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thecandywrites · 2 years

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Kinktober 2022 Day 3- Dirty Talk

So this is a fun twist on the prompt that I had a blast writing. Enjoy.

Again, many, many thanks to @starsandskies for her Kinktober prompts. Again, I'm still playing catch up. But! Hopefully you'll really like it.

Kinktober Day 3

Dirty Talk- Food Poisoning

You spotted your potential client and grinned and sauntered up to him and put your hand on one shoulder as you moved your hand from one shoulder to the other as you came around him.

“So what brings you around here Handsome?” You cooed to him as you took the glass of wine that was in his hand and daringly took a sip of it as you held his gaze almost defiantly.

“The usual reasons.” He answered back, as if he had been rehearsing that line at least a hundred times only moments before you asked your question.

“The usual reasons?” You scoffed before you put his glass of pinot noir back into his hand as you sucked your teeth in disappointment.

“Too bad. I don’t waste my time with the usual.” You tossed back before you turned around to walk away to find another potential client that would be worth your time.

“Why?” He called after you which halted your escape as you turned to the side to appraise him and give him an unimpressed look.

“Usual reasons means you have usual problems. It means you’ll need usual solutions to said problems. And it also means that you have the usual pay to solve those usual problems. And I’m not that kind of problem solver and my price is way higher than "the usual pay". Because I'm a specialist. But there are plenty of others in this place that will fix that usual problem for you right up without a single issue, you're surrounded by all kinds of tools whose bread and butter is "the usual". And I'm frankly unimpressed and find 'the usual' boring and not worth my time.” You answered back as you gestured to all the others that were walking around the place, scoping out potentials there while others came and headed straight to their preferred "problem solver". While you could only hope and pray that your favorite "subcontractors" would be coming in today to give you worthy of your time and expertise, and with the bank roll to make it worth your while too.

The “problem fixers” were indicated by key items. If they were male, or preferred to present as male, they wore black suits with red ties, red pocket squares in thier suit jackets and red shoes with gold and ruby tiebars and cufflinks and earrings if they so desired. With the occasional black gold chain encrusted with rubies among them or regular yellow gold chains, encrusted with rubies, garnets or any other precious red stone if they so desired.

If they were female, or at least- preferred to present as female- they wore black dresses or pantsuits with either a red belt, or sash. But with your dress this evening, you forewent the belt and the sash since it would break up the sleek designs of the dress itself and would break up the look and aesthetic you were going for. Because you sure did love putting the femme into femmefatal. But it was required that the black outfit have red shoes and a red clutch and red lipstick to match. Along with gold and ruby jewelry. Whether that be yellow, white, rose or black gold was up to the discerning taste of the wearer. Since the shade of red could vary slightly to make sure it was a was a flattering shade of red for the wearer. And also afforded for the "problem fixers" to differentiate themselves from the others while more of the senior members had thier own signiture look that didn't take kindly to copy-cats.

And if the "problem fixer" was either nonbinary or gender neutral or simply refused the classic gender roles, they had the most freedom of how they could dress their bodies. Just as long as it went with the theme of black, gold and red and very fashionable.

But usually, the more jewelry, especially the quality of said jewelry, or bling, the higher end designer brands you wore- indicated- how much your cost would be if you got commissioned to "fix problems". Cheap costume jewelry? While flashy- indicated you were new, barely trained and untested and had yet to earn any "real" money taking jobs from bids from the subcontractors. If you wore something real, but smaller and simpler- it either indicated you had a few jobs under your belt, but yet to build up enough of a portfolio of work or pay for that matter- to invest in your appearance in this place. But the big rollers, the ones who had been in this game the longest and had the most amazing wet work in their portfolio and they still wanted to be hired and to stay sharp- could afford to go all out. And some of the male presenting "problem presenters" could afford to practically look like a pimp with jewel encrusted everything, thick heavy furs, even in the heat of summer. And oppulant extravagance and it was usually the subcontractors- depending on their need- willing to increase thier price for the job ten fold if not more- to have "the best" fix thier problem for them.

And while you weren't quite to that level. You had enough experience to ask and demand a higher wage for your work while your quality of work was on par with some of the greats. But the only thing they had on you- was experience and connections. Which is what you were looking to build in yourself now. And you were hoping this ruby and diamond jewelry set would be worth it's investment if it got you viewed as one of the more desireable- "specialists" in here.

And it was the red that distinguished the "problem fixers" from the rest of the staff. Who wore black and gold exclusively. For female presenting persons, usually gold pearls on an item to distinguish them or if they were male, or presented as male, pure solid yellow-preferrably 24 karat gold for their accessories with no gemstones on the off chance they would be mistaken as anything other than the wait staff. But even they could afford to invest in thier own attire so that thier own tips for thier service would make any other waiter or waitress willing to slit thier own family's throats just to get the paydays these guys did. Because- just like in Vegas- with gambling Whales. The clientelle in this place could afford the best in food and drink and afford to leave thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of dollars in tips depending on how much food or drink they needed.

Otherwise the very lavish and luxurious private club could be mistaken for an exclusive nightclub but it far away from the flashing lights of Vegas, but in a city just as bright and just as bustling as any other world reknowned city. But this particular establishment was open 24/7 to serve it's own exclusive clientelle who could come from any time zone on the planet and need "work" done at any time of the day or night.

