Candy Apple #10, Red Currant #15, Mango #10 + (My first!) Malt + chopped nuts + cherry
Story: Blaze Mafia Family
Title: The Great Fake Nail Rescue
Prompts: Candy Apple #10: nails, Red Currant #15: force of nature, Mango #10: at your service + Malt (What if your character/s found themselves in a situation where they had to dress as the other gender?) + chopped nuts + cherry (coming up and writing this sort of situation was unexpectedly difficult for me. XD)
Rating: R for violence and language
Characters: Paul Robinson, Lee Griggs/Leona Delight, Joey D, Firebird Blaze, a plethora of unlucky schmucks
Summary: I have been trying for days to come up with some sort of feasible reason for why Paul, the quintessential alpha he-man, would ever dress up in drag. Well, that didn’t work obviously, so let’s just get silly with it. I’m putting a chopped nuts on the situation at hand because the idea that this was the best option to save Firebird (and that Firebird would ever need saving to begin with) is quite ridiculous, but all the background on Paul is canon. Firebird is 16 here,Paul is 27, and this is all pre-Atlas death.
Although he would never admit it, Paul was very familiar with women’s clothing. He’d grown up with four older sisters and his mother so the mysterious beauty rituals that all women performed daily held no secrets for him. He’d watched impatiently while any number of his sisters hogged the bathroom to put on their makeup masks. No other boy had been forced to follow his mother into the women’s section in clothing stores as often as he had, nor did any other man have such a detailed understanding of what exactly a “feminine problem” was. His sister’s swore that at one point in his childhood, Paul had been so immersed in female culture that he’d cried when his mother had forced his sisters to stop using him as their personal makeup doll. Paul did not believe that particular story, but he acknowledged that his understanding of the feminine world was more comprehensive than most.
However, that understanding in no way prepared him for the unhappy phenomena of fake nails.
“How am I supposed to shoot my gun with these on? I can’t even open a fucking door.”
“Language,” Lee Griggs, or Leona Delight as he was known on the stage, replied in a sing-song voice. He found what he was digging for in the back of his closet and came rushing out. “These’ll match your outfit perfectly!”
Paul stopped glaring at the garish red acrylic nails Lee had made him put on so he could glare at the black platform boots Lee was holding. “I’m not wearing those.”
Lee gave Paul an exasperated look. “You’ve said that about everything that I have been so gracious to lend you tonight. Why don’t we just skip the argument and you put these on, because we both know that’s how it’s going to end anyway.”
Paul crossed his arms over his chest to make himself look more intimidating. Perhaps it was the bracelets, but the move didn’t feel quite as effective as usual. “Not this time. I’m not wearing those.”
“Oh? Have we finally offended your hetero sensibilities?” Lee asked with a light eye roll.
“You offended my hetero sensibilities three hours ago. Now you’ve forgotten what this job is about,” Paul snapped back, falling into their old fight patterns. “I’m not dressing up like this so I can prance around while old men stick dollar bills in my stockings. I have to find Firebird and kill every one of Joey D’s men that helped kidnap her. And I can’t do any of that in five inch shoes.”
“For the record, I don’t prance around,” Lee flipped back the hair of his blond wig haughtily. “I saunter.”
It was Paul’s turn to roll his eyes. “Then why don’t you saunter your ass back to the closet and find me a pair of shoes that I can run in.”
Lee gave him a telling look but didn’t say anything as he twirled around with a flourish to get a different pair of shoes. Paul had met Lee six years ago, back whenever Paul had first come to New Palermo and hadn’t had two pennies to rub together. They’d been roommates in a dingy studio apartment and they’d quickly found out they were opposite in practically every way. Lee was a cultured homosexual that had a way of making their crappy apartment feel like the penthouse in the Four Seasons, and Paul was...not. In spite of all their differences though, they’d managed to live together alright and, when Paul had caught the attention of Atlas Blaze himself and Lee had finally landed a job in the popular drag queen club The Palace, they’d parted friends, albeit not the kind of friends that kept up with each other.
Then, two days ago, the shit had hit the fan for Paul. Firebird was doing her collection rounds, and she’d had to use the restroom at one of the bars. He’d waited outside the bathrooms for ten minutes before he’d realized something wasn’t right. She was gone. Kidnapped by some unknown assailant through the bathroom window. The entire Blaze Family was in an uproar, turning the city upside down to try and find any clue as to where the heir had disappeared to. There were whispers that the Lafayette’s had offed her in their first move to take over the city, which the Lafayette’s had vehemently denied, but everyone in both Families was gearing up for an all out war. Paul had been at wit’s end when Lee had called him out of the blue to tell him that, not only did he know who had kidnapped Firebird, but he knew where she was and had a plan to get Paul close to her.
Joey D was a slimeball and a human trafficker. The Blazes had tolerated Joey D’s business because he gave them a substantial cut of his profits and swore that he would only ever use New Palermo as a port for importing and exporting his goods but never actually take their citizens. Recently, though, there’d been rumors that Joey D was getting greedy and been doing just what he said he wouldn’t. The Blazes were looking into the rumors, which were obviously true, because Joey D was the one responsible for Firebird’s disappearance.
