or I'll shoot you, see if I don't!" she cried, but Mr Maybe simply swept the weapon from her hand with an abrupt move. *He's so forceful* she thought, and staggered a little. Her companion caught her up in his strong arms. He shoved her gun into a pocket, and steadied her in his embrace until she could recover her composure.

"You have me at a serious disadvantage, Mr Maybe," she whispered. "I must go wherever you take me."

"I won't take you anywhere very bad," he replied, and set her on her feet. "Let's go." He took her elbow and led her from the cathedral.

Outside, the Cathedral’s scarlet searchlights competed with the neon rainbow of the Casino opposite. Mr Maybe ignored the crowds of members criss-crossing the wide square. He clamped Olympe's hand under his elbow and led her at a steady pace directly to the tall doors of the lush gambling den. They entered and cruised the lobby until they came to the high roller tables. A crowd of glitzy gamblers parted at Mr Maybe's imperious advance. An obsequious attendant hastened to seat him at the high stakes bet-rolls table.

"You stand behind me, Olympe,” he commanded her. “I've brought you for luck. May Goddess bless my choice." He spread a cascade of Coins on the table, and began to place his bets.

Olympe could have sneaked away while Maybe's concentration was fixed on his gambling, but she felt enervated by his confidence in her role as a talisman. She waited and watched. As the stakes grew she began to pray for Maybe's success. She groaned at his failed bets, sighed, and cried with joy when he gained. The evening flew by in a blur of emotional ups and downs. Finally, Mr Maybe quit the table and cashed in his chips, much the richer than when he had started. They processed from the casino to stand in the wide piazza under the stars, the portentous moon, the gaudy neon, and the scarlet of the cathedral's lamps.

"You won, Mr Maybe!" Olympe thrilled.

"Thanks to you, my lovely lucky charm," he grinned. "And now your reward..."

He gathered her into his strong arms, brooking no resistance though she offered none, so eager she was to be taken. He lowered his magnificent, commanding face towards her and sealed his lips on hers. She swooned utterly as his manly strength and warmth overcame her. Olympe trembled, wondering what other delights Maybe had in store for her.

New Scene: The Party of the Year!


The sting is the most elaborate organised by Olympe's controller since the bunny girl casino caper in London three years ago.

The target is a half-Chinese, half-Japanese businessman variously known as Mr Chung, Cheung, Chang or Chong, who is reliably suspected of involvement in a panoply of crimes including fraud, drugs, sex trafficking, and industrial scale fly tipping. Olympe's objective is to find hard proof.

The venue is the #party-rooftop, elaborately decked out with a genuine sea-water pool and sand beach with cabanas for changing, a sound stage with three top bands, a DJ and dance floor surrounded by Go-Go dancer cages, a wet bar 25 metres long, a snack bar featuring down home recipes from #sadies-diner, and a pop-up cafe staffed by the Michelin starred team from #hotel-opale. Lastly, the very secluded private areas for VIPs, where particularly louche activities might take place.

Everything has been calculated to the millimetre for maximum advantage in modern social media exposure. A precisely curated guest list of celebs, while all the generally available tickets are sold on Blockchain. Prime snippets of the event of the year will be raffled as NFTs, for Mr Cheung's favourite charity, the Emperor Penguin Society.

It's the Fyrefest over again, only it *actually is* going to be awesome. The cost has run into the millions, funds willingly defrayed by Mr Chung at his personal assistant Olympe's persuasion, for the launch of a major new business venture. If *you've* got a ticket, it's a golden one.

To honour her boss's heritage, Olympe is wearing a bespoke denim combo minidress by New York designer Kim Shui, patterned with Chinese ideographs which tout his qualities and new line of business in magically significant patterns. She stands respectfully just behind him as Mr Cheung greets his guests, prompting his memory in discreetly whispered Japanese from reference to an iPad.


It's the event of the year, maybe of the decade, and they can be honored to be part of it. This has been drilled into their heads by the stage manager over and over again since Dee was lead into the backstage area of the venue among a flurry of go-go-dancers, chatting excitedly among themselves. Each of them has been handpicked, each of them is expected to do their absolute best. No drugs, no alcohol, not a toe out of line.

