Chapter Text
“You sure about this?” Valeria questions, adjusting the straps of her dress. Montague gazes at her lazily while taking a hit from her vape.
“It’s just scoping out,there might not even be anything valuable here. What’s got you so tense?” He says, smoke billowing from his mouth. He rubs the back of her shoulder absentmindedly while she takes the vape from him to take a hit.
“This isn’t our turf, Monty; it’s already claimed. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard of Midas.” She responds, leaning forward to blow some of the smoke directly in his face. He smiles at her, brushing back loose hair.
“That ghost story? I’m convinced people just use it as a scare tactic for newcomers. Don’t push your product too far or Midas’ll get’cha in the night,” he teases. Valeria flicks his arm.
“We’re just looking. No selling, you hear me?” She presses. Montague sighs dejectedly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. A little business talk never hurt anyone, he thought. This club was a staple in this city, a place for the underworld to mingle and dance.
They walk out of the bathroom, Montague leading her to his car. He held the door open for her sarcastically, getting an eye roll in response.
“Hope knows you’re not gonna be home till late?” He questions, starting the car. Valeria’s expression twitches slightly, a mixture of upset and anger flashing across her features.
“Yeah. She’s real pissy lately, locked up in her room and all. Wish she could just realize I’m providing for her,” she says, flicking her gaze to the passing buildings. Montague sighs, patting her thigh.
The rest of the drive is filled with the quiet sound of the radio and the ambience of the city. The sight of the Marigold is splendid at night, the golden sign being lit up by the surrounding lights. A line wrapped around the building, a bouncer standing at the front. Montague whipped into a nearby parking lot, paying for a spot and stepping into the night. He circled the car, opening the door and holding out his hand, gesturing to grab.
“Let me do the talking. If anyone asks, you’re my plus one.” she says, checking her appearance in the rear view mirror before turning and taking Montague’s arm. They take the short walk up to the front of the club, bypassing the line and going straight for the bouncer.
He immediately holds his arm out to block their entrance, eyeing the two of them up and down. Valeria procures an invite from her purse, waving it in front of the bouncer. He nods, stepping aside to let them inside.
Montague smirks once they pass the front doors, glancing over at Valeria. “How did you get your hands on that, Miss Valeria?” he teases, grasping the invitation to take a closer look.
“Graphic design is my passion.” she jokes. He chuckles, watching as she throws the fabricated invitation into the trash. “Had a one night stand with some girl who was invited. She wanted me to come with her; got all sappy when I said I was busy.”
“What’s even happening tonight?” Montague questions, gazing around at the extravagant building around them. Gold accents were everywhere, a crystal chandelier hovering over the main room. His fingers seemed to twitch with the promise of valuables.
“Some kind of return party. Says the owner is coming back from an extended vacation and they wanted a whole get together to welcome him.” Montague hums at the information, eyeing the people around him. The bag of coke in his pocket seemed to weigh heavier with the knowledge. Parties always meant cutting lines in the bathroom, demand skyrocketing with such a big event. What Valeria doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?
They find seats at the bar, Valeria batting her eyes at the bartender and striking up a conversation. He pays attention to them, keeping their drinks fresh and answering questions. Montague finds himself daydreaming of The Glacier being this well known, people lining up around the block just for a chance to enter his club. Not that it was underperforming, business was booming on both ends. However, the location left much to be desired.
Montague let his hands wander as he socialized, inviting some new jewelry to slip into his pockets. He eventually began to wander around the building, slipping through doors to try and learn the layout. He’s sure there’s a vault entrance somewhere, but he’d have to work a bit harder to get the blueprints of the building. As the night went on, the music seemed to get louder and the air chillier.
He finds his way to the bathroom eventually, being met with the sight of a couple of people cutting lines already. He smirks lazily, approaching them.
“Running low?” he questions after the man finishes the last line, watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to look at him.
“Fuck, yeah man, you got more?” He questions. Montague pulls the baggie out of his pocket, shaking it enticingly.
“Got an 8-ball right here. $200 sound good?” he questions. One of the girls holding her head looks up in confusion.
“He got new dealers?” she asks, looking Montague up and down. She must mean the owner, he reasons. He has dealers for his club as well, but not well known enough that the patrons could tell who was new and who wasn’t.
“Yeah, I’m the newbie. Decided to scope out today. This is my last bit,” he lies smoothly. The man is already eagerly pulling out his wallet while the girl continues to eye him with suspicion, willing to be quiet for the promise of her next hit. Montague takes the 2 bills, slinking out of the bathroom and sliding them into his pocket.
