Mary Sue Will Never Be the Same
Have you ever wished you could just reach into bad fanfics and murder those damned Mary Sues who have to go and screw with your braincells? Well, if that urge to destroy fictional characters has ever washed over you then you should get a kick out of the biggest running joke to hit the Syndicate since Dinsdale. Oh no, wait, that wasn't the Syndicate at all. Never mind. With any luck you'll laugh even if you haven't ever had the misfortune of encountering such a creation.
But that's not the point, the point is enjoy this next part. remycognac, vanillahellsing, and I do so get a kick out of the Syndicate. Now you can laugh at the lunacy, too.
On with the show...
Part Eight
“Well if this is a madhouse then you should fit right in,” Mr. Blonde quipped.
Elle Driver narrowed her eye at him but got distracted by the scent of French fries under her nose. To her chagrin, her stomach growled.
“Like I said, eat up, Girly.” He sipped his soda, talking with the straw between his teeth. “I know you want to.”
And that was the problem, Elle did want to eat the fries. She liked fries. She liked fries from Big Kahuna. But she wasn’t about to cave in and eat something that Goddamned bastard had given her, even if her stomach was threatening to start devouring its own lining. Besides, she didn’t trust him and her eyes flicked downward at the food offering as though it were a bomb ticking.
“It’s not like they’re poisoned or anything,” Blonde said, noticing her hesitation. “But hey, if you want to starve, that’s your thing.” He finished off his burger and strolled upstairs, alternately sipping his soda and rattling the cup.
Elle sat alone at the bar, staring at the fries.
“That son of a bitch, I swear to God, I’m going to kill him.”
She grabbed the fries and begrudgingly shoved them into her mouth as she stalked out the front door to find O-Ren Ishii.
***
It was late in the day, right when the sun was going down, casting long shadows down the alley which led to the Reservoir Syndicate. The clicking of heels echoed in the stillness as the figure of a young woman approached. Her hair was a vibrant yet delicate shade of pink, like roses or carnations or My Little Ponies. The coral and amber lights of sunset reflected in her eyes. To look upon her was to look upon the personification of beauty, or spring-time. She was also reminiscent of someone who took their love of Barbie dolls one step too far.
Her name was Mary Sue.
She hadn’t meant to end up in this neighborhood, this wasn’t really her part of town. Usually she frequented the trendy clubs and lounges but tonight she took a wrong turn; so wrong a turn that the cabbie got sick of listening to her incessant chirping about which way to drive that he dropped her off on a random corner and sped off. Payment wasn’t necessary, he was just glad to get her the hell out of his car.
So here Mary Sue was, all dressed up with nowhere to go. She pouted her cupid’s bow cherry lips and ran a hand through her luxurious waves of pink hair. Up ahead she spotted a heavy door painted black with a neon sign hanging above it: The Reservoir Syndicate. As she looked at it the sign flickered to life, shining brightly.
“Wow,” Mary Sue said to herself, “that’s totally a sign that I should come in.”
She fixed her hair, checked her makeup, and went inside. Walking across the hardwood floors, she took in the scene.
“Oh my God, talk about rustic.”
This place didn’t even have a disco ball or a DJ booth. It had a juke box but a really old one, the kind that didn’t even hook up to the Internet so you could download the hottest new songs. The pool table looked pretty cool but Mary Sue couldn’t play billiards, she only knew how to stand around looking cute with a pool cue and get hot guys to teach her how to line up shots.
Mary Sue sighed. The joint was dead. She was about to leave but figured using the bathroom might be a good idea. There was no telling how long it would take her to get back to civilization.
***
Blonde was whistling to himself as he came down the stairs. A shower and a change of clothes made him feel like a new man. The occasion called for a celebratory rum and coke. It also called for music so he sauntered over to the juke and smiled as the sound of Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” filled the silence.