Nothing is left to chance today and so Dee finds her costume and make-up lied out for her in the small changing booth. A tight fitting silken top in emerald green, embroidered with a dragon made from shimmering sequins. She checks the tubes and color palettes - waterproof. Working with professionals has its advantanges. There is a photo clipped to her mirror as a reference and Dee generously applies the specified shades of jade and silver on her eyelids and glues on the long fake lashes. When she is just finished someone knocks at her booth.

"Are you ready? Mr. Cheung would like to see you." Dee gets up, straightens her blue curls and gives herself a last check in the mirror. The stage hand looks at the tie-dyed sarong she has loosely knotted around their waist. "Where is your costume?" Dee smiles and fingers the chain around her neck holding a small silver locket in the shape of a scallop. "It will be on for the performance. It's in my contract - artist's secret." The man's eyes wander lower.

"No shoes?"

"I won't need them."

He shrugs, listens to something from his earpiece and leads her to the entrance of the party floor, where the host, some rich businessman, is speaking to the incoming guests, a tall woman in a tight dress behind him like a shadow.

"Don't speak when you're not spoken to," the stage hand mutters to her as he leads her towards them. Dee nods. She is used to deal with wealthy clients and this one seems to be very rich.

"Mr. Cheung, if you have a moment? This is the performer for the pool. You wanted to see her."


The rooftop party was promising to be a huge spectacle, from the star-studded guest list to the ostentatious display of wealth in converting a rooftop into a beach. A loud display to better shield quiet dealings that would affect all of east asia. Interspersed with celebrities and social media personalities were trade ministers, prominent businessmen, and of course officials of the Chinese government. It was in this capacity deputy minister of commerce Zhang Taosheng was attending, along with Luo Yan. The deputy minister had a bright smile that never reached his eyes and the distinct impression of a shark cruising the open ocean, waiting for the slightest scent of blood in the water.

Standing two steps behind him, Luo Yan was both beautiful and enigmatic as a Chinese Mona Lisa. Fair skin, silken hair, and eyes like black jade that drew in all light and offered nothing in return. The windows to her soul had the curtains drawn tight and the shutters closed.

The minister and Cheung greeted each other with an amiable cordiality that never quite softened the hardness of Zhang's gaze. Meanwhile Luo Yan kept her eyes on her counterpart while dipping a respectful bow to their host. There was something eerily perfect in her movements, an efficiency that transcended simple poise. All the while those lightless eyes kept finding Olympia. Unlike her comrade, Yan made no attempt to appear warm, her beautiful features perfectly impassive.


*Typical!* Olympe thought. *Two important people arrive at the same time.* She followed Chung's lead in bowing to the newcomers, muttering into her discreet comms headset to ask her assistant to ask the stage manager's assistant to take the water cabaret star back to the green room. The subsidiaries began to manoeuvre and...

"No, Olympe, let Miss Dee stay for now," contradicted Mr Chang. "Make the first band begin their set. We will all watch from my private box." For a moment it looked as if Mr Chong would offer Dee his arm, but he thought better of it and instead put a hand gently to Mr Zhang's back to usher the Chinese minister in the right direction.

The slithy promoter began small-talking the commerce minister -- Thank you so much for coming. I hope you had a pleasant journey -- but his eyes were drifting to the exotic blue-haired beauty, a look Olympe easily recognised since she was often subject to the same male gaze. In fact it was half the reason she had got the job.

*Basically he fancies her, and why not, she is rather fanciable, lovely swimmer's shoulders and long legs*

Olympe also had swimmer's shoulders, or perhaps they were rower's, at any rate they looked musclier than a fashionably thin girl should. She handed her iPad to her assistant, offered an arm each to Miss Dee and Luo Yan, and began to move in convoy behind her boss. As they processed, she bent her head left and right to engage both ladies in conversation.

"I'm sorry for the sudden change of plans but it's always best to be agile with Mr Cheung. He got where he is by moving fast and breaking things. Besides there is the whole night ahead of us. You will delight us later, I'm sure, Miss Dee."

The assistant, a medium tall girl wearing a Kabuki stagehand's jet black ninja outfit to efface herself, brought up the rear. She rolled her East Asian eyes at Olympe's prattle.