Joey D owned three nightclubs, including The Palace where Leona Delight was the headlining attraction, and was using them as a stopping point to store his kidnapped cargo while he arranged buyers and transportation. Lee hadn’t had any idea about what went on on the second floor of the club where the ladies weren’t allowed until he’d overhead one of his showgirls having a little têtê-a-têtê with one of Joey D’s bodyguards. They were bragging about how easy it had been to take Firebird and that it was unnecessarily cautious of Joey D to give her a holding room upstairs all to herself. Lee, being a native of New Palermo, was well aware of who Firebird was and that Paul was her bodyguard. He’d called up his old roommate, laid out his plan to Paul who’d been unhappy with it but recognized its potential, and the rest was history.
“Alright, Mr. Robinson. This is the best I can do,” Lee came out of his walk-in closet again, this time holding a pair of cherry red Mary Jane shoes. “If you can’t handle a two inch heel, then there’s no hope for you.”
Paul wanted to bang his head against Lee’s vanity but didn’t because then he’d have to do his makeup again. Forget anything that Atlas was threatening to do to him, this right here was his punishment for losing Firebird. He held out his hands to take the shoes. “Fine.”
The little buckles on the shoe straps would have been no trouble at all for him under normal circumstances, but those damn acrylic nails made the task ten times harder. This really didn’t bode well for his shooting ability.
“Ready?” Lee asked when Paul finally sat back up with shoes on his feet.
Paul took a deep breath, reminded himself that this was to protect Firebird, and nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Paul stood up and immediately wobbled on the unfamiliar footwear. Lee rolled his eyes. “Remember: heel toe, Mr. Robinson.”
“Christ,” was all Paul had to say to this experience.
“Remember, as soon as we live this room, I’m not Lee Griggs, I’m Leona Delight. And you’re not Paul Robinson, you’re Petal Fontaine.”
“I know how to use a fuckin cover ID,” Paul growled, trying out Lee’s heel-toe method of walking. His stride was shorter with heels and his center of balance was different. This was going to take some getting used to.
“Language,” Lee replied off-hand then pointed to the mirror on the back of his front door. “Before you leave, you have to take a look at yourself, and be confident in the knowledge that you are a drag queen of the highest water.”
“I don’t want to be a drag queen of any water.”
“Too late for that. Go look in the mirror.”
Paul did as he was told mostly so Lee would get off his back. He was dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl with a tight white button down shirt and a thin plaid tie that matched his short plaid mini skirt. Paul had flat out refused to shave any part of his body other than his face so Lee had made him wear thick white stockings that came up above his knees to hide most of his dark leg hair. His makeup was dramatic, highlighting his eyes and cheekbones, and the big brown wig Lee had picked out had pigtails with bright red bows to match his red nails, shoes, and lips.
“Oh fuckin’ hell.”
- - - - - - - - - -
It was the shoes that gave him away. The clicking noise of the heels was impossible to muffle. The thug stationed at the door at the top of the second floor heard Paul’s shoes at the bottom of the stairs and straightened up out of his previously lax position. Paul moved fast, bringing up his gun and shooting the soldier twice in the chest. The sound was muffled by his best silencer so it was nothing but a couple soft claps easily ignored in the ruckus caused by discoing drag queens.
“Fucking heels,” Paul muttered and kicked them off. He was just asking for a window to break in front of him or the like, but there was no way he could get up the stairs without a) breaking his neck and/or b) alerting everyone he intended to kill that someone was coming up. Being barefoot was the lesser of two evils in this case. If only he could say the same for the fake nails.
There was no one in the second floor hallway but there were a row of rooms and two hallways going to the back of the building on his left and right. Lee hadn’t had any clue about the layout of the second floor or which room they would hold Firebird in because he’d never been allowed upstairs, so Paul was on his own. Fortunately, aside from the wig, he was completely in his element. He’d already slipped into that hyper-aware state that he’d perfected during his time in the military. A good recon scout was silent, efficient, and undetected until he wanted to be. Paul had been a great recon scout.
He was reconnoitering the left hallway when one of the doors opened. Paul flattened himself against the wall and waited for the middle aged man to turn away from him. Paul grabbed the man from behind, one hand going around his chest to keep him still and the other covering his mouth. Paul backed them both into the room the man had just vacated then threw him against the door and was on him to stop any possible escape movements. He stuffed the end of his gun in the shocked man’s mouth.
It was only then that Paul took stock of the man’s features. He grinned suddenly and nothing about it could be considered pleasant. “How lucky am I? Or rather, how unlucky are you, Joey D?”
Joey D’s narrow eyes were opened as large as they could get and he was already breaking out in a sweat. He tried to say something and Paul pushed his gun farther into his mouth, making the pudgy man gag.
“Don’t make a sound unless I tell you to, otherwise I’ll shoot you now and find someone that can follow directions. Do you understand? Nod your head yes.”
Joey D nodded quickly and Paul pulled the gun back a little bit. “Good. You know who I’m here for. Where is she?”
Paul pulled the gun out of Joey’s mouth and he gasped loudly. “Who the fuck are you!?”
Paul slammed the fat man’s head against the wall. “That’s not the answer to my question, and it’s your own damn fault for not knowing me. You put your HQ over a drag club and anybody in a wig can get in, can’t they? Where is Firebird?”
“I’m not telling you a fucking thing, Blaze. Shoot me and my men will come running to mow you down.”
Another head slam into the wall shut Joey D up pretty quick. “You stupid fat fucker. Do you really think I need my gun to take your fuckin’ arm off?”
That made Joey D blanche and think twice about giving voice to the insult on the tip of his tongue. Paul pushed his advantage. “Tell me where she is. Now.”
