Bunker Blitz

By Vanessa C. Hawkins and Tara Woodworth

Resentment is brewing in the streets of Comero. Although local dragon Shad O’Rahin thought his enemies were finally eliminated, the return of an old rival threatens to shake his grip on the city’s illegal liquor trade. While he takes steps to eliminate the danger to his enterprise, Shad’s wife, Scarlet Fortune is caught in the crossfire.

Scarlet is the last vampire left in the Comero Police Department. When blackmail begins to jeopardize her career, she launches an investigation to take care of the situation on her own. But with their first child on the way and an unexpected visit from reptilian in-laws throwing their peaceful homelife into turmoil, the situation may prove too tough to tackle alone. Especially when a pretty gold dragon starts making eyes at her husband!

Their difficulties only escalate, leading them both into danger as they peek at the rotten underbelly of Comero’s vampire blood trade. With other dragons in town vying to drive a wedge between them, can Scarlet and Shad find a way to face the threat together?

...all while picking out baby names?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Oct 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228623281

Vanessa C. Hawkins

A life-long lover of horror, Vanessa wrote her first story in the genre when she was only in grade five. It was titled Mutilated, and it warranted a trip to the school guidance counsellor. A lifetime later, she continues to write about anything scary and paranormal though she has since found herself enthralled in the world of fantasy steampunk and romance. A Child to Cry Over is her first attempt at realistic fiction. She’s had works published locally and abroad and has conducted numerous workshops throughout Atlantic Canada. Currently, she is partying it up in New Brunswick with her husband and daughter and a dog she really wants but hasn’t gotten yet.

Book preview

Bunker Blitz

Book 2 of Ballroom Riot

Vanessa C. Hawkins and Tara Woodworth

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228623281

Kindle 9780228623298

PDF 9780228623304

Print ISBNs

BWL Print 9780228623311

Amazon Print 9780228623328

LSI Print 9780228623335

Copyright 2022 by Vanessa C. Hawkins & Tara Woodworth

Cover art by Pandora Designs

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

Tara Woodworth: To my parents, Susan and Mark, without the support of whom I could not write.

Vanessa C. Hawkins: I dedicate this book to all the lunkheads who don't read and will therefore never know that a book was dedicated to them! (If you're reading this then of course you are excluded.)

Chapter 1: We Run This Town

The Warehouse was packed. A thronging crowd had descended upon the speakeasy around nine in the evening. The band was playing, loud and upbeat, but the dance floor was so tight there wasn’t as much swing as usual. A crowd at the bar was waiting for drinks, waving their money at the trio Shad had set to mixing cocktails, but they were struggling to keep up with demand.

Shad dodged through the room on nights like these. He found it hard to make his way through the crush of bodies despite his small stature. Humans seemed to have no problem being smashed together like sardines if the party was good enough, but dragons valued their personal space. After ducking under the arms of a few men locked in an animated discussion over their gin, and having to jump out of the way of a gaggle of young women hurrying closer to the music, he decided not to hang around.

Spotting Obby on his way toward the hall, he yelled to be heard while he instructed the bigger man to meet him in his office. The entryway was only slightly better, and he stuck to the wall as he worked his way to Rice who was manning the door.

You need to stop letting people in, Shad instructed. If it's not the mayor, Captain Saloid, or another of our badge bearing friends, tell them we’re full up!

Weekends are getting outta hand, Rice grunted around the cigarette he had clutched in his teeth. This used to be a quiet job. Now everybody and his brother knows we’re here.

I know, I know, Shad acknowledged. We have Ballroom levels of customers and we’re half as big. We’re the worst kept secret in Comero, but damn, are we making money, Rice!

Sure we are, the old man grumped, I hope I’m gonna see some of it.

You know you will.

Shad turned his attention to Roland, who was standing just outside the door with his arms crossed over his chest. Playing bouncer worked well for the man, but Shad had another task in mind for the grim-faced vampire.

Need you in the office, Roland! he called. Roland nodded back at him but didn’t rush to follow as Shad worked his way back down the tight corridor, and slipped through his office door.

Closing it behind him was a sweet relief. He took a deep breath in the oasis of calm, wiped some sweat, and leaned against his door with a long sigh. Things were changing fast in Comero. He’d already begun the work of starting up a second location. He thought Jacob was trustworthy enough to handle things when he opened the new speakeasy. The new joint was going to be an upscale affair in the heart of downtown. Assuming of course, that they could keep ahead of the competition.

