Chapter Text
The thing about being the handler for an undercover agent tasked with playing a role, was that you didn’t get to see your agent in person all that often. There were pre-mission briefings, post-mission debriefings, updates and data drops, but those were about it. More in-person contact risked outing the agent and endangering the cover. Robert saw Agent Coupé once every 12-18 weeks, and only knew she was alive between those meetings through obscure messages. He saw Agent Vizi the most often only due to the fact she was a courier, but sighting her was more like being accosted on the street. She would appear suddenly, drop a package, bully him and then vanish again. So, even though Robert did see her about three times a week, it accumulated to a total of five minutes of jumpscares and harassment, which she found hilarious.
The only agent that ever lingered around him during in-person encounters was Flambae, and in the three weeks since handler Robert Robertson fucked said agent’s throat and passed out with the man half-smothering him, Robert hadn’t met up with him again.
That didn’t mean he hadn’t seen him. Chad did data drops like any other agent, though they consisted of videos of him flipping off his phone and saying he’d had no contact with their seller. There were no further large assignments from above, so Flambae continued on with his life like usual, causing small (approved, controlled) fires and doing general villain mischief to keep his cover healthy. Most of the time he was left to do as he pleased. It became obvious to Robert that his agent was bored when he started to get texts through the secure channel. Flambae began to gratuitously abuse it, sending semi-obscene messages and random memes— something the secure channel was not at all for— so Robert dropped a new burner on Chad just to keep him from outing their affair to other handlers.
At least that, for the past weeks of waiting, had been entertaining. Robert had never received so many filthy, misspelled texts in his life— not to mention well-staged dick pics. It certainly helped give him ideas for their next opportunity together. It wasn’t only filth; Robert found that he liked the ‘how’s ur day been deskbitch?’ and the ‘hey— send me a pic of your fatass dog’ texts even more than the dirty ones. He always answered in kind, making sure to send only the best quality Beef pictures for Chad’s entertainment.
Getting an official data drop from Flambae was a little funny when he was texting the man at the same time, but at least it was the information Robert was waiting on.
”Our Russian big boy has the hole-punchers,” Flambae muttered into his work phone. He was filming in his car, parked in an underground lot. “Pickup in two days, said around 7:00PM. I’ll drop the address. He needs a delivery spot for the product so we need to figure where we are sending it. I’ll need the money dropped, ten bands. Normal spot, just tell me a time. Keep me in the loop, Robbo.”
The video file came with coordinates and copies of the text exchange with Alexei. Robert immediately activated the mission protocol and set up the void-maker drop site, a safe house they could easily manage to contain a bomb in, and alerted his superior. Two days was plenty of time, and they would be ready to handle the hazardous material without much help from Robert. Visi would do the money drop and alert Flambae to the time, so he didn't need to even bother with that. His goal was to stick with his agent through the mission and ensure success.
He tried very hard to focus on that, rather than the excitement of the show he’d get to see, and the encounter he was planning afterwards. The mission came first. The reward was for later.
Throwing the duffel bag full of supplies down in the safe house bedroom, Robert felt absurd. He was a little indecisive, and therefore brought a collection of things for their… debriefing. Just looking at the bag made him feel like an unrepentant pervert. He’d grabbed every kinky thing he owned— hell, he grabbed things he didn’t own from R&D, hoping that Royd would not notice until the next time he’d be in the shop. He just wanted a range of options, and a mechanic needed tools, right?
Fuck, he was probably going to freak Chad out.
As if summoned, the burner phone buzzed in his pocket. Robert opened it to find a text message that was just a picture of a lube syringe, an enema bulb and a little bottle of poppers laid out on a towel. He laughed, and was thankful no one was around to see the way he chewed on his lip. Cheers for the burner phone: there was no way this would fly on the official comms.
’Watch out,’ he texted back, ‘alkyl nitrate is very flammable.’
The response came immediately. ‘Yea bitch I kno. Burned my nose hairs out before’.
Robert chuckled, imagining Flambae going up like a flare mid-fuck. ’That’s amazing. Please do not do that while getting pounded by a Russian.’
The texting stopped for a while, presumably while Flambae took care of business, so Robert did the same. He worked on gaining access to all cameras in the area of the rendezvous site and he checked in with the bomb team at the alternative drop point. A half an hour later, the burner jumped again, ringing this time.
