(chapter originally by: worstfailure)
All of a sudden everything became deathly silent in the restaurant. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, cutlery stopped clinking, even the waitstaff and chefs froze in their place. The only sound left was of heavy footfalls coming down the stairs.
The first set belong to a heavyset Japanese woman with burly arms and thick legs. Though her bust was immense, her protruding, spherical gut, as round and taut as a drum, was so massive that it looked like it could contain the contents of the Bistro's kitchen three times over. Unlike the formal attire worn by everyone else, the woman was dressed in a black tank top decorated with green skulls that didn't fully cover her stomach, a sleeveless denim jacket, and jeans ripped at the knees that barely contained her truck-tire sized asscheeks. The photos from her case file must've been out of date, because instead of 255 lbs, she looked to be 275 or over. Either way, Stan recognized her. Sumiko "Squasher" Yama.
And right behind her waltzed in the most feared woman in the city.
Scarlet Helgesson looked more like a supermodel showing off the latest in professional attire than one of the most powerful and deadly crime lords in the country. At 6'6'' and 210 lbs, she was a woman of breathtaking beauty, with sharp cheeks, flawless pale skin, and full lips painted red. Most of the weight in her hourglass figure lied in her watermelon sized bust and ass, her stomach only protruding slightly. She wore a red pinstripe business suit and matching skirt, black nylons covered her long, tree trunk sized legs that reached down to a pair of red stilettos. Her eyes were completely obscured by a pair of red tinted shades.
There she was. The Red Whale.
"Do you ever get tired of being wrong?" Izzy asked Stan under her breath.
Two women in black suits followed her, one of them carrying a small, white box. Head Chef Renee came rushing out of the kitchen. For all her talk about surpassing god, she sure bowed and groveled like a mortal in the presence of her investor. Whatever the Head Chef was saying, Helgesson didn't much care, her face stoic and impassive as if carved from ice. She snapped her fingers, causing Renee to go silent. A second later one of the black-suited women thrusted the white box into the Head Chef's stomach. Helgesson said something Stan and Izzy couldn't make out from so far away, and then Renee scampered back into the kitchen like a frightened gerbil.
The Red Whale didn't bother for a waitress to seat her, she strode confidently over to the back booth with Yama and her two additional security guards in toe. The pair of black-suited women did a sweep of the booth, checking it for listening devices. When they gave their boss the all-clear, Helgesson and Yama took their seats in the booth and their security closed the curtains to give them privacy.
"We need to plant the bug over there!" Stan said, still on his knees. "This is like winning the lottery of undercover operations! If only there was some way I could be a fly on that wall."
"Don't worry," Izzy said, snapping off the bottom part of the lipstick that contained the listening device. "I know just the thing to make you fly. Remember the Rubber Stan trick?"
Stan groaned. The Rubber Stan trick was just one of the many ways his partner had messed with him, both in the academy and on the job. Through hours of practice, Izzy had mastered the art of stretching Stan out and sending him flying like a rubber band, getting him to hit her desired target with pinpoint accuracy. Whether it be a stack of coffee cups or right in the middle of the Commissioner's chair as she'd been sitting down.
"Izzy, wait, maybe there's another--"
Izzy ignored his protests, grabbing her partner and wedging the listening device into his head and down into his torso, embedding it into him like a coin into a wad of chewed gum. She tied his legs together quickly, pressed her thumb into his crotch, pulled back on his legs, waited for a moment when the two black-suited security women were distracted and... fired!
It's a good thing Stan's face was smushed because it stopped him from screaming as he flew through the air and landed with a barely audible impact on the wall just beneath the painting of the sea monster. He hung there for several seconds before his body detached and he landed on the high wooden back of the booth, several feet above the cushions. Stan did his best to reform and as soon as he did, he dug the listening device out of him, frantically looking it over to make sure it hadn't been damaged. It looked okay, but Stan had no way of knowing for sure. Stupid Izzy! If their bug couldn't record then this was all for nothing!
Turning the device on, Stan pushed it to the edge of the wood. Though it was only several feet between the top of the wooden backing and the cushions below, for Stan it was more like a several story drop. And below him were two of the deadliest criminals the city had ever known.
"Revenue's down at the Pit this week, Sumiko. Is there a problem?"
