Big Chicago

Big Chicago (part 27)…by Samayel


Oscar Wilde may be long dead, but his one-liners will last through the ages. I think he would have liked that. That blasé and yet sparkling commentary has been emulated by generations of queens with attitude, and what a legacy to have left behind. I probably won’t leave anything so significant after me, but I can live with that. Especially like this.

Harry has been in high spirits all day, and I have been chiefly responsible for making him that way. I never really made it out of his pajamas, in spite of breakfast and a lengthy lounge in the library after he opened his presents. Some of them were admittedly hurried, but one was received every bit as well as I could have hoped.

The portrait.

Canvas, oil paints and hours of labor you can measure in quantities like dollars or days. The look on a lover’s face when they see what you created, wholly inspired by love and admiration, is a completely different story. I admit that I put a lot of effort into making this particular work my best, and it was well worth it.

The man in the suit is striking enough, even half in profile, but the eyes and the set of the shoulders tell you everything. The impression of force and vigor, tempered by the implication of a weight being willingly carried, however much a burden it might be. It hints at resignation, power that simmers and waits to be used with precision, and intensity. It is Harry…or as close as my talents could come to making him live on canvas.

Next to the self portraits I made, it stands out handsomely as a breath of happiness and health. Which tells me that, at the time that I painted the others, my self image wasn’t exactly a glowing review of me. What I wonder now is, how many changes would be found in my self portrait now and in the future? Will it always evolve, as I have, molding, shifting and changing to meet every new circumstance? Harry will always be my inspiration, because with him, I see myself through new eyes.

Potential. I see it now. Some of it. His words in a little German deli were prophetic, and he is here to see them come true. In a way, that’s his real birthday gift. There are a lot of things about myself that I don’t like, or probably shouldn’t like but just can’t or won’t change, but I don’t think…I don’t think I feel the contempt for myself that I once did. The person Harry met in that prison hated every part of himself bitterly, despising the weakness that made his life into a living hell. That person is dead. I’m still figuring out who the hell I am now, but all I need to know is that Harry will still be here when I work it out.

I came from heaven, where the angels sipped champagne and worried over brand names. It was a long way to fall…but I’m learning to stretch those wings again, and I’m not even scared of how high I might fly.

No workouts today. Just lazing in the library in pajamas in the afternoon, soaking up coffee and tea. (Sadly, it’s decaffeinated, because Snape’s orders about stimulants are still in effect. My anxiety gets worse when I’m hyper and jittery, and while we might bend the rules a little tonight, we won’t break them in anything less than grand style.) I read a wonderful little volume of Wilde’s critical essays while Harry hung his portrait and glowed with pride. He more than loves it, and it shows. Wilde became dear to me the first time I read ‘The Importance Of Being Earnest’. It’s timeless, in part because anyone who ever hid their sexuality and lived that double life understands the sense of exhilaration and freedom that comes with a new persona. The presumptions attached to where you’ve been and what you’ve done just slide away, and you can reinvent yourself, shedding your skin like a snake.

The significance of a story about a man who lives two lives isn’t lost on me now, either. Everything is different now. My life in no way even resembles the fucking tragedy that it used to be, and even if memory haunts and dreams betray, when I wake up and open my eyes, I open them to look upon paradise.

I have every right to be proud, too. This morning’s sexual Olympics were not the limit of my talents, even if they were pretty amazing in their own right. It might sound just the slightest bit whorish, but even though we got fairly vigorous in the shower earlier, I’m not a damn bit sore, and even though it’s only been a few hours, I can feel the vague and creeping urge to indulge myself a little more calling to me like some siren from the rocks. It’s hard to be anything but kittenish on a day like this. Well fed and rested, sexually replete, and free to properly enjoy being the lazy, sensual creature that I really am.

And then there’s the night to come. I can finally dress up the way I want to and feel right. It’s been all business lately, and there was little point is putting effort into my appearance. At last I can get out on the town a little, even if we won’t be going too crazy with it. Green Dolphin Street is on the menu tonight, and any place that mixes live jazz with a top drawer menu is well worth dressing my best for!

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What a night. What a life. It was good to bend the rules, even if they were only very small bends. A little wine with dinner, a few items from the menu that aren’t quite what the doctor ordered. A late night dancing and looking my very best. None of these are strictly good for me in the way that Doc Snape would define good, but sometimes the best thing for you is to let the rules slide away for a little while.

Of course, shooing Ron away from the car for a while so that I could hitch my skirt up and impale myself on Harry’s cock in the back seat wasn’t anything that Snape forbade…but damn, was that good for me too! Ron grumbled all the way home about cleaning the upholstery, but it was worth it a hundred times over. It was Harry’s birthday, and the rules can go to hell for a day, because tomorrow life goes back to normal, and the things we have to do and plan take over again. This was our time, and our freedom, and we deserve this.