Dee accesses the situation - nothing she isn't familiar with. Here is the host, the apparently most important person of the evening, the guy with the money. Considering how everything, from the choice of the venue to the food served, are absolute first class, he must have lots of it. And therefore he is the one who Dee gifts her most beguiling smile to, ocean blue eyes sparkling like rare jewels.

"Too kind," she says to the businessman, giving off the impression as if nothing would delight her more than his company. In truth she'd rather prepare her performance and finally slip into that pool - real sea-water, too! - get rid of this itching, fake shell she is trapped in, and become lost in her dance.

Olympe speaks up and it is immediately clear to Dee that she is the one who pulls the strings here, who is the actually most important person of the evening and in control of everything that would happen today. She also gets a smile and a nod from Dee, who briefly locks eyes with her. *He may think he is giving the orders, but you are the one whispering them to him, am I right?*

Gracefully she takes the arm Olympe offers her and notices how toned they are. She is not sitting around writing memos, that's for sure.

"Oh, please, do not apologize," she answers, voice husky. "Agility is my speciality." Dee's walk betrays that statement, though, above water her movements are actually slightly stiff. How humans use those unflexible sticks they call legs day in and day out is a mystery for Dee, especially when they wear shoes like Olympe does with heels as pointed as a deadly weapon. She once tried to wear those and nearly broke her ankle. It's one of the few things she refuses to do when booked by a client.

Olympe's Valentines 2022

This year, Olympe's list of the Valentines she wants to send is longer than usual. She makes the job easier by bulk buying luxurious hand-made selection boxes from Iain Burnett, the Highland Chocolatier, and puts a card in each, anonymous as per British custom.

The first box goes to her sex friend Roger. The card is marked with a carefully bestowed lipstick imprint of her vulva. He'll guess it's from Olympe because of the chocolates, which are the same make he treated her to after the tea dance, the time she let some melt inside her stick-on bra for their mutual delight.

Detective Takayuki Komai, still yearning and unsatisfied, gets the next box. A Japanese man knows a carton of ready-made chocolate on Valentine's Day is just *giri choko* -- duty chocolate -- but these are so expensive, so luxurious, they have to mean more, especially with the card 'signed' with an extravagant kiss mark and heart in Olympe's favourite lipstick. No-one gives an $80 box of chocolates just for *giri*. It must be from Pia-chan and mean something!?

Darios Kazemi, a brilliant though disorganised aeronautical engineer, receives a card clumsily cartooned with some kind of bird, or plane -- an ornithopter perhaps -- imagined by someone who isn't technical and can't draw for toffee. It's carrying a love heart. Olympe believes in Dari's mission, though she probably can never fly in his new creation, due to her irrational fear of heights. She's not yet sure if they can be lovers in the fullest sense, but she hopes they will.

The next three cards are sent to girls whom Olympe met briefly and was deeply attracted to, and nothing came of it but she thinks something might if she could contrive to meet again. Long shots, in other words. The cards have no identifier except an QR code which if accessed will bring up indirect contact details.

Joelle, an empathetic redhead journalist from an excruciatingly early morning session in Sadie's Diner, when vampires were discussed. Olympe craves the chance of a mutual investigation.

Maryellen, a tall, elegant blonde whose shoe let her down and Olympe was privileged by chance to help, one fine day. Olympe lost her heart and hopes against hope the emotion is returned.

Dee, a blue-haired girl, a cabaret artiste who may or may not be a mermaid in human disguise. Olympe longs to cavort with her, preferably ashore since merperson sex must be very different to what she's used to. *But mermaids, IDK, it's different to when I was a merboi, maybe it would be okay... Everything's worth trying once, surely?*

.
Olympe had a good Valentine's Day. She received three cards and easily guessed two of the senders: Dari and Roger. They didn't know about each other and it had to stay that way. She suspected the third one was from Taka-kun. She couldn't be sure; while Japanese men don't usually send cards, he had been living abroad long enough to get involved in the custom. And probably he was still interested in her, or he would have gone back to Tokyo months ago. So that was good. *I'll know for sure on White Day* she told herself.

Happy with her haul, Olympe ordered a lazy delivery curry and opened a bottle of red wine. She was eating slobbily in front of the TV, watching 'Komi Can't Communicate' on Flixnet, when the doorbell announced a surprise late package, excitingly heavy.

