The Meeting

Almost ten minutes, five stops and many worrisome sounds later Vigo is at his chosen floor. The doors take three attempts to open. Each time the doors manage maybe a couple inches before juddering back into almost their starting position. But with the doors now open enough, not fully, Vigo feels compelled and willing to step off the elevator car.

A number of souls are gathered around and gawping at the bodies he’s stepped over as if they were never there. No one says a thing. It doesn’t surprise Vigo. Yet he knows that had this occurred in the top half of the station he’d have to be concerned about StatSec. Down here he has no such worry. If he was going to be sentenced for the murders he’d already be dead down here. That is how it works in the Devil of the Deep’s territory. That’s the nickname that’s been given to who he’s going to be meeting with. They have a fierce reputation and while Vigo had initially considered that the now dead thugs could be working for them he’s settled on that being doubtful. He couldn’t quite say why at the time. It was just a feeling he got. One that is strongly reinforced now that he is striding confidently down the main central avenue with all its merchant stalls selling junk, bandits, thugs, hookers, dealers and rippers. Those thugs, the dead ones in the car, would never have come from down here. The colours they’re wearing are wrong. More likely they were opportunists from outside Boron who came here to rob and kill their way to fortune. They picked the wrong station. Boron isn’t a haven for the rich and there is only one person of any real power here. That quartet would never have gotten to them. All these…souls would be stood in their way if they’d have been stupid enough to try. They never got that chance and made an arguably equally stupid mistake in attempting to take him on.

The bounty hunter shoves such thoughts out of his head. They’re dead. It doesn’t matter where they came from, who they were, or anything else. What matters is this meeting. The bounty hunter feels the anticipation building up within him. It’s palpable. He can taste it. It’s a sweet nectar, a far cry from that stench the miner had exhaled into the elevator car. His top lip curls at the memory of the smell. He can’t recall its odour, thankfully, just the way it made him feel. Maybe someone should bottle and use it as a gas grenade. It would certainly do the trick. A smile splits across Vigo’s face as he nears the KimKanCo Club. There are bouncers outside. Not surprising. Though, to call them bouncers is more than a little ungracious. They’re bodyguards for the owner. Not that they need it from what Vigo has heard. Still, he stops just behind a thick purple line. He knows if he dared cross it without authorisation he wouldn’t be breathing for long. At least he wouldn’t be breathing air. Maybe the vacuum of space or his blood, but that would be about it.

“Business?” One of the trio of hulking armour plated masses queries with something approaching a female voice. From the sound and look of it they must have been taking lots of steroids for them to have deepened their voice as much as they have and to have managed to bulk up to the size of her two male counterparts, who are a little further back.

“Here to see the boss.” Vigo replies calmly. He isn’t worried. He has no reason to be. This is scheduled, by them. He isn’t making an unannounced drop in. That would also probably get him killed. Vigo isn’t into unnecessarily risking his life on a punt. He thinks that people who do are wasteful, lacking the intelligence to get things done and so relying on luck to carry them to where they want to be.

“Name?” The woman who doesn’t look or sound like it orders sharply from behind the neon blue coloured helmet that is hiding her face, save for her cybernetic and glowing white eyes that pierce through the darkened visor.

“Vigo Klein, bounty hunter.” Is the succinct reply he delivers with an even tone. He doesn’t want to sound arrogant or superior. That might not go down well. He doesn’t know. It’s the first time he’s tried to get into the KamKanCo Club.

He hasn’t a clue how the club got its name or what it means, if anything. However, from the loud thumping and the vibrations running up his legs and into his chest what he does know is that it must be very loud inside. That really isn’t his scene. Vigo likes the quiet. Plus, he’s never been a fan of music. In his eyes it’s pointless, wasteful and unnecessary. A bunch of fools thinking themselves talented and demanding everyone hear it just so they can justify their existences. He resists the urge to curl his top lip in dissatisfaction. It might be interpreted wrong if he doesn’t.

“Lucky day, you’re on the list. Let him through. Lift is in the back. Boss is upstairs, waiting.” Are the next words out the ‘bouncers’ mouth. They come barely a second prior to her taking a sidestep to allow Vigo passage. The other two ‘bouncers’ meanwhile turn so they are side on and able to stare the bounty hunter down as he passes between them. Vigo ignores the stares meant to unnerve and insist that he better behave. He has no other intent. However, as soon as the doors open he feels the heat and unobstructed blast of the music from within. He can’t help it, his lip curls, though he continues forward without a single misstep. He feels as though he should have misstepped with the wall of sound and heat that hit him.