***
The sound of music caught Mary Sue’s attention as she touched up her lipstick in the ladies’ room mirror. It was old music from way before she was born, yeah, but at least it was something. Maybe this place isn’t so dead after all. She decided to give it one more shot. After all, she might get lucky and this Syndicate could be a trendy underground dive bar where all the attractive but brooding college guys hung out to talk about politics and pop culture. Mary Sue didn’t understand any of that, but she thought it was a real turn-on.
Even over the sound of the music Blonde could hear a door open, and it wasn’t the entrance. He spun around and saw…some chick dressed up in tacky clothes the same color as her hair. And somewhere out there, a record skipped.
Mary Sue smiled. He sure as hell wasn’t a college guy but he was hot. Blue eyes and black hair, I love that look. She waved coquettishly. “Hi.”
Blonde stared at her blankly. “What the hell do you want?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I got a little lost,” Mary Sue responded, twirling a lock of shining hair around her fingers. Her eyes gleamed as she looked at Blonde, batting her long curly lashes every so often. “It’s kind of a long story but I ended up in the neighborhood. I saw the sign outside and thought this place looked like it might be cool. I love doing that, you know, going to cool new places and meeting cool new people.”
Blonde folded his arms, regarding her the way a grizzly bear looks at a chipmunk. Her purse had the word “princess” written on it with rhinestones. It made Blonde gag a little. He turned around and walked to the bar. If he hadn’t needed a drink before he sure as hell needed one now.
“I’ve never heard of the Reservoir Syndicate,” she continued, following him. “Is it new? You’re a bar, right? Like a pub or something? I figured you couldn’t be a club or a lounge because the décor’s kind of old looking, but not really in a bad way, do you know what I mean? I mean, it’s all grungy and dirty but it’s not like there are puddles of puke lying around or anything.”
At least there weren’t any puddles of puke that Blonde was aware of; although one could never be too sure with an inebriated Brown staggering about the place. Still, there was no stench of it so that was probably a good sign.
“The Reservoir Syndicate: what does that mean?” Mary sue went on. “It sounds all dark and mysterious. That’s really cool, you know? Mysterious stuff rocks, I like mystery. Do you work here? Are you the bartender? I’m really thirsty so if you’re the bartender can you make me a cosmopolitan? I love those. My friend Katie says they’re all the rage, you know?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Blonde muttered under his breath. “And I thought Mr. Shit was bad.” He turned to the bottles and decided on a double strength Captain Morgan and Coke.
Mary Sue didn’t hear him, though, and kept on talking. Slowly, she moved towards him, jutting one hip out and curving her back to show off her perky and barely covered breasts. She flipped her hair and tilted her head, doing her best bedroom eyes. It was like some kind of bizarre mating dance.
“So anyway, I really like your eyes,” she told him. “They’re such a beautiful color. I was just thinking to myself about how much I liked men with light eyes and dark hair, that’s just the coolest combination. Your eyes are the prettiest shade of blue, they’re really hot. Like all pale and stuff. They’re kind of mysterious and stuff, too. I like that.” She giggled.
Blonde stared at Mary Sue coldly, drinking deeply. “You talk way too fucking much.”
Mary Sue pouted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I do that sometimes, it’s like a bad habit. Was I really talking too much? I’ve been trying not to do that. Katie says guys don’t like it when girls are all chatty but I just can’t help myself, you know?” She hopped up on a bar stool and leaned over, folding her arms and pushing her breasts together. “So how about that cosmo now?”
“How about a nice tall glass of ‘shut the fuck up’ instead?” Blonde finished his drink and began fixing himself another. He also took notice of the shotgun under the bar’s counter.
Mary Sue’s pout reached epic proportions. “You know, you’re kind of an asshole.”
Blonde smirked. “You have no idea.”
Orange opened the front door to the Syndicate by backing into it because his arms were full.
“Hey, guess what?” he remarked to the figure of Blonde that he managed to detect around the boxes that otherwise blocked his vision. “I just picked up our liquor license which means we’re another step closer to being open for business.” He set the boxes down at one end of the bar and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. It was only then that he realized there was someone else in the bar.
