Marc Uncomfortably Undercover

If Marc were to judge his happiness on a scale of one to ten, his face likely read somewhere in the seven range. Inside, he was at a two.

The lights, the loud music that felt more chaotic than rhythmic and either lacked a melody altogether or had a melody so repetitive it might as well be a droning. The crush of sweaty twenty-somethings and the smell of cheap liquor passed off as expensive.

Dance clubs were not his scene.

Unfortunately, they were included in Victor Barisha’s many evening haunts and Marc had to play along. He’d suffered through such things before for legitimate clients - older ones trying to feel young, using their money to attract young things. Twice it had been younger ones as well, one who had made too much money too quickly through a tech startup and didn’t understand what it did to people, and the other who had inherited his parents' wealth and company after a sudden ****.

None of those prior excursions had been ‘fun’ for Marc, but he’d put up with them. With Victor, he wasn’t even actually going to be paid if things worked out properly, and he was reaching his limit quickly of how much he would put up with.

“Bring us a bottle,” Victor half-shouted to the scantily clad waitress. She was pretty in that way that so many women in their twenties could be - especially in the flashing coloured lights of a dance club. Dark lipstick, bright eyes, and a dress that hugged her youthful curves and made promises she didn’t intend to fulfil. Those deep red lips cracked into a smile as she nodded to Victor, and he winked at her before she left.

“We don’t need a bottle,” Marc said as Victor turned back to him. It was just the two of them at the VIP table currently - when Marc had arrived there were two other men and five women at the table with Victor. Marc had been introduced and the two men had only given him a casual glance while most of the women had taken one quick look and turned back to the younger, flashier men. One of the women, a blonde with soft, pretty features and a sharp glint in her eye, had paid him more attention and Marc was still trying to decide if she was simply better at assessing the people around her and had identified him as the truly wealthy man in the mix, or if she was an escort hired by Victor to try and distract Marc or make him happy.

Marc had played along, flirting lightly with the woman in a friendly way. She’d had a sharp wit and claimed to be a business major attending her undergrad - he’d already decided to check into her story. If she was telling the truth, he’d check into her grades and coursework through a couple of his friends with connections to the department. A woman who could assess a man, adjust to his level of comfort and maintain the wit she had was going to go places. An internship offer might be in the offing.

“The bottle is to get the party started again,” Victor said loudly to Marc. “Come on, man. You called me. What’s going on?”

“I’ve gone through the files you sent me, and the ones you brought on Monday. You’ll get a report on the digital files, but I wanted to let you know that the handwritten notes are accomplishable but will take a little time to set up,” Marc said.

“That’s great!” Victor crowed and grinned. “So no problems, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Marc said loudly to be heard over another change in the music. Somehow it felt even louder since Victor had sent his friends away. “You’re leaking cash, Victor. From a couple of your personal accounts.”

“What?” Victor asked, suddenly losing the joy in his features and leaning forward. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that when you have off-the-books businesses, there’s a tendency for decimal points to get moved around.”

“Fuck,” Victor spat, grimacing heavily. “Which accounts? I can find out who’s skimming or stealing.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Marc shook his head. “And I’m not done with my initial search so there might be more. I assumed you would want to know immediately, however, espèce de grosse limace.”

“Right, right,” Victor nodded, not catching the insult one bit. “Alright. What are you going to need?”

“To talk to whoever keeps your books for your personal businesses,” Marc said.

“I keep the books.”

“Then I need to see the businesses,” Marc said and noted Victor's wince of a grimace. “You have a dripping faucet and I am a plumber, Victor. My business is money and discretion.”

He hesitated and then finally nodded. “Alright,” he said. “We can start this weekend, I have a game set up and there’s still a seat open. You can come and see that operation first.”

“A game?” Marc asked.

“Poker,” Victor said. “Ten thousand buy-in. Three tables get narrowed down to one by the end, the winner takes all minus a cut for the house. I assume you play? You can come and play, and get a look at the operation. See if that’s where I’m leaking.”

“I know how, but I’m a little rusty,” Marc said. “I’ll come, though. It will be fun.”

“Great,” Victor said, slapping a hand down on Marc’s shoulder. “And you can bring a lady along if you’d like. A little eye candy around the room is always appreciated.”

Marc flashed a smile. “I know just the woman,” he said.

“That feisty redhead from the other night?” Victor asked.

“The same,” Marc said. Sinead was going to love this.

<U>Translations</U>
- espèce de grosse limace. = you big slug.

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