And the design of the place was exclusively black and gold with diamond or crystal accents in the chandeliers, which was why the "dress code" for those that worked here and got the privledge to work from here was so strict. There were many codes that many lived by here. And if you were serious and took your work seriously- you needed to present yourself as such, but still play into the illusion that this was just some fancy, super exclusive club. And not the assassin's den it was.

But this client, from the looks of him, wasn't worth your time. So you simply gave him a little waive goodbye with a smirk over your shoulder before you continued to walk away from him to look for another potential client before he came walking after you.

“Well what if I could offer you something unusual?” He offered, just a tad desperately too. Which was intriguing as you read him top to bottom and looked around to see if anyone else was watching your interaction with him to see if any other had overheard and was now on their way to try to claim this client right out from under your nose.

“Which is what? Vallina? Only distinguished by the fact that it’s from Madagascar as opposed to any other kind from any other source?” You returned as you paused again but turned all the way around to fully face him this time.

“No, I’m talking about the kind that is as dangerous and deadly- like food poisoning.” He tried to convey, as he dropped his volume to say the term 'food poisoning' as his cheeks flushed harder while fear flashed in his eyes. Which made you blink in surprise, not thinking he would have the nerve to say something like that- especially out loud and out on the open floor for anyone nearby to hear. Because "food poisoning" could have many implications in this establishment. But was never something to be taken lightly or dismissed. Because "food poisoning" was like a mini SOS signal. And the way he said it- told you it was a serious case. And depending on the severity, could be dangerous to the establishment as a whole.

Ok, so 'the usual' was more than what he seemed at first glance as you closed the distance between him and yourself as you looked into his eyes, trying to read his soul beyond them as your grin grew. Because "food poisoning" was also the kind of threat that many "contractors" allowed thier "subcontractors" to offer. It usually paid at least double or triple to get rid of. And if anything, your curiosity was piqued and you decided to give him a second chance to make a bid for your time and attention.

“Now why didn’t you lead with that? I love it when subcontractors talk dirty to me.” You cooed as you slipped back into your courtesan facade.

“Is there anywhere we could go privately to discuss the further details?” He asked hopefully before he pulled out a black envelope gilded in gold with the design that marked that what was inside was a job- open for bidding with a skull imprinted on the wax seal, which meant it was a kill order. Which only made the curve to your grin that much more dangerously wicked.

“Of course, come with me.” You offered as he pocketed the envelope and you took his arm, and since you were on his arm, the guards at the bottom of the stairs allowed both of you to ascend them in the first place. Because the VIP section was actually a series of booths for negotiations on the orders, offers and jobs. You brought him up the black and gold glittering stairs to the VIP booths that lined both sides of the hallway, looking for an open one- which they were all numbered, but if the booth was in use- it had a cover over the number to signify it as being in use.

The booths themselves were distinguised by the black silk curtains between the black marble columns that had gold leaf pressed into the various reliefs carved into the pillars themselves that indicated where one booth started and ended. But between the pillars- hung all around, both inside and out with long, black silk curtains- with gold glittering jewels sewn into a cascading design down the length of them. You pulled his pocket square from his business jacket pocket and put it over the number over the number jutting out of the pillar to indicate you were putting it into use. Since each "subcontractor" always had to have a pocket square or something similar to get the privlidge to come up here and get a private booth to discuss the details and negotiate.

And once you did that, you pulled back the curtains to reveal a set of doors before you opened one of them and gestured for him to enter it first which he did before you closed the curtains and then shut the door. You pressed a button inlaid into the special table inside the booth- to close that set of noise canceling doors since the space was enclosed in bulletproof, and noise proof plexiglass, hidden by long curtains of silk to hide the safety and security measure, just in case "negotiations" went south and got messy.

“Now, the room is secure, what is this ‘deadly dangerous food poisoning’ problem that you might need an exquisite problem solving tool- like me to fix? Come on, talk dirty to me.” You invited, your tone as salacious as the pose you struck on the small half circle black velvet couch in this little private booth.

“Uh, um, well, actually it’s all in here.” He rather nervously answered before he took the envelope back out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over to you which made your eyebrow raise in critical if not surprised fashion as your smile shrunk down to a pout. While this wasn't "unusual". It had been a while since you had a new client that used this particular proper proceedure. Usually only those who were brand new to this used this exact "proper" proceedure and formality. But such protocols and formalities could usually be dismissed and unused once there was more familiarity. But he was honoring the proper proceedure and protocol so you followed it in turn.

He must have been new. Very new. Because usually the subcontractors only let you glance at orders like these as they read the details which were more like ‘demands’ off to you, using coded language that sounded like “dirty talk” but was in reality- instructions for “problems” that they wanted “tools” and "problem solvers" like you to fix.

You took the envelope from him and took a moment to inspect it closely. Because this wasn’t your first encounter with a plant, or the bait for a trap, which this room was specifically built to save the tool, but kill the unlucky bastard who tried to play "subcontractor". But something about him didn’t lead you to believe that he wasn’t necessarily a plant- just a nervous first timer.

But this particular envelope was thicker than usual, which meant there were many "details" about this offer. The envelope was authentic though. And that’s all that mattered in that moment.

Because usually the fakes never got the tiny details about the envelope right. They either had the spacing off, or they didn’t have the gold embossing raised or quite the right pattern on the silken satined black paper. Or they got the paper it was printed on- wrong in thickness. It was a unique silk blend paper, with areas of matte or glossy pearl finish with real 24 karat gold leaf on the embossing. And gold foil lazer printed in other areas. You turned it around and noticed the second seal that under the first. The first seal simply held a special band around the envelope. The skull in gold wax- indicated it was a kill order.