Despite the excitement, Shad was certain all these thoughts were set to develop into a massive headache in the next few days. As he looked into the heart of his office however, he was glad to meet Scarlet’s gaze from the opposite side of his desk.

Hey there, good lookin’, she said, blowing away a stray strand of blonde hair from the middle of her face. Sorry to intrude, but I had a bunch of work to finish and needed to do a hand off. Before he could tell her not to, Scarlet rose from his chair. She was still dressed in the plainclothes she had worn to work, which meant she wasn’t here to let her hair down or sing onstage. She had their new-born egg tied into a sling in front of her.

You’re not too busy, are you? she asked, not-so-subtly folding the stack of papers she’d brought with her back into her work case.

Shad raised his eyebrows and levelled her with a hard-done-by gaze, but only for a moment. He looked at their egg, its pebbly, dark grey surface marbled with veins of silver and gold that glinted in the firelight. He couldn’t help but smile.

Never too busy for Egwina, he replied, grinning at the look of distaste that crossed Scarlet’s features.

Ugh! Shad, no. We’ve been over this. You aren’t allowed to name the egg, she said with an exaggerated eye roll as she began to untie the convoluted gordian knot she insisted on creating every time she had their egg with her. "A guy named Shadow Dragon has no business naming anything, let alone his child."

"You call it Egbert," Shad pointed out with a smirk, reaching to take their egg from the sling. It was large for a human to have lain at nearly fourteen pounds, yet blessedly small compared to the usual size of a dragon egg.

Point taken, Scarlet mused, "We’re both bad at names."

We’ll think of a better one by the time she hatches, he promised. If not, we can always go with draconic naming conventions and just wait to see what sticks.

She chuckled back at him, and threw the unfolded sheet of cloth over one shoulder as he waved it away. That might work for dragons but if I was named after what the kids called me in school, I’d have been Slipperfoot… she snorted. Not very intimidating…

Slipperfoot? Shad asked, bewildered.

I broke my toe and had to wear a slipper on one foot for like six weeks. Kids are assholes. I don’t trust them to name my firstborn.

That’s fair, Shad agreed with a laugh as he cradled their egg, and marvelled at how warm and smooth it was. He walked behind his desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. It was lined with a pillow and soft blankets. He nestled Egwina down in the centre of it.

I’ll be here ‘til two-ish. Will you be home?

If I’m not, feel free to send the cavalry, she said, bending down to offer him a kiss before two thunderous knocks startled them out of the moment. If the devil could speak, it was unlikely anyone would have heard him over the bellowing exchange between the two men careening through the door in mid conversation.

"—and that’s why I’m not allowed back to the Hen, Obby declared to Roland, who looked disinterested. But I mean, it really wasn’t a big deal. They put out the fire."

If anything, it probably made the place smell better, Roland replied.

Shad imagined starting a fire was one of the most wholesome reasons someone could be kicked out of the Cocked Hen. Certainly better than Roland’s excuse, which according to Scarlet had been shorting a cocaine dealer out of money.

Oh, hey Lottie. How’s motherhood?

Scarlet shrugged in Roland’s direction, Probably a whole lot better than having to manage you two bozos, she replied, finishing her goodbye. I’ll see you back at the house, Shad.

See you, he said, pulling her down into one last peck before she headed for the door. Obby made a kissy face at her when she passed him, chuckling when she flipped him off before slipping out the door. When Scarlet was gone and out of earshot, Shad turned to them as Obby flopped onto the sofa, and Roland sat in the chair across from his desk.

I hope you’re ready to start another fire, Obs, because I’ve got a different kind of job for you two starting tonight.

Better than stacking crates and haulin’ hooch? Roland asked as he dug into his pants pocket for a smoke. Unlike most times when he wore a suit, he was dressed in a collared shirt, opened half way to reveal log-like biceps. Folding one leg over another into a more relaxed position, he savoured the inhale before continuing. Guess it can’t be any more boring at least.

Obby nodded, folding his large arms behind his head. Though similar in build to Roland, he’d gotten portlier over the last year since Daisy had been making lunches for him, and his belly protruded over the belt of his pants. Shad felt like a twelve-year-old in their presence. Though he was muscular enough, he was very short and rather thin. He took comfort in the fact that this body was only a mask, and in reality, he was scores taller than either of them.

Do either of you remember the empty lot downtown I was keeping an eye on? Shad asked, continuing when he saw their blank stares. It’s on fourth, around the corner from where the Ballroom used to be. There’s been construction going on there for a while now.

