[color=#035096][b][i] “Excuse me,[/i] shill.”[/b][/color]

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Lott would’ve shuddered at that word if her body was capable of such convulsion, turning from the low performing cop to the over performing gnat. Instead of a shudder the ever microscopic narrowing of the eyes would do the job as it showed her disgust at being called a shill. She was no shill: she was an active representative, she was a face, she was a somebody, oh God, what idiot made her a somebody? There was no time for such anxiety inducing questions; she stored it away for later, something to cry about in the shower while she washed her mask of cool uncaring away. Besides, she had to deal with something more important. Way, way, way more important. In fact, it was a matter of life or death. 

Delilah had just drawn on her.

Lott stared down the barrel of the business gun. In the hands of an expert it was the most dangerous weapon known to man, money grubbing gunslingers shooting down kindhearted idiots in boardrooms across the nation for the sake of a few more dollars. This woman was no such cowboy. The form was all wrong, the flourish was too much, and, Lott huffed, the safety was still on. Lott didn’t even blink, a secret smile line forming at the corner of her glazed eyes. Delilah hadn’t even realized that she’d already lost the duel. Lott’s one hand was busy holding the phone up like a ticking time bomb, but her other hand was where the magic was happening. The moment Delilah had even started to press her fingers together it was already over. The moment Delilah even began developing fingers in the womb it was already over. The moment a fish crawled out of the ocean and its fins developed into tiny, little, useless hands it was already over.

[b][color=lightgray]”Make that two counts of threatening a candidate’s life,”[/color][/b] said Lott. 

Not that it mattered. There was no way to arrest the woman, because Delilah was already dead, blown away by the cocked thumb and smoking forefinger that had shot through the pocket of Lott’s suit jacket. She wouldn’t even have to argue that the murder was in self-defense. Drawing a business gun on a professional office drone like Lott was an act of suicide. 

The shots hit, why else would the woman’s jacket blow open like that as she pulled out her last line of defense? Lott took a reflexive step back, the animal inside of her still capable of keeping itself alive even if the woman wasn’t, and watched with an inner horror at the sight of Delilah jacking in. No, actually, the horror came when Samsara dived to stop the other woman from falling. He should be falling for Lott, not falling for these pedestrian theatrics. Lott’s phone started buzzing. Like, it really started to buzz. It was going to blow, the metaphorical timebomb turning into a real one. Lott let it drop from her hand, a month’s paycheck ruined as the phone cracked on the ground, and it didn’t even explode. What an uncool way to destroy one of the most important things in her life.

What was even more uncool was faking a heart attack to get out of a losing battle, but not as infinitely uncool as wrapping around the leg of Samsara Washington who, clearly, was so desperately trying to get away. Thankfully, even the cop—and cops were inherently uncool— was aware of how uncool the other woman was being. As Glory moved to put a bullet in a rabid dog, Lott gave one more double tap and then holstered her finger gun. Stone cold. Totally cool. Cooler than Antarctica or whatever that fictional place was called. She should say something smart, something that’d make Delilah have a real heart attack, but she couldn’t think of a thing. Fortunately, her trusted crony appeared beside her, sensing that she was in need of some assistance. 

[b][color=00BB77]”Ah, Ms. Ramana?”[/color][/b] said Theresa. [b][color=00BB77]”Perhaps we should leave her for the authorities.”[/color][/b]

Lott reminded herself to give the girl a gold star. First, the girl would have to go buy some gold stars. It was a beautiful assist, a wonderful setup that Lott was about to spike down with something cool like [i]I am the Law[/i] before the cop turned and said something that made Lott speechless.

[b][color=#3374ff]”That phone is also now considered evidence, it will be examined by our technical staff for details about what exactly has happened and then returned to you when the investigation is concluded.”[/color] [/b]

The color would’ve drained from Lott’s face if there was any. Instead, she settled for swallowing. Confiscate her phone? It should be given a proper pharaoh’s burial, complete with the sacrifice of all the other phones in the area, or at the very least taken into the shop for some cheap repairs until she could afford a new one. Surely it must’ve been the drinks settling in and she had misheard Glory. 

She went to speak, and was cut dead once again: [b][color=#3374ff]““I’m going to request that everyone in any area between the main entrance and the refreshments area please move out of the way as well so that medical can get in quickly. Thank you for your cooperation. That meant the both of you, too. I’m required to stay here as security, but you two are not, and are thus required to leave. Also, Lott, I'll be taking your phone as evidence. Sorry.”[/color][/b]

She had turned the rules on her. It was a beautiful parry and counterthrust, and one Lott had to respect even if the blow had struck her in the kidney. She slid her phone over to Glory with her foot, saying a silent prayer for her fallen comrade while clutching her gut. How the woman knew her name Lott had no idea, but her recording was running. She’d scan her face later. Find answers, find her phone. For now, she had to respect her demands. With one longing look at Samsara, she turned to the bar, snatched a bottle of vodka and a glass(it wasn’t stealing if her people had funded the event), and handed the bottle to Theresa (it definitely wasn’t stealing if it wasn’t in her hands). 

[b][color=lightgray]“Come, dear Theresa. We should leave her to the authorities,”[/color][/b] said Lott, echoing her intern intentionally.  It was a lesson. All good ideas came from above, never below. Rule one of business. She picked an invisible piece of lint off of her lapel and headed for the exit, certain that Theresa would be on her tail. 

Outside, the plaza buzzed with activity. Lott reached for her phone, her heart aching as she realized it was no longer of this earth, and unleashed her tablet instead. She clutched the old tech to her chest like a newborn babe and powered it on. Maybe Gatch needed her. Even better, maybe Gatch didn’t need her and she could go somewhere a bit more lively. She could use another drink. Speaking of which...she flicked the glass in the air with a flourish like the way Stella did, catching it in a much stiffer, definitely-almost-nearly dropped it kind of manner, and held it out expectantly to Theresa. It was time to see how long this intern would last.