He eventually drifts back to Valeria, finding her with a girl. She pulls away lazily, lipstick smudged and smiles brightly at the sight of Montague.
“Monty!” She greets, letting go of the woman to pull him closer. He eyes her, unused to her getting this loose at what was technically a job. The girl next to her waves goodbye flirtatiously, allowing them their moment alone. As alone as you can get in a club, anyways.
“Come dance with me Monty, come on,” she begs, words slurring slightly. Montague follows her to the dance floor, laughing as she spins him to press against his back.
The heat, lights, and music drag Montague away, hands on Valeria. It reminds him of when they were younger, pressing together at every club and getting so high they woke up at home without knowing how they got there. It had been a while since they had let go like this, with business keeping them busy.
Valeria says something about needing to use the bathroom, pulling away and stumbling towards it. Montague pushes his way out of the crowd, finding his way back to the bar. He signals the bartender, squinting when a different man approaches. The bartender he had become acquainted with wasn’t anywhere to be found, instead replaced by a man with dark hair. Tattoos swirled down his arms, disappearing into a pair of gloves.
The man looks up at him, a scar across the right side of his face catching Montague’s attention. He pushes a drink towards him without even asking for what he wanted. Montague drinks it, mesmerized by the man slightly.
“Hey,” he greets, vaguely aware of how stupid he sounds. The man smiles at him, Montague cursing as his vision starts to waver. He looks down at his drink, pushing away from the bar. The pounding bass seemed to get louder, walking towards the bathroom in hopes of finding Valeria. They needed to leave… why did they need to leave? He looks around, unsure where he is. He slumps into the seat behind him, vaguely aware of a girl speaking to him.
What was he doing? Oh, Valeria! He tries to stand up, but the girl holds him still. He vaguely registers it’s the same girl that had been making out with Valeria when he met back up with her.
“Val?” He questions, laying his head against the table. She lets out a laugh, patting him on the back. Her voice seems to echo, everything blending together in his vision as he decides to take a quick nap. He could find Valeria afterwards.
—
He woke up slowly, eyelids heavy and arms aching. He takes in his surroundings, noticing that it seemed to be an empty parking lot. His arms were sore from suspension and the rope’s marginal slack, tying his wrists together. Panic surged through his veins, pushing him to thrash against the bonds and swing. His toes could barely press into the floor.
Valeria.
He looks around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of her red hair.
“She’s back home, don’t worry. We already got what we needed from her,” a voice calls. The woman he recognized from the club was sitting, legs crossed and she picked at her nails absentmindedly. “Very sweet how you worry about her, considering she’s much smarter than you.”
Montague huffs in annoyance, knowing the truth of her words. “What do you want? All this for a bracelet?” He spits, yanking on the restraints again.
She laughs, looking up at him. “It’s got nothing to do with that; you didn’t pocket anything of mine. The boss wants to talk to you,” she says. She goes back to picking at her nails. “I’d get comfortable.” Montague takes the time with a clearer mind to take a good look at her.
She wore a pantsuit, black with gold accents. Her hair was dark, cut below her ears in a bob. The nails she was picking at were sharpened to a point, painted a gold color. She had a scar he had failed to notice the night before, passing across her cheek and just missing her eye.
The sound of a car pulling into the park caused him to tense up, whipping his head around. A black car was pulling in, classic and shiny. Montague watched as the man from the bar stepped out of the backseat, a sinister scowl growing on the stranger's face as the distance between them shortened.
“You!” He says, swinging a little. “You put something in my drink.”
The man looks at him, his real eye working up and down his form. “That I did, but I think we have bigger issues than that, hm?” he says, voice lower than Montague expected. He takes in the man’s appearance again, noticing the smile lines and gold prosthetic that was covered by a glove the night before.
The woman looks up at him, standing from her seat and leaning to whisper in his ear. Next to each other they seemed strikingly similar. He waved her off dismissively, a frown etching across her face as she moved to get into the car. It drove off once the door was closed, leaving Montague alone with the other man.
“I assume you’re the big boss? Mad I stole from some of the idiots in your club?” Montague says, wiggling his wrist slowly. He thinks with enough leverage he could get a hand out and make a break for it. Given this guy doesn’t just shoot him where he hangs.
“No, if anyone can get pickpocketed by a second-rate thief they deserve it. I’m here about this,” he says, before pulling out an empty baggie with residue of cocaine in it. Montague bites his tongue at the insult, before eyeing the bag.
