Cohost writing prompt: @spy-thief-assassin-who — Mob Boss who still visits the places they've buried people
The glass-and-brass vault of Central Station shimmers overhead in the weak sunlight, and Martingale is in a mood.
She's standing in the concourse, with a half-dozen of her lieutenants around her, tailored suits dark against the station's opulence. The 9:15 will be pulling in on time, and a visitor will be disembarking, with a retinue of his own; and they'll greet each other cordially, head somewhere more comfortable and private, discuss business.
It's not a good time for Marty to be in a mood, let alone a distracted one.
"Dandy," she says finally, and Dandelion looks around — attentive, not startled but not expecting it.
"Padrone?" she says.
"Let's you and me walk over to that newspaper box," Martingale says. "I feel the need to be informed," and gestures for everyone else to stay put.
"You need me to do something, Marty?" Dandy says as they stroll across the concourse, almost thirsting for a chance for mayhem.
"Something on my mind." She fetches a coin out of her pocket before they're quite there, dances it over her knuckles. "You ever hear of Evie Smalltree?"
"The Downtown Songthrush?" Dandelion cocks her head. "I heard they never found a body."
"The police approached her," Martingale says quietly, and slots the coin into the box, pulls it open, extracts a newspaper. Unfolds it and shakes it out to gaze at the headlines as they pivot and start strolling back. "Put her in a corner; told her I could hurt her, but they could ruin her just as easy — and they could protect her from me, if she talked."
Dandy's silent for a few seconds. "You and the Songthrush, hey?" she says finally.
"She talked," Marty says emotionlessly. "They were wrong about being able to protect her."
"Padrone—" Dandelion starts.
"Don't fucking Padrone me," Marty says, still bloodless. "This isn't il Padrone giving you a loyalty talk."
"No?" Dandy says, and looks sideways at her, and considers. "No."
"She's under the foundations of Platform Three," Martingale says, eyes on the paper as if she's reading it.
"I wouldn't talk," Dandelion says.
"I know," Marty says, and gives her a clipped smile. "Anything went wrong between the two of us, it wouldn't be disloyalty."
"But you'd still put me under a station platform, is that it?" Dandy grins, sharp. "Marty. If we broke each other's hearts, you'd best do that. And you'd best go quick, to get in first."
"We understand each other," Martingale says. "I'm not sure that's good, but — useful."
"Are you calling me not like your other girls, Marty?"
Martingale looks at her grin, the sparkle of her eyes, the total opacity of whatever Dandelion is really thinking. "Don't make me regret this already," she says dryly.