* * *

A small but heavy box arrives at Olympe's door late at night on Valentine's Day with a courier, wrapped in silvery paper. Inside is a bottle of Mermaid's Tears vodka. A card is attached, fine stationery in blue shades, sealed with blue wax and handwritten in subtly glittering ink. A few drops of water have blotted the writing here and there.

Dearest Olympe, I have received your message with great pleasure. I have to admit, you simply have not left my mind since the joyous occasion of working together. I do give private performances for a selected audience and would love you to attend - and stay afterwards for a drink.
Yours, awaiting your reply,

Dee...

* * *

Olympe's heartbeat accelerated as she read Dee's note, the invitation to a private performance and drinks. She examined the bottle of vodka - *What a clue!* She conjured a scene *très intime* in her mind's eye.

*I can't believe my card worked! The chocs helped naturally, cause all girls like chocolates. But is she really into me as a human? I'll have to go, of course, opportunities like this should never be passed up.*

She grabbed her smartphone and searched where to buy a bottle of Mount Gay Black Barrel rum for a gift. *Should I take some oysters? No!* The potential of mermaid sex was actually rather worrying without involving extra seafood. *I mean if we... Where is the... How does it all work?*

That night, Olympe had some interesting dreams. She sent her grateful acceptance the very next morning, and began to plan her outfit.

At the appointed time, Olympe knocked at Dee's door wearing her couture Atlantean Strachiton, drapes and figure-hugging swathes of silver, black and blue which rippled and glowed from living magic woven into the fabric.

The address in the card had lead Olympe to a former warehouse, converted into lofts. Dee's place was on the ground floor. After knocking, Olympe heard the soft electric whir of a camera installed above the frame of the steel door, which shortly afterwards buzzed open. The spacious room behind it had a concrete floor and red brick walls with steel framed windows near the double-height ceiling.

The only source of light was a round, illuminated swimming pool framed with terracotta tiles at the center of the room. It nearly took up the whole floorspace. In front of it, facing the gleaming water, stood a loveseat, covered in dark green velvet, beside it a small table which supported a black glass étagère holding a selection of horsd'œuvres (no seafood), two flutes and a bottle of champagne in a cooler. At the far end of the pool a folding screen painted with an underwater scenery partially hid an iron-wrought spiral staircase, leading upwards toward a mezzanine, hidden by the shadows of the dim pool light. Soft steps could be heard, bare feet on metal.

"Hi," said Dee, who slowly descended the stairs, gripping the rails of the staircase and keeping her eyes on her feet, as if afraid of missing a step. Halfway down she stoped to look up and smile at Olympe. Dee, on her own terms today, didn't wear any make-up or jewelery and only a simple black bikini top. Her blue curls hung loosely around her shoulders, a simple tie-dye sarong was wrapped around her hips.

"So glad you came. Please take a seat."

"I feel overdressed."

“You look absolutely lovely.”

By force of habit Olympe had shed her high heels on entering the domestic space, lining up the strappy sandals neatly to face the door, since a guest will inevitably exit in due course. She paced sure-footed to the couch, upright primate heritage unconsciously displayed. Though her naked feet mirrored Dee's, her face was painted subtly, her earlobes pinned with small crescent moons of white gold and diamonds. The folds of her Strachiton were held in place by a brooch, another moon, larger, silver, which reflected the light from the pool. As she moved, the magical threads in her drapery flexed and glowed; a fantasy sky of stars and tenuous clouds rippling across the midnight blue. She put down her clutch and a larger bag, and half reclined on the loveseat, arranging her skirts to maximum effect. Her right hand sparkled with an outsize cocktail ring of yellow and white gold and diamonds, formed into the rays of the resplendant sun.

"Actually I brought a swimming costume but I'm so fond of my Strachiton, please don't ask me to change yet."

“I can understand that, the dress is stunning. But I’m glad you brought swimwear. Do join me after the dance.”

Dee disappeared behind the screen. The sarong was thrown over its edge and hung there limply. The folding screen was pushed aside and there was Dee, sitting on a pool lounger, made out of steel instead of plastic or wickerwork. It was shaped like a descending wave. And Dee now wore a long mermaid’s tail, covered in iridescent scales, pearly white at the front, shades of aqua towards the side, the fins dipped in a hue of turquoise. Seeing her in better light Olympe could see that Dee wore two subtle pieces of jewelery: her chain with the scallop locket and a small golden ring pierced through her belly button, nested in the fold where the tail hugged her hips with a v-shaped bulge, her appearance a was a stark contrast to her carefully made-up attire during her usual performances. Dee, her toned arms propped up behind her, looked over to Olympe once more and smiled, flexed the fins, then pushed herself forward and glided into the pool.