But the second seal was to the actual envelope. That seal was what defined and dictated who the contractor was- that was offering the job. Each crime syndicate family had it’s own seal. And the seals themselves were also very hard to duplicate. You tapped your acrylic nail on the seal to make sure it was real wax and not that cheap plastic-y wax that the skull seal was always in because it was meant to glitter and glow like real gold but was essentially trash once it was broken and could be kept for your records as part of your portfolio. And the relief was also embossed with gold leaf too.

You recognized the seal. You had done many jobs for this particular syndicate before. And it was actually this syndicate you were hoping had a job lined up for you tonight since this syndicate never seemed to rest. Always working, always moving, always growing and expanding. It had started out as a big fish in a little pond and then when they made it to "the big time" they realized they were a small sardine in an ocean. But they were quickly gobbling up other fish and just kept on swimming and eating and were now quite the shark in comparison. Something to have a healthy fear of, high respect for, and graciousness and respect when dealing with. So you knew the seal was authentic. Which only led you to believe that the man next to you must be brand new to this. And probably wasn’t saying anything other than that one buzz word because he probably had no clue what to even say beyond that.

You broke the wax seal which for you- was another sign he must have been new- like newborn baby- still covered in afterbirth kind of new. Because the normal subcontractors broke the seals when they got the order and it was the order- made to look like a couture invitation- to even get through the doors and enter the establishment in the first place. The subcontractors had to- themselves have a dress code of thier own. Grays and either blues and greens, to contrast the black, gold and red.

But even at the door of the establishment, the invitation was scanned for "contrand". It was X-rayed, ultrasounded, wieghed, measured, and inspected to make sure it wasn't a fake as a security measure. But even the best fakes had gotten passed before, so each "problem solver" were always on thier toes so to speak because if a few had gotten through and past the doormen before, it could happen again, at any other moment.

But the regular subcontractors liked to open it and read it first and then “resealed it”. Which you could tell by how the red wax would have been partially remelted to restick to the paper. But this looked and felt like he was simply handed this by the contractor and sent in here, practically almost blind with the bare minimum of knowledge to not get himself killed on sight. Which meant he was either being protected, or- most likely- had not proven his trustworthiness and this was always the big test for "subcontractors" is if they could get into this place that was affectionately referred to as "the tool shed". Thus the construction terminology.

“You’re new.” You noted as you dropped the courtesan act and looked at him even more closely, keeping an eye out for every single detail possible to make sure he wasn't a plant. Because if he was, you had every right to kill him where he sat, because "food poisoning" was practically communicable in a place like this and posed just as big of a threat to the establishment as it could pose to it's respective syndicate.

New could be good though. Very good for the business, because the newest additions to the exclusive clientelle lists paid the most, while the oldest ones paid what they originally did when they first entered the agreement to have the right to even send someone in here with thier bids for jobs. It could also be good if he was new especially if this particular syndicate was growing.

But new could also be dangerous because new always came with the risk of it being a trap and "the new guy" or "new girl" being a plant from any of the agencies like the FBI- CIA or MI6 or whatever. Even though most "problem solvers" usually were ex military or had any kind of "formal" or "informal" training as an assassin to be "deemed good enough" to be "a tool" for any particular "tool box" in this "tool shed".

But so far- he was following protocol. So you didn’t feel the need to press the hidden panic button that was hidden in an unassuming gold tile in the other wise black marble with gold inlay on the floors- to get the room surrounded and to open up a trap door for you to fall through before the room would be blasted and kill anything and everything within the booth, thus- the bomb proof plexiglass.

Because you didn’t see how he could pose a serious threat to you. At least from his spot on that couch and especially since while this dress didn’t leave much to the imagination, it still held the fact that you were armed to the teeth and could kill him at least 16, if not 17 ways just from sitting here without breaking a sweat, or a nail.

You opened the envelope and pulled out the distinct card. The correct perfect thickness of the sleek and silken pearlized pitch black but patterened paper. Complete with the embossed- gold gilded border. So far, so good. The gold foil type was even correct. It had a sequence number at the top and the correct date typed under the sequence number so that both the contractor, the tool and the tool shed could keep track of any and all work done.

The establishment sent out these "blank"- "invitations" to the syndicates with deliberate spaces in gold foiled lettering and lines in any language the syndicate liked to work in- so that the syndicate could fill in the blanks with gold ink as to what they needed. But each "invitation" had a cost unto itself to even get a single one of. But most syndicates could afford to buy them in bulk and by the dozen, if not by the hundreds for any given year. And any "unused" invitations from the previous years, could be exchanged and "rolled over" into the next year while others had standing orders and only the original members of this club could use invitations that didn't need to be numbered according to the year but still had to be serialized in number. So it was an authentic offer from an authentic syndicate.

Just a new subcontractor who didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing in the tool shed.

Great.

You needed to ask for more in your fee for them to send you the FNG and scaring you into thinking that the syndicate and the establishemnt were in danger from this "food poisoning". Which was very fatal in it's full understanding.