”Hey loser,” Chad said with absolutely no ill inflection. Robert couldn’t even bother to be offended anymore. “This is a secure line, right?”
”Why the fuck would I give you an unencrypted line?” Robert asked, wandering to the kitchenette. He couldn’t drink on the job, yet- but he had brought a fancy little French press and he was going to spoil himself with it. “Yes it’s secure.”
”Cool,” Chad’s voice was echoing. It sounded like he was on speaker in his restroom, probably primping himself up. “So go on, get me in the mood, Bobert.”
Robert scoffed, emptying the coffee grounds into the press. “What, you want me to pregame you?” Thank fuck for the ancient electric kettle someone had left there, because the stove was a fire hazard. He wasn’t about to wait for Flambae to have a hot cup of coffee. “To what? The important stuff or the fucking a crime boss part?”
Chad paused, then picked up the phone, holding it closer as he spoke. “You know what?” He said. “The important part first, because I have ten thousand dollars on my kitchen counter and I’m about to buy fucking chemical bombs from a Russian. So let’s go over that.”
Robert grinned into the phone tucked against his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine. We know he is delivering some of the goods, but he may hand some over as proof of purchase. That’s fairly normal. If he does, we have a containment unit here.”
”I’m going to have one of those fucking things in my baby?” Chad whined. It took Robert a second to realize Flambae meant his car. “And the fuck is going to happen with the delivered bombs? The drop site you gave me is a safe house, right?”
”The Lockheed house. They have a larger explosive containment. I have Sonar there with Mal handling him. They’ll receive the packages and then hopefully be able to follow the delivery back to origin.”
”Oh you have ratty-batty running part of this? He must be off of house arrest.” Flambae sounded amused.
“Yeah, he is on an insider trial run. Logistics work.” Robert was hopeful, and Malevola was babysitting him, so it was most likely going to be fine. Mal was a good handler. She also had no problem literally beating Victor’s ass if he stepped out of line. “And before you worry about it, no he doesn’t know any details about where these are coming from nor did he ask.”
”Good,” Chad said, annoyed, “because he can’t keep a secret for shit. Don’t need him telling everyone about my methods.”
Robert sighed and poured the hot water from the kettle into the coffee press. “You don’t need to worry about that. I have you covered. Literally no one knows the details of the mission, and I scrubbed all audio and video. If anyone hears anything, it will be from a horny Russian, not from any operative.”
“Honestly, Alexei running his mouth will help my reputation,” Flambae muttered as he moved about. “I’ve been mild as fuck recently.” They tried to keep Flambae’s cover up the best they could between missions, but sanctioned villain work took a lot of planning. He couldn’t afford to lurk about and get easily identified; the average hero outside of their system and all of law enforcement had no idea Flambae wasn’t actually a bad guy. Thankfully, Chad himself had a suspiciously squeaky clean record (Robert was very good at editing official documents) so at least civilian life was workable.
“Even villains have down time.” Robert said and began to press his coffee, watching the beautiful brown liquid bubble up through the filter. The shitty little French press was the best thrift store find he'd ever made. Shout out to whoever’s dead grandma liked her brew old school.
“Yeah, but being inactive means you’re out of the game,” Flambae countered. It sounded like he was in the middle of brushing his teeth, slurring around the toothbrush. “If you want me getting invited to all the worst people’s worst parties—“ he spit, and it came off as a comment on what he thought about the people and those parties, “then you need me to be visible and breaking shit.”
Robert pictured Flambae’s extreme low cut suit and the way it barely contained his tits. “Oh, you’re visible alright,” he said. “Listen, if you like I’ll convince Royd and R&D to let us have one of the void-makers, and we will find something to fuck up. Make a mess somewhere. Some asshole probably has a boat that needs sinking.”
“Oh now that’s talking dirty, you filthy bitch,” Chad said. Robert could hear the smile. “Love a day of demolition and destruction. Find me a condemned building to burn down while we’re at it, I have earned it.”