A classical piece started to play from hidden speakers, violins, piano and a trained ear would recognise the ethereal tunes of a glass harmonica. And Dee started swimming and diving, her movements aligned with the rhythm of the music, blue strands of hair floating around her like sea grass in the currents of the ocean. She dove as deeply as the pool allowed, flitted closely under the water surface, bending, swaying. Now and then she emerged from the water, slowly twirling with raised arms, eyes closed the whole time she was dancing, losing herself in the element that was so clearly hers.

When the music piece faded out, Dee floated towards the end of the pool where Olympe sat, drew herself half out of the water and propped her arms up on the tiles. She opened her eyes and looked at her guest, deep blue eyes gleaming under long lashes where small droplets caught the light.

The ripple of the music evoked for Olympe the sea's tides and currents, the advance and retreat of waves on the shore, the undulating pressure felt in the depths, which influenced sea-life in all its forms. It was a gentle power, for now, though insistent with its energy derived from celestial bodies, particularly the moon. She felt that energy in her core. It controlled her menstrual cycle, and full moons had always proved portentous in her professional life. Now her earlobes tingled with an odd sexual urge, a somatic memory of times they were pulled in oceanic rhythms by a heavy pair of dangler earrings she had eschewed today for practical reasons. On one occasion that energy had led her to perform splendid feats of physical love.

*I should have worn them tonight and abandoned myself*

Dee's hesitancy on the stairs and her utter grace in the water, had combined to harden Olympe's suspicion that here was a real mermaid who had discovered a way to turn herself into a land-walking human. At the end of the water dance their eyes locked, Dee's ocean blue, Olympe's gold-flecked hazel-green. Olympe felt the need to show her formal appreciation, and clapped her hands lightly.

"Dee, you're splendid! The water is your element. Now, will you come out for a drink, or shall I join you in the pool?"

Dee lowered her eyelids, breaking the eye contact for a moment.

"Indeed it is. I'm glad you enjoyed the performance. Stay outside or come in - however you feel comfortable. I longed to be in the water for the whole day and would like to stay a while."

She pushed herself up on the tiles on the floor, muscles tightening under olive skin, rose partially from the water and plopped down on the rim of the pool. Dee's tail stayed in the water, flipping playfully and creating small waves. She patted her left hand on the floor next to her, a damp print showed up and disappeared gradually.

"Maybe you would like to sit with me for a bit? The tiles are heated. And if you would be so kind and give me a flute? We should open the champagne. It feels like a special night, don't you think?"

Dee's eyes travelled over Olympe's body, in that dress with the effects that could only be otherworldly. She burned with curiousity about this woman, so self-confident and mysterious, a firefly in a swarm of moths. She had been instantly attracted to her when they first met and would not this let the opportunity pass to get to know her better.

"Tell me about yourself, Olympe. I know so little - only that you are damn good at your job. And that everyone is in awe of you." Her eyes locked with Olympe's again, searching in those warm golden flecks for answers. *Who are you? What are you? And how can I make you stay?*

Olympe had changed her hair since the night of Mr Cheung's party. A choppy pixie cut now framed her square face. She smiled at Dee's compliments and uncorked the champagne deftly, with a muted pop. She poured two glasses, handing one to Dee, and raised hers to give a toast, "To swimming, one of my favourite pastimes." She sipped.

Dee took the champagne flute with a nod and clinked her glass with Olympe's. "To swimming. It's simply like nothing else." She drank and waited until Olympe joined her at the poolside.

"Let me just arrange my dress and I'll sit with you." Olympe tucked the midi-length skirts up to her waist. They ballooned and pooled on her thighs as she knelt gracefully at Dee's left side. Olympe unfolded her legs to dip her feet into the water. Her legs were unshaven. There was an old scar on one knee.