“Is it that obvious?” He asked as he flushed a bit sheepishly and fidgeted with his watch, which you could appreciate was probably standard issue for him in that particular syndicate because each syndicate did have thier own unique styling as well. But you could tell it was recording your interaction with him, probably more for his protection than yours to make sure that you both followed proceedure and protocol. Which was allowed, since syndicates needed to be a bit paranoid to make sure that the tool they were using was authentic too. Because it wasn't unusual for "plants" to hide as "new tools" in the tool shed either. And thankfully, the plants got picked out pretty quickly because they didn't follow the protocol or the full dresscode. Because otherwise, tools could be traded and moved to different tool boxes in different tool sheds because of the vetting process involved in becoming a tool. And communication between tool sheds was immaculate and nothing seemed to get passed them.

“The usual subcontractors- which is what you are for coming in here- have usually already broken the seal and read the offer and choose their desired tools according to the needs of the situation or "problem" that needs a "problem solver" or "tool" like me to fix. The fact that you didn’t, means either you are not that familiar with the catalog that lists all the tools in this "tool box" for this particular "tool shed". Or it could have meant that you already knew what was in here without having to open it, and that any tool would do. Or, possibly, that you're looking to pinch a few pennies and are hoping a cheaper tool that doesn’t get used that much- is eager to make it out of the tool box to be used and get resharpened before it’s considered no longer a viable or productive tool and no longer kept as a tool. Because no one keeps rusty tools in their tool boxes. Because rust- like food poisoning- can spread and be more of a liability rather than useful.” You waived off dismissively as you read it over before you grinned when you read it and were delighted by the "problem" that needed to be fixed.

The bid to solve and correct the rather dangerous and indeed deadly problem that definitely counted as "food poisoning" was, as you expected and hoped for- two and a half times the usual price for such a job, mostly because of who had caused it. Because this problem- risked this family’s exposure and could lead to multiple members of the contractor's immediate family as well as the key members of the syndicate being vulnerable and needing "medical assistance". Which usually meant a trip to a very special hospital that was a line of hospitals around the world that tools, subcontractors and contractors alike could use and access to get the "medical care" they needed. That could range from anything to plastic surgery to alter appearance, fake thier deaths and actual medical records, patch ups and recovery, you name it- they could provide it- to keep you alive, even if you had to use one of many "spare" lives you could afford and if at all possible- keep everyone healthy and happy and most important- functioning so that business wouldn't be interrupted, and neither would the flow of funds in all of it's glorious forms. Gone were the days of cold hard cash, but now that practically everything was digital, you really only needed to have a cache of hard currency, as more of a disaster preparedness kind of situation. Otherwise, because all tools in the tool shed, depending on what kind they were and what specialties they had- meant that with every successful job, not only did your fee increase, but so did the "budjet" from the establishment so that you- as a tool- had everything you needed to get the job done and done well. And this job had an offer that the syndicate would vouch for the tool to be 100% funded and backed. With even a special care package guaranteed. Which for you was icing on this surprisingly exciting and dangerous cake for taking out the deadly point of threat.

And right now, this syndicate was hoping to keep the "food poisoning" to as few in number of people as possible. It needed not just any tool with any particular skillset, quite the opposite. It needed to have a very special tool with a very special skill set to fix the problem. And clean up the mess, scrub the area, clean up any signs of any food poisoning. Which, depending on how many people could "contract" it. Could threaten the entire syndicate and potentially cross-contaminate the establishment. Which was why the establishment already put thier stamp of approval for full funding when they recieved the order for this particular job's bid invitation. The offer also requested that that the tool- tie up any and all loose ends and leave the scene spotless. And it was right in your wheelhouse.

But this was only the initial bid, with only the biggest and most important details listed. However, what was unique was that this offer came with a very quick timeline because "food poisoning" could be quite contageous quite quickly and it was very urgent and needed immediate action to rectify and cure, clean, decontaminate and immobolize, deactivate and sterlize the source of the food poisoning so that the threat was rendered inert and came with a shockingly short deadline, which would also explain the higher than usual fee. Because the point of threat was trying to use what they had gotten and use it as blackmail against the syndicate. Which was why it now counted as "food poisoning". And the job required you to retrieve the blackmail intact but of course, not see what said blackmail was so you yourself wouldn’t be seen as a potential threat either and be "exposed" to the "contamination".

Food poisoning indeed.

“So what’s the take?” You asked him.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“Wow, you are really brand-spankin' new. Do you need me to really spell all of this out for you?” You asked him with a frown.

“Uh, no, I uh, just need to know if you’ll accept it or not.” He answered.

“Any special conditions if I do?” You asked.

“Only that you do so and finish the job before the deadline that’s on it.” He answered before you nodded and hummed in response.

So you pulled your special fountain pen out of your clutch- with ink that glowed under black light- so that to the onlooker under normal light- it never had anything written on it at all. The pen was specially made just for you, and your pen that distinguished you from the other “tools” in this toolbox. But the ink- was rather universal to be used by all the tools belonging to this particular tool shed becuase under blacklight- instead of glowing blue or even a slight purpleish blue- it glowed pink which was as close to red as they could get since the color of choice for this tool shed was red since all the toolsheds kept to the black and gold styling and decore, but the accent color to signify the "tools" was unique to the toolshed itself and the very lucky tools could go and work from any and all tool sheds around the world and had all the sets of "dress code" to match.