He couldn’t deny that. For a first time intel and weapons dealing job, Flambae had done surprisingly well. Robert wasn’t really keen on doing it again; Chad was his brawn, not his brains— but he wasn’t hopeless. He really was a good agent. “You get this job done right, I’ll get you something fun to blow up,” he agreed. “You did a good job last time, and this one isn’t going to require more acting or inquiry. It’s a much simpler plot.” Robert poured his beautiful fresh brew into his mug, balancing the cell phone on his shoulder.
Flambae made an unimpressed noise over the line. “Yeah, not as many lines, but the physical aspect is going to be a little more… involved,” he said, stressing the last word.
There was no doubt about that. That was, in fact, the main part Robert was looking forward to. “Yeah, you’re going to put on a pretty show for me, aren’t you?”
On the other end of the line, Chad cleared his throat. “Yep,” he said, “that’ll grease these wheels. Now I’m horny.”
Robert smiled into his mug. “You’re so easy.’
“Oh shut it,” Flambae groused back. “You’re the sleeper-slut out of the two of us. I’ve always been like this.” It was true; Chad had earned the reputation Alexei was going off of, though he claimed to have slowed down in recent years.
“So, speaking of,” Flambae said, “you going to give me any hints at what I can expect from you post-mission, Bob-bob?”
Robert sat at his station, flicking his monitor to life and checking systems. Frankly, he didn’t exactly know what he wanted to do, which was why he brought the entire kit. “There’s a few options on the table,” he said, nonchalant.
On Robert’s computer screen, a small box popped up alerting him that his active agent had a rising heart rate.
Flambae tried again. “On a scale of one to ten, how freaky should I expect?” His blood pressure was also rising.
Robert set his coffee down and frowned at the phone. “Chad,” he said, clear and slow. “Remember the list I had you make?’
There was a pause over the line before an answer. “Yeah, the not-sexy at all list.”
Robert had asked for a blacklist— things that were absolutely off limits and were not up for consideration. He’d sent his own in return. Chad claimed he’d needed to google half of the things on Robert’s. Once again, thank fuck for the burner phone.
“I’d never do anything on that list,” he reassured.
Flambae’s voice was a little softer in response. “Yeah, I know that.” His stats were still high.
“Just confirming,” Robert said. “It’s hard to tell the difference between excited and scared on the feed.”
“That’s cheating, bossman,” Flambae scolded, annoyed. “I’m not scared of you, bitch.” There was a long pause, and Robert waited. Sometimes, to get information from Flambae, all he had to do was sit on the line. Chad had a habit of rambling when he was idle, working through thoughts out loud if he could. Sure enough, it only took two minutes of listening to Flambae shuffle about his bathroom before he spoke up again.
“So what happens if I don’t like what it is when the time comes? Like, last time was hot, but pretty tame,” Chad was talking a little fast, as if getting it out quickly would help. “But I didn’t really know your freak factor at that point. I’m game for a lot, but some things are only hot in your head, you know?”
“Well,” Robert said, leaning back in his chair, “just like every other time I make a bad call or do something you don’t like, I would expect you to call me the fuck out. It’s one of the best things about you.”
Chad huffed in disbelief. “What, that I bitch at you constantly?”
It wasn’t exactly that— though Robert didn’t mind the bitchy attitude anymore. In fact, the more he knew about his agent, the more he found his showy arrogance and trite complaining sort of, dare he say, cute? Chad was covering for a lot of insecurity and anxiety with his attitude, and he tended to be more funny than mean when it came to genuine interaction. Robert was so used to Flambae’s bratty behavior and constant pushback that he found he enjoyed the bickering.
“Sort of,” Robert explained. “Let’s just say I know you’re never going to put up with something you don’t like without telling me. As an agent, that’s fucking annoying, because we all have to do shit we hate at this job.” Nobody enjoyed the dirty work, the gritty clean up or the boring jobs- but they did them. He continued on, “But when it comes to fucking, that’s perfect. I want you to do that. We’ll switch gears, or stop altogether. I won’t get mad if you don’t like something and want to call it quits,” he said. “Sometimes people read the situation wrong or do something that makes their partner uncomfortable. You say you don’t like it, you stop, you move on. I’ve had to do that myself a few times.”
Robert hoped that would be reassuring, but instead Chad snapped over the line, angry. “The fuck happened to you?” He said, voice sharp. “What’d they do?”
