Remi paced along the length of the same table he had negotiated with Veronica at. Which reminded him...

"Have you heard anything from the Italians?" he asked Leon, who had been watching Remi prowl back and forth like a tiger in a cage. 

"They bought a couple lots, but have yet to break ground." Leon propped his feet up on the table. "I think they're just waiting on the permits before construction can get going."

Remi nodded, making another pass along the length of the table. He looked at his watch. They'd been here for nearly forty-five minutes. What could be taking Moira so long? He was eager to get this done with.

"How hard would it be to make sure Larry's crew is the one Veronica hires?" Remi asked, looking up when a pigeon cooed and fluttered through the rafters overhead. 

"Considering he runs your construction company, probably not very high?" Leon said, voice bored. He picked an invisible piece of lint from his suit and shrugged. "I'll see what I can do to make the best bid."

Remi smiled wryly, his fingers tapping at the top of his thigh. The idea of charging Veronica over something that was already slated to make him money was ridiculously appealing.

They both looked toward the propped open door when there was a crunch of tires on gravel. Remi glanced at Leon. "I don't suppose you have an extra shirt in your car?"

"Don't I always?" Leon gave him an affronted look. Remi smiled, taking off his jacket, then the vest. He took a moment to sweep the dust off the table before folding them neatly and placing them on the edge.

They could hear Moira by now. Remi undid his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

"You have stitches," Leon reminded him just as a man appeared in the doorway. They squinted against the sun backlighting him.

Then there was a muffled thud and a huff of pained breath, and the man was flying into the room. Moira came storming in behind him. Her usually neat braid was a mess, and there was a bruise blooming around her right eye, along with a split lip.

She let out a snarl like a pissed lion and pounced on the man still lying on the floor. Remi grinned when she grabbed his collar and proceeded to smash his teeth in. He strolled across the concrete floor to a spot in almost the exact center of the warehouse floor, watching Moira work.

What a delightfully vicious little beast she was. No wonder those dogs cowed to her.

"Moira," he said, finally tugging on her leash when blood sprayed from the man's mouth. She looked up at him, her teeth bared in a feral mask. He tapped the back of a chair in the middle of the warehouse floor.

She stood up, drawing a gun. The small click of the hammer being thumbed back made the pimp peer up. She flicked the muzzle slightly, gesturing for him to get up.

To his credit, he just spit a mouthful of blood that landed dangerously close to what Remi knew was a new pair of boots. Slowly, spewing a stream of nasty curses, the pimp got to his feet and glared at Moira.

Remi walked up behind him on silent feet, waiting.

"Fucking cunt," he snarled before turning around.

Remi was already swinging. His left wasn't as powerful as his right, but it did the job, smashing into the pimp's jaw, spinning him back to the floor. Ignoring the twinge in his side, Remi bent and fisted his hands in the man's collar, hauling him to his feet before tossing him into the chair.

It wobbled precariously, making him splay his arms, flailing to keep his balance.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you how to speak to women?" he asked blandly.

The pimp aimed another snarl at Moira. "That ain't no woman."

Remi walked over and gently gripped Moira's chin, tipping her head back so he could assess the damage. Her eyes begged him to let her kill the asshole. Fury at the thug's audacity ripped through him. Who did this piece of street filth think he was, laying hands on something that belonged to Remi?

He'd pay for every mark on Moira, just like he'd pay for every mark on that girl.

"Where's Marcus?" he asked, finally turning his attention back to the pimp. The man at least had the good sense not to move. At least, not while Moira still had a gun in her hand.

Moira sighed, rubbing absently at the blood that had trickled from her lip and was now drying on her chin. "I went by his place first. Dalen said he didn't want to be bothered until you came and straightened out this thing with Gina."

"Did he now?" Remi's voice was nothing more than a deadly purr. How bold of him.

Leon snorted, but only shook his head when Remi glanced at him. After a moment, he returned his attention to the pimp, Moira stalking around behind him. Remi leaned over the top of the guy, crowding him, though he kept his hands in his pockets. For the moment.

A tattoo snaked up the side of his neck, stark black against his light brown skin. He had a ring through his lip, and another through his eyebrow, and Remi had no interest in tearing his knuckles on them.

"You know why you're here?" he asked softly.