Scarlet Helgesson's contralto voice was cold and haughty, yet sultry. Her accent was hard to place, with Stan not being able to narrow it down any further than "Eastern European." Nobody knew which country Helgesson came from, nor did she have any known family. Hell, even her name was suspected to be a pseudonym. The woman was a ghost. Her first recorded appearance was the year of the shrinking epidemic, with investigators estimating her age somewhere between late 30s and early 40s. All that was known for sure about her was that she'd shown up out of the blue one day during the chaos of the virus and took advantage of the situation to seize power, either crushing rival criminal organizations or absorbing them into her own until she ruled alone as the uncontested queen of the underworld. She had fingers in every illicit activity in the city and now there were rumors her organization spanned internationally.
"Last batch of competitors were weaklings," Yama said simply. "Only three of them lasted the week. Made for boring bets. I spoke with our contact at the CTC. Turns out she mixed up the shipments. The ones that were supposed to go to the Pit went to S. That bitch is crazy but she can work with any material, making a body of pure tiny muscle as smooth as silk lingerie. I can't do the same with soft competitors. The Trials end up being a joke."
"This isn't the first time our friend at the CTC has made a mistake. She's getting sloppy, and that's not something our business can afford."
"She's been with us a long time."
"Too long perhaps," Helgesson said coolly. "Old age is addling her wits. Bring in the new girl to take over. She shows promise. Offer our old contact a retirement package. A respectable one for all her years of service."
"And if she refuses?"
"Give her a more permanent retirement."
Yama nodded. "I'll pass along the message."
"Good, now, what do you plan to order? You've got that big fight coming up. You need to maintain your strength."
"Against the Drill Instructor?" Yama snorted. "Don't make me laugh. She's not the first fighter to get a lucky winning streak. I'll break her like all the others."
"I hope so. I have a lot of money on you."
"Worried I'm losing my edge, boss?"
For the first time, Helgesson's mouth perked up in a slight smile. "Never, my friend. There's a reason I always bet on you. Get whatever you want. My treat."
"Portions are so small," Yama said, looking at the menu. "Can't the chef just stuff twenty guys in a bucket and let me chow down?"
"Renee may be insufferable, but she's a genius as a cook. Trust me, if you listen to her recommendations, then one tiny will be more satisfying than a tub of them."
"Then why'd you order right away instead of waiting for her recommendation?"
Scarlet gave a frigid smile. "Because my meal said it was his favorite." Both Stan and Yama looked confused by that. "Ah, speak of the devil."
One of Helgesson's security woman signaled the Head Chef had arrived and Helgesson allowed the curtains to be drawn back. The Head Chef was holding a tray covered with a silver dome and placed it before her investor. "Ms. Helgesson, per your request, tiramisu topped with Bobby Sanders."
Renee whisked off the tray's cover. There was indeed a delicious-looking piece of tiramisu on the plate, but buried up to his neck in it was a young man in his twenties, futilely struggling to break free. A cold smirk broke out on the Red Whale's face as she took in the sight of her living meal.
"What's wrong, Bobby?" Helgesson asked with mock pity. "I thought you said tiramisu was your favorite food? I thought it'd be a nice last meal for you. One we could share."
"Ms. Helgesson, please!" the living desert filling cried out. "My mom will pay the protection money you asked for! I'll make sure of it! Just please let me go!"
"I'm so sorry, Bobby," Helgesson said with no little satisfaction. "But your mother didn't want protection for herself or for her family. And without protection, it's the law of nature for big things to eat small things. If it makes you feel any better, you won't be alone for long. You're only the appetizer. Now please be quiet for me while Renee recommends a main course."
From his perch Stan was freaking out, torn between his assignment and his duty as a cop. The Commissioner had made it clear this was an information gathering assignment only. No cowboy cop heroics. But could he really just sit by and do nothing while the Red Whale ate an innocent man alive right in front of him? None of the cops he watched and worshipped on TV would sit by and let that happen! But this wasn't TV. It was real life. And he could end up ruining the whole operation if he decided wrong.
What does Stan do?
1) Stan saves the tiny but is caught by the Red Whale. Looks like he'll be taking the tiny's place on the menu.
2) Stan decides to prioritize the assignment and reluctantly lets the innocent tiny get eaten.
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