On his birthday, he thanks me for everything, which is still perverse to me, because I can never imagine myself being worthy of thanks for anything, but I’m getting the idea…slowly and surely…that I’m earning this place I’ve made for myself, just like I earned all the other places and situations I’ve lived in and lived through. It’s just…I’m not used to it feeling this good.

Tomorrow I’ll be training again, exercising before breakfast and studying here and at the ‘office’, adapting to yet another change in a life that feels like it hardly ever involves anything else. Tonight, well…tonight I’m right here, feeling the even rhythm of his breath on my neck, wrapped in arms that soothe away worries, and basking in the glow of a good night spent with the one I love.

And knowing I deserve it…that makes it all the better.

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“He really is a little workhorse, isn’t he?” Ron mused quietly to Harry, all the while watching as Hermione drilled the slim blond on computer protocols and shared notation for comments that would be recognized by the others in the lab.

Harry didn’t really take his eyes off of his work, which at the moment consisted of a table covered by a single enormous blueprint of Blaise Zabini’s home. Exits and entrances had been circled in red ink, and the location of the primary power line and fuse box had been noted as well. Not that a home invasion was being planned as an absolute, but since Drake would be in there, completely surrounded by Zabini and his cronies, Harry had insisted on drafting a complete plan for extracting Drake at the first sign of trouble. Unspoken was the fact that, if it came to that, Harry would have to kill everyone in the house except Drake, just to ensure the absence of any witnesses that could trace involvement to Drake. Harry scribbled notes in the margins of the blueprint before nodding softly.

“Yeah. He really is. You saying you approve?”

Ron blushed faintly, then clenched his jaw with an air of resigned irritation. “Well…yeah. Except about my upholstery. You two really need to knock that shit off. I mean, do you even know how stereotypical it is for a new couple to hump every few minutes like happy little gay bunnies? That aside, I’ll admit to this…he looks like he’s proud to be here, and he really works at fitting into the job here. So yeah…I approve.”

Harry smirked mildly, tracing the outline of an air duct with his fingertip while he answered. “Cool. Of course, this has nothing to do with you and Hermione finally going on a date because he pushed both of your buttons?”

Ron’s faint blush shot to instant crimson. “Subject closed for discussion. You so totally have my permission to just drop it. Preferably off of a cliff.”

“Heh. C’mon. You know you’re happy. She’s happy. Why be secretive? No one will think you’re less macho just because you’re in love.”

“No…really…it would be completely alright if shut the fuck up. I don’t ask for the inner secrets of your love life. I just clean up after them! Upholstery, dude, it’s not a bedspread! Can’t just shove it in the wash and call it a day. Things between Hermione and me are just fine, and that’s all you need to know. Please…forget I said anything. I’ll even disapprove if we can just move on and get down to business. I‘d even threaten to vote conservative…if fucking Riddle didn’t own most of them.”

Harry chuckled. Drake turned his head from his work and smiled from the other end of the room. Harry looked back with a wink, then turned his head back to the task at hand. ’He loves the sound of that. Even here, in all this mess. Note to self…chuckle more. Maybe even laugh.’

“Fine, fine! You and I will be in the car down the street about a block and a half away. We’ll be wired for headset communication, you with the standard rig and me with the throat patch mic and earpiece. I’ll move to the outside back of the building as soon as Drake is indoors. The most obvious entrance is here…or here. Tentatively, I’d say I’ll wait to enter the back yard until you give me the signal. In the event of security alarms or motion detectors, I don’t want to give any advance notice of my presence. If I have to, I’ll go in fast enough that I’ll still have the edge while they wonder what the hell is going on.

“In a scenario like this, we’ll be going for speed. I’ll move room to room, ‘cleaning’ anyone I see until I’ve got Drake safe. You’d be coming straight to the front entrance while I work the building. Once Drake and I are out, all that matters is moving away quietly and quickly…no pursuit allowed. That means terminal force if necessary, and Dean has cooked up some new countermeasures to discourage followers. I’ve got three maps from Hermione covering possible routes home to keep us away from an obvious path of retreat. Those are for you, and just so you know, you’ll be playing the chauffer again, in case any cops stop and inquire about an expensive car parked with a driver waiting. All clear?”

“Crystal clear. Pretty straightforward. What’s Dean got for us now? Anything I’ll have to train for? At least his instructions never read like the ones for hooking up my stereo.”