Oh yeah! Obby agreed, next to the street wagon that sells hamburger sandwiches.

Shad squinted at him. Su-u-ure. Anyway, I finally found out what’s going on there. It’s supposed to be a new restaurant, but it’s huge. Too big for just a restaurant. Then I found out who’s footing the bill. It looks like Erich Karamazov’s trying to get a hand back in the game.

Without Victoria? Roland quirked a brow. "I always thought it was the succubus who had the cojones in that relationship…or at least, was the only one who gave a shit about sellin’ liquor. He shrugged. Guess I was wrong."

Shad had always suspected that Erich handled more of the business than people thought, but he agreed that Erich’s late wife had handled all the day-to-day minutia. She’d certainly had all of the charisma between them.

Maybe he couldn’t find anything better to do, Shad said with a shrug. Either way, I don’t want to take the chance that he’ll be good at it. Business has been booming ever since the Ballroom…closed.

Roland smiled, Was closed…rampaged, burst apart by a dragon, he said, leaning back until his chair teetered on two legs.

Shad continued with only an eyeroll. The cops have laid off us since we keep our fingers out of other crimes, but if we have to compete again, it’ll get sticky.

So where do we come in, boss? Obby asked, ready to cut to chase and find out who he had to hit.

Not sure I wanna off Erich Karamazov, Roland muttered to the ceiling fan, making a guess on Obby’s behalf. Even without the ball and chain, he’s rich, and has more than a few vampire contacts I’d be wary of.

I know. We probably can’t stop him entirely, but for now it’s in our best interests to slow him down. Let him know that we aren’t just going to roll over and lose half our clientele to some new joint. He has regular Joes doing the work for him. Freelance contractors and the like. I want you to spend a lot of time hanging out by that empty lot at night—

—beating the shit out of them! Obby concluded.

No Obby, Jesus. Smashing up the work they’re doing. You could take some of the other guys with you, if you’d like, and steal supplies. Break things. A little sabotage. Nothing that’ll get a guy killed, but enough that they’re stuck doing yesterday’s job every day for as long as you can make it happen.

I’ll make sure Obby doesn’t brain anyone, Roland stood up from the chair and sniffed, looking uninterested. You want us to start right away? Or…

Yeah. Get started tonight. Shad wondered if they caused enough destruction, whether or not Erich would try to get in touch with him. It would be an interesting conversation to be sure. He hadn’t spoken to Erich since they raided the stronghold of Comero’s Anti-Monster Organisation to save Scarlet, inadvertently rescuing Karamazov as well. Things would have been much more convenient if he had died.

"Hopefully the area will be deserted in the evening, but if any of the contractors do hang around, it’s fine to practise a bit of intimidation. If they are scared to go to work, that’ll help us too. But it should go without saying, Shad side-eyed Obby, that you can’t get caught. The last thing I want is for Scarlet to phone and tell me she has you in the lockup, Obs."

Hey, why me? Like my blood brother here can’t get arrested, Obby complained.

Roland knows when to hotfoot away when things go sour.

You don’t live a hundred years as a leech without knowing how to hide in the dark, Roland confirmed.

See if you can teach him a trick or two, Shad muttered, looking back down at his paperwork and picking up his pen.

How to disappear in the shadows, vampire master class… Obby added with a chuckle, hopping to his feet all at once. Come on, bro. Let's trash the place!

Shad watched the pair leave; his mind was elsewhere. Rubbing a hand over his face, he plucked Egwina up from her nest of blankets and sat quietly with her, listening together to the distant jazz as it vibrated through the basement.

* * *

The moon gave just enough to see by as they approached the barrier that surrounded the back of Erich’s construction site. The wooden fence had been erected quickly and wobbled as Obby tested it with a shove, rattling in the night.

Oops, Obby noted in a stage whisper as Roland gave him a sharp look. He grinned. So, what do we do? It’ll just tip over if we climb it.

Roland reached out and grabbed one of the boards, ripping it free with one sharp tug. Obby gave a thumbs up and squeezed awkwardly through the gap as Roland chucked the board off to one side.

The building was still in its early stages, but it was large. The foundation had been poured and the cement area of the basement lay drying. Now it yawned open, a dark pit in the night, with only a loose framework and tarps keeping out of the rain. Tall bundles of boards and some light steel framing were piled in towers all around the edges of the open area, with tools and other gear dotting the rest of the perimeter.

