FINDERS KEEPERS

Laced silk, fishnet stockings, costume jewelry, lingerie, oil slick denim, purple tops, leather, and thigh high boots that normally lined the inside of the oak dresser drawers were scattered about as if by a force of nature around the hotel room.

Similar to pasta that escaped the strainer opal pantyhose dangled from the edge of the white porcelain sink as if reaching to the mauve gauntlets below which belonged to a cat suit that covered the dining room/kitchen area table like a cloth.

Eight inch stilettos sharpened to a point jutted out at all angles to impale the sky separated the previous area from the living room. Once pass the line of fashionable stakes sterling silver accessories with interchangeable lab created sapphire pieces hung haphazardly from the coat stand, the TV, and loveseat paisley couch intruding upon the blue jumpers smeared with carbon bi-products that served as a path to the bedroom which was so covered one could barely notice that there was a young woman inside trying to find something of value to her.

"It has to be here." She said yet again in the hopes that repeating her words would make them true. Tossing mint pillows aside she took a brief pause to allow the memories of what occurred today to play in the theatre of her mind again in the hopes to catch something she had missed earlier on.

-Morning-

Charmaine remained as inhabitable as it was desolate standing between equally vacant buildings across from a field of unruly grass weed interrupted only by the occasional tree in desperate need of a good trim.

The glass store front, due to its lack of use, remained nearly obtuse. Unable to see through it she tried to rub her side of the window off and while she did manage to remove a thin layer of dust she still made limited success. Bending backwards a bit to see if anyone was around she made for the back door covered with nailed planks.

Reaching for them she managed to pry them lose more than likely thanks to their age coupled with the humidity in the air. Once inside she tapped the ground to see if it would support her weight comforted by that she took another gentle step forward into the outdated kitchen whose contents were all nearly rusted out.

The stove sat awkward covered in food remains as well as cobwebs which seemed to be the theme of the entire room. The refrigerator was small as well as inefficient. The sink's pipes were missing and the ceiling seemed to be suffering from water damage.

At the end of the small room was a door that opened into a far larger area that was, to her surprise, in two layers divided by a grand staircase …or what was left of it that is. Charmaine had four built in booths on its lower floor each in a corner with plenty of room for tables throughout.

The second floor had a chair or two lying here or there that helped to give her the impression of what it was once like to dine up there. From what she read Charmaine was once a very future forward restaurant. And at its heart hung what is left of a brass chandelier. With that in mind she turned for the windows using an old red curtain to clean off the glass from the inside. Finished she returned outside to inspect her work. Finding it suitable she sat down to complete the task she had set out to do today.

From her position the late morning sun reflected off the windows, despite their state of disrepair, of the abandoned restaurant that she might have to buy someday highlighting the various colored pencils that encircled her. Tickle-me-pink and sea foam sharpened to a point served as decorative hair pieces while amethyst, sand, pale rose, and orchid served as claws in one hand with a stub of black in the other.

Her sketch pad precariously hung from her lap decorated with drawings of the restaurant translated from mind to page. Flipping to the next page she decided to compose a menu when she felt she was being watched. Turning sharply she spotted little more than a crop of trees ruffled by the passing breeze.

Unblinking eyes scanned the area for a solid minute before turning back to her work still not shaking off the feeling of being watched. On high alert she tried to compile a list of delicious foods that had some sort of connection between them. She couldn't serve Italian with Chinese and the monogamy of fatty southern foods bogged down her list making her full despite her empty stomach.

The alarm on her cell beeped informing her she had to get to work at the garage. With care she returned each colored pencil to its original spot. Closing the pad she grabbed her belongings and left making it a point to take a roundabout way first to her room to drop off her belongings then Toni's Garage.

"Yer late."

Looking at the clock, "I'm five minutes early."

"Tell that to the long line of customers." With a groan she walked over to the brunette in the Mazda Millennium to hear her take on what was wrong with her vehicle. As she listened to her tale of how all of a sudden it happened she thought back to when she first met Tony.

New Orleans was known for its culture, but not so much for its auto repair shops. Outside of AutoZone and a few family owned businesses there wasn't much to see. Idly she wondered how anyone managed to keep a car when she spotted a mulatto covered equally in sweat and grease working on a green 1972 AMC Javelin.