"No. Who the fuck are you?" The answer was sullen and the tone was disrespectful. Remi reached up, quick as a snake, and tore the piercing from the pimp's eyebrow.

The man let out a strangled scream and Remi stepped back as he bowed forward, hand cupping his eyebrow. Remi tossed the ring to the floor, and waited. Fuming, the pimp started to get out of the chair, but stopped when Moira placed the barrel of the gun against the space between his neck and shoulder.

Slowly, he sat back down.

"People tend to address me with a little more respect," Remi suggested. "Now. Are you sure you don't know why you're here?"

The only answer he got this time was silence. And what was sad was that Remi knew this guy probably actually had no idea what he'd done wrong. So Remi sighed heavily, snatching up the man's wrist.

He struggled for a moment before Remi pressed his thumb down on a busted knuckle, making the pimp yelp and jerk away.

"I'm sorry," Remi said. "That's probably tender. Wanna tell me how that happened?"

Understanding dawned over his face. "That what this about, man?" The pimp shrugged his jacket back up onto his shoulders. "Shit, man, she was just a mouthy bitch."

Remi grabbed his collar and punched him, relishing in the crunch as the pimp's nose broke. Again he waited for the yowling and swearing to stop. 

"You broke my nose," the pimp moaned, curling forward. "You fucking broke my nose!"

"Yeah," Remi swung again, knuckles barking against the ridge of his cheekbone, "probably."

"I didn't fuckin' do nothin'," the pimp whimpered. "Just my job. Just my job." His voice rose to a shriek as Remi raised a fist again.

"Your job," Remi spat, "is to make me money."

The pimp's face went blank. He looked around wildly, like his situation was finally dawning on him and then he looked back up. Shaking his head, he said, "What the fuck are you talking about, man? I work for Marcus."

"And Marcus works for me," Remi replied silkily. "I don't take too kindly to you damaging. My. Merchandise." The last three words were punctuated with three hard hooks to the man's stomach

Silence reigned for a moment, then the man looked up at Remi, and Remi recognized that dumbass gleam in his eyes. "What's it even matter?" the pimp sneered. "Bitches need a firm hand. Ho got lippy and I taught her a lesson."

Remi leaned down again, wincing slightly. It didn't matter if he saw. He put a hand on the back of the man's chair. He smiled, and the pimp blanched. "That's what I'm doing," Remi whispered. "Teaching a lesson."

Then he straightened and sauntered back to the table. "I'm teaching you that you reap what you sow. I don't take very kindly to punks like you who think it's okay to knock around a woman."

Turning, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the table. Moira tucked her gun back into her belt. The blood on Remi's knuckles smeared on the sleeves of his shirt.

The pimp laughed, the sound breathy and posturing. He gestured to his broken nose, smiling through the blood. "That's it? Not much of a lesson, bitch."

Remi threw his head back and laughed, the sound wickedly amused. Even Leon chuckled behind him. The pimp was scowling when Remi looked back down.

He grinned, the expression feeling as sharp as it looked. "Who said I was giving it?"

Before the pimp could wrap his putrid mind around what Remi meant, Moira snatched up his wrist, pulling his arm straight out to the side. Remi bared his teeth in something between a cringe and a grin when the bone snapped as she drove her palm into his arm, just above the elbow.

The resulting scream echoed through the wide space, making pigeons scatter out the broken windows high above. Remi settled back against the table, his knuckles stinging and his side on fire, just watching Moira tear the pimp to pieces.

"I think Marcus could use a little lesson as well," Remi said softly.

Leon sighed and muttered, "I wasn't planning on a body today, Remi." 

The words were almost drowned out by the wet smack of Moira's fist into the man's already split ear. He was sniveling and crying, begging for Moira to stop.

Moira wouldn't stop until Remi told her to.

When the ammonia scent of piss hit him, Remi extended a hand to Leon. A glove was placed in his palm, and Remi looked down at the fine, black leather. Twisting, he raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked as he slipped his hand into the butter soft leather. 

"I wasn't planning on a body today," Leon repeated sourly. "If I'd known, I would have picked up some cheap ones on the way."

"Well now I know what to get you for Christmas." He rolled down his right sleeve, making sure no gunpowder residue could get on his forearm.

Leon just sighed.

Remi grinned and swaggered toward Moira. She slapped the pimp across the mouth one more time, then whirled when Remi whistled softly. Her breathing a little ragged, she spit on the man, then stalked away from him.