“Well…nothing too complicated, but one of them can’t be used while driving, so I’ll handle that. The other items will become part of our standard ‘black bag’ equipment, so after this job, you’ll get briefed on them so that you can use them alone. You know what an EMP is?”

“Huh? Emergency Medical…no wait…what the hell is an EMP?”

Harry smirked wickedly. “Electro Magnetic Pulse. Dean’s rigged a miniature version for us. It disrupts electronics as soon as it’s triggered. Shuts off cars, computers, communications. Non-lethal and safe as can be…unless the guy near it has a pacemaker. If you time the charge right, it could stop a pursuing vehicle without having to resort to gunplay in public. Very handy. And that’s not all! We’ve got a short range microwave emitter that will fry circuitry in any modern car with an onboard computer that controls the engine. A little less safe for humans, and I wouldn’t want to miss with it because there’s no telling what might get fried off by a thing like that.”

Ron shuddered. “Brrr…weapons that kill cars. Bad. I hate them on principle. Good for us, but it still makes me queasy just thinking about it. You got any idea how hard it is to replace or repair the onboard computer for a new car? It’s a lot worse than cleaning the upholstery because you had a good date night!”

“Well I wasn’t planning on using it on any of our vehicles! I’m just glad we’ve got some new non-lethal tricks up our sleeve. You know we have a strict policy of not engaging in combat with local law enforcement if we can possibly help it. These might just save our bacon before we’re through here.”

Harry rolled up the papers and handed Ron the marked maps that Hermione had prepared, with a glance back at the blond head currently focused on the computer in front of him. Ron took the papers with a nod and headed back to his own desk, rarely used but still ready when he needed it, and started his estimates on possible response times by law enforcement and safer, faster routes through local traffic. Harry was tense, and Ron knew it, but there was nothing to be done for it. The tension was rooted in having a boyfriend who was about to frame a mobster for revenge, all because he’d rather expose himself to risk rather than ask for a simple execution.

Nope. Nothing tense about that. Poor bastard.

Harry took the lift down to the ballistics lab and target range. Oddly, weapons practice was calming for him. The simple routine of cleaning, sighting and firing them was mind numbing and vaguely comforting. His mind could concentrate on other things while his body went through the well trained motions of the task at hand. Here he could think, and his thoughts weren’t entirely peaceful.

’What the fuck was I thinking? I can’t believe I’m letting him do this! He seems like he’s fine with it, and it isn’t like he hasn’t been taking this seriously…but I just can’t help it…I hate this. I’ve never been this nervous about anything. Now I’m suddenly thinking about all the wrong things at all the wrong times. I should have said no….no I shouldn’t have. Fuck!’

Harry calmly emptied the clip of the 9mm into the target, then placed it on the small counter and picked up the snub-nosed .38 revolver. A traditional police weapon, the .38 had been largely phased out as criminals began to use a wider and more powerful array of firearms. As a result, law enforcement had upgraded its side arms to keep up with the increased threats, and the 9mm had become the new weapon of choice. Still, Harry wasn’t one to let a once sharp skill go to waste, and a little practice with a revolver was worthwhile just on general principle.

’When I found him, I could tell he’d let himself be a dependant if I let him. Tempting…because he’s so fucking beautiful. So smart…and funny…and not from this fucking world in bed. I could…I could make him do anything I want. He’d do it, just because I told him to. Who wouldn’t want that? Someone who fixates on you…only wants you, depends on you for everything and hangs on your every word. Jesus…it’s every man’s pipe dream! Naturally, I managed to completely fuck that up. Oh, no…Harry couldn’t have a boyfriend that does exactly as he’s told and stays quietly uninvolved. I had to want him to be well. Whole. Complete. Doesn’t that just complicate the ever-loving fuck out of things?’

The grouping of shots was nearly perfect at shorter ranges, but with the target at maximum distance he’d missed his mark several times. Not by a great distance, and certainly close enough to kill with, but nowhere near his usual par. Harry grimaced and removed the spent ammunition from the revolver, then loaded it again. Six bullets. He’d keep going until he was back on par.

’I finally get something I want, but this isn’t all about me anymore. I was alone for so fucking long. The others always thought those little vacations I took involved getting laid somewhere. A normal guy would have just met someone and had some fun. No strings, no hassles. Not me though. I just had to complicate things by waiting for love. They’ll never know how much of a sap I really am. Drake was a beautiful mess in there. So much potential, practically snuffed out of existence and just barely flickering like candlelight. I couldn’t…I couldn’t ignore it. He’s got to be who he is. What he can become. I can tell him what to do…but I can’t tell him what to be. This is who he is. He wouldn’t have done the things I have. He wouldn’t kill. I guess…I wouldn’t want to change that…even if it means going through this.’