Oh my God, this has got to be my lucky day. Mary Sue’s jaw dropped ajar as she stared at the new guy who had just walked in. What a hottie! She licked her lips and flipped her hair, knowing for certain that it was no accident that she had ended up in this weird hole in the wall bar. There were hot men everywhere.
“Well hello,” she said, smiling.
Orange blinked, caught off guard by the girl’s utter…pink-ness? He looked to Blonde and inquired, “Friend of yours?”
“I don’t have any friends,” Blonde said flatly.
“Right, never mind then.” Orange turned to the girl. “Um, yeah, hi. Listen, we’re not actually open for business yet…” He had considered asking her if she was looking for a job but there was a strange spacey look in her eyes that made him think twice about it. “…yeah, we’re closed.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” she said, sliding off the stool and moving towards Orange. “The door was open and the neon sign was on so I just walked right in to see what kind of place you had here. It’s kind of cute. I mean, I don’t normally go to this sort of dive but the Syndicate’s sort of nice. I just wish I could get Mister Bartender here to serve me a drink.” She pointed to Blonde.
Blonde snorted and shook his head, walking back to the juke. This bullshit was below him. Orange could deal with the pink interloper on his own.
“That’s probably because he’s not the bartender,” Orange replied.
“Yeah, that makes sense. Bartenders are supposed to be friendly and he’s a real asshole,” she agreed, now repeating the same hip-jutting and back-curving mating dance that she had done earlier with Blonde on Orange. “You seem a lot nicer than him, though. I can tell that about you: that you’re a real sweet guy, the kind girls dream about.”
“Um, okay.” Orange pursed his lips and nodded slowly, stumped as to what response he could possibly give to that.
“I bet you work here, don’t you? You seem kind of official.”
“Heh…yeah…” Orange nodded slowly, looking past the bizarre girl to Blonde who was chuckling under his breath. Goddamn you, Blonde, pawning your problems off on me.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have really beautiful eyes?” she asked. “Because they’re really pretty and I just wanted to tell you that. I love green/hazel eyes and yours just totally jump out.” She bat her eyelashes and bit her lower lip.
Orange blinked and took refuge behind the bar, as if that was enough to escape her. And it was no accident that the next song to play on the juke was “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealer’s Wheel. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, indeed, Orange thought to himself.
“So, my name’s Mary Sue,” the girl said, “what’s yours?”
“Fuck introductions, I’ve had enough of listening to you talk,” Blonde declared, pulling his gun on her. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Inwardly, Orange gave a sigh of relief. This was probably the first and last time that he would ever condone Blonde’s violent temper. He didn’t want Blonde to kill the girl, she didn’t deserve that, but a little gunplay ought to do the trick and send her running…far, far away.
It was at that point that Mr. White entered the Syndicate to find Mr. Blonde with his gun drawn on some poor girl.
“Hey, Blonde, you psycho piece of shit,” White snapped. “What the fuck did I tell you about pointing guns at people?”
“Blond?” Mary Sue laughed and turned to face him, completely ignoring the firearm that was aimed at her face. “You’re not blond at all, how did you get a silly nickname like that? Did you dye your hair? I mean, was it a joke or something?”
“The sound of your voice aggravates me,” Blonde hissed.
“For the love of fucking God, Blonde, you psychotic piece of shit,” White hollered. “Put down the fucking gun and leave the poor girl alone.”
Mary Sue, meanwhile, was gazing into her compact mirror making sure her lipstick wasn’t smearing on her teeth.
Blonde noted this, how the bitch was unflustered. That could mean one of two things: either she was
more than she appeared or she was just plain crazy, the first option mad him wonder. He sat himself down at a nearby table with his feet up and the gun in his lap. He started smoking a cigarette and observed.
“Is there something we can help you with, miss?” White asked Mary Sue politely.