The decent level of brightness of the area ‘outside’ of the club has been swallowed up and replaced with almost pitch black darkness, save for what he would describe as running lights. They’re not the piercing white or emergency yellow he’s used to. Rather, they are greenish blue. Vigo looks toward one of the sources of the light only to find the lenses have been coloured. It’s been done haphazardly and looks unprofessional but the bounty hunter cannot dismiss that it’s effective. It shouldn’t surprise him and yet for some reason it does.

Vigo continues to snake down the narrow passageway. He feels uncomfortable due to the incredibly humid air and wonders why it’s hot in here if there are no bodies in the limited space. Then he reaches a set of doors. They slide open with his approach. This time he’s hit by cool air. That startles him. But the music, blaring and painful, keeps him in the moment. It’s an endless loop like a drum but with out of time beats over another beating background rhythm. It’s just noise to Vigo. The noise resonates in his chest as if he is a part of the beat. They drown out the thumps of his heart which are lost in the background and yet somehow also manage to morph into being a part of the music. A second later he swears the beat has changed to welcome and accommodate his pulse. He shakes the thought off believing himself mad. He is not. The music is physically morphing to cater to every patron in the KimKanCo.

The doors slide shut behind him making the music bounce off them and back into his ears like an echo. He ignores the discomfort the reverb brings and heads deeper into the club. Bodies are writhing all around him forcing him to weave a path forged and followed by others ahead of him.

Vigo has already seen the elevator. Thankfully, there is a large neon sign in pink to mark it out along with the words, no entry. It’s not surprising that it has to be so bold to inform the masses who are clearly out of their minds on at least one of more than forty dozen drugs where they are and are not permitted entrance. Yet, these same patrons seem oblivious to the presence of the elevator, the twin ‘bouncers’ who are clad in even bulkier armour wielding massive disruptor weapons and Vigo. The discovery which the bounty hunter cannot grasp most is that no one seems to be aware of his presence. It’s like he’s a ghost. Just as he thinks that a couple almost jump him. He sidesteps them, with ease, and yet they continue their pursuit. Both whisper in his ear telling him what they want, what they need. He ignores them. If he were anywhere else he’d be inclined to shove them away, pull his weapon and make them understand, but not here. Doing that seems incredibly unwise with the ceiling mounted security cannons poorly masked to appear as lighting mounts. Vigo suspects the patrons are oblivious, but he is not. He is fully aware and isn’t about to test to see if they are still in working order.

Nevertheless, Vigo quickly loses the couple, much to his relief. The rest of his journey across to the elevator is uneventful.

As soon as he gets within range one of the ‘bouncers’ they grumble something Vigo doesn’t hear. The bounty hunter guesses that the armoured mass with the disruptor wants his name and so he shouts, “Vigo Klein, bounty hunter.”

The response is a curt nod and then a head movement to inform him he needs to step onto the waiting car. Vigo glances between the two reflexively and then steps over the threshold of the clear tube and onto the circular plate. Immediately he turns to face back out toward the dance floor as the doors slide shut in preparation.

To Vigo’s relief the music is more than halved in volume as a result of the flimsy looking doors that are now between him and the wall of sound. He lets out a sigh and allows his shoulders to drop before shaking his head lightly from side to side a second prior to the elevator beginning to silently whoosh upward. It’s the sound, as he would describe it, that the disc beneath his feet makes. The bounty hunter acutely aware that the elevator has no walls, other than those that comprise the continuous curved boundary of the tube he’s within. If the main elevators of Boron were like this he would never set foot on them. By contrast this arrangement feels safe, clean and perfect. It’s unsurprising given who owns and likely uses it. He guesses they use it. He doesn’t know. He could be wrong. He only knows who this meeting is with by reputation after all.

Barely twenty seconds later and the doors of the tube open two floors above where he had been. The bounty hunter can see the patrons below. The floor beneath his feet is apparently a one-way mirror, which the bounty hunter finds more than a little disconcerting for a number of reasons he isn’t willing to get into.