Obby strolled forward as Roland followed him in, going straight for a nearby crowbar that leaned against the side of several stacked pallets of brick. He hefted it eagerly.

I’m thinkin’... tip all this gear and lumber into the pit. How’s that sound? he joked, his voice echoing around the abandoned area as if being on the other side of the fence had ended any need for sneaking. Roland didn’t appear concerned.

Yeah, I suppose, he began, picking up a small brick and throwing it between the dewy tarps that had been laid across the foundation. A wet thud filled the awkward silence as the two men looked down into the darkened recess and then at each other. Obby still had an eyebrow cocked in Roland’s direction as the lumbering vampire leaned over and gave him a brisk push. The resounding whish of the tarps slipping out from between piles of stacked brick and lumber was second only to the sound of the muddy plop of Obby hitting the ground.

Roland bent, hands on his knees as he tried to peer past the shambling canvas towards his toppled comrade. It was a good fifteen feet down at least. Which made sense, now that Roland was thinking about it. This was a vampire bar…

Wow, he remarked with less enthusiasm than the word entailed. It’s a lot deeper than I thought it’d be. You okay down there, buddy?

After a long moment of silence that may have been unsettling for anything with a heartbeat, Roland heard Obby gasp for breath down below. It was accompanied by the thrashing of the tarp.

You knocked the lungs right out of me, you shithead! Obby gasped, sending the crowbar spinning end over end from the pit seconds later, about ten feet to Roland’s right. When he came into view, Obby was holding his side but laughing. They ain’t built the stairs yet, you know!

So you should thank me for getting you down there. Make sure to write someone else’s name in the wet cement. Roland straightened, a faint smile twitching the corner of his lip as he glanced around at the leftover building materials in his field of view. Picking up a discarded hammer head, his eyes focused on the excavator sitting at the edge of the property like a teddy bear at a poor kid’s orphanage.

You uh…start wrecking things down there Ob’s. There’s a hoe up here I need to get acquainted with.

Obby watched Roland vanish above him, his face knotted in thought. There’re girls here? He called after Roland in confusion, but when he got no answer, he turned his attention to the scaffold and boards acting as a retaining wall. Lacking the crowbar, he started ripping with his bare hands, and managed to strip away several boards before he heard the loud roar of a diesel engine growling from above. Dirt and debris trembled over the precipice before the large empty bucket of the tractor blotted out some of the faint light from above, but as Obby stared, Roland’s voice echoed over the hum of the engine.

Climb up so I can ride her in! he said as he attempted to manoeuvre the controls so that the long excavator arm settled into the recess of the newly poured pit. It jerked a few times, and slammed into the side of the foundation wall, causing a large chunk of mortar to spill out onto the ground, but mostly Roland had the gist of it.

That’s the cat’s pyjamas! Obby hollered over the engine’s roar. He ran to the bucket of the machine without hesitation and began to climb up. It jolted again beneath him for a moment, and he nearly fell off, his boots scrambling against the iron mechanism.

Don’t swing it around when I’m climbin’! he protested.

Don’t take so long! Think I’ve ever driven one of these before? It was probably invented yesterday. As Obby’s head crested the edge of the pit, he could see across the site. A small light had ignited in the window of a tiny shed-like structure near the front gate. Obby waved at Roland and pointed as he shimmied up the arm of the excavator and dropped down onto solid ground again.

A man stumbled out of the shed, hitching up a pair of workman’s denim over his long underwear and squinting into the night. Obby ignored him for a moment to back away from the tractor. Drive it in the pit! Obby suggested with a cheer. The hiss of exhaust echoed in reply as Roland pulled back the switch and let gravity pull the behemoth of iron and wood into the darkened pit. As it tipped over the edge, there was a scream of metal on concrete; wood splintered, scaffolding collapsed, and the partially set wall crumbled. Obby winced back and covered his ears, eyes wide as he watched Roland ride the cab into the hole. Only when the engine quit and a faint cascade of pebbly stone clattered in the wake of the buried machinery, did Roland pick himself out over the ledge, a large grin plastered on his face.

That dragon blood Shad gave me really livens up the blood, he began. Obby flung his arms into the hair, his eyes wide with energy.

Woooooooo! he hooted at the top of his lungs, doing a little jump and turn. "That was great!"

Roland agreed, looking in the direction Obby had pointed to earlier and spotting the hollering engineer hoisting up his pants. Workplace injury? Cursed, ancient burial ground? he queried, taking out a pack of smokes from his back pocket. Both are pretty good at getting workers to back off, but I don’t think you can pull off the whole ghost lean, he said, taking in a deep inhale.