The owner of said vehicle was pissed judging by his impatient walking from side to side shouting every now and then at the man under his vehicle.

"Hello." Rogue said in simple greeting.

Tony pulled himself from under the car, "Look Lady if you can't help then scram."

"What's wrong with your car sir?"

"I've been taking it joyriding from Atlanta to here and back and now it won't move!"

"You do know that a car like that can't be driven like a modern model. That car, considering its age and condition, should only be driven around where you live."

"Are you going to scold me or help?"

"What's the problem with it?"

"Won't start. Just died on me."

"And for the life of me I can't figure it out." Tony protested from beneath the car.

There could be a problem with the car she thought briefly before she remembered that she was dealing with men and men are as stupid as they are proud. Crossing over to the driver's side she decided to check the obvious first. The gas meter said the car was full. A few taps on the dash later revealed the meter lying underneath e.

"When was the last time ya put gas in it?"

"A while back. I checked the meter and it's good."

Shaking her head, "Yer outta gas honey," she pointed to the meter, "Look at it now."

The owner did as requested then flushed. He had been chewing this poor man out for nearly five hours when all he had to do was put gas in the damn thing.

"Yer flute's stuck meaning yer meter's gonna keep reading wrong."

"Finally a problem I can fix. Say who are you toots?"

"Yer new employee."

And from then on all went well. Too well. In fact no one bothered even to ask for Tony. They all waited for between two and five in the afternoon when she would be there. Six car repairs later with everything from customers forgetting to change their oil to broken door panels she couldn't wait to return to her hotel room to soak in the bath tub.

It was after that bath that something compelled her to write a side note about fixing the chandelier in her sketchpad when she realized it was missing. No longer was it in her laptop case along with her colored pencils.

Worried that someone had intruded she checked all points of entry for evidence of a break in only to find none. After that she asked the hotel manager if anyone was shown to her room. Receiving a negative she checked her room again for anything amiss. Searching every detail she failed to find anything astray save for her missing pad.

Then she thought perhaps she had dropped it, but that wasn't right. On her way home she distinctly remembered showing her sketching of a pattern from one of the better booths to a fabric specialist. Said specialists said no but he would look into it leaving her with a promise and his card which still rested securely in her pants from this morning.

Tossing yet another shelf worth of contents across the room she glanced at her watch. If she didn't leave now she'd be late. Swearing she grabbed her mandated clothes and left.

DOM

Sunday's were gentlemen days at LoLi where ladies, such as her, would dress in boa snake constricting around its prey tight dresses while pretending to give a damn about what the men they were paid to entertain were talking about.

Upon arrival she ran for her changing room nearly tripping as she did so in her hurry to make call. With the emerald off spin of a mandarin Chinese dress on she secured her faux emerald earrings, gold bracelets, and heels before she ran to the main room donning make up as she did so just making it.

"Ladies," Derek began, "I am glad to see you all well and punctual. Now on to business. The men today aren't all like the ones that see you dance. Some are here simply to have someone to talk to. Others are here to have adult chat and how can we forget the pubescent youth looking to find out about the opposite sex. Oh innocent youth," he posed dramatically, "Oh how I've missed you," he coughed, "Anyway remember smile. Be casual. And punctual. Remember one customer equals fifteen minutes and one hundred dollars. Food and drink will be taken from that along with other surcharges … oh and Isis please try to keep the furniture in one piece?"

"Yes sir."

"Very good now to your tables."

Rogue got the booth because Derek believed that it would make her seem mysterious. Doing as told she awaited her first customer.

"Evening." The Caucasian male of around six foot two in a tailored suit addressed taking a seat from across her.

"Checking in on me?"

Smiling, "How is it that I can never fool you?"

"You may change your outer appearance, but never your intent."

A brief smirk crossed his face before he grew serious, "Have you seen him lately."

"I've made contact."

"Of a hand on nature I am sure."

"Naturally."

"What happened?"

"I showed him how good I am with my hands and my feet."

"I see," the man turned to the person hovering over their table, "I didn't pay to be entertained by you and her."

Derek bowed slightly, "My apologies, but after how she handled her last private client I felt the need to shadow her."