No! Damn it… Mr. Orange darted over to White’s side to talk to him about the pink stranger but it was already too late.
“Actually, yeah, there is. If you guys aren’t open for business yet, does that mean you’re still hiring?” Mary Sue answered. “I have experience as a cocktail waitress and I could totally work here. I think it would be great fun.”
White chuckled. “Well, I think that makes you a shoe-in for the position, then.”
“If you’ll just excuse us,” Orange said with a tense grin to Mary Sue as he latched on to White’s arm and began pulling him off to the side. “My partner and I need to discuss some matters.”
Mary Sue smiled and nodded as the two men moved off to a corner, whispering back and forth. Wow, he’s got a really cute smile. She turned back to the tall, dark, and rude man that she now knew as Blonde. “Hey, does he have a girlfriend?”
Blonde, in response, just stared at her coldly and French-inhaled his cigarette. After a long moment he replied gruffly, “No, he doesn’t.”
***
“What the hell are you doing?” Orange demanded as soon as he was certain they were out of ear-shot. “You can’t hire her, he’s a psychopath.”
White frowned. “What do you mean? So is Blonde but we keep him around.”
“Yeah, but she’s crazy in a whole other way.”
“I’m not following you, Kid.”
Orange sighed. “She’s not right in the head. I can’t quite put my finger on it but I know she is. And not like how Blonde’s a cold-blooded sociopath or Brown’s a quirky ADD case, not even like how Elle’s a lunatic. I mean, this girl is cracked in ways that science has not yet discovered.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Blonde aimed that cannon of a handgun right at her head and she didn’t even blink.”
“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. We need people who don’t scare easily.”
“Yeah, well, she scares me.” Orange folded his arms, looking over White’s shoulder to Mary Sue. “I just…I have a bad feeling about this.”
To be continued...
The story thus far:
Part One: Welcome to the Syndicate
Part Two: Hanging with the Syndicate
Part Three: Boozing with the Syndicate
Part Four: Gambling with the Syndicate
Part Five: Cards and Crazy Bitches
Part Six: Hangovers, Dancing, and a Lack of Pants
Part Seven: The Great Breakfast Quest.
But that's not the point, the point is enjoy this next part. remycognac, vanillahellsing, and I do so get a kick out of the Syndicate. Now you can laugh at the lunacy, too.
On with the show...
Part Eight
“Well if this is a madhouse then you should fit right in,” Mr. Blonde quipped.
Elle Driver narrowed her eye at him but got distracted by the scent of French fries under her nose. To her chagrin, her stomach growled.
“Like I said, eat up, Girly.” He sipped his soda, talking with the straw between his teeth. “I know you want to.”
And that was the problem, Elle did want to eat the fries. She liked fries. She liked fries from Big Kahuna. But she wasn’t about to cave in and eat something that Goddamned bastard had given her, even if her stomach was threatening to start devouring its own lining. Besides, she didn’t trust him and her eyes flicked downward at the food offering as though it were a bomb ticking.
“It’s not like they’re poisoned or anything,” Blonde said, noticing her hesitation. “But hey, if you want to starve, that’s your thing.” He finished off his burger and strolled upstairs, alternately sipping his soda and rattling the cup.
Elle sat alone at the bar, staring at the fries.
“That son of a bitch, I swear to God, I’m going to kill him.”
She grabbed the fries and begrudgingly shoved them into her mouth as she stalked out the front door to find O-Ren Ishii.
***
It was late in the day, right when the sun was going down, casting long shadows down the alley which led to the Reservoir Syndicate. The clicking of heels echoed in the stillness as the figure of a young woman approached. Her hair was a vibrant yet delicate shade of pink, like roses or carnations or My Little Ponies. The coral and amber lights of sunset reflected in her eyes. To look upon her was to look upon the personification of beauty, or spring-time. She was also reminiscent of someone who took their love of Barbie dolls one step too far.