And the only other identification you could give was your handwriting style and signiture, that was also in the catalog too. You swiped your fountain pen's tip to get the special ink over your thumb before you pressed your thumb print into the paper with your signature, as another safety precaution and protocol to protect the subcontractor that they were working with a professional tool, and not a fake or a plant. The thumb print especially was used to distinguish each tool from the others and was also in the catalog that only the heads of the syndicate had access to such things and were kept under more locks and keys than any gold or jewels could be. Because a tool's thumb print was just tantamount to signing the contract- or in this case- your counter offer- in blood because of all the layers of anonymity to keep everyone safe and to keep the contractors themselves- clean and safe which in turn was a layer of protection for their immediate friends and family.

You wrote your own special conditions on the back in order for you to take the offer and be the "tool- used” to fix this problem on such short notice. But with the same quality of work as previously given on your previous work with them. You blew on the ink to make sure it dried into the special paper and didn't smudge. Then once the ink dried, you slipped the paper back into the envelope and used the heat from your cigarette lighter to reheat the wax on the bottom edge of the seal on the envelope before you sealed it again and handed it back to him, but kept the strip of special black paper with the gold wax seal showing a skull with you- as proof that you were in active negotiations with a client.

“I’ll be waiting right here for the answer. The guards at the bottom of the stairs will let you back up without me because your pocket square is still on the number because we are now negotiating terms.” But this envelope is your key in and out of the tool shed. Guard it with your life." You offered to him as you pressed the same button hidden in the inlay of the table that opened the doors so he could go and deliver your counter offer before a server came in just after he left and noticed your subcontractor left the booth- envelope in hand as he quickly walked down the long hallway and down the steps to go outside where he could give the counter offer to the contractor- who- should be nearby, but not so close so as to be caught up- just in case the establishment came under fire from an ambush.

“Anything I can get for you while you wait Love?” The waiter asked with a tray tucked under his arm.

“I’ll take a Viper Venom and a Fluer slider- medium rare. I have a feeling I might have a while to wait and I’m hungry. Also, is there any way you can tell me what FNG subcontractor I just got a bid from? He practically still had afterbirth on him. He followed protocol but if he had not had an authentic bid on him, I would have thought he was a plant and would and could have killed him on sight and ordered that whoever's offer he had on him- got compromised.” You requested.

“Yes Ma’am.” He answered before he left to get you what you requested as you sipped on the wine that the subcontractor had left in his glass on the table.

Besides, every time you came into the "tool shed" you got comped a meal for however many hours it took for you to secure a bid. Usually the negotiations for such jobs could take a whole hour in itself, if not two or three.

But the Fluer sandwhich was your favorite thing on the menu. It had an A5 Wagyu steak cooked perfectly to your preferred tastes- medium rare, with generous slices of truffles, aoli and arugula on some fancy brioche bun. Big enough to satisfy an appetite but not so large that one felt sleepy or sluggish after eating it. It was positively delectable. Along with your favorite drink that was a favorite among all the other “tools” here. It was sweet, fruity, and practically lethal in potency because the bartenders were very generous in thier pours at the bar. It was a common practice among the bartenders here to be very genous in thier pours because the more liquored up the subcontractors and tools were, the more likely they could amicably come to a solution to the problem presented to them. And the drink countered all the dry wines or other drinks the other subcontractors ordered.

The waiter came back a little later than usual, but your drink was still ice cold and the food hot and fresh from the kitchen as the folder barely had much of anything in it.

“What in the everloving fucking hell?!” You frowned when you looked at the folder.

“Is the food or drink not up to your standards Ma'am?” The waiter asked.

“No, of course they are always excellent. But what is up with this file? Is this the cliff notes to the real thing or is he really so new that can barely fill a folder at all?” You asked rather rhetorically.

"That's all I could get from management." The waitor shrugged which earned an irritated eyeroll.

"Well thanks anyway for pulling it. I appreciate it." You thanked him as you tipped him a crisp hundred dollar bill, because while your meal was free, the waitor deserved to be paid well for thier work and discretion. Because that wine tasted expensive, like at least a grand just for a glass expensive.

You picked up the pitifully thin file up and looked through it and just frowned deeper and deeper as you read through the scant details inside of it. The "subcontractor" which that title was a big streatch for what he was- his name wasn’t ringing any bells. His face didn’t have any of the “familiar” facial features from the well known “contractor” that sent “subcontractors” who were usually direct decendants or very close compatriots here as "subcontractors"- out to get “tools”.

He had to be either a son in law or a nephew or something. Someone close but not necessarily of blood relation. Because otherwise there was nothing in this folder that suggested he should qualify as even a subcontractor and should not even been allowed to set foot into this establishment.

'Newbie indeed.' You mentally griped as a low, dangerous growl left your throat before you picked up the sandwhich and took a big bite of it and chewed it rather aggressively and not at all in a "lady like manner". But this FNG was getting on your nerves, if the FNG was even worth the suit he was wearing. He would need to clean the afterbirth off of himself and learn to act his part and do so quickly if you were going to have to do deal with him in the future. God, if he really was so new, that he couldn't grasp more than "food poisoning". You'd have to talk shop and practically hold his hand and it'd be like teaching a kindergardener- trying to teach him the "right" lingo here. Because it very much was a language all it's own. With it's own rules and slang too. And if the counter offer included a demand that you'd have to hold the FNG's hand to walk him through this process, you were going to demand twice the already generous price. You lost your patience for dealing with FNG's and newbies years ago.

You finished your meal and your drink by the time he had made it back to the room just in time for the waitor to "refresh" his wine glass with more wine.

“Did you get lost?” You asked him rather dryly, if not sarcastically as you reached your hand out for the envelope that would either be a confirmation or would be a counter offer.