There was a loud thump in a room somewhere behind him. Paul perked up but kept his attention on Joey D, looking for the man to give away some clue as to what that was. His face paled and his chin came up, “Three rooms over on the other side of the hallway.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. Joey D had given up that information a little too easy. His suspicions were confirmed when there was a muffled male yell that was abruptly cut off coming from the same direction as the thump. Paul’s lips quirked up and Joey D paled. That was Firebird, Paul had no doubt. She’d figured out who had caused the ruckus in this room and was making her own move to get free just like he’d told her to do if things ever came to this.
The fat man lashed out suddenly, hitting Paul awkwardly in the head with his fist. He got lucky though, and hit Paul in the temple, making Paul loosen his hold. Joey D shoved at Paul and ran for the door, but he wasn’t that lucky. Paul shot him in the back before his hand touched the door, then once more in the back of the head. Joey D crumpled to the floor, already dead and spilling out his most precious life fluids. The danger of being heard now was greater so Paul left Joey D’s corpse conveniently blocking the door, and he turned to face the room. A repeating tapping noise was coming from the direction of the coat closet. He snatched open the door and stepped inside. There in the farthest corner behind a couple suit jackets was a door handle. It was locked of course but Paul made short work of it and snatched open the door, his gun ready.
Firebird stood a few steps away from the door, obviously expecting Paul to enter as he did with gun first. She looked a little worse for the wear with a cut on her cheek and her usually impeccable clothing and hair rumpled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Paul had been imagining over the last 48 hours. A man, most likely Firebird's guard, was lying on the ground, the back of his head dented a little. Firebird had most likely hit him with the remains of a wooden chair, now a mess of splinters on the ground.
“Paul,” Firebird admonished mildly. “You should know better than to wear a mini-skirt when you haven’t shaved your legs recently.”
Paul ignored his boss’ flippant remarks in favor of focusing on the matter at hand. “Are you alright?” he asked, stepping up to her. Firebird held out her hands in handcuffs and Paul quickly picked the lock while she answered.
“Well, I was quite unhappy with the situation at hand but then I saw you,” Firebird motioned at his get-up with a wave of her fingers, “Like this and now my mood has significantly improved.”
“Christ, can you save the shit-talking until after I get you out of here?”
“I suppose I can postpone it,” Firebird agreed with a smirk then turned to their current predicament. “I don’t suppose you entered the alarm key before you opened the door?”
“Aw fuck,” Paul snapped. He went back to the door and saw a small panel that he’d missed on the wall beside the door. There was one right blinking an ominous red color. “How long do we have before the cavalry shows up?”
“I assume they’re already on their way.”
“Come on, stay close behind me.”
“Should I hold onto the back of your skirt?” Paul gave Firebird a warning look. “Right, not til the car. Sorry.”
Paul led them both back into the main room. Firebird glared at Joey D’s corpse. “He died too easy.”
A loud thump against the door made Paul curse. The cavalry was faster than he’d hoped. He glanced around the room and saw their new escape. “Alright new plan. We’re going out the window. Hold this.” Paul handed Firebird his gun while he shoved the desk against the door, keeping low in case the idiots on the other side decided to shoot first and ask questions later. They were getting more insistent, yelling and banging harder. Paul didn’t let it get to him, just turned to the next task at hand.
Firebird was working on the window but it had been painted shut and wasn’t budging. Paul took the gun from his charge and pulled her away from it before he smashed the window pane with the butt of his gun. He cleared out as much glass from the window frame as he could, mentally sighing because he knew that there was going to be broken glass somewhere in this job the second he took his shoes off.
Paul took stock of the situation. There was more danger of the men shoving at the door coming in than someone waiting in the alley. He turned to Firebird. “You first. I’ll lower you as far as I can then you drop. Quickly.”
Firebird quickly swung herself over the window and Paul held onto her forearms as she slid down the brick wall. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t easy to jump out of a second story window and Paul wanted to get Firebird as close to the ground as possible before he let go.
“Ready?” Paul asked when he’d leaned as far as possible out the window.
Firebird nodded and Paul let go. She hit the ground hard, stumbling a little but staying upright. “Throw the gun down,” she called up and Paul did so before he maneuvered himself out the window. There were still a dozen small shards of glass in the window frame that dug painfully into his fingers but it wasn’t that that worried him. The acrylic nails were screwing with his ability to clench the frame properly! He couldn’t get the right grip to hold his weight steady and, instead of pausing his momentum by hanging in the window for a short second, he just kept falling straight to the ground. He hit the ground hard but rolled with his momentum to keep from breaking his ankle.
“Fuck!” Paul whisper-yelled, grabbing his thumb. Sharp pain worse than anything else his body was feeling now shot down his whole arm.
“Oh, you ripped off a nail didn’t you?” Firebird said with real sympathy in her voice.
It felt like he’d ripped off his actual nail along with the acrylic one. “Fuckin hell! Why would anybody wear these?”
“Beauty is pain,” Firebird said. “Now let’s go.”
A loud crash from the room upstairs signaled that it was definitely time for them to go. Paul took the gun from Firebird and pushed her around the corner of the building to the back alleyway.
The back door of the building burst open and a tall drag queen with muscular arms showcased by a glittery pink cocktail dress came out. She had a gun in her hand and Paul went into protection mode. Paul stepped in front of Firebird and aimed at the drag queen but before he could shoot another drag queen hit her across the back of the head with a fire hydrant. The enemy queen fell forward, dazed, and Paul shot her in the head before she had a chance to recover.