Her name was Mary Sue.
She hadn’t meant to end up in this neighborhood, this wasn’t really her part of town. Usually she frequented the trendy clubs and lounges but tonight she took a wrong turn; so wrong a turn that the cabbie got sick of listening to her incessant chirping about which way to drive that he dropped her off on a random corner and sped off. Payment wasn’t necessary, he was just glad to get her the hell out of his car.
So here Mary Sue was, all dressed up with nowhere to go. She pouted her cupid’s bow cherry lips and ran a hand through her luxurious waves of pink hair. Up ahead she spotted a heavy door painted black with a neon sign hanging above it: The Reservoir Syndicate. As she looked at it the sign flickered to life, shining brightly.
“Wow,” Mary Sue said to herself, “that’s totally a sign that I should come in.”
She fixed her hair, checked her makeup, and went inside. Walking across the hardwood floors, she took in the scene.
“Oh my God, talk about rustic.”
This place didn’t even have a disco ball or a DJ booth. It had a juke box but a really old one, the kind that didn’t even hook up to the Internet so you could download the hottest new songs. The pool table looked pretty cool but Mary Sue couldn’t play billiards, she only knew how to stand around looking cute with a pool cue and get hot guys to teach her how to line up shots.
Mary Sue sighed. The joint was dead. She was about to leave but figured using the bathroom might be a good idea. There was no telling how long it would take her to get back to civilization.
***
Blonde was whistling to himself as he came down the stairs. A shower and a change of clothes made him feel like a new man. The occasion called for a celebratory rum and coke. It also called for music so he sauntered over to the juke and smiled as the sound of Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” filled the silence.
***
The sound of music caught Mary Sue’s attention as she touched up her lipstick in the ladies’ room mirror. It was old music from way before she was born, yeah, but at least it was something. Maybe this place isn’t so dead after all. She decided to give it one more shot. After all, she might get lucky and this Syndicate could be a trendy underground dive bar where all the attractive but brooding college guys hung out to talk about politics and pop culture. Mary Sue didn’t understand any of that, but she thought it was a real turn-on.
Even over the sound of the music Blonde could hear a door open, and it wasn’t the entrance. He spun around and saw…some chick dressed up in tacky clothes the same color as her hair. And somewhere out there, a record skipped.
Mary Sue smiled. He sure as hell wasn’t a college guy but he was hot. Blue eyes and black hair, I love that look. She waved coquettishly. “Hi.”
Blonde stared at her blankly. “What the hell do you want?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I got a little lost,” Mary Sue responded, twirling a lock of shining hair around her fingers. Her eyes gleamed as she looked at Blonde, batting her long curly lashes every so often. “It’s kind of a long story but I ended up in the neighborhood. I saw the sign outside and thought this place looked like it might be cool. I love doing that, you know, going to cool new places and meeting cool new people.”
Blonde folded his arms, regarding her the way a grizzly bear looks at a chipmunk. Her purse had the word “princess” written on it with rhinestones. It made Blonde gag a little. He turned around and walked to the bar. If he hadn’t needed a drink before he sure as hell needed one now.
“I’ve never heard of the Reservoir Syndicate,” she continued, following him. “Is it new? You’re a bar, right? Like a pub or something? I figured you couldn’t be a club or a lounge because the décor’s kind of old looking, but not really in a bad way, do you know what I mean? I mean, it’s all grungy and dirty but it’s not like there are puddles of puke lying around or anything.”
At least there weren’t any puddles of puke that Blonde was aware of; although one could never be too sure with an inebriated Brown staggering about the place. Still, there was no stench of it so that was probably a good sign.
“The Reservoir Syndicate: what does that mean?” Mary sue went on. “It sounds all dark and mysterious. That’s really cool, you know? Mysterious stuff rocks, I like mystery. Do you work here? Are you the bartender? I’m really thirsty so if you’re the bartender can you make me a cosmopolitan? I love those. My friend Katie says they’re all the rage, you know?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Blonde muttered under his breath. “And I thought Mr. Shit was bad.” He turned to the bottles and decided on a double strength Captain Morgan and Coke.