“Uh, no just, um the contractor had more details for your consideration.” He answered as he handed it back to you as you opened the envelope, popping the seal with ease. You flipped a switch under the table so you could read what had been written back - under your bid for the job. Since all negotiations were always written in UV ink as it turned the purple lights on in the booth and got your own ink to glow pink and your contractor's ink to glow the usual ultraviolet color.

“Sit down.” You ordered him before he obeyed and immediately sat, very ridgidly on the couch and didn't even reach for the glass of wine as you could hear his heavy labored breathing as if he just got done running a marathon.

“Whose son in law or nephew are you? Because you're of no blood relation to the contractor and his familiy. Not unless you're the son of any number of the contractor's mistresses.” You asked him pointedly as you read over the counter offer and frowned even deeper as your coy smile was replaced with a hard, serious look instead.

“Excuse me?” He asked as he balked at your very serious question and tone.

“First off, this? Is pathetic.” You began as you lifted up his file folder before you slid it to him across the table.

“You would need ten times the experience and have way more modalities to even have you qualify as “subcontractor”. The fact that you are not just a newbie, you practically have your umbilical cord attached and afterbirth on you. So that means in order for this to be authentic- and legitimate." You held up the invitation that had been in the envelope for emphasis.

"For you to be this inexperienced but still be considered a subcontractor that is even allowed to enter the tool shed and into this particular tool box to select a tool- means you must have very considerable and serious connections. So to explain your newness- you have to be either the son of a contractor, the son in law of one or the nephew of one because other than your blood relation to the contractor, they're the only ones allowed in here without proving themselves to the establishment's management. So before I give you my answer to the counter offer, I need you to cut through all the cat and mouse bullshit and tell me who you really are and what’s really going on. Don’t start talking dirty to me now, because I sincerely doubt you know what any of it would really mean anyway.” You demanded firmly before you pulled your hold handled gun from it's holster on your hip and pointed it at him after you pushed the safety off since it was already chambered with a live round.

"You have to the count of three, one..." You began before he put his hands up in surrender.

"No! No! No! Don't shoot, you're right. I'm the son in law to the contractor!" He immediately confessed.

“Fuck, I'm not cut out for this. You're right. I have no business in here. I'm the newest of newbies. I didn't know until this afternoon I was even coming here. I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm in way over my head.” He practically blubbered as tears came to his eyes.

“Yes. My father in law is Victor Von Marriongnois. He wants me in the family business. But I had no idea just what kind or how big or all encompassing said “family business” was. And yes, this is the first time I'm doing any of this. I know that you’re an assassin that likes to go by either "a problem fixer" or a "tool" for anonymity's sake, for your safety and for mine. And that if I tried to say the wrong thing you’d kill me on the spot because of how weary all of you have to be for your own survival. Look, I’m just an accountant from IT. I'm barely able to keep up with the others on the financial team since IT and finance are so integrated now- for my fahter in law. I used to just launder money for him and his family and their businesses and probably not even half of what’s in that folder is true. It's probably just filler to make me out to be more "experienced" as whatever I'm supposed to be in here. Once I realized I fucked up, Falicia took me in for a "family meeting" to explain what I did. And I tried to fix it. But I don't know if I made it worse or what." He began to confess as you could finally see the real fear and other emotions on his face and in his voice which got you to lower your gun but still kept the safety off, just in case.

"My father in law told me that since I fucked up- that I needed to clean it up. And do it right and finish what I started. That in order to that- I needed to come to the "tool shed" to get the right tool to do so for me because I apprently didn't clean it up right or whatever. But he said all I needed to do is come in here, that a “tool” would approach me and for me to say it was “usual business” and that that would get me into a room like this and to keep an eye on the kind of pen you had because each pen apprently is unique to the tool and to tell him what the pen was so he would know which tool I got. But to otherwise not say anything else, that all I needed to do was to hand the “bid” to the tool, and the tool would either accept or decline but I was not to leave this place without getting a tool to accept it and to fix it." He continued.

"And in the worst case scenerio- that if I said "food poisoning" it would convey whatever that term is meant to convey. But it would get a serious tool to consider me and the offer seriously. I have no idea what any of that means. I’m just doing as I’m told. Because Falicia needs me to, so I’m not a liability to her, any more than I already am since she's practically royalty and I'm just a geek from nowhere but just happened to have a thing for computers and for technology and numbers and for laundering money and moving it around so it all seems legitamate." He explained.

"Falicia is her father's head accountant so we worked really closely for a lot of things and just...closeness bred fondness that grew from there. We just got married, we just got back from our honeymoon for crying out loud! But because I fucked up while we were on said honeymoon- she's in trouble and this could get her whole family and everyone she loves in trouble.” He readily confessed before you ‘oh’ed’ in understanding and put the safety back into place on your gun and reholstered it.

“Ok, that explains things. Yeah, you totally would have completely fucked up if you tried to “talk dirty” to me and you would have gotten yourself killed for doing it wrong, because people have been killed in here over less. You poor thing. Show me Falicia.” You sympathized with him as you appreciated his wedding ring and just shook your head.