Leona Delight squeaked at the violence, the fire hydrant still in her hand. She looked up at Paul. “I’ve been watching Miss Gigi like you said and I saw her get a gun out of her purse and I followed her and I saw the fire hydrant by the door and...”
Paul held up a hand to stop Leona’s babbling. He could afford to have her go into shock now. “Calm down, Lee, it’s fine.”
That snapped her out of it. She drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin with an imperious glare. “My name is Leona Delight, not Lee.”
“Yeah yeah. You can yell at me in the car which we’re all going to right now.” Paul grabbed Firebird and broke into a stealthy run, putting action to words.
Leona pointed weakly back to the club. “But I still have another number...”
Firebird gave Leona a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be wise to continue staying here while Joey D’s men are in such a panic. If they found out that you had anything to do with my rescue then they’d shoot you on the stage in front of everyone.”
“No!” Leona gasped. “Really?”
“That’s what I’d do,” Firebird replied.
“Oh my,” Leona said faintly, but it did have the desired effect in making her run a bit faster in her stilettos.
Paul had already planned this part of their escape, leading them through a maze of alleyways to confuse any enemies that might be on their tail before leading them down one alleyway that popped them out onto a street four blocks away from the club. A Blaze soldier hopped out of the passenger side of the Family car and opened the back door.
“Thank you, John,” Firebird said as Paul pushed her a little roughly into the car.
“It’s good to see you, Ms. Blaze,” the soldier said with a relieved grin. Then his eyes widened as he set eyes on the other two people in their escape group. “Paul?”
"It's Petal Fontaine now," Leona corrected from behind him.
“Fuckin hell,” Paul sighed and slid into the car.
Their driver was already roaring off before the soldier had time to shut the passenger door, heading for the safety of the Blaze Villa. Paul pulled his wig off and leaned back against the car with a sigh. It was done. Firebird was safe again and Paul had killed the man responsible. Except for a few cuts and scratches everyone was fine. All in all, it was as successful a rescue mission as he’d ever been a part of.
“Mr. Robinson, where are the shoes that I lent you?”
Firebird leaned forward with a gleam in her eye to look at Leona Delight. “Oh, are you the one that got him to dress up like this?”
Paul groaned. The tactical leader in him fully recognized that this rescue probably would have never happened, much less been a successful one, without dressing up as he had to slip in undetected. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. It didn’t matter that Firebird had been kidnapped for the past two days, she was going to have the time of her life giving him hell. And he hadn’t missed the amused smirks the driver was giving him every once in awhile in the rearview mirror. He’d never hear the end of this. Ever.
Firebird tugged Paul’s wig out of his hands and set it back on his head with a giggle of amusement.
Paul gave his boss a squinty eyed glare but didn’t stop her. This was his punishment, he reminded himself, but it was worth it.
- - - - - - - - - -
Paul had to look around the bar twice before he recognized Lee out of drag. It had always thrown Paul off to see how surprisingly average Lee looked when he was dressed as a man. It was only when one took in the details, such as the plucked eyebrows and manicured nails, that one might suspect something out of the ordinary.
“I would have ordered you a drink, but I remember you never liked appletinis,” Lee said with a smirk over his martini glass when Paul was close enough.
Paul set his beer bottle on the table and sat down opposite Lee. “You remember right.”
“You have always been so delightfully vulgar, Mr. Robinson.”
The bigger man shrugged. “It works for me.”
Lee nodded in acquiesce, “So it does. Now, onto business. What did you call me about?”
Paul reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “The Blaze Family wishes to thank you for your help in getting back their heir in one piece.”
Lee opened the envelope. He carefully pulled out the sheaf of papers and unfolded them. “What is this?” he asked while he scanned the legal documents. He gasped suddenly, one hand going to his throat. “Is this...do I...?”
“Joey D didn’t have a will so all of his assets were up for grabs,” Paul explained for his friend’s benefit. “The Family thought that you would appreciate this more than you would an envelope full of money.”
“Oh my,” Lee breathed out. “I...own The Palace?”
“It’s all yours. And the Blaze Family offers their protection for your business, at a greatly reduced cost of course.”
“Oh my.”
“Breathe, Lee,” Paul reminded his friend when he started turning red.
Lee gasped again and blindly reached for his appletini. He gulped down half of it then fanned his face. “This is a very generous thank you.”
Paul shrugged. “The Family is very appreciative.”
Lee suddenly fanned his face with both hands and squealed with glee. “Ohmigod, Paul! I own The Palace! This is my dream come true!”
“Yeah, I remember you talking about opening your own club someday.”
Lee leaned forward across the table. “Ohmigod. Did you get them to give me this?”
Paul gave his friend a ‘get real’ look. “I have no say whatsoever about what Atlas Blaze does or doesn’t do.” Of course, he may have mentioned something to Firebird about how Lee had been getting his BA in Business Management when he’d first started on the drag circuit. But that was just giving information, not making a decision, and Paul was certainly never going to tell Lee about it. He might kiss him or something.
“Oh I don’t even care. This is so wonderful!” Lee snatched up his glass and held it high. “A toast! Your job is back to normal, I’ve just gotten everything I’ve ever dreamed of as a result, and, if you shave your legs, I just might give you a job at my club,” he said with glee.