Now off the elevator however, Vigo quickly strides and covers the distance to a small single person desk behind which is sat a pretty looking face who is gently swaying to the music. He can’t hear the music unless, he thinks, he was to make an attempt to intently listen for it. Yet this porcelain brown skinned face with a pointed chin, slender nose and green eyes clearly can. Right off Vigo can tell that the face is not the one they were born with. Though, on his approach they did look up and give him a winning smile. It lasted until he’d come to a stop. Following that and a couple seconds of silence they utter in a sweet, altered, tone of voice, “Welcome, may I take your name?”

The bounty hunter replies, but truth be told is getting a little bored of having to keep announcing himself. He hopes this will be the last time. “Vigo Klein, bounty hunter.”

The pretty face looks down giving Vigo a clear view of their scalp. It’s bleached almost white but entirely shaved. That has to be painful, Vigo thinks to himself before averting his gaze and taking in the décor of the space instead. It’s sparse, to the point that the woman behind the desk doesn’t even have a seat to perch herself upon. Vigo wonders why that is for a couple seconds only for the pretty face to look back at him after reviewing whatever docket must be laid out in front of her that Vigo can’t see. However, she performs the slightest turn of her head which affords him a different angle and strongly suggests that he’s read the pretty face all wrong. He feels stupid immediately for having not realised that the pretty face is a he.

He’s been utterly oblivious to the patchy blonde stubble until this very moment. Still, no harm done he tells himself as he didn’t say anything that would damn him. Just as well, he thinks annoyed at himself for his previous assumption.

“I’ll let the boss know you’re here.” Are the words that are spoken prior to another winning smile being issued and then, “If you’d like to take a…Oh, apologies.” The pretty face chuckles at the mistake of offering a seat which isn’t present.

“No problem.” Vigo returns with a nod before performing a sidestep and turning away to survey the rest of the space. Chiefly, the artwork plastered, quite literally, across the neon coloured boxes that form the walls. The bounty hunter doesn’t think they’re painted and yet them being actual boxes stacked up and alongside one another to make the walls seems almost more ludicrous. Study the art, he wills himself. Just as he begins to, having chosen a portrait of a face formed out of naked bodies, the pretty face says in his altered voice, “The boss is ready for you.”

Vigo turns and blinks in momentary confusion. He didn’t hear the pretty face speak to anyone. Who cares, is the call in his head a couple moments prior to him shaking off his confusion. Right after that he smiles, offers his thanks and heads for a now open section of what he had previously considered to be a wall. The doorway off to the pretty faces right apparently not the door he was ever destined to step through.

The room beyond is… dull. He expected, probably wrongly, that it would be extravagant. It isn’t. It’s almost empty. Save for a massive white desk and two chairs. One is behind the desk and occupied by someone who is turned away from him and facing a massive wall of glass. He doubts its glass. Stations don’t use the stuff. It’s too fragile but whatever this material is it serves the exact same purpose.

“Just get it done.” Vigo catches from a voice that can only be who he is here to meet with.

A short while later the chair spins to reveal Claudette Vermont. She’s a woman of average stature, slender build and possessing dark eyes and long blonde and brown dreadlocks that disappear beneath the level of her desk only to end at some unknowable, for Vigo, length.

Her face isn’t pretty, it’s scarred by a long jagged deep tear that runs down the right side of her face, having started at her temple and ending at her jaw.

“You’re here.” Claudette explodes with a cheery tone that in no way fits the reputation of the woman. Nor does her smile or holding her arms wide and aloft.

“Take a seat. Time is short. Business is money.” Are the next words out of Claudette’s mouth. She gestures to the sole unoccupied chair. In comparison to her chair this one is meagre, dull, battered and, as Vigo begins to climb into it he thinks, stained.

“Drink?” The crime boss, known as the Devil of the Deep, offers with a toothy grin that reveals her predominantly silver coloured teeth. A couple are gold. If anything it might be a pattern. However, Vigo’s glimpse at her grill is so fleeting that he can’t say with any certainty with it is or not.

“No, I’m good.” Vigo says with a wave of his hand to help iterate that he isn’t inclined or afflicted to indulge.

