[center] [img] http://i383.photobucket.com/albums/oo276/metalsonic2nd/78d46da8-cd62-496d-bb45-bc0a6f01e053_zpskrx5azdo.jpg [/img] [/center]


The walk up to Elijah Goeth’s apartment was frustratingly long, past well-dressed doormen and narrow corridors. 

One of the block’s staff had taken one look at Lynne and told her that squatters weren’t welcome, and that the building was strictly for resident owners and guests. 

“Klavdiya Riordan,” Elijah greeted Lynne with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he opened the door, dressed only in boxers and a loose-fitting dressing gown “what’s a lowlife like me done to earn the pleasure of your company?”

“You know I go by Lynne, asshole,” Lynne scowled “and I’ve come to ask a favour.” 

“You’ve got a funny tone for someone who wants my help, little missy.” He scoffed. 

“I respect you [b]far[/b] too much to [b]fancy[/b] my words with [b]groveling[/b] and [b]sweet-talk[/b].” She smirked. 

“That sarcasms most unbecoming on you, young lady,” Elijah moved out of the doorway, ushering Lynne into his apartment “now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.” 

The room she entered into was polished to a crisp white gleam, with dark wood furniture and broad windows that caught the sun’s glow. 

“Can I getcha anything to drink?”  Elijah called over to Lynne, as he slid behind the marble counter and fished a square bottle of Jack Daniels out of a cupboard. 

“Why the hell not? I’m retired.” She reasoned “I’ll have it straight.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. So, what was this favour you wanted to ask?” Elijah came swaggering over, his dressing gown flapping about behind him, with a cold glass of whiskey held loosely in either hand. 

“You ever do dealings with anyone called ‘Simitiae’?” Lynne gave the man an almost unnoticeable nod of appreciation as he handed over her glass, taking a fearless swig of the whiskey. 

“Before I answer your question,” Elijah spoke slowly, choosing his words with well-honed caution “What’s in it for me?”

The young woman’s free hand slipped into her Tory Burch handbag, fishing out a fat wad of about $500. 

“How’s the contents of the Riordan ‘rainy day’ fund sound?” 

[i]“Exquisite.”[/i] Elijah grinned like a snake, as he caught the cash Lynne threw his way. 

“You ever buy coke in Blúdhaven? Chances are you were putting cash straight into the pocket of Damien Simitiae. He’s behind the Cártel de Juárez’s presence here, and he’s quite the ruthless fucker.” 

Lynne nodded, making a mental note of what Elijah had said. 

“You know where I can find him?” 

“I might, but it’ll cost you. Double.” 

Another $500 was exchanged. 

“He likes to go to this club, the Chunky Chika, down in the Narrows. You can find him there most Tuesday nights, doin’ business deals and what not.”

“Thanks, Elijah.” 

That’s when the 9mm came out.

The silencer muffled the pistol’s fierce bark, as the inside of Elijah’s head painted the crisp white apartment walls. His body hit the floor with a thud, before a dark red river of blood flowed out across the floor.  

[i] “Dickhead”[/i]. She muttered as she finished her drink, scooped up her cash, and shut the apartment door behind her.