Paul tapped Lee’s glass then drank deeply from his beer. “In your fuckin’ dreams.”
Title: The Great Fake Nail Rescue
Prompts: Candy Apple #10: nails, Red Currant #15: force of nature, Mango #10: at your service + Malt (What if your character/s found themselves in a situation where they had to dress as the other gender?) + chopped nuts + cherry (coming up and writing this sort of situation was unexpectedly difficult for me. XD)
Rating: R for violence and language
Characters: Paul Robinson, Lee Griggs/Leona Delight, Joey D, Firebird Blaze, a plethora of unlucky schmucks
Summary: I have been trying for days to come up with some sort of feasible reason for why Paul, the quintessential alpha he-man, would ever dress up in drag. Well, that didn’t work obviously, so let’s just get silly with it. I’m putting a chopped nuts on the situation at hand because the idea that this was the best option to save Firebird (and that Firebird would ever need saving to begin with) is quite ridiculous, but all the background on Paul is canon. Firebird is 16 here,Paul is 27, and this is all pre-Atlas death.
Although he would never admit it, Paul was very familiar with women’s clothing. He’d grown up with four older sisters and his mother so the mysterious beauty rituals that all women performed daily held no secrets for him. He’d watched impatiently while any number of his sisters hogged the bathroom to put on their makeup masks. No other boy had been forced to follow his mother into the women’s section in clothing stores as often as he had, nor did any other man have such a detailed understanding of what exactly a “feminine problem” was. His sister’s swore that at one point in his childhood, Paul had been so immersed in female culture that he’d cried when his mother had forced his sisters to stop using him as their personal makeup doll. Paul did not believe that particular story, but he acknowledged that his understanding of the feminine world was more comprehensive than most.
However, that understanding in no way prepared him for the unhappy phenomena of fake nails.
“How am I supposed to shoot my gun with these on? I can’t even open a fucking door.”
“Language,” Lee Griggs, or Leona Delight as he was known on the stage, replied in a sing-song voice. He found what he was digging for in the back of his closet and came rushing out. “These’ll match your outfit perfectly!”
Paul stopped glaring at the garish red acrylic nails Lee had made him put on so he could glare at the black platform boots Lee was holding. “I’m not wearing those.”
Lee gave Paul an exasperated look. “You’ve said that about everything that I have been so gracious to lend you tonight. Why don’t we just skip the argument and you put these on, because we both know that’s how it’s going to end anyway.”
Paul crossed his arms over his chest to make himself look more intimidating. Perhaps it was the bracelets, but the move didn’t feel quite as effective as usual. “Not this time. I’m not wearing those.”
“Oh? Have we finally offended your hetero sensibilities?” Lee asked with a light eye roll.
“You offended my hetero sensibilities three hours ago. Now you’ve forgotten what this job is about,” Paul snapped back, falling into their old fight patterns. “I’m not dressing up like this so I can prance around while old men stick dollar bills in my stockings. I have to find Firebird and kill every one of Joey D’s men that helped kidnap her. And I can’t do any of that in five inch shoes.”
“For the record, I don’t prance around,” Lee flipped back the hair of his blond wig haughtily. “I saunter.”
It was Paul’s turn to roll his eyes. “Then why don’t you saunter your ass back to the closet and find me a pair of shoes that I can run in.”
Lee gave him a telling look but didn’t say anything as he twirled around with a flourish to get a different pair of shoes. Paul had met Lee six years ago, back whenever Paul had first come to New Palermo and hadn’t had two pennies to rub together. They’d been roommates in a dingy studio apartment and they’d quickly found out they were opposite in practically every way. Lee was a cultured homosexual that had a way of making their crappy apartment feel like the penthouse in the Four Seasons, and Paul was...not. In spite of all their differences though, they’d managed to live together alright and, when Paul had caught the attention of Atlas Blaze himself and Lee had finally landed a job in the popular drag queen club The Palace, they’d parted friends, albeit not the kind of friends that kept up with each other.
Then, two days ago, the shit had hit the fan for Paul. Firebird was doing her collection rounds, and she’d had to use the restroom at one of the bars. He’d waited outside the bathrooms for ten minutes before he’d realized something wasn’t right. She was gone. Kidnapped by some unknown assailant through the bathroom window. The entire Blaze Family was in an uproar, turning the city upside down to try and find any clue as to where the heir had disappeared to. There were whispers that the Lafayette’s had offed her in their first move to take over the city, which the Lafayette’s had vehemently denied, but everyone in both Families was gearing up for an all out war. Paul had been at wit’s end when Lee had called him out of the blue to tell him that, not only did he know who had kidnapped Firebird, but he knew where she was and had a plan to get Paul close to her.
Joey D was a slimeball and a human trafficker. The Blazes had tolerated Joey D’s business because he gave them a substantial cut of his profits and swore that he would only ever use New Palermo as a port for importing and exporting his goods but never actually take their citizens. Recently, though, there’d been rumors that Joey D was getting greedy and been doing just what he said he wouldn’t. The Blazes were looking into the rumors, which were obviously true, because Joey D was the one responsible for Firebird’s disappearance.
