Smooth Operator.

03. Lemon And Tangerine, Tangerine And Lemon

CHAPTER THREE
LEMON AND TANGERINE, TANGERINE AND LEMON

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THE FIRST THREE OR SO MINUTES OF THE TRAIN'S DEPARTURE HAD GONE SMOOTHLY. Black Cat was almost a quarter way through her box of Pocky, and she had convinced herself that the time it had taken for her to choose a flavour as simple as strawberry was completely valid. If she'd chosen a flavour she ended up disliking, her whole mood for the rest of the mission would've been ruined, and therefore throwing her off track and negatively altering her performance. All this just to feel better about taking five minutes to make a decision on Japanese snacks at a train station.

But things started to feel... iffy, when the two men who'd previously sat diagonally behind her, moved themselves to sit in the four-seater directly behind her. When she'd walked down the aisle looking for her seat before the train departed, she'd noticed a man in a furry brown jacket already sleeping, his head against the window. Sure, she found it odd how he was already sleeping, and the train wasn't even moving yet, but she had greater things to worry about, so sat promptly in her seat without batting an eye.

"You're safe now," the same voice, whom she'd heard swear at the tall shaggy man before, spoke up, and Black Cat's chewing of strawberry-flavoured Pocky slowed down in order to eavesdrop. "Your father sent us."

"You idiots work for my father?" A groggy Russian accent returned, a tone of exasperation apparent in his voice.

In Black Cat's line of profession, anyone who "works" for someone's father is never doing innocent business. Unfortunately, some people's fathers are just into some crazy, messed up shit, and hire money-hungry men to do their dirty work. And if you were to say she was a hypocrite, she would disagree; if someone's father hires her, she does it for the experience, not for the money... But sometimes the money, too.

"Technically, we're outside contractors."

That line was definitely a red flag.

Black Cat swallowed her mouthful of Pocky and packed up her snacks, tucking them away in the pockets of her coat once again. "Outside contractors" wasn't a good sign, either. Sure, she was one; in fact, she was completely independent in her line of work, until someone were to hire her. But when you're on a mission of your own, and in such a tight space where escapability is limited to one-minute stops every ten-or-so minutes, hearing the phrase, "outside contractors" was not a good look.

"I'm Tangerine, and he's Lemon."

And that was the confirmation.

Before, she'd given the men the benefit of the doubt. You know, maybe they worked under a prestigious company owned by this man's father, or they'd been hired by someone's father to do some building work on their house. But those names, Lemon and Tangerine, weren't names a kind mother gave their children. They were codenames.

Black Cat knew well of codenames and aliases. I mean, you didn't think her parents named her that when she popped out the womb, did you? She'd heard all types of things: The White Death, think of Batman and Superman, The Chomper – Hell, she'd even been paid to kill a gang member who went by the name of "Peter Piper." And now there was Tangerine and Lemon to add to the mix. These guys weren't going to make this mission easy for her, she suspected.

"Right. Your daddy hired us to get you out of the trouble you got yourself into, didn't you, naughty boy—"

The Cockney man situated right behind Black Cat was cut off by the Russian person, who was stuck wondering why these two fully grown men had such childish nicknames. You could sense the tension growing in the air between the trio as their nicknames were repeatedly pulled up as the topic of conversation.