It was such a shift that it took Robert a second to realize that Chad thought he meant he’d been violated in some way. “Nothing bad,” he amended. Robert chewed his lip, trying to smother the surprise of that Chad felt protective of him enough to react that way, even if it was totally off base. Flambae’s bio-stats on the computer screen were back to warning levels, and Robert weighed explaining what actually had happened. It wasn’t traumatic: it was fucking awkward. A laugh would probably settle his agent’s nerves, though.
“It wasn’t bad, it just got too weird and I couldn’t keep it together,” Robert explained. Chad made a curious noise over the line, so he continued. Best just blurt it out. “I had to call it quits because a lady neighed like a horse once mid-fuck, and I just lost it laughing and couldn’t go on.”
“Fuckin excuse me?!’ Flambae shrieked, and that was enough to set Robert off chuckling.
“Yeah, she full on neighed,” he recounted. “And she did it in my face so I had no way to hide. I called an out immediately because I was in wheezing.” It wasn’t his best moment. Robert didn’t like to yuck anyone’s yum— but a warning would have been nice. He could have at least tried not to laugh if he knew it was coming. He was extraordinarily good at keeping deadpan, but there were limits.
“Bob-bob, no!” Flambae was beside himself, thrilled at the drama. “Was she pissed?’
“Furious,” Robert said, smiling into his mug, “snorting, even.”
Chad’s laughter was normally a lower chuckle or a nearly juvenile snickering, but this was a surprised bark of noise, the kind that you had to end up smothering with a hand. Robert’s smile grew wider. He’d never heard that one before. Not very villainous. “Shut the fuck up!” Flambae said, incredulous. “And she didn’t warn you at all? Just went in with the farm noises?”
“Not even a slight indication that was where it was going,” Robert said, shaking his head. “One minute, slightly kinky fuck, next minute we are off to the Kentucky derby.”
“Fuckin wild,” Chad said. He paused, then added; “that wasn’t on my bad list. Bitch, if you start horse noises…”
“No,” Robert said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I left the bit and bridle at home, so no pony play for you.”
Chad made a thoughtful noise. He was back to moving around his apartment, finishing up. They had less than an hour until mission launch. “Okay, but would you wear a cowboy hat and ride me?”
Robert tipped his head, considering. “I don’t have a cowboy hat.”
”Borrow mine, Bob-bob, your head is big enough.”
”Of course you have a fuckass cowboy hat.” It probably had flames stitched on it. “Assless chaps too, I bet.”
Robert could practically hear Chad roll his eyes. “Yeah, bitch. Why would I have the hat without the chaps?”
He remembered the last outfit Flambae wore to seduce Alexei— the leather jacket, boots and ridiculous belt buckle. “You going to wear those to see our Russian? What’s the getup for pulling a weapons dealer?”
”You’ll need to wait and see, Bobert,” Chad said. He sounded much more light and loose from when he first called, and his stats looked calm and steady. It was a good start. “Better hack all the cameras so you can get the best angles.”
They got off the burner and Chad left it at his house. It didn’t need to come with him and one less piece of equipment was one less thing to keep track of. Starting an operation mainly consisted of a massive amount of system checks on Robert’s part and Flambae waiting to get the go ahead. Thankfully, since Chad needed to drive to Alexei’s flat, Robert could do most of the work while Flambae was en route.
— Okay, all hardware reporting correctly. How’s my voice?—
”Bitching directly into my skull as always,” Flambae said, throwing a smirk up at the camera in his review mirror. Robert had two active angles at the moment- the mirror and Flambae’s glasses, but he had the glasses flipped up to sit on top of his head so Robert had a view of the Firebird’s ceiling out of that eye. The review mirror would suffice for now.
Chad’s hair was tied half up, and he’d shaved recently, making his stubble less pronounced. Robert wondered if it was to appeal to Alexei’s preferences. He was wearing the leather jacket again, but under it was a black mesh shirt with artfully torn holes in it. It was the kind of thing you wanted to put your fingers through and tug. Robert could only see Flambae’s upper half, but he looked seductively good even from just that unflattering angle.
Head in the game, Robertson.