Joey D owned three nightclubs, including The Palace where Leona Delight was the headlining attraction, and was using them as a stopping point to store his kidnapped cargo while he arranged buyers and transportation. Lee hadn’t had any idea about what went on on the second floor of the club where the ladies weren’t allowed until he’d overhead one of his showgirls having a little têtê-a-têtê with one of Joey D’s bodyguards. They were bragging about how easy it had been to take Firebird and that it was unnecessarily cautious of Joey D to give her a holding room upstairs all to herself. Lee, being a native of New Palermo, was well aware of who Firebird was and that Paul was her bodyguard. He’d called up his old roommate, laid out his plan to Paul who’d been unhappy with it but recognized its potential, and the rest was history.
“Alright, Mr. Robinson. This is the best I can do,” Lee came out of his walk-in closet again, this time holding a pair of cherry red Mary Jane shoes. “If you can’t handle a two inch heel, then there’s no hope for you.”
Paul wanted to bang his head against Lee’s vanity but didn’t because then he’d have to do his makeup again. Forget anything that Atlas was threatening to do to him, this right here was his punishment for losing Firebird. He held out his hands to take the shoes. “Fine.”
The little buckles on the shoe straps would have been no trouble at all for him under normal circumstances, but those damn acrylic nails made the task ten times harder. This really didn’t bode well for his shooting ability.
“Ready?” Lee asked when Paul finally sat back up with shoes on his feet.
Paul took a deep breath, reminded himself that this was to protect Firebird, and nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Paul stood up and immediately wobbled on the unfamiliar footwear. Lee rolled his eyes. “Remember: heel toe, Mr. Robinson.”
“Christ,” was all Paul had to say to this experience.
“Remember, as soon as we live this room, I’m not Lee Griggs, I’m Leona Delight. And you’re not Paul Robinson, you’re Petal Fontaine.”
“I know how to use a fuckin cover ID,” Paul growled, trying out Lee’s heel-toe method of walking. His stride was shorter with heels and his center of balance was different. This was going to take some getting used to.
“Language,” Lee replied off-hand then pointed to the mirror on the back of his front door. “Before you leave, you have to take a look at yourself, and be confident in the knowledge that you are a drag queen of the highest water.”
“I don’t want to be a drag queen of any water.”
“Too late for that. Go look in the mirror.”
Paul did as he was told mostly so Lee would get off his back. He was dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl with a tight white button down shirt and a thin plaid tie that matched his short plaid mini skirt. Paul had flat out refused to shave any part of his body other than his face so Lee had made him wear thick white stockings that came up above his knees to hide most of his dark leg hair. His makeup was dramatic, highlighting his eyes and cheekbones, and the big brown wig Lee had picked out had pigtails with bright red bows to match his red nails, shoes, and lips.
“Oh fuckin’ hell.”
- - - - - - - - - -
It was the shoes that gave him away. The clicking noise of the heels was impossible to muffle. The thug stationed at the door at the top of the second floor heard Paul’s shoes at the bottom of the stairs and straightened up out of his previously lax position. Paul moved fast, bringing up his gun and shooting the soldier twice in the chest. The sound was muffled by his best silencer so it was nothing but a couple soft claps easily ignored in the ruckus caused by discoing drag queens.
“Fucking heels,” Paul muttered and kicked them off. He was just asking for a window to break in front of him or the like, but there was no way he could get up the stairs without a) breaking his neck and/or b) alerting everyone he intended to kill that someone was coming up. Being barefoot was the lesser of two evils in this case. If only he could say the same for the fake nails.
There was no one in the second floor hallway but there were a row of rooms and two hallways going to the back of the building on his left and right. Lee hadn’t had any clue about the layout of the second floor or which room they would hold Firebird in because he’d never been allowed upstairs, so Paul was on his own. Fortunately, aside from the wig, he was completely in his element. He’d already slipped into that hyper-aware state that he’d perfected during his time in the military. A good recon scout was silent, efficient, and undetected until he wanted to be. Paul had been a great recon scout.
He was reconnoitering the left hallway when one of the doors opened. Paul flattened himself against the wall and waited for the middle aged man to turn away from him. Paul grabbed the man from behind, one hand going around his chest to keep him still and the other covering his mouth. Paul backed them both into the room the man had just vacated then threw him against the door and was on him to stop any possible escape movements. He stuffed the end of his gun in the shocked man’s mouth.
It was only then that Paul took stock of the man’s features. He grinned suddenly and nothing about it could be considered pleasant. “How lucky am I? Or rather, how unlucky are you, Joey D?”
Joey D’s narrow eyes were opened as large as they could get and he was already breaking out in a sweat. He tried to say something and Paul pushed his gun farther into his mouth, making the pudgy man gag.
“Don’t make a sound unless I tell you to, otherwise I’ll shoot you now and find someone that can follow directions. Do you understand? Nod your head yes.”
Joey D nodded quickly and Paul pulled the gun back a little bit. “Good. You know who I’m here for. Where is she?”
Paul pulled the gun out of Joey’s mouth and he gasped loudly. “Who the fuck are you!?”
Paul slammed the fat man’s head against the wall. “That’s not the answer to my question, and it’s your own damn fault for not knowing me. You put your HQ over a drag club and anybody in a wig can get in, can’t they? Where is Firebird?”
“I’m not telling you a fucking thing, Blaze. Shoot me and my men will come running to mow you down.”
Another head slam into the wall shut Joey D up pretty quick. “You stupid fat fucker. Do you really think I need my gun to take your fuckin’ arm off?”
That made Joey D blanche and think twice about giving voice to the insult on the tip of his tongue. Paul pushed his advantage. “Tell me where she is. Now.”