Almost perfect. Harry snorted derisively. ’Isn’t that just like life?’

Dean’s footsteps echoed faintly behind him. The tall slim man was carrying his clipboard and still wearing a white lab coat. Harry pulled off the heavy plastic ‘earmuffs’ that muffled most of the shattering noise of gunfire, and turned around, grateful for the break in his concentration.

“Hey, Harry. Just finished assembling the last of the equipment you wanted for this gig. Everything has been tested twice, all in working order. We’ll be going over it with Drake in a few minutes. I’m headed upstairs. See you there.”
“Okay. Cool. Thanks, Dean. I know this wasn’t a standard mission, so the extra effort is appreciated. Be there as soon as I put away a few things.”

“Ciao.”

And Dean was headed back to the elevators. Harry leaned back against the wall with a puff of breath, then stared at the ceiling, taking the deep slow breaths that long years of training had taught him, bringing his mood completely and utterly under control. His heartbeat slowed, and in less than a minute he was as pacific and mellow as a sleeping infant. If his thoughts and feelings sometimes ran wild, he didn’t allow them to show on his face or in his behavior. Not here.

The guns were quickly cleaned and returned to their lockers, the used target sheets pulled from the line and dumped into the trash, and the headset he’d been wearing to dampen sound was hung next to the others. It was time to work out the particulars with Drake, and make sure he knew how to make effective use of the equipment he’d be carrying in to Zabini’s house.

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Hermione’s show, I guess. It’s a funny thing, seeing her listened to so seriously by men who carry guns and kill people, while she wears scruffy old blue jeans and a tank top, her hair tied back by a faded bandanna. Score one for the hippy-chick. Dean is here, and Harry and Ron are at the other sides of the table. We’re the only ones here at the moment. The rest of the staff is working at their stations, while we convene here to figure out exactly how and when I’m going to make Blaise pay.

“Okay…Drake, this is the layout of the house I pulled from the city records. The largest room in the back left corner of the house was intended to be a master bedroom suite, and it’s only a guess, but it probably still serves that purpose. There are guest bedrooms and storage rooms upstairs, but the primary rooms are probably still following the original specs for the building. Kitchens, bathrooms, etcetera…that kind of thing is likely still the same even after many years.

The master suite or the study are the most likely places for a computer. I tried to hack him and make this easy, but as you already know, he stays disconnected from the net when he doesn’t need to be, and his router and security equipment are top flight. I can break in very easily if you make sure he’s connected for at least five minutes or just load the contents of the disc I’ve prepared. This way we have two opportunities. One is simple and is based on you getting permission or just making sure he’s online while I’m ready and waiting for him, and the other just uploads what we want onto his computer.

Second, you’ll be well equipped so that we can stay in contact with you at all times, and our equipment is better than anything these guys would have seen. You should be perfectly safe even if searched or checked for wires. Dean…if you could take over?”

Dean stands up and opens a small case while I try to keep my head clear. Four hours of trying to translate Interpol communications and scan for any oblique references to this operation or Riddle and the Enigma Corp. is fogging my mind. When you immerse in a foreign language, it becomes part of you, and even dominates the way you think and express yourself. That’s the nature of language, it subtly influences your frame of reference, and snapping out of it afterwards is tricky on short notice.

Of course…it is my ass on the line, so I think I can manage to pay careful attention to this, even if it gives me a headache!

“First off, you’ll be carrying a GPS tracking tag that’s small enough to go completely unnoticed. We could pinpoint your location anywhere in the world, so you’ll be covered even if something happens and you have to leave the house. Nothing short of a miracle would allow its detection by people who aren’t actively looking for it and don’t know exactly where it is.

Second, I’ve wired up some good looking bling with a microphone that could pick up a whisper at twenty paces. Again, it’s so damn small that I could fit a few dozen on a fingertip and still have room left. The signal is discreet…they won’t pick it up with anything short the kind of equipment we can afford.

Next, we have self defense. We can’t do anything obvious, so guns are out, and we all know that they’ll be looking for things like that. If the help he keeps is any good at all, they’ll at least pat you down and check your purse for serious weaponry. Instead of guns, we’re sticking to chemistry.

We have one pill capsule, quick dissolving powder with no taste, that can be dropped into a drink easily. It’ll put a man of average size to sleep in a matter of maybe ten minutes, especially when mixed with alcohol. The most intense effects really last about a half hour, but the sleep that comes afterwards is heavy and might last quite awhile if the subject is tired anyway.