"A need that is not necessary."

"You seem to know each other." Derek pointed out.

"I was privy to her earlier showings back on the other side of the Mississippi. She used to have a thing for my friend Rick."

"Whom I first entertained." Rogue added.

Derek seemed to believe the two but still stood where he was until her guest waved him off with a few dollars ordering him to get a drink.

"That won't buy us a lot of time."

"I know Raven."

"So how far have you gotten?"

"Not far at all. After I showed him a 'good' time he disappeared. Haven't seen him fer a week."

"He could be on holiday."

"Or on a mission."

"I've considered that too. I shall see you again."

"Of course."

"You're drinks." Derek stayed for the rest of the visit up until two hours had passed before he dared leave her in peace. By eleven she was bored to death. If she had to laugh at one more 'funny' joke or swat another eager hand away she was going to flip.

It was then that a model handsome male sat across from her with hair as dark as night with rare lavender eyes clad in a form fitting shirt that did little to hide his physique, pants, and shoes.

"You have big feet." She commented.

"I assure you that in this case the stereotype is true."

"Foreword aren't we?" she smiled.

Hunching his shoulders, "There is no reason to go backwards speaking of which," he stared at her intently, "I have bought an hour of your time. I hope you can keep me amused for that long."

"Funny. I was going to say the same thing."

"Charmed."

"I'm not."

"Yet." He said coolly waving over a waitress to order drinks, "What would you like on me?"

"The shirt … or the drink?"

Smirking, "The drink."

"Something strong. I like to feel it burn as it goes down my throat."

"I knew I would like you."

DOM

It was halfway in when she noticed him. It appears her ass kicking had not permanently scared the Cajun away and he looked pissed. Apparently he didn't like to share his quarry. Noticing him watching she turned on the charm with more than genuine smiles, innuendos, and puns that had Florian Le Roux more than interested in her.

"I have to go away for a while," he admitted, "But when I come back I would like to see you again."

"Where are you going? Perhaps I can come with."

"I'm sure you could on both accounts, but I'm afraid I will have no social time."

"We don't need to talk."

He seemed to think it over, "Maybe I can arrange something."

"I would like …"

"You to leave," Gambit interrupted, "Yer time's over."

"Does my eye deceive?"

"French fry."

"Well if it aint my most favored Ragging Cajun. How's Tommy?"

"Deceased. How's your priceless art collection?"

"Still missing I'm afraid," Florian stood, "The pleasure was definitely mine," he reached to kiss her gloved hand when Remy forcefully pulled his arm away, "Careful Gambit. Wouldn't want my art collection to be the only thing missing."

"Your art collection isn't the only thing missing Frenchie. Au revoir."

"The same to you mon ami."

"You know each other?" she asked.

"We've crossed paths," he brushed her off clearly wanting to change topics; "It's been a while."

"Not long enough."

"Perhaps this," he pulled out a black bag, "Will change your attitude."

"I don't see how a man purse is gonna make me like you."

"It's what's inside that matter."

"Yet you wonder why we got off to a bad start."

Smirking he unzipped his bag pulling out her sketch pad, "Does this," he waved it in front of her, "Look familiar?"

"I've," she paused purposefully, "Never seen it before."

Raising a liter, "Then you won't mind me getting rid of it."

"Wait!" she cried with a touch of desperation after the first flick.

"Indulge me," he smirked clearly believing he held all the cards, "I saw ya sketchin in this here book an I know yer planning on buying te old Charmaine. Problem is ya can't afford to."

"And?"

"Perhaps I can help."

"You can?" Her eyes widened doing her very best to look interested in his offer.

"I don't know," he looked over his shoulder, "You did say something about me being a … what was it … a waste of time I believe."

"I assumed, at the time, ya were just another horny client, was I wrong?"

"Such brave words fer a person who needs what I have."

"Give it to me."

"Only," he pulled out a white tulip, "If you take my offer."

"A flower?"

"Life is a game petite. There are always winners and losers. Choices, decisions, and their consequences. Tanight I come wit two choices. Take my hand an I'll give ya all tat ya want guaranteed in return fer yer body. Take te flower and I can't guarantee anything, but a chance."