Mary Sue didn’t hear him, though, and kept on talking. Slowly, she moved towards him, jutting one hip out and curving her back to show off her perky and barely covered breasts. She flipped her hair and tilted her head, doing her best bedroom eyes. It was like some kind of bizarre mating dance.
“So anyway, I really like your eyes,” she told him. “They’re such a beautiful color. I was just thinking to myself about how much I liked men with light eyes and dark hair, that’s just the coolest combination. Your eyes are the prettiest shade of blue, they’re really hot. Like all pale and stuff. They’re kind of mysterious and stuff, too. I like that.” She giggled.
Blonde stared at Mary Sue coldly, drinking deeply. “You talk way too fucking much.”
Mary Sue pouted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I do that sometimes, it’s like a bad habit. Was I really talking too much? I’ve been trying not to do that. Katie says guys don’t like it when girls are all chatty but I just can’t help myself, you know?” She hopped up on a bar stool and leaned over, folding her arms and pushing her breasts together. “So how about that cosmo now?”
“How about a nice tall glass of ‘shut the fuck up’ instead?” Blonde finished his drink and began fixing himself another. He also took notice of the shotgun under the bar’s counter.
Mary Sue’s pout reached epic proportions. “You know, you’re kind of an asshole.”
Blonde smirked. “You have no idea.”
Orange opened the front door to the Syndicate by backing into it because his arms were full.
“Hey, guess what?” he remarked to the figure of Blonde that he managed to detect around the boxes that otherwise blocked his vision. “I just picked up our liquor license which means we’re another step closer to being open for business.” He set the boxes down at one end of the bar and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. It was only then that he realized there was someone else in the bar.
Oh my God, this has got to be my lucky day. Mary Sue’s jaw dropped ajar as she stared at the new guy who had just walked in. What a hottie! She licked her lips and flipped her hair, knowing for certain that it was no accident that she had ended up in this weird hole in the wall bar. There were hot men everywhere.
“Well hello,” she said, smiling.
Orange blinked, caught off guard by the girl’s utter…pink-ness? He looked to Blonde and inquired, “Friend of yours?”
“I don’t have any friends,” Blonde said flatly.
“Right, never mind then.” Orange turned to the girl. “Um, yeah, hi. Listen, we’re not actually open for business yet…” He had considered asking her if she was looking for a job but there was a strange spacey look in her eyes that made him think twice about it. “…yeah, we’re closed.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” she said, sliding off the stool and moving towards Orange. “The door was open and the neon sign was on so I just walked right in to see what kind of place you had here. It’s kind of cute. I mean, I don’t normally go to this sort of dive but the Syndicate’s sort of nice. I just wish I could get Mister Bartender here to serve me a drink.” She pointed to Blonde.
Blonde snorted and shook his head, walking back to the juke. This bullshit was below him. Orange could deal with the pink interloper on his own.
“That’s probably because he’s not the bartender,” Orange replied.
“Yeah, that makes sense. Bartenders are supposed to be friendly and he’s a real asshole,” she agreed, now repeating the same hip-jutting and back-curving mating dance that she had done earlier with Blonde on Orange. “You seem a lot nicer than him, though. I can tell that about you: that you’re a real sweet guy, the kind girls dream about.”
“Um, okay.” Orange pursed his lips and nodded slowly, stumped as to what response he could possibly give to that.
“I bet you work here, don’t you? You seem kind of official.”
“Heh…yeah…” Orange nodded slowly, looking past the bizarre girl to Blonde who was chuckling under his breath. Goddamn you, Blonde, pawning your problems off on me.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have really beautiful eyes?” she asked. “Because they’re really pretty and I just wanted to tell you that. I love green/hazel eyes and yours just totally jump out.” She bat her eyelashes and bit her lower lip.