“You want to get right down to business, good, I like that.” Claudette’s smile is gone now. Her face is grim, serious, pursed the bounty hunter would go as far as to say, but with the slightest hint of a smirk. It isn’t condescension, though he imagines some might believe it to be as her dreadlocks, definitely dyed and bleached into a pattern he is unaware of the significance of, rustle and wriggle back and forth while they are draped over her shoulders. If he didn’t know better he’d be inclined to suggest that her hair has a life of its own. It hasn’t but it does hide much of the plain low cut white cloth that is wrapped around her slim yet muscular body as she reclines herself back in her high backed seat.

She reaches for a glass, a tumbler, which is three quarters full. It seems Claudette is into indulging. Vigo won’t hold that against her. This is her club, her time, so she is entitled to do with her it whatever she wishes. Yet, he’d be blind if he didn’t notice the metal talons that are wrapped around the ends of her fingers. They tap on the surface of the white desk noisily. It isn’t made of wood. Vigo isn’t sure what material it is composed of as Claudette sips. Her lack of conversing implies she wants Vigo to start. If he knew her he might be willing to, but he doesn’t. She set up this meet, so she can begin. It’s only fair. Whether Claudette sees it that way is another matter entirely. He has to admit she gives nothing away. A smile breaks across her face. A cackle that sounds too sweet for a woman with her reputation follows soon after. It’s the type of sound you’d get from someone suffering attraction. Vigo doubts that that is why she has reacted in the way that she has. She sets the tumbler down, cocks her head to one side and laps at the corner of her mouth with the tip of her overly pink tongue.

“This your first time down here?” Are the words that are finally spoken by Claudette. A cheeky grin still sat across her lips. She’s playing with Vigo and she is sure he knows it. Not that it matters. It’s fun all the same to her. Plus, she has to admit that he has a certain look that does make her wonder what he might be capable of if she were willing to take him next door.

“It is Miss Vermont.” Vigo replies succinctly and professionally only for Claudette to roar with laughter.

“Miss Vermont? Really? Do I look like a Miss?  Or a Mrs, Ms for that matter? It’s just Claudette.” She issues a wave of her hand in dismissal. It’s her way of saying to not forget it and to move on.

Vigo doesn’t. He’s inclined to wait but has to not give away that he’s cautious of her and gets the feeling that something isn’t quite right here. His hand is resting on his bolt pistol. Between his jacket and the lip of the desk she’ll never be able to know that. If her hands were not visible he’d be sure she’s doing the same, but they are and so she can’t be.

“Did I offend?” Claudette queries with a smirk.

“You did not. I just wonder why I’m here.”

“Fair. I haven’t exactly been forthcoming. But don’t worry I’m only trying to break the ice. I like to get a sense of who I’m going to do business with before bounding head first into the details. Call it professional survival. You don’t last as long as I have on Boron without sniffing people out first.” Claudette explains. Her expression is serious and she’s sat forward, her chest pressed against the edge of her desk, still hidden by her hair. Her dark eyes burrow into Vigo. If her stare is meant to unnerve the bounty hunter it does not. She might be the biggest, baddest fish he’s ever come across but that does not mean she needs to be made aware of that.

“Huh, not one for chatter I see. OK.” Claudette steeples her fingers but says nothing else. Silence hangs in the air. Only what sounds like the very distant occasional beats of a drum can be heard of the music that is below their feet. The soundproofing is incredible Vigo would have to admit as though they are two floors up there is no storey between them, just empty air filled with sound.

“You’re fairly new on the block, right? How many ‘tracts deep are you? Thirty at the most is my guess?”

“I’m over sixty.” Vigo replies succinctly only for Claudette to react in a manner that suggests she’s impressed.

“Then you’ve been round long enough. So I got a question for you.” Her tone is matter of fact.

“What’s this got to do with business?” Vigo counters feeling as though this is a waste of time and Claudette, the Devil of the Deep, only wishes to play a game. He doesn’t understand why. Maybe it’s the result of boredom. Or, perhaps it’s simply a wish to test newer faces and see if they know her reputation. From what he’s glimpsed thus far it seems unfounded. He wouldn’t say that to her face or accept that it’s all talk though. Doing that would be foolish. There is a reason Claudette Vermont has been around as long as she has and it wouldn’t be because she’s a pretty face, she isn’t. Maybe if she didn’t have the scar she might be. Still wouldn’t be Vigo’s type though.

“Everything.” Claudette assures with what is clearly a forced smile. It lasts longer than it should and is followed up with, “Heard of a job on Veilex Three involving a Stallus something or other?”