He grabbed her arm, reaching around her to free her pistol from its place at the small of her back. She smirked lightly before joining Leon behind the table.

"Please," the pimp was moaning. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I swear. I swear I won't."

"I know," Remi said simply before putting a bullet through his brain. He let out a sigh, his ears ringing from the percussion as he turned back to the others. He peeled off the glove, putting it and the gun on the table. "Make sure Marcus finds him. Clean up here."

Leon was already tapping at his phone before he put it up to his ear. Remi idly studied his reddened knuckles. They weren't too badly torn up. He could pass the bruising off as a boxing hobby.

He listened as Leon made a bland call to a cleaner, using the tail of his already ruined shirt to clean the remaining blood from his knuckles while he waited. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to Moira. She made a face, then began to scrub at her bloodied hands.

Remi peeled up the edge of his undershirt and looked at the bandaging on his side. He couldn't see any blood, so he let the shirt fall and looked up when Leon stood. Turning to Moira, Remi asked, "Can you wait here to pay them?"

She shrugged, then nodded, heaving herself up onto the table, legs swinging back and forth. 

"Do you have cash?" he asked, already reaching for the billfold in the inside pocket of his jacket. He always carried a couple hundreds, precisely for moments like this. Truth be told, he hadn't been planning on a body today either, until Marcus had decided to be a dumbass.

"Always," Moira said. "Anything else, Da?"

He rolled his eyes at her before glanced at her knuckles, which were much worse off than his. "Get those looked at."

Moira grinned at him, batting her eyelashes. "Maybe tomorrow." She chuckled. "Something tells me the doctor won't be in tonight."

Remi let a small smile twitch at the side of his mouth. Then he grabbed his jacket, vest and tie and followed Leon out to the Mercedes. Leon unlocked the trunk and dug around in it for a moment before extracting a lightly wrinkled white shirt.

After handing it to Remi, who quickly redressed, he asked, "What now?"

Remi used one of the darkly tinted windows to make sure there was no blood on his face. He knotted his tie and buttoned the vest over it before raking a hand through his hair to neaten it. "What's most pressing?" 

"You still have to speak to Dimitri. And the board wants you to do a meet and greet, or something."

"Which board?"

"The..." Leon drew out the word, retrieving one of the little black notebooks, "Markin Defense board. You hold a majority of the shares, remember?"

"Wait, is that cyber or private contractor?" Remi asked with a frown as they both got in the car.

"Does it matter?" Leon started the car, pulling away from the warehouse. "They just want you to show up and smile and talk about how much money they make you to interested investors."

"Well that sounds... delightful." Remi grimaced, then waved a lazy hand. "Whenever they want to do it. I'll be there with bells on."

"If they expand, we make more money. Plus it looks good when you're public about the stuff that makes you legal money," Leon reminded him. "They want to do it day after tomorrow."

"Then we'll talk to Dimitri tomorrow." He might as well do all the unpleasant things in one go.

He looked at his watch to find it only three o'clock. That would be too early to go back. And it seemed a shame to be so dressed up with nowhere to go. So he stretched, careful of his stitches, then let out a long sigh. "You still getting those offers for Danny?" 

"Yeah."

"Any of them legit?"

"Three," Leon said promptly. "Two UFC coaches and one from Bellator."

"Any of them actually offering something decent?" Remi had been looking for a place to start Danny off legitimate. The kid was simply too good to waste in back-alley matches. Plus, if the kid kept winning, he'd eventually be worth his weight in gold.

Leon tilted his head back and forth in a "so-so" gesture. "But, they are just opening bids. Once we sit down and meet with them we can get to something worthwhile. And Danny wants it. I've talked to him once or twice, so have you."

Remi nodded in acknowledgement, watching the slums of the Ninth slip past. "Call the one you think is willing to make the best offer. I'll meet with him today."

"Where?" Leon asked, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

"Restaurant August," he said. "At five. Tell them not to be late, and not to waste my time."

Leon made the call as they drove home. 

When they got there, he told Leon not to disturb him until it was time to go. Then he went into the kitchen and downed a glass of scotch before making his way slowly upstairs. Remi only bothered to take the jacket and vest off before falling facedown onto his bed. He let his exhaustion crash over him and smother him into sleep.

He had a feeling he'd need it.