"Thank you for your kind words about my work, Dee. That job's done, actually. I've learnt everything I needed from Mr Cheung. Now I've got a bit of spare time before I start something else, I don't know what but it will be interesting, I'm sure. I think we're both lucky to do work we enjoy. And your home is such fun! Is the pool salt water? I usually swim at the public pool, or in rivers and lakes. The sea's fun too, of course. Which is your favourite?"

It hadn't gone past Dee that Olympe actually hadn't said anything about herself - which made her only more curious about this woman. Something was up here and Dee was determined to find it out.

"So you are what exactly - an event manager? You seem to know all the important people, and they know you." Another flip with the tail, sending waves across the surface. "Yes, it's salt water. Although it doesn't even come close to swimming in the ocean. That's where I like to go. Late in the evening when all the tourists are gone." A white lie. Dee usually went at night when nobody could see her change.

Olympe waved her legs slowly in the water. She drained her glass and smiled.

"What am I? I'm a girl who likes to have fun. I'm a girl whose job is to know things, and people. That old saw, 'It's not what you know, it's who you know...' The fact is no-one can know everything they need to, so it's important to know how to find out who to ask about stuff. I'm a girl who wants to stay private. Here, look at this."

She jumped up to fetch the champagne and her smartphone, incongruously an armoured mil-spec model with exotic sensors and an almost bullet proof screen. She refilled their glasses, and searched up social media of the mega-party at #the-party-rooftop where they had met. About a million images on WhatsUpp, Chwitter and FaceBuk scrolled across the glowing screen: A, B, C, and Z list celebrities; band members; burlesque stars; selfies of ordinary citizens admitted by lottery to leaven the froth; pics of food and drinks; DJs; dancing; the exotic Mermaid show which Dee had performed. Mr Cheung was everywhere. Olympe herself appeared in many but somehow she was always subtly effaced; a tabletop firework, a tall glowing cocktail replete with skewered fruit and umbrellas, or a halation of fairy lights, intervened, and the camera never exactly caught her.

"You can look on Picterest and Rumblr, it's all the same. Let's swim, Dee. Maybe another time we can go to the real ocean."

Dee looked at the screen Olympe held under her nose and tried to follow the flood of images with her eyes. *You're still not telling me anything about yourself,* she thought. *Well, two people can play that game.* "Indeed, it's all the same. But please send the ones of my performance to my agency if you would be so kind." Dee didn't really bother being present in social media herself but her team did a great job and Dee didn't mind her pictures floating around the internet. People didn't believe plenty of what was right under her eyes. The only thing she had refused was to make silly dances for short music clips.

"I'll make sure the official footage is shared. Your agent can do what they like with it, it's never going to be surfaced otherwise, cause of... reasons..." Olympe's voice trailed off to a mumble.

The tall blondette drained her glass again. She stripped off her Strachiton, draped it with care on the love seat. Underneath she wore a black, stick-on bra and Brazilian briefs which she doffed to reveal an odd, linear scar on her right buttock, a neat landing strip of pubic hair, and unshaven armpits. There was a scar on her left deltoid, and what looked like a healed burn mark between her breasts, small, circular, like someone might have stabbed her with a lit cigar.

Olympe dipped into her larger bag for a tankini and boyshorts set, navy blue with a wide white stripe down the right side. She let herself gently into the salt water pool, dove and surfaced, turned to face Dee and held her arms wide.

Dee turned her head away politely when Olympe changed into her swimsuit and watched her glide into the water, wondering about those scars and marks. Maybe she had good reason to be so secretive. When Olympe resurfaced, Dee smiled at her, leaned back and began floating on her back, arms crossed behind her neck and eyes on the other swimmer in the pool.

"Maybe we can go to the ocean. I'd love to. There is a small bay with beautifully white sand, only a few miles from here, which you can only reach by swimming. The view is lovely, especially at night."

Olympe floats on her back. The salt water buoys her. It's been heated to make for a comfortable experience, cool, not cold. No danger of hypothermia in Dee's pool.

"A sea bay you can only reach by swimming. No road there, you mean?"

"Yes. No roads." Most importantly, no humans. "Only water. I often go there on my own."

She swam close to Dee and whispered into her ear.