—You have an ETA?—
“Yeah, less than 10,” Flambae was a breakneck driver, and probably only 3 points away from losing his license. Robert wasn’t much better, but still. “I’m parking two blocks out from his place and walking in.”
—Good. It’ll give you time to see if you’re being followed out.—
Flambae sighed. “Yeah, bitch, that’s why I’m doing it- damn.”
Robert clenched his teeth and forced himself to swallow a biting response. They did not need to start needling one another before the mission kicked off. Both of them had a bad habit of pushing at the bars right before the action, especially when something interesting— like picking up a bomb or whoring out for an arms deal— was going to happen. They’d gotten better, of course. Now they normally saved the throwdown for afterwards.
At least this time they would hopefully have a better way of burning off the post-mission adrenaline. Most likely just as crazy, but perhaps more enjoyable.
Robert left Flambae to it, ignoring the supe as he turned on the radio and began singing off tune. He checked in on the other agent-handler team, shooting off expected times and locations to Mal and Sonar, and getting a slew of gif responses. Professionalism was not any faux-villains’ strong point. It didn’t matter. Robert wasn’t exactly considered corporate-friendly either; there was a reason he’d landed a job here.
The GPS marker dinged, showing Flambae had parked just as he said, around two and a half blocks from the meeting location. Robert toggled back in to see Flambae checking over his gear, adjusting his glasses onto his face, loosening the fit of his titanium-plated watch with its microphone and tracker. It was a newer piece of extreme heat-resistant tech, but fairly untested in the field. Since he was less likely to need to flare up during an intel mission, they’d decided to include it. Robert stressed to Chad to not worry if he did need to go nova; that’s what field testing equipment was for.
Knowing when eyes were on him, Flambae glanced over the rims of his glasses to the camera lens on the review mirror. “R&D couldn’t stand to make this fucker less ugly?” He said, flashing the watch. It was gaudy and masculine, but the style was painfully stuck in the 80s. “You need to get Alice in with tech so they make something good looking. This is embarrassing.”
—Good thing you’re not known for your impeccable fashion sense.— Robert drawled, amused by the angry sneer he got in response.
“I’ve seen your street clothes, boss-bert.” That was a new one. He hadn’t heard ‘boss-bert’ before. It was a little clunky. “Everything you wear comes in a three pack. Don’t speak to me.”
—Bad luck, I’m afraid,— Robert said, —it’s literally my job to speak to you.—
Flambae gave a dramatic eyeroll and reached into the brown paper bag in the seat next to him, pulling out the stack of bills. Ten thousand dollars sounded like a lot, but physically the amount of bills were only about a half inch thick when tightly banded. It made it easy to transport, at least. Flambae tucked them into the inside of his jacket.
“Whose fucking money is this anyways?” He muttered. “Visi just showed up and threw a bag at me.”
—Eh, probably from evidence somewhere.— That wasn’t Robert’s job; that was a Mandy problem. As long as the bills weren’t traceable, it didn’t matter. —Any last minute points we want to go over?—
Flambae shrugged. “Nah.”
They’d gone from talking about the mission in detail on the burner to dismissively shrugging the prep off over the comm. They were attempting to keep the prostitution and their entanglement off of the line until Robert took it to private, as literally any other handler could access these mission files, but the bland casual behavior was annoying the fuck out of Robert.
—Agent,— he said, low and clipped. Flambae’s eyebrow twitched on the camera, so Robert knew he picked up on his annoyance. —I know you don’t think that precautions are almost ever necessary, but we need to talk safeguards.—
“Yeah, yeah,” Flambae said, “don’t juggle the bombs, don’t infuriate the dealer, be a good little bitch. I know.”
Saying this delicately over the line was going to be a trick. —You’re most likely going to be in a compromised state.— That was one way of putting it. —We need to talk contingency if your target ends up being aggressive.—
Chad frowned at the mirror. “I know my abort signal, and I’m not afraid to toast a bitch if he doesn’t behave.”
Of that, Robert had no doubt. Flambae learned to hold back over the years, but the man had been known to cook several layers of someone’s skin off for something as minor as shoving him at a bar. He didn’t do it now without cause, of course, but the willingness to flip and burn helped sell the narrative that Flambae was an untethered freelance villain, so the agency didn’t scold him too much. For Robert, who tried to keep their felonies to a minimum, it was always a double edged sword.