But Falicia was a friend. You had dealt with her personally many times since she was her father's daughter and had a gift for her family's business. So you gladly and happily signed off on accepting the counter offer and put both thumb prints on it from each hand- to show that it was a done deal. Then put the invitation back into the envelope and you re-sealed the wax seal again and put it back into his hands as he blew a sigh of relief. Especially once he brought up his wedding pictures with his bride Falicia Von Marriongnois-Chantemont on his phone to show you as you recognized Falicia and her obvious new husband in them, and you were now relieved that you didn't have to kill him, just because he was a newbie who just happened to know he was in way over his head. You got to learn that this subcontractor-Falicia’s husband- was indeed Thomas Chantemont and the two did look really happy, both for the wedding and all the other pictures he had of the both them on his phone as you could see how long the relationship had been going on since the man had pictures of the two of them going back for over a year. But Falicia never talked personal life and details in here. Always only business, which you appreciated.

“Well, it's a good thing you said "food poisoning". Because to the Von Marriongnois, that's something very, very serious. And I would hate for any member of that family to fall ill. Tell Falicia that Valincia is going to take care of it and that, as always, I have her back. I take it this is to cover up the fact that you and her got into a little too much trouble and got caught or at least photographed doing it?” You guessed as you nodded to the envelope.

“Yeah. I had to do some “business” on our honeymoon and I- like the literally drunken idiot used the hotel’s wifi to do it. So my internet traffic practically had to use a public highway and of course it got spotted. Stupid, rookie mistake. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess.” He admitted as you sucked in a breath between your teeth as you grimaced.

“Yikes. Yeah. That counts as food poisoning. And Falicia is Victor's favorite daughter. I can't imagine the hoops you had to jump through to get her to be your bride. Well at least you’re sweet and honest, which is a very big rarity. Especially in this business. And is probably why she likes you and loves you enough to trust you to be a big boy about this and deal with this yourself. You manned up. I'm sure she's very proud of you, as is your father in law. Good for you. I’m happy for you both. So, as a favor to Falicia, I’m going to do you a favor and give you some pointers on how to clean that afterbirth off of you because of how much of a newbie you are to all of this. If you ever have to come into this place again, or any other “tool shed” again. Because many contractors use many tools in many toolboxes and may have multiple tool sheds- right?” You explained metaphorically as he slowly nodded in understanding.

“Next time, heaven forbid, you have to come in here and do this again- first, ask your father in law for the opportunity to look at the catalog for the toolshed and toolbox of his choice. Because, he– as a “contractor”- is allowed to have one for every tool box in every toolshed available to him. And you- as one of his “subcontractors” as brand new to this as you are- are allowed to be familiar with it too- if you so choose to be, that is. If not, that’s ok, and I’m sure Falicia would be happier if her husband wasn’t “talking dirty” to another woman, or even another guy, even if it’s metaphorically speaking. Each tool in said catalog will list what each tool is best for what purpose and which tool specializes in what. You don’t send a scalpel to hammer in a nail, right? You follow?” You explained.

“Yes Ma’am.” He nodded.

“Good. Next, if you ever have to do this again, memorize the catalog to the point that you know who are the tried and true, who are the new tools, but most importantly- which ones are the untested tools. Because they haven’t been used so they’re cheaper but they’re a gamble if they’ll get the job done and not leave a bigger mess and more problems than you were trying to fix and clean up by using them in the first place. You still with me?” You asked.

“Yes.” He confirmed.

“And the way you can tell that- is look at what they're wearing- simple jewels- newer tools that haven't had a whole lot of experience, the bigger the jewelry or the bigger the bling, especially if it's the real thing and not fucking cubic zirconia stained red to imitate a ruby- the more expensive the tool will cost to use. But usually the better quality of work they do. But this was not "usual business" this really was serious and potentially deadly. So you got lucky by catching my interest and I'm sure Falicia will be relieved to know that I will be handling this for her personally. I've taken bullets for her before in the past and I'll pass through hail, rain, sleet, snow, magma, whatever- for her and for her familiy. But in the future- If you need "a snake in the grass", you should also know to not send a black mamba when a garden snake will do. You still follow? The right tool for the right job. Each tool in here- to you and to the untrained eye- they may all look alike. But trust me, some of us have gained a little speck of rust here and there, some of us are very shiny, either because we polish ourselves to mirror finish or are shiny because we’ve never been used before, much less, just fresh out of the box and brand new to the tool box and the tool shed. And if you’re going to be a real subcontractor, and a regular one at that- you’ll need to learn the difference between us all. And usually, the more disastrous the problem, the more tools you’ll need to fix it and the more sophisticated those tools will need to be to fix it too because your problems may not be just a leak in a pipe causing mold. It may need tools from carpentry, drywall and plumbing in addition to hazmat for the mold. You still with me?” You furthered.

“Yes.” He nodded.

"Next thing. Especially if you’re the person who fucked up and made a mess and are sent into this toolshed to find the right tools to fix it. But even if it’s not your problem, if the contractor trusts you enough to be their subcontractor to come into this tool shed and into this tool box to select a tool. Open up the bid or offer- whichever term you prefer- to read it yourself. Because sometimes some contractors will slip extra things into it- and either won’t tell you to protect you so you can claim that you had no idea what you were doing or what you were involved with if what we do in the shadows ever comes into the light." You advised him.

"But mostly, because you're Falicia's husband, you probably got a pass on this one because of how close and entrenched into the family you are and will continue to be. But I’ve also seen when subcontractors fuck up bad enough, that they are sent into a particular tool shed that’s really more of a slaughterhouse. And the bid is really to actually kill the messenger." You warned him, because for Falicia's sake, you felt he was owed that much at least.