We could knock out a few of his fucking teeth! Obby suggested as his voice echoed around the construction site. The man paused in mid stride and hesitated.

"We could. Really, we could do whatever we wanted because we run the fucking town! Roland hollered, chuckling to Obby, Which is kinda true…where would your boss be without us, right?"

Nowhere, that’s where! Obby returned with five times the hype. He swiped a bit of bent metal scaffolding from the edge of the wreckage and then started walking toward the night watchman.

You wanna be tough? Think you’re gonna build some big-time joint in our city? Obby barked as he started to close the space between himself and the worker who was frozen in the decision of fight or flight. Better tell your friends they gotta find new fuckin’ jobs!

Roland was already digging in his pocket despite the lit smoke, but he looked up and shouted, yeah, in solidarity despite his distraction. Heard they were hiring at the hurt locker, he said despite himself, pilfering a small bit of white powder from a compact he kept hidden away for jobs well done. Obby can...give you a reference—er, whatever.

Obby was nearly in front of the man when he made the decision to flee, turning on his heel and running back the way he came toward the front gate. Obby started to chase him, running no more than ten yards before huffing and puffing to a halt as the man outdistanced him.

Yeah, run! Ya shithead… Obby called after him, slicing the steel pole through the air a few times in disappointment.

He turned back to Roland. Wanna cut some of the ties on those log piles then blow this joint?

Roland sniffed, winced, then rubbed at his nose. Sorry, I just punched out for the day. But I tell you what, he said, blinking back with a grin. You cut ‘em down and if that wagon’s still open, I’ll buy you a couple hamburger sandwiches for the ride home.

Chapter 2: Fortune and Bloon

Scarlet was having a good day! She had taken her lunch early, met Shad at the Plow and Kettle for a glass of Ruby’s Red—deluxe, top shelf label, aka not cows’ blood—and was even considering going home early. Her last case had wrapped up earlier in the morning with a potential commendation from the commissioner, and despite her late night yesterday, she felt peppy from the romantic rendezvous she’d squeezed in after lunch before heading back to the precinct. Everything was dandy. Jake. The bee’s knees. And on top of it all, Scarlet had the weekend off.

Hey Daisy, are you still in for cards this Friday? she said on her way to the filing room. The small secretary was sitting at her desk, considering her reflection in a small compact and adjusting her lipstick before she looked up and smiled.

You bet! But we need to find some new ladies to play with—Lydia’s a card shark, I swear. My place again?

Scarlet laughed, Where else? I can’t imagine Shad would approve of cards. Especially poker. She could already imagine her small dragon husband giving her the third degree on how economically irresponsible betting one’s paycheck on a four of a kind was. All the boring hubbub of accounting and money in, money out, and blah blah blah! She didn’t say so though, at least not to Daisy in the middle of the police station. Instead it was, You know Shad…always on the straight and narrow, that one.

Daisy laughed, Yeah, you picked yourself out a real stick in the mud.

More like a, Scarlet had to think for a moment, "nice, symmetrical pole…holding up an old—er, small—tent, in which people just so happen to be having a party inside."

Daisy paused, obviously not aboard the same train of thought.

Scarlet continued with a shrug. It works.

If you say so, darlin’, Daisy replied. You should just be glad he’s good with money! Obby spends his pay the minute he gets a hold of it.

How are you and Obby doing, anyway? Scarlet asked.

Ugh! Daisy exclaimed, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. I’m done with him! Again? Scarlet thought. Obby and Daisy were only ever dating in week-long spurts before he would do something to upset her and she would vow things were over for good. If he shows up at my door with flowers, I’m slamming it in his face.

The flowers or the door? Scarlet said with a grin. They’d been out on the town only yesterday.

You know what he said to me? Daisy continued, gesturing with her tube of lipstick before closing it with a quick snap. "He said I was almost as fun as a root beer float. She widened her eyes and shook her head in rage. He’s a weirdo!"

Scarlet couldn’t help but chuckle. A root beer float? They were pretty tasty. She’d had one for the first time in three years a few months ago, courtesy of Shad’s dragon blood. Are root beer floats fun? she asked. "They are non-alcoholic. Is he calling you a wet blanket?" Scarlet regarded Daisy in her drop waist cotton dress and curls. The dark contrast between her creamy blouse and dark brown tweed skirt forced her to suppress a grin. A fella like Obby’d never wax so philosophical, but it was fun to get her going.