“I don’t know what that is,” he lies, attempting to look irritated. The man chuckles, dropping the bag to the ground. “I mean that shit is common at parties, I don’t know what it has to do with me.”
Montague inhales sharply when a knife is suddenly pressed against the underside of his jaw. The man is frowning now, eyebrows pressed together as he studies Montague’s face.
“‘That shit’ didn’t come from me,” he says. “I’ve got four dealers in that club, none of them sold this baggie, and I just happen to find two hundred dollars in your back pocket. Things aren’t shaping up too good for you, sweetheart, so if you don’t want me to slit your throat, I suggest you talk.”
Montague curses internally. Of course, of course this is what this was about. Couldn’t keep his head on enough to know selling was a bad idea. The blade presses a little harder at the continued silence.
“Look, I just had a bag on me, thought I’d pawn it off. Didn’t know your club was so exclusive,” Montague says, pulling away from the knife instinctively.
“I don’t think you fully understand what I’m saying. This product isn’t mine, so where’d you get it from?” he presses. A weight of realization hits Montague, looking at the man fully, piecing together information in his head.
“You’re Midas,” he states, his stomach dropping. The man simply smiles predatorily.
“That’s right, now tell me who you are and who you work for,” Midas says. Montague presses his lips together in contemplation, unsure what to say. Midas pulls away, allowing him to breathe before the blade is against his skin again. He slices his shirt down the center, causing Montague to gasp.
“I think we should start right here, hmm? A mark for every minute you’ve wasted of my time.” he says, swiping the knife down his ribs. It’s a small cut, but his skin still flares with pain anyways.
“Okay, okay! My name is Montague, and I work for myself. I get my product imported and deal it on my end of the city— I didn’t know you were so stuck up about your rules…” he says, feeling the warm drops of blood streak down his stomach. Midas hums thoughtfully, before returning his attention to Montague’s stomach and swiping the blade twice in quick succession.
“Fuck! What, what do you want, man?” He spits, the pain sizzling along his abdomen.
“Your side of the city? Foolish for you to think, and concerning what my team has been doing since I’ve been gone. This city is mine, sweetheart, from the docks to the slums.” Midas pauses before stepping away for a moment.
“That shitty rave club— The Glacier— that yours?” he questions.
“Shitty?” he spits, outraged. “What, like your club is so much better than mine—“
“Yes, it is. Montague, was it? I can tell you’re a bit new to all this so let me break it down for you. Your club is shit, the location is terrible, you’re being charged too much for your shitty coke, and nobody respects you,” Midas says, pressing closer. He presses a thumb into the fresh cuts, causing Montague to wince.
Silence follows his words, allowing him a moment to pull back and look Montague up and down. “Yet, you intrigue me. You’re bold, if not a little stupid, and your girlfriend at least has some common sense. I’m assuming you two are in business together?”
Montague scowls. “She isn’t my girlfriend, and she works for me.”
Midas lets out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his gelled hair. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal, okay? You don’t take it, you get the fuck out of my city and find somewhere else to try and build up. You take it, I even let you keep your little club.”
Montague raises an eyebrow, yelping as he finally succeeds in getting his hand free and falls to the ground. His eyes dart around for an escape, before falling back on the man in front of him. He didn’t seem bothered that Montague had escaped, leaning against the chair and eyeing him.
“You gonna run? You’ve got that choice,” Midas says, flipping his knife absentmindedly.
“What would this deal imply?” Montague presses, feeling a bit more confident now that he has his mobility back. His shoulder twinged in pain, reminding him that he was still at a disadvantage.
“You only buy from me, I oversee your club and shape it up to my standards. You become my associate, and you make sure people know that. No more random sellers in the club, no one on your team that I haven’t vetted and approved, and you work for me only. Once you’re mine you can’t back out, and I get a 60/40 cut of all profits.” Midas pushes away from the chair, gripping him by the chin and scrutinizing him. “You appeal to a younger audience, you seem to know more about them and I could use that.”
Montague mulls over the deal in his head. It didn’t seem like much of a choice, as leaving would mean starting all over again, going back to being that kid on the street with nothing but fast fingers and a silver tongue.
“My team? You gonna pay them too?” he says, noticing how Midas’ hand lingers on his chin. He hums, seeming to find something amusing in the thief’s expression.
“Valeria and her sister will be fine, if that’s what you're worried about. Nisha can continue bartending, and the underground fight ring isn’t really my style but I’m open to trying something new. I’ll need your promise that Oscar is loyal,” he declares. The information this man knows about his entire operation makes Montague realize he had been a thousand steps behind this entire conversation.
He swallows his pride, “Deal.”