Sometimes, it's better to simply knock out the rich daughter before you kidnap her rather than after. A lesson Vanessa was forced to learn yet again for what must have been the hundredth time.
The girl sat next to the dark haired young woman, going on and on about how her father had 'wronged' her in some way or another. Originally, Vanessa had intended on questioning the girl about her father's business and why he had been neglecting to pay the money he owed, though it had quickly turned into the pathetic sob story of a bratty teenage girl. Looking back on it, Vanessa supposed there had been no hope in getting of use out of the teen in the first place. To say that she had been looking forward to the meeting she had scheduled would have been both an understatement and an exaggeration. She rarely looked forward to meeting with those who claimed to need her assistance in anyway, shape, or form.
"Sorry, to cut our little chat short," she said with a coy smile as the driver stepped out and open Vanessa's door for her, sharply cutting off another story, "but it appears we have arrived. Perhaps we will meet again." With that, she slipped out of the car and the smile vanished in an instant. She straightened her long, dark coat and ran a hand through her dark curls. "See that she is placed somewhere far away from me. If I have to listen to her whining for another second, I'm going to-"
"I understand, madam. There is no need for violence so early. I will handle the ransom but please try to keep your head for this meeting," said the driver, Johnathan. He assisted Vanessa fairly often and knew her temperaments better than even her sometimes. She often likened him to Batman's butler, Alfred, though Johnathan still had hair.
Sighing softly, Vanessa straightened and nodded. "I will, John. Finish with the girl as quickly as possible. I should be done in about half an hour but it may take any amount of time," she ordered, striding into the bar.
Vanessa ignored the looks she received, fully knowing that the sober enough half would know her and the drunk enough half would try to touch her as she passed. Yet, somehow, she glided calmly through the crowd, avoiding hands with ease. She made her way to the back booth, eyeing what she could see of the occupant as she approached. From what she could see, she was young and pretty. A smirk played across her dark red lips as she slipped into the booth.
"So, I take it you're may date for the night. How sweet of you," she cooed, crossing one leg over the other and placing a small, brass pin on the table. Engraved on the pin was an ace of spades with a stylized 'V' seemingly trapped within the spades. The symbol of her gang and, more importantly, the emblem of Vegas.