—Obviously, if Alexei pulls something threatening, do what you do best; scare the shit out of him, light something important on fire, grab the goods and leave,— he said. Flambae loved being dramatic when the mission called for it. A spitfire tantrum was a quick way to get people to back off.
“Forget all my hard work in therapy, got it.”
Robert was relieved Flambae couldn’t see the twitch of a smile that got out of him. He was trying to drive a more serious point across. —Due to the nature of this mission,— Robert said carefully, talking around the obvious, —he could get the drop on you.—
His agent didn’t seem to agree, and scoffed loudly. “Alexei is a normie. Fucking how? A hammer to the head?”
Actually yes, you fucking idiot. He could knock your skull in mid-fuck. That's what Robert wanted to say over the line, but he restrained himself.
—Flambae, don’t get cocky because he isn't a meta. He could slap a suppression collar on you, inject you with something, knock you out… he has the ability. — The options were endless, really. Subduing a super wasn’t as hard as people thought it would be. In his years as Mecha Man and then the following time as a hands-on handler, Robert had become an expert at it. All it took was a bit of prep and a target. Alexei knew enough about Flambae to know where to start if he wanted to neutralize him, and he had the time and resources to plan for it. It was very possible the man would take the money, take what he wanted from Flambae’s body and then take the metahuman out.
Flambae must have heard something in Robert’s tone. “My reaction times are good,” he said. He was staring into the camera, expression more serious than before. “Suppression cuffs take what? Eight to ten seconds?” Huh, so Flambae did actually listen when Robert explained some of the tech to him. Would fucking miracles never cease? Well, that or he just slapped them on for fun and counted. “In that amount of time I can flash burn. He’d be dead, or crispy as fuck.”
That was true. The flash burns took a lot of energy but they were insanely hot. R&D had a field day when Flambae finally let the lab measure his speed and temps. Man could be the core of a power plant if he felt like it.
Flambae squinted, as if trying to remember. “Don’t know when the last tests were, but my drug resistance is pretty fucking high from clubbing for a decade.” Robert scoffed and pulled the stats up, then frowned. Fuck, okay. Tranquilizers needed to be quadrupled for efficiency, and that was the meta dosage. The fuck kind of party drugs had he been doing? “I think if Alexei starts acting like a dumb fuck I stand a good chance, Bob-bob.”
That was… a fair argument. —I’ll trust your judgment, then.— Not like there was much of a choice; the mission was going to happen regardless. —Just try to stay alert for me.— Robert couldn’t say over the line that they needed to not get so distracted by their dicks they put Flambae in danger, but the point seemed to be getting across. —I’ll tell you immediately about any threats.—
“Course you will you never shut up.”
—That’s less efficient now that I know you like it,— Robert said, editing out exactly how much Flambae liked hearing him talk. —Just try to stay safe.—
Flambae huffed and shook his head. “You’re really trying to take the joy out of my work, Bob.” Because what was joy if not putting himself into dangerous scenarios that he had to fight out of? And stressing the fuck out of his handler on the way? “I’m telling you Alexei won’t do shit. I have his money and something he wants. If he didn’t punish me for the fucking burned goods, he isn’t going to do anything now.”
Technically, Alexei had punished Flambae, it was just that Flambae didn’t fucking care. The man had put out a cigar on his tongue and made him swallow the ashes; it was demeaning to anyone else. To Flambae, it was an annoyance with an unpleasant aftertaste. Certainly, it was a gentle rebuke, but it was still a power move. Flambae just didn’t give enough of a fuck about the politics of it all to care. That’s why those sort of observations were left to Robert to pick up on.
—Your faith in a crime lord is impressive,— he said. —Sorry I don’t share it.—
Flambae tisked at the mirror. “Not faith, bossman. I know Alexei’s style.” Robert made a confused noise and Flambae rolled his eyes. “I do learn some things on the job, asshole. You think I just sit around at the Sardine and light trash cans on fire?”