"No…he loves root beer floats. He said it was a compliment, but a dame doesn’t want to be told she’s as fun as a scoop of melting ice cream in a glass of soda pop! And almost as fun? Almost?"

Scarlet tsked. To be passed over for a cream-filled, carbonated beverage. But then she wondered if Shad thought her as fun as a jewellery shop on sale day, and her mirth vanished.

Daisy seethed into the sounding board Scarlet offered for another moment, before taking a deep breath. You gotta go Scar, or I’ll get in trouble for idle chattin’ again. Before I forget though, she said, scooping up a stack of files that she was supposed to take to Officer Horst, "Saloid wants to see you in his office at your earliest availability. Seemed like it might be important. Prob’ly wants to promote you or something," Daisy added with a wink.

Maybe give me that commendation the commissioner’s been hinting at. Scarlet didn’t mind the casual boast. She was having a good day for the first time she’d taken the job as detective. Maybe it helped that she was on the take now. Married to the take! Who knew working could be so much less stressful when you were getting extra pay and nookie on the side? Go corruption! Whoo! At least…when it came to prohibition, she supposed.

Saloid’s office wasn’t far, and Scarlet was certain he’d be in it this time of day, so she decided to go up and pop her head in. You wanted to see me, Captain? Scarlet said after walking upstairs and toward the rear of the building. The dark mahogany door that separated his space from the regular traffic of the day-to-day beat cops closed behind her as she entered.

Saloid was behind his desk. He was an old man with receding, slate grey hair and a stocky build. He’d been in his position long before Scarlet was with the CPD, and had worked as a detective back when Price was in charge. His desk had a large stack of paperwork on one side, and a half-dozen filing cabinets loomed behind him. More conspicuously, he had a thin manila file on the desk in front of him, on which both his hands rested with one thumb hooked into the edge of the folder.

Detective Fortune, he answered curtly in his usual, gruff tone. Good that you’re here. We have a lot to talk about. Sit. He gestured to the green leather chair across from him, and fidgeted with the file folder.

You seem in a great mood, Saloid. Scarlet mused as she crossed the room, a bit of her cheer vanishing in proximity to the old, surly officer. Some may have called Laurel Saloid your typical hard-boiled law enforcer. To Scarlet he was more like…soft scrambled or over easy. Sometimes sunny side up if she’d just closed a case. She figured it was more to do with her sex than her ability to solve mysteries, but despite this, his demeanour was concerning considering she’d just finished an investigation with high marks.

Rough night? she warranted a guess before sitting down in the proffered seat just in front of him. I mean, I was up till four, but well…sometimes being Dracula works out.

Saloid responded with a grunt, which did nothing to alleviate her concern. He drummed his fingers on top of the file folder and frowned so deeply it was accentuating his jowls.

Fortune, I’m going to just get this out right away, he said as he flicked open the file folder and slid it across the desk toward her. Inside, she could see a scattering of black and white photographs. As she leaned in to get a better look, Scarlet recognized herself in the pictures and reached out to pick up the file.

The first picture wasn’t so bad—she was dressed in one of her more scandalous outfits, sure, and singing on stage. The problem was the location; not the Empty Mug, but Shad’s joint. The next photo showed her sitting at the bar; Obby in the background looking completely wasted while she held up a shot glass in triumph. She remembered the night. She’d beaten him in a drinking contest. Every photo was similar—either a picture of her drinking or partying at the Warehouse. Most were recent. Certainly, all of them had been taken within the last few months.

I’m sure you see the problem here, Saloid grunted as she flipped through the pictures.

Scarlet was unimpressed. Who the hell was developing these? She remembered a few of them being taken, but…why the fuck were they sending them to the station?

She sat back, photograph in hand as she crossed her legs and wished for a smoke.

Yeah, she responded, high spirits swallowed as she leaned forward to toss the picture towards him. The photographer cut you out of the picture. Weren’t you at the bar when I beat Obby at Lush Puppies?

Saloid scowled. "This kind of thing could be very damaging, Fortune. To your reputation and to the station’s reputation. I’m not in the picture, sure—but you’re front and centre, downing a pint of vodka. These were accompanied by a threat that if I don’t fire you by week’s end, they’ll be in next Monday's issue."

What? Scarlet shot up from the chair, palms flat on the top of Saloid’s desk. Who? Before he could answer her, she snatched up another picture and scoffed at her own image singing