There was a loud thump in a room somewhere behind him. Paul perked up but kept his attention on Joey D, looking for the man to give away some clue as to what that was. His face paled and his chin came up, “Three rooms over on the other side of the hallway.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. Joey D had given up that information a little too easy. His suspicions were confirmed when there was a muffled male yell that was abruptly cut off coming from the same direction as the thump. Paul’s lips quirked up and Joey D paled. That was Firebird, Paul had no doubt. She’d figured out who had caused the ruckus in this room and was making her own move to get free just like he’d told her to do if things ever came to this.
The fat man lashed out suddenly, hitting Paul awkwardly in the head with his fist. He got lucky though, and hit Paul in the temple, making Paul loosen his hold. Joey D shoved at Paul and ran for the door, but he wasn’t that lucky. Paul shot him in the back before his hand touched the door, then once more in the back of the head. Joey D crumpled to the floor, already dead and spilling out his most precious life fluids. The danger of being heard now was greater so Paul left Joey D’s corpse conveniently blocking the door, and he turned to face the room. A repeating tapping noise was coming from the direction of the coat closet. He snatched open the door and stepped inside. There in the farthest corner behind a couple suit jackets was a door handle. It was locked of course but Paul made short work of it and snatched open the door, his gun ready.
Firebird stood a few steps away from the door, obviously expecting Paul to enter as he did with gun first. She looked a little worse for the wear with a cut on her cheek and her usually impeccable clothing and hair rumpled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Paul had been imagining over the last 48 hours. A man, most likely Firebird's guard, was lying on the ground, the back of his head dented a little. Firebird had most likely hit him with the remains of a wooden chair, now a mess of splinters on the ground.
“Paul,” Firebird admonished mildly. “You should know better than to wear a mini-skirt when you haven’t shaved your legs recently.”
Paul ignored his boss’ flippant remarks in favor of focusing on the matter at hand. “Are you alright?” he asked, stepping up to her. Firebird held out her hands in handcuffs and Paul quickly picked the lock while she answered.
“Well, I was quite unhappy with the situation at hand but then I saw you,” Firebird motioned at his get-up with a wave of her fingers, “Like this and now my mood has significantly improved.”
“Christ, can you save the shit-talking until after I get you out of here?”
“I suppose I can postpone it,” Firebird agreed with a smirk then turned to their current predicament. “I don’t suppose you entered the alarm key before you opened the door?”
“Aw fuck,” Paul snapped. He went back to the door and saw a small panel that he’d missed on the wall beside the door. There was one right blinking an ominous red color. “How long do we have before the cavalry shows up?”
“I assume they’re already on their way.”
“Come on, stay close behind me.”
“Should I hold onto the back of your skirt?” Paul gave Firebird a warning look. “Right, not til the car. Sorry.”
Paul led them both back into the main room. Firebird glared at Joey D’s corpse. “He died too easy.”
A loud thump against the door made Paul curse. The cavalry was faster than he’d hoped. He glanced around the room and saw their new escape. “Alright new plan. We’re going out the window. Hold this.” Paul handed Firebird his gun while he shoved the desk against the door, keeping low in case the idiots on the other side decided to shoot first and ask questions later. They were getting more insistent, yelling and banging harder. Paul didn’t let it get to him, just turned to the next task at hand.
Firebird was working on the window but it had been painted shut and wasn’t budging. Paul took the gun from his charge and pulled her away from it before he smashed the window pane with the butt of his gun. He cleared out as much glass from the window frame as he could, mentally sighing because he knew that there was going to be broken glass somewhere in this job the second he took his shoes off.
Paul took stock of the situation. There was more danger of the men shoving at the door coming in than someone waiting in the alley. He turned to Firebird. “You first. I’ll lower you as far as I can then you drop. Quickly.”
Firebird quickly swung herself over the window and Paul held onto her forearms as she slid down the brick wall. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t easy to jump out of a second story window and Paul wanted to get Firebird as close to the ground as possible before he let go.
“Ready?” Paul asked when he’d leaned as far as possible out the window.
Firebird nodded and Paul let go. She hit the ground hard, stumbling a little but staying upright. “Throw the gun down,” she called up and Paul did so before he maneuvered himself out the window. There were still a dozen small shards of glass in the window frame that dug painfully into his fingers but it wasn’t that that worried him. The acrylic nails were screwing with his ability to clench the frame properly! He couldn’t get the right grip to hold his weight steady and, instead of pausing his momentum by hanging in the window for a short second, he just kept falling straight to the ground. He hit the ground hard but rolled with his momentum to keep from breaking his ankle.
“Fuck!” Paul whisper-yelled, grabbing his thumb. Sharp pain worse than anything else his body was feeling now shot down his whole arm.
“Oh, you ripped off a nail didn’t you?” Firebird said with real sympathy in her voice.
It felt like he’d ripped off his actual nail along with the acrylic one. “Fuckin hell! Why would anybody wear these?”
“Beauty is pain,” Firebird said. “Now let’s go.”
A loud crash from the room upstairs signaled that it was definitely time for them to go. Paul took the gun from Firebird and pushed her around the corner of the building to the back alleyway.
The back door of the building burst open and a tall drag queen with muscular arms showcased by a glittery pink cocktail dress came out. She had a gun in her hand and Paul went into protection mode. Paul stepped in front of Firebird and aimed at the drag queen but before he could shoot another drag queen hit her across the back of the head with a fire hydrant. The enemy queen fell forward, dazed, and Paul shot her in the head before she had a chance to recover.