"So that kind of blind faith and blind obedience can get you killed when it's not earning you faith and trust from your father in law or in this case- your contractor. It almost did tonight because even though you followed protocol, because you were so new, I almost thought you were a trap sent in here to try to snare either myself or any of the other tools and when i saw your father in law's seal, I worried that the whole familiy had already been compromised and completely poisoned by that food poisoning and I didn't want that to cross contaminate this place. This is our place of business, this is where we earn a living and every tool shed that has to shut down, the tools, when they're not caught in the crossfire, have to be shuffled and sent to other tool sheds to keep them as tools. Which is again, very dangerous and obviously deadly. But I'm telling you this because it has happened in the past and it can happen again. Which I'm sure Falicia and her father could tell you all kinds of stories about. So, again, if you ever have to do this again, know the job, so you select the right tool. Because there are some tools here that flock to amatures and take advantage of their inexperience to ask for more pay, more perks from the establishment, more everything just to get ahead and fatten up their own bottom lines at your expense. And Falicia is my friend and I would never dream of doing her or her family dirty just because you’re brand new baby level of new to this. Ok?” You emphasized.

“Right, makes sense.” He nodded in understanding.

“Also, if and when you learn how to first- talk shop- meaning you- plainly talk about the problem and plainly ask for solutions. There are some tools that don’t even like talking shop. They prefer to “talk dirty” in euphemism and metaphor, because talking plain shop can make people uneasy. Because usually plants will talk plain shop because when they can’t talk dirty and talk dirty right- their lives are on the line. And they are just in this tool box looking for a dirty tool. So when you have graduated from talking shop to “talking dirty”, make sure you can speak it fluently and make sure you completely and fully understand what each thing means. And don’t let your mouth make promises that you- as a subcontractor and not a full contractor yourself, have the authority to offer or say in the first place. I’ve seen too many subcontractors just trying to secure enough tools for “a build” or “a repair” or “a problem” that they weren’t authorized to say or offer. And it costed the contractor way too much than the subcontractor themselves were worth. which lead to those subcontractor's demise. Hopefully this is the one and only time we ever have to meet in person and face to face unless I'm pulled into to act as your shield to protect you and Falicia and any little kiddos you may have along the way. But if you do ever get to have the privilege to come in here again, look for me if I’m not otherwise occupied. Now that I know your face and your connection. We can build rapport with each other and learn to trust each other for a more fruitful working relationship." You offered your hand for him to shake.

“Thank you. I’ll tell Falicia you said hi and tell her that you told all me this as a favor to her, which I'm sure she'll appreciate because my father in law only told me just enough to get me in here, and it was like plunging a kid into the deep end of the pool to see if I would sink or swim." He admitted as his blush started to fade and he reached for his wine and gulped it down.

"But, wait, if you’re such good friends, how come you didn’t come to the wedding?” He asked as an afterthought.

“Did you have all of your computers and laptops lined up at the wedding or reception to show everyone there how you laundered all that money for them and exactly which computers you used to do it with?” You asked with a tilt of your head and a sympathetic grin.

“Ah, I see. No. No I didn’t.” He shook his head no.

“Same thing. Tools should be kept safe from the weather and elements in a toolbox and in a tool shed until they need to be used. It’s safer for everyone involved. Thus- why contractors have subcontractors- it gives everyone a sense of safe anonymity. Usually the only times the tools see the contractors themselves- is when there’s a problem big enough they need the whole toolbox and the whole tool shed to fix. Because remember, tool sheds can hold many, many tool boxes and each tool box is for usually reserved to fix various kinds of work- like how a plumber's tool box is specifically stocked with special plumbing tools. Just like there are carpentry tools, drywall tools, roofing tools, plumbing tools, same thing. And then there are just “general tools” that you can use for anything and everything. And it takes a lot for a tool to be counted trustworthy and universally applicable enough to make it to that utility tool belt if you catch my drift.” You explained.

“I see, so, just out of curiosity, if I had needed to "talk dirty" to you about this, what would I have said?” He asked curiously.

“You would have said "That we should get on a plane and go to a five star all inclusive resort and get room service with a view and ask for our room to be scrubbed extra clean because the last maid got sloppy with the room service and you have to watch out for food poisoning.” You answered.

“Oohh.” He nodded.

“Ok, that makes sense, I think.” He answered as he blinked a few times as he gave his brain a moment to process that.

“Well, it was a pleasure to do business with you. As always please send my thanks and regards to your father in law and of course to your divinely gorgeous bride Falicia. And stay in the honeymoon phase as long as you can. And try not to make any more mistakes, especially of the "stupid" variety. Especially onces that could lead to the whole family getting food poisoning if you catch my drift.” You offered. Then you stood, which prompted him to stand with you and you firmly shook his hand and left the booth, while the busboy quickly cleaned the room and got it ready to be put back into use by another subcontractor.

You got his pocket square from the doorway's number and folded it in a peculiar way, because how it was folded and placed into the pocket also had meaning to the contractor.

“Don’t forget to grab a bite to eat and get another drink for the road before you go. If this place was a public restaurant, it would get a 3 Michilan star rating. Most subcontractors usually eat before they get down to business.” You offered to him as you gestured to the bar and the variety of tables below you that various other members were enjoying a meal at.

“Will do. Thanks again Valincia.” He offered as he shook your hand again which got you to giggle. Oh sweet innocent thing he was.

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