Orange blinked and took refuge behind the bar, as if that was enough to escape her. And it was no accident that the next song to play on the juke was “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealer’s Wheel. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, indeed, Orange thought to himself.
“So, my name’s Mary Sue,” the girl said, “what’s yours?”
“Fuck introductions, I’ve had enough of listening to you talk,” Blonde declared, pulling his gun on her. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Inwardly, Orange gave a sigh of relief. This was probably the first and last time that he would ever condone Blonde’s violent temper. He didn’t want Blonde to kill the girl, she didn’t deserve that, but a little gunplay ought to do the trick and send her running…far, far away.
It was at that point that Mr. White entered the Syndicate to find Mr. Blonde with his gun drawn on some poor girl.
“Hey, Blonde, you psycho piece of shit,” White snapped. “What the fuck did I tell you about pointing guns at people?”
“Blond?” Mary Sue laughed and turned to face him, completely ignoring the firearm that was aimed at her face. “You’re not blond at all, how did you get a silly nickname like that? Did you dye your hair? I mean, was it a joke or something?”
“The sound of your voice aggravates me,” Blonde hissed.
“For the love of fucking God, Blonde, you psychotic piece of shit,” White hollered. “Put down the fucking gun and leave the poor girl alone.”
Mary Sue, meanwhile, was gazing into her compact mirror making sure her lipstick wasn’t smearing on her teeth.
Blonde noted this, how the bitch was unflustered. That could mean one of two things: either she was
more than she appeared or she was just plain crazy, the first option mad him wonder. He sat himself down at a nearby table with his feet up and the gun in his lap. He started smoking a cigarette and observed.
“Is there something we can help you with, miss?” White asked Mary Sue politely.
No! Damn it… Mr. Orange darted over to White’s side to talk to him about the pink stranger but it was already too late.
“Actually, yeah, there is. If you guys aren’t open for business yet, does that mean you’re still hiring?” Mary Sue answered. “I have experience as a cocktail waitress and I could totally work here. I think it would be great fun.”
White chuckled. “Well, I think that makes you a shoe-in for the position, then.”
“If you’ll just excuse us,” Orange said with a tense grin to Mary Sue as he latched on to White’s arm and began pulling him off to the side. “My partner and I need to discuss some matters.”
Mary Sue smiled and nodded as the two men moved off to a corner, whispering back and forth. Wow, he’s got a really cute smile. She turned back to the tall, dark, and rude man that she now knew as Blonde. “Hey, does he have a girlfriend?”
Blonde, in response, just stared at her coldly and French-inhaled his cigarette. After a long moment he replied gruffly, “No, he doesn’t.”
***
“What the hell are you doing?” Orange demanded as soon as he was certain they were out of ear-shot. “You can’t hire her, he’s a psychopath.”
White frowned. “What do you mean? So is Blonde but we keep him around.”
“Yeah, but she’s crazy in a whole other way.”
“I’m not following you, Kid.”
Orange sighed. “She’s not right in the head. I can’t quite put my finger on it but I know she is. And not like how Blonde’s a cold-blooded sociopath or Brown’s a quirky ADD case, not even like how Elle’s a lunatic. I mean, this girl is cracked in ways that science has not yet discovered.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Blonde aimed that cannon of a handgun right at her head and she didn’t even blink.”
“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. We need people who don’t scare easily.”
“Yeah, well, she scares me.” Orange folded his arms, looking over White’s shoulder to Mary Sue. “I just…I have a bad feeling about this.”
To be continued...
The story thus far:
Part One: Welcome to the Syndicate
Part Two: Hanging with the Syndicate
Part Three: Boozing with the Syndicate
Part Four: Gambling with the Syndicate
Part Five: Cards and Crazy Bitches
Part Six: Hangovers, Dancing, and a Lack of Pants
Part Seven: The Great Breakfast Quest.