"It sounds wonderful, Dee. I don't think I could swim so far but what if we went by boat? I know someone who has a motor yacht, he'll take us for sure if I ask nicely. He's discreet, capable, used to carrying divers, and he won't letch at us. Goddess knows I've flirted like mad but his heart belongs to a princess, so he'd carry us safely in all respects. We could dive off the boat, explore the bay, look at all the odd sea creatures and enjoy the starry heaven with cocktails or wine. It'll be very romantic."

Suddenly Olympe was near her, her hair tickling Dee's shoulder, her voice silken. Dee could feel the warmth radiating from the other body in the water, smell her perfume. The proposition she made let Dee blush with lowered eyelids.

"You really do know everyone in this city, don't you? A motor yacht owner enamored with a princess, you are not making this all up, aren't you?"

Olympe was overpowered by her enthusiasm. She turned and called out "Let's go now!" as she began to swim to the edge of the pool. Olympe's nearly childlike excitement surprised and charmed Dee, it was so different of what she expected when she saw her first, all business and careful phrased instructions. She laughed as the other woman moved away from her, turned on her belly and followed with quick arm-strokes and a few dashes of her fin.

"If you have an idea, you go through with it, come hell or high water, right? It does sound very romantic but right at this moment? I don't want to rain on your parade but what about this mysterious yacht-owner, I'm sure he had other plans for today than ferrying two sea-fanatics around. Can I even trust him? For that matter, Olympe, can I trust you?"

Once more she props up her face into her hands, elbows resting on the tiles, looking up at her guest. This woman is exciting in all kinds of ways but Dee hasn't come as far as she has by being careless.

"As much as I'd love to be whisked away to a night with wine, stars and the sea, I have to know who I will spend it with."

"Don't worry about Graham, he's a darling. We've known each other since we were little. I'm sure I can talk him around for tonight, or tomorrow if it's better. He likes to show off his boat, The Smol Rascal, it's called. But I see the problem. We whisk you away on a yacht to Goddess knows where and... Yes. Hum."

Olympe refilled the champagne glasses and knelt elegantly to hand one to Dee. She sat on the edge of the pool again and sipped hers. The sea water began to dry, leaving a rime of salt on her skin.

"You want to know who I am. Well. What should I do? Should I tell you a secret? How many lovers I've had? Shall we go somewhere public, so you can feel safe and we'll talk. A discreet bar, maybe. I know a good place. Or do you want to come to my flat? You can judge my personality from my bookcases and pictures. Or we can go dancing, I always feel that reveals a lot about a person." Her face flexed into animated smiles throughout the little speech.

Dee gracefully accepted the champagne, brushing Olympe's skin with her fingers while doing so, not accidentally, quite purposefully. She took a sip, placed the glass on a tile, crossed her arms and lowered her head into them, blue curls fanning out over her back. Dee listened to that speech, wondering how often Olympe had performed it.

"I don't care how many lovers you've had. I guess there were and are plenty, and why wouldn't there be. You are quite intriguing." She tilted her head to the side, stretching her fin out into the water, droplets glistening on her skin and the back of the mermaid tail.

"No need to go somewhere public. I am safe here, I wouldn't have invited you otherwise. Bookcases and pictures can be bought, arranged. And I can't dance outside of the water. My legs simply don't do what I want them to. So," she locked eyes with Olympe once more, lifting her head and taking another deep sip from the champagne flute, "Tell me a secret."

Olympe felt a frisson at Dee's deliberate caress, and took quite a mouthful of wine.

"Hmmm... What secret should I reveal, I wonder? You've probably guessed I'm well-off, and well-connected in various circles which might surprise you. There's some stuff I can't tell you about what I do for work -- not yet, anyway. I'll tell you one thing which not a lot of people know. Only my close friends and colleagues. You may find it hard to believe."

She paused to take a towel from her large bag and put in on the floor for a makeshift pad. She flexed her legs into the formal kneeling position the Japanese call seiza, knees together and completely bent, big toes overlapped behind, buttocks resting on her ankles, her back straight upright. It may have looked excruciatingly uncomfortable to Dee's mermaid eyes. Her face was composed. Her eyes were open and engaged with the scene.

"Dee, look at me closely and tell me what you see."