You’ll also have one ring with a paste stone that comes off with a hard twist, and underneath it is a poisoned spike less than an eighth of an inch long. One poke with this and paralysis should set in seconds later. Interesting side note, it’s related to the toxins made famous by voodoo practitioners, extracted from the venom of certain fishes. It’s harmless, but the effects last for hours, shutting off the part of the brain that allows you to command your own limbs. You can see and feel and hear what’s going on around you, but you can’t move. I recommend you only use this if you have to leave in a hurry or are in serious danger.

Also, I’ve loaded a small perfume mister with a mix that will drop a man in a seconds and leave him sleeping like a baby all day. There’s enough in it to knock out a whole cocktail party, so I can’t see you needing more than a little even in a worst case scenario. Remember to hold your breath and back away after you use it, or you’ll be playing ‘sleeping beauty’ too!

Finally, we’ve got a sharp little blade that’s hidden inside this lipstick. Don’t use this one for touch ups, just bring some from home. You really don’t want to cut yourself on this one. It’s surgical steel and it can slice through a tin can like it was butter. Not really meant for fighting, but it might come in handy if you keep it tucked in behind your belt. Never know when you might need to cut your way free of something, right?

Finally, we have the disc itself, which I’ve conveniently labeled as a burned copy of club mixes. The first track on it is actually some hip hop I loaded on, just in case someone were to actually listen. Ideally, this allows you an excuse to load it into the computer, claiming that you want some music you like in the background. While it plays, the rest of the information on the disk will be silently moving into place, thanks to Hermione’s programming. Is all of this clear?”

I admit to being impressed as hell. Frankly, I feel like quite the Mata Hari, with my purse full of poison and my sneaky CD full of viral code and illicit porn. They’ve planned for every eventuality, and knowing that Harry will be right outside is comforting…except for the fact that, even though no one has said it, if this goes sour all of a sudden, I know Harry will come in and kill everyone except me.

Sobering thought, isn’t it?

Other lives are in my hands. If I screw this up, they all die, not just me. Anybody with Blaise that night is at risk of losing their life if they hurt me, and none of them even know it. I remember Vinnie and Greg. They were Blaise’s best friends from school. They lived the high life because they stuck by him and earned their place. Not exactly original thinkers, but nice enough guys in their own way. They were always nice to me when I was with Blaise, and the idea of them dying just because I got caught doing this is a lot more unsettling than I like.

But it’s really too late for that now. There’s only one answer to give.

“Understood. I’ll concentrate on getting access to the bedroom, maybe right after dinner, hinting that I’d like some private time with Blaise. Find the computer, either in a study or den, or in the master suite, and then get my ‘music’ and make sure there’s a connection. Ideally, load a drink for Blaise and get him to take a nice nap while I let the comp load up. I already worked out an excuse to just drink and talk, but I don’t really want to talk about it here. It’s enough to say that, I think he’ll respect me enough to leave me alone when I imply that I haven’t come for sex. He isn’t all bad, so I’m almost sure it will keep him off me. Last, my cover story has been that I’m a ‘kept boy’ for a wealthy older man, and that covers my needing to be home at a reasonable hour. If we time this right, I should only be there a couple of hours, and then I’ll have a taxi pick me up and drop me off two blocks away, where Ron and Harry will pick me up as soon as the taxi is out of sight. Sounds like everything is in order.”

And that’s that. One phone call later, a date will be set and the clock starts ticking toward the end of Blaise’s carefree life. Maybe I’m a son of a bitch for doing it this way, but I wanted this, and now I’ll have it. Blaise Zabini is going down.

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“Hey! Dee, good to hear from you. No, things have been great here. Don’t mind all the bad press, that stuff has nothin’ to do with me. It’s been all aces here. Just Vinnie an’ Greg an’ me. Like old times, especially if you come around. Think you can get free for dinner some night? Nah…weekends no good for me…gotta watch the club. Keeps the staff on their toes when I’m around. Weekdays are great, though. Yeah…that works! Thursday, huh. Sevenish? That works for me. This’ll be nice. You might not believe it until you try it, but my cooking is nothing to scoff at these days. I’m in the wrong business…I think I should have opened a restaurant. It’ll be good to sit down and actually catch up. I got a few things to say…and I think you’ll like them. Okay…we’re on then. See ya later, kiddo. Looking forward to it. Ciao.”

Blaise leaned back in his office chair, the antique leather kind that swiveled just as well as any modern one, but carried an air of old style class that he loved. He pulled a Cuban cigar from his humidor and snipped the end off, then swirled it in cognac before he moved it to his lips. The spark of a match and with a few deep draws the end was smoldering nicely. Fucking heavenly.

Life was a very sweet thing.


TBC!!!