Robert shrugged, even though he knew there was no way for Chad to see it. —No, sometimes you harass me.—
“Bitch, I suggested Alexei for this job because I knew he wouldn’t cause fuckin problems,” Flambae said, annoyed. “I knew him before I got snagged for the program.” Flambae’s actual run as a real villain was a rather short one. He was young, stupid and overconfident, which is how Robert, still suited, got him thrown into prison. Alexei had been active in the arms and imports trade for a decade, and he kept a low enough profile that most operations busting supervillains ignored him. “Pretty much everyone who deals with Abeshev ends up favoring him, that’s why the fucker never gets caught,” Chad explained. It was a little ironic that that was what they were doing right now; catching him. “Alexei delivers on time, he doesn’t short his clients and,” Flambae said, emphasizing the last word, “the tricks he hires always come back in one piece. I’ll be fine.”
In less words: “Trust me, bitch. I got this.”
Robert felt a strange swell of pride. It seemed like Chad had been trying to learn how to better do his job. He’d collected information, and did so in such an easy way it looked in character. Of course someone would ask around if weapons dealer could deliver.
He had to give it to him. He had to trust his agent. —Okay, then.—
“Okay?” Flambae parroted, annoyed. “We good?” He asked, reaching for the car door.
—Yeah.—
Chad scoffed at him and got out of the car, flicking his shades down off his head and over his eyes. He started towards the row house he’d been given directions to, walking at an unbothered pace. “How’s all eyes and ears?” He asked, sounding bored.
Robert checked all signals. —Good. Phone is on pulse, leave it in your pocket. It looks shut down but I can still use it to gain access to any cameras.— The glasses were operating well, but they were more visual than audio. If they were further than six feet from a conversation, they could sometimes warp. That’s why the watch was a good addition.
Flambae wore a few rings when out of uniform, one on the nub of his severed right ring finger, and the other on his left middle. They were decently flashy, and their presence made the watch less of an outlier.
Robert’s commuter pinged. —Alright, ears are good on your wrist, too.—
Flambae lifted the watch to his mouth and purred into it. “You just want a clear speaker to hear me, huh Robbo?”
The mouse creaked under Robert’s palm as he squeezed it. They needed to keep it professional until the comms were off record. —Yes,— Robert said, keeping his voice even, — in case I can’t see you, I’d like to hear you.—
Chad snickered and adjusted his coat. “I’ll remember that next time you tell me to shut the fuck up,” he said, back to his pretentious drawl. He turned a corner and walked up to a gated townhouse. “Here we are.”
—You’re got this, agent.—
Chad scoffed and flicked his glasses. “I know, boss.”
From then on, Robert would be the one speaking, and Flambae wouldn’t be able to respond to him. He was a character; a version of himself that was true, but highly edited. Flambae the villain for hire, looking to buy some bombs that could punch a hole through pretty much anything, so that he could fuck with his well-armored enemies. He was flippant, quick to anger, flashy, stupid and a slut. Chad had taken all the loud parts of himself and nursed them into an annoying, dangerous but strangely likable caricature.
The townhouse was well maintained and wealthy, but no more unique than its neighbors. Abashev kept himself in comfort, but got lost in the upper middle class neighborhood as just another successful businessman.
—Alright.— Robert said as Flambae approached the door. —Get weapon confirmation and we are good.— Then they would go dark, and the actual bill to Abeshev would need to be paid.
Flambae cracked his neck, reached out, and banged on the nice, painted door far too fucking hard. Almost immediately an annoyed looking bodyguard opened it.
“Here to bother your boss,” Flambae said, a bored drawl. He must have looked incredibly out of place, dressed as he was in a nice neighborhood. Robert could tell he relished the discomfort in the bodyguard’s face.
The man nodded and stepped aside. “He’s expecting you,” he muttered, barely able to contain his disapproval. “Can I take your coat?”
Flambae waved him off, sauntering into the place like he owned it. “Nah, this shit expensive. Hey, Alexei!” He shouted into the foyer, brash and annoying. Almost immediately a man complained from down the hall.
“Why are you such a loud fucker?” Alexi Abashev walked out of an office, hand on his hip. His irritated posture was oddly comical on such an enormous frame. He wasn’t dressed as smartly as he had been at the bar, but he still looked like a Russian mob stereotype, just in a sweater this time. “Come here, Flambae,” he said, like he was calling an unruly dog. He turned back into the room as Flambae followed him, muttering. “You rude little shit.”