Leona Delight squeaked at the violence, the fire hydrant still in her hand. She looked up at Paul. “I’ve been watching Miss Gigi like you said and I saw her get a gun out of her purse and I followed her and I saw the fire hydrant by the door and...”
Paul held up a hand to stop Leona’s babbling. He could afford to have her go into shock now. “Calm down, Lee, it’s fine.”
That snapped her out of it. She drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin with an imperious glare. “My name is Leona Delight, not Lee.”
“Yeah yeah. You can yell at me in the car which we’re all going to right now.” Paul grabbed Firebird and broke into a stealthy run, putting action to words.
Leona pointed weakly back to the club. “But I still have another number...”
Firebird gave Leona a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be wise to continue staying here while Joey D’s men are in such a panic. If they found out that you had anything to do with my rescue then they’d shoot you on the stage in front of everyone.”
“No!” Leona gasped. “Really?”
“That’s what I’d do,” Firebird replied.
“Oh my,” Leona said faintly, but it did have the desired effect in making her run a bit faster in her stilettos.
Paul had already planned this part of their escape, leading them through a maze of alleyways to confuse any enemies that might be on their tail before leading them down one alleyway that popped them out onto a street four blocks away from the club. A Blaze soldier hopped out of the passenger side of the Family car and opened the back door.
“Thank you, John,” Firebird said as Paul pushed her a little roughly into the car.
“It’s good to see you, Ms. Blaze,” the soldier said with a relieved grin. Then his eyes widened as he set eyes on the other two people in their escape group. “Paul?”
"It's Petal Fontaine now," Leona corrected from behind him.
“Fuckin hell,” Paul sighed and slid into the car.
Their driver was already roaring off before the soldier had time to shut the passenger door, heading for the safety of the Blaze Villa. Paul pulled his wig off and leaned back against the car with a sigh. It was done. Firebird was safe again and Paul had killed the man responsible. Except for a few cuts and scratches everyone was fine. All in all, it was as successful a rescue mission as he’d ever been a part of.
“Mr. Robinson, where are the shoes that I lent you?”
Firebird leaned forward with a gleam in her eye to look at Leona Delight. “Oh, are you the one that got him to dress up like this?”
Paul groaned. The tactical leader in him fully recognized that this rescue probably would have never happened, much less been a successful one, without dressing up as he had to slip in undetected. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. It didn’t matter that Firebird had been kidnapped for the past two days, she was going to have the time of her life giving him hell. And he hadn’t missed the amused smirks the driver was giving him every once in awhile in the rearview mirror. He’d never hear the end of this. Ever.
Firebird tugged Paul’s wig out of his hands and set it back on his head with a giggle of amusement.
Paul gave his boss a squinty eyed glare but didn’t stop her. This was his punishment, he reminded himself, but it was worth it.
- - - - - - - - - -
Paul had to look around the bar twice before he recognized Lee out of drag. It had always thrown Paul off to see how surprisingly average Lee looked when he was dressed as a man. It was only when one took in the details, such as the plucked eyebrows and manicured nails, that one might suspect something out of the ordinary.
“I would have ordered you a drink, but I remember you never liked appletinis,” Lee said with a smirk over his martini glass when Paul was close enough.
Paul set his beer bottle on the table and sat down opposite Lee. “You remember right.”
“You have always been so delightfully vulgar, Mr. Robinson.”
The bigger man shrugged. “It works for me.”
Lee nodded in acquiesce, “So it does. Now, onto business. What did you call me about?”
Paul reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “The Blaze Family wishes to thank you for your help in getting back their heir in one piece.”
Lee opened the envelope. He carefully pulled out the sheaf of papers and unfolded them. “What is this?” he asked while he scanned the legal documents. He gasped suddenly, one hand going to his throat. “Is this...do I...?”
“Joey D didn’t have a will so all of his assets were up for grabs,” Paul explained for his friend’s benefit. “The Family thought that you would appreciate this more than you would an envelope full of money.”
“Oh my,” Lee breathed out. “I...own The Palace?”
“It’s all yours. And the Blaze Family offers their protection for your business, at a greatly reduced cost of course.”
“Oh my.”
“Breathe, Lee,” Paul reminded his friend when he started turning red.
Lee gasped again and blindly reached for his appletini. He gulped down half of it then fanned his face. “This is a very generous thank you.”
Paul shrugged. “The Family is very appreciative.”
Lee suddenly fanned his face with both hands and squealed with glee. “Ohmigod, Paul! I own The Palace! This is my dream come true!”
“Yeah, I remember you talking about opening your own club someday.”
Lee leaned forward across the table. “Ohmigod. Did you get them to give me this?”
Paul gave his friend a ‘get real’ look. “I have no say whatsoever about what Atlas Blaze does or doesn’t do.” Of course, he may have mentioned something to Firebird about how Lee had been getting his BA in Business Management when he’d first started on the drag circuit. But that was just giving information, not making a decision, and Paul was certainly never going to tell Lee about it. He might kiss him or something.
“Oh I don’t even care. This is so wonderful!” Lee snatched up his glass and held it high. “A toast! Your job is back to normal, I’ve just gotten everything I’ve ever dreamed of as a result, and, if you shave your legs, I just might give you a job at my club,” he said with glee.
Paul tapped Lee’s glass then drank deeply from his beer. “In your fuckin’ dreams.”