Vigo stays quiet as he forces himself not to react. He does indeed know the contract. It was one of his. The last he took and completed before coming out here to Boron. That was some forty jobs and almost three and a half years ago. He’d been younger then, twenty seven, and a lot more rash and violent. Tended to shoot first and never ask questions. Still, he’d got the job done. Six other bounty hunters had taken the contract previously and had all ended up in service to Yakub Stallus or dead at his feet. He’d been a notorious thug who, so the story goes, liked to deal in slavery and prostitution. Vigo had found no sign of that but he did have a long list of other well known and documented crimes that more than made him a legitimate target.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes.” Claudette mutters before adding, “You should really do something about your eyes. They give you away.”

That’s the first Vigo has heard of him having a tell and why his eyes narrow in response. Concern continues to creep up his back as he waits for Claudette’s next words. If they’re not to his liking he should just pull his pistol and blow her away. Sure getting out of KimKanCo would be difficult if he does that but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to gun his way out of a meet gone wrong. Though, it would be the first in a long time. Plus, when he has done it it has never been while in the company of such a high profile figure from the criminal scene.

“Relax, I hated that prick. He tried to muscle in on some of my deals back in the day. He came from Boron you know, but fled after he crossed me. Wish I’d have gotten the chance to end that runt’s pathetic fucking life, so good job.” Vigo breathes a sigh, internally, of relief to hear those words pass Claudette’s ample green glossy lips.

“So down to business proper now I’ve established that you’re the kind of guy I can get along with. Cause I need someone taking out. I know it’s up your alley and not just cause you’re a bounty hunter. That twinkle in your eye tells me you’re a killer, a true cold blooded bastard. If you weren’t you wouldn’t have your hand on a weapon right now while we’re talking.” Claudette chuckles and that unnerves Vigo. He feels uncomfortable but can’t imagine how Claudette can know he’s got his weapon in hand, ready to be pulled and shot. If it were anyone else he’d query what gave him away, but something tells him this is still part of some game he’s unaware of.

“Got your attention I see, good. I need you to bring someone here. They were responsible for a massive sleight against me. The kind I can’t forgive. But I want them alive. So I can look them in the eye. You get why. I know I don’t need to explain.” A smile, a natural one, splits across her face wide. It’s terrifying to see, though Vigo keeps himself composed all the same. He’s seen looks similar to this before and yet no one has ever felt as double sided as Claudette. She goes from sweet sounding and chatty to downright tonally unhinged in an instant. It’s the slightest of glimpses at what she is likely about when not playing the hostess and that is what the bounty hunter would certainly term what she is doing currently.

Nevertheless a contract is on offer and so Vigo queries interested, “Who’s the mark?” He doesn’t want to sound too eager. That might come across as suspicious, even to a woman like Claudette Vermont.

“I don’t know his name. I just know who he killed that he shouldn’t have.” Claudette says before reclining into her chair once more. Her hands grab at either side of the headrest that she doesn’t quite ascend to the heights of.

“And who’s that?” Vigo replies wearily. He’s bored of this to and fro they have fallen into. He just wants the details so he can get this contract underway. The sooner he does the sooner it will be complete, and if to Claudette’s liking, could open up more avenues. Chiefly, higher quality, more frequent, consistent and better paying work at that.

“Captain Francois Pinter of the Royal Guards to house Varderin and Weaver Seven’s Empress, Sabine Varderin.” Claudette says with a straight face that breaks into a smile.

“Oh shit!” Vigo exclaims as he begins to pull his weapon. He knew something about this meeting was off but now he knows why. It’s a setup, a trap. He’s been lured here for having taken and executed a contract that culminated in the death of Francois Pinter. The bounty hunter hadn’t known the man had been a Captain, or a member of the Royal Guard to the Empress of Weaver VII, not that it matters now.

However, Vigo manages only to get as far as revealing his bolt pistol prior to Claudette firing a wide burst of a shred shot, which she has pulled from behind the headrest of her seat. The discharge severs the bounty hunters shooting arm off at the elbow. He screams; his eyes wide, angry and terrified as he does.

A moment later he turns his attention back toward Claudette. She isn’t in her seat anymore. Rather, she is at his side. He wonders how it is that she has changed location as swiftly as she has. It doesn’t matter.