The side room was an office, large and professional looking, with a huge desk and bookcases. It also had several safes in it, which would have been suspicious had they not known exactly what Abashev did for a living.
Robert couldn’t see the exaggerated swagger in his agent’s walk, but he could hear it. “Aw, in a bad mood, old man?” Flambae teased. “You know, I got the cure for that.”
The Russian barked a laugh. “Hah! We will see. Come in, shut the door.”
Everything in Abeshev’s office screamed of old money; beautifully carved details on furniture, perfect upholstery, Persian rugs. It would be a real shame if they had to torch the place. Flambae shuffled and pulled the band of cash from his coat.
“Got you something,” he said, waving it obnoxiously.
Alexei took it, didn’t bother counting, and stuffed it in a drawer.
“Good.” He grinned at Flambae and slowly twirled a finger at him. “Now, let me look at my other payment.”
—Cutting right to the chase,— Robert muttered. He was about to direct Flambae to fish further, but the agent beat him to it.
“Ah ah ah!” He said, laden with sass. He took a singular step back from the Russian, who looked to be reaching out to grab at him. “You think I’m stupid?” Alexi definitely thought he was stupid, which worked well for them. “Where’s the proof you have my toys?”
Alexei rolled his eyes, but relented. “Your packages are to be delivered by drone to the address you requested,” he said. “Strange place, Flambae. Not your style at all.”
Fuck, Robert didn’t exactly think of that. The drop site, another relay point for the agency, was an old fashioned colonial style house. Definitely not someplace someone would expect a C-rank villain to inhabit.
“Yeah,” Flambae said, waving an annoyed hand, “because it’s not my place. It’s a drop site. Got dirt on the owner. I’m not keeping bombs at my fuckin house.”
That worked well enough.
Alexei either bought it, or truly did not care enough to look further. “I suppose you are enough of a hazard yourself, yes?” A flame meta with bombs at his house probably was something to evacuate an apartment block for.
Still, they had the delivery information. Robert winced and sent a message off to Mal and Sonar. —Can’t believe he’s sending fucking bombs via drone,— he said. —This maniac. Alright, informing the other team. Keep trying to get eyes on the prize.—
Flambae tutted at the Russian. “Am I supposed to just take your word on it, Alexei?” Flambae said. He was throwing a slight pout into his tone, like a brat. “For all I know you could take my money, finish our trade and then leave me hanging.”
Alexi scoffed at him, giving Flambae an incredulous look. ”You think I want the kind of trouble you bring?” He asked. It was nearly playful. The man liked bratty boys, apparently. “I need my buildings not on fire, we talked about this. I have your down payment, pretty boy. Look there.”
There was a black box on a nearby table, and Alexei flipped it open. Flambae slid up next to him, angling the glasses down perfectly for the shot. Inside was a void-maker, a hole-punch bomb. It was as small as a marble, an innocuous chalky white in color, and securely padded in the box. Robert ran a quick spectrum through the lenses and saw the limited chemical signature feedback.
—Yep,— he said, —that looks legit. Fuck yeah Russian arms dealers.—
Flambae whistled. “Now that is what I am talking about,” he said with unbridled glee. “Fuck, Lexi, how many more?”
Alexei snorted at the name, but didn’t comment. “Five more. All that size.” Flambae turned to look at the Russian. The man looked downright pleased with himself; and in all honesty, he should be. This particular bomb was a difficult find. “Those can make a hole the size of a bowling ball,” he said, “and now you have six of them. I am very generous.”
“Damn right you are,” Flambae said. He dipped his voice low and pleased, and Robert wanted to smack himself at how it made the hairs on his arms raise. Just a few more minutes, Robertson. Stay alert. They got their confirmation, now it was time to go dark.
With a few quick clicks, Robert crashed the recording software on all devices. There would be no playing this back. He put in another line of code that perverted and looped the one video camera that had him in the periphery at the safe house.
Now he could sit back and enjoy the show.
—Alright agent,— Robert said, smiling as Flambae’s pulse jumped excitedly. —Full privacy on. It’s only me here, watching you work.— Chad hummed over the line, shifting to remove his jacket. On the screen, his mark smiled lasciviously at what he saw underneath. —Make me proud.—