Olympe is a tallish girl, maybe 175cm and well-built, 60-65 kilos but athletic, with strong shoulders, narrow hips, small breasts, toned muscles. She clearly works out. She doesn't shave her legs or armpits. Her face is handsome rather than pretty, square jawed, framed by a boyishly short haircut. Her various scars make her look quite the tomboy. She's made up for the beach and wearing stud earrings composed of white gold and diamonds in the shape of the crescent moon. Her swimming costume is a navy blue tankini and boyshorts set with a broad white stripe down the right side. She's obviously comfortable in her seiza pose.

Dee's deep blue eyes wander over Olympe's body, from her blonde hair right down to her knees, only pausing to once more meet her gaze.

"I see a woman who knows what she wants, who takes care of herself and who has been through a lot in the past. I see a woman who seeks out adventures when she can find them and who asks more questions than she wants to answer. I don't see any secrets. If you have one, you hide it well." Dee empties her champagne flute. "And I am used to believing the unbelievable." She smiles and holds up the flute towards Olympe. "More champagne, if you would be so kind?"

"Certainly, it's very refreshing."

Olympe unwinds herself elegantly, fetches the bottle and her smartphone, and sits again in seiza. She refills Dee's glass, holding the bottle with both hands in best polite Japanese style, the label up. She sips to wet her throat.

"You've got good eyes, Dee, you saw a lot about me from that inspection. Here, look at this picture and tell me what you think." She searchs up an image and gives her phone to Dee.

The photo shows a tallish guy, 180+cm, athletic, well-built with strong shoulders, maybe 85-90 kilos. He's handsome, clean-shaven, with gold-flecked hazel eyes and a square jaw. A diffident smile. His hair's the same colour as Olympe's but cut longer, rather shaggy, actually. He's wearing a preppy look, camel chinos, a pale blue shirt and a navy blue sweater. Black, no brand sneakers, and a brown sacoche slung from his shoulder. He looks a lot like Olympe. He's probably her brother, maybe even her twin.

Dee accepts the the glass and looks at the phone, raised eybrows.

"Olympe, I don't know what kind of game you try to play with me but I have to admit, I start to get bored. Surely there are more interesting things we could talk about? I mean, this is a human man." She shrugs. "To be honest, they all look the same to me. They even wear the same. They talk about the same things. Mostly about themselves." She takes another sip of champagne, slowly the warmth of the alcohol starts to rise to her head, a pleasant, tingly feeling - and her sign to stop drinking.

"You seem to be related. That's all I can see. Is he your secret?"

Dee accepts the the glass and looks at the phone, raised eybrows.

"Olympe, I don't know what kind of game you try to play with me but I have to admit, I start to get bored. Surely there are more interesting things we could talk about? I mean, this is a human man." She shrugs. "To be honest, they all look the same to me. They even wear the same. They talk about the same things. Mostly about themselves." She takes another sip of champagne, slowly the warmth of the alcohol starts to rise to her head, a pleasant, tingly feeling - and her sign to stop drinking.

"You seem to be related. That's all I can see. Is he your secret?"

Olympe's eyebrows clenched for a moment, then her expression cleared.

"Dee, I'm so sorry! Being boring is unforgivable. I'll finish quickly. The point is that this guy was me. Or I'm him now. What I mean is a couple of years ago I was this boi in the photo. That's why he looks like me. I had some pretty great adventures back then, and one day I woke up like this. I had changed overnight. I got a full medical including genetic testing and so on. That proved I had become a real girl, double X chromosome and everything. It was done by magic, of course. I had someone who knows about magic check me out. I never found a way to change back. Before you say it's impossible, there are precedents. Both Tyresias and Orlando got changed from men into women. So there it is, that's my secret. I agree with you about men's clothes, by the way, they are pretty boring. That's one of the things I like about being a girl."

She drank off the rest of her champagne. The bottle was empty. She eyed it with a mild frown of regret.

Dee laughs, a pearly sound, like chimes in the ocean breeze. She shakes her head, not in disbelief, but amusement.

"Now, that is a secret I didn't expect. Then again", she shrugs, "several of my clients changed their gender. Though not by magic. Although I'm sure they would have preferred it." She notices the empty bottle. "There is more where that came from, if you want." She studies Olympe once more. "You just woke up like this? Did you mess with a witch maybe? They tend to hold grudges. Although turning into a women is one of the kinder curses they could have inflicted." She twitches her tail once more. "I do believe you, I know magic exists and I sensed that something was up in you. I'm not a human myself but I think you know that, don't you?"