What happens next is a hard kick to Vigo’s chest. It sends him back into the seat he’d occupied until just recently. Claudette is snarling and fires another wide shot across where there are no plates just above the bounty hunters knees, cutting them off. There is no blood. The wounds are cauterised instantly. Nevertheless he howls a series of cries in response to the losses.

“That’s why you should always check who you might be fucking with.” Claudette roars angrily. Her face is right in his. He considers head butting or biting at her, though quickly concludes there is little point. Still, what occurs next confuses him. She disposes of her weapon only to wrench his sole surviving arm out from behind his back where it has been pinned following the kick to his chest. It’s like she has read him perfectly as he had been trying to reach for the knife he’d used earlier when he’d been in the elevator car with the four thugs.

Vigo curses as he is relieved, painfully, of the knife. However, it isn’t driven into him as he expected. Rather, it is quickly sent dancing over the knuckles of Claudette’s hand. She makes the display look effortless and Vigo finds it strangely hypnotic to witness.

He shakes himself free of his trance only to utter, “Then kill me devil, I know that’s what you want. Do it!” Vigo is attempting to bay and force her hand. He thinks if he can do that he might have a chance. He doesn’t want to die but Claudette doesn’t know that.

Claudette snorts while the blade continues to dance back and forth and then around and around. It would be impressive if it wasn’t a razor sharp object, but the fact that it is makes it all the more amazing. Still, she makes no move to fulfil the bounty hunters wish. Rather, she slides off her desk, which she had perched herself atop of, and slinks around and back to her seat. She sinks into it and reclines, the knife still twirling over her knuckles and between her fingers. Not a speck of blood in sight. It truly is impressive that she’s avoided a single cut or nick to her flesh.

“What is…?” Vigo begins. He never gets to finish as Claudette suddenly flicks the knife, which flies from he fingers, through the air for a couple seconds, only to embed, blade first, into one of Vigo’s eye sockets. He makes no more sounds, other than a long, low gurgle that had been whatever the rest of what he’d intended to say before his demise.

“Feel better?” A new female voice asks. It comes from a diminutive figure who slides into view wearing heavy armour that is split down to the waist instead of being fastened as it should be. The black under layer conceals the true shape of her figure as she stands with her left shoulder planted into the edge of the doorframe. Her face is angelic, her eyes glow blue but not in the cybernetic way, while her hair is pulled back into a ponytail of silver that swishes back and forth as if it has a mind of its own.

“Yeah I do.” Claudette admits. Her dark eyes move from the corpse of the ‘bounty hunter’ who was never really such a thing to the woman. Vigo only fancied calling himself one. Merc would have been a better description of what Vigo Klein had been and not a smart one at that. A real bounty hunter like Misty, the silver haired woman in Claudette’s office, is a very different animal. And Misty is the best. Not a bullshitter who claims to be, but an actual professional with a lethal shot and an, arguably, equally deadly tongue.

“Then are we going to get down to business?” Misty asks with a coy suggestive smile.

“Not today. I got a job for you.”

“Please tell me it isn’t trash duty.” Misty says sounding disappointed alongside the quick roll of her eyes.

“You think I’d do that to you?” Claudette replies playfully.

“I don’t need to answer that, do I?” Misty questions with a raised eyebrow barely as thick as a pencil line. It perfectly arches.

“No. And no I don’t want you to clear this up. That’s someone else’s job.” Misty is the only one who can talk to Claudette like this. If anyone else tried they’d be… not dead but wishing they were.

“So what’s the job?” Misty asks curious.

“Already flicked the details to your ship, along with an advance. You’ll get double upon completion.”

“Never make it easy, do you?” Misty queries as she pushes off against the edge of the door frame and starts to turn to walk away.

She won’t be using the elevator and winding her way through the club. That’s for lesser help. Misty has a spot reserved above KimKanCo Club. It’s a special dock that only two ships are ever allowed to enter; hers, Craven, and Claudette’s. It’s one of the many perks of working for Claudette.

“You love it.” Claudette fires back with a hungry smile while watching Misty slink away. The Devil of the Deep wishes they could spend a few hours together, like they used to do all the time. It feels like an eon since those days and yet it can’t be more than a couple years at most. Fucking meddlers, Claudette thinks before stabbing at the call button and demanding a cleaning crew be sent in. Just as she finishes giving her order Misty slips from view rendering the question as to whether Claudette should rush after her moot.

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