Remi hated traveling. He hated it every time he got back home, leaving him to wonder why he never learned his lesson. A headache was nudging at the back of his right eye, and all he wanted to do was lay down in his own bed and sleep for a solid twelve hours.

He never slept well outside of New Orleans.

But there was no such thing as rest for the wicked. Their plane had landed early this morning, and he and Leon had been making the rounds since then, making sure everything was still ticking along as smoothly as could be expected.

As they walked up the front steps, Leon's phone buzzed. Remi stopped unlocking the door to look over his shoulder, assessing if this was a problem Leon could handle, or if it was something that would delay him from getting some proper sleep.

Leon was frowning at whatever he was reading, his eyebrows steadily getting closer to one another as he got more details. Then he swore under his breath.

"What?" Remi said with a sigh, trying not to let the dread he was feeling creep into his voice.

"Marcus needs to see you about Gina."

Remi closed his eyes, leaning against the door for a second. Then, he turned back to Leon. "What the hell did she do now?"

"She keeps poaching his girls," Leon said with annoyance. "This is the fourth time, Remi."

"I'm aware of that." He growled in frustration. "Does he need to see me, or can you handle this?"

Leon pursed his lips, then shrugged. "I can try. But he did ask for you specifically."

"Yes, well, the benefit of being me is that I'm not at everyone's beck and call. They're at mine," he said, flinging the door open. He should have known better than to leave in the first place. 

He scowled as he went up the stairs, now in an exceptionally foul mood. He did not like having to resolve a problem more than once.

"So what do you want me to say?" Leon called up after him.

Remi paused, looking back down to the foyer where Leon stood with a raised eyebrow. He narrowed his eyes, thinking, then said, "Tell Marcus not to do anything. I'll handle it and if I find Gina or any of Gina's girls with so much as a hangnail, him and me are going to have a problem."

"And Gina?" Leon asked, smirking slightly, which made Remi scowl at him.

This was a bit more delicate. Gina was one of the most influential madams in the city. Half the dirt he had on city officials and other so-called upstanding members of society was from Gina. He had always liked their deal. He had always liked Gina.

She understood the importance of information in a way not many others did. Money wasn't a factor, and he appreciated the ease with which he was able to capitalize on her girls.

His fingers drummed against the reddish, shined wood of the banister. "I'll talk to Gina." He went up the last two steps. "But not today."

Leon snorted, the sound following Remi. He heard the front door shut as he walked into his room. He started to take off his jacket, then stopped, meeting the gaze of his reflection in a mirror tucked into his closet.

He slowly took off his jacket, then his tie, tossing them onto the end of his bed. Swearing under his breath, he turned around just to go right back down the stairs. He undid the first button of his dark grey shirt, then the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up with quick, efficient movements.

"Tread careful," Moira's voice called from the kitchen as he headed toward the garage.

He hesitated next to the doorway, then leaned back to find Moira sitting at one of the kitchen islands, perusing three separate newspapers. She was still wearing what she had been on the plane this morning.

Either Bat or Wild Bill lay at her feet, head resting on his huge forepaws, one ear swiveling forward lazily as Remi stepped into the kitchen.

The dog sat up as he walked toward Moira, then leaned back against his mistress' leg. Moira reached an absent hand down, scratching around the dog's ears. Remi watched as his eyes half-closed, tongue lolling out because of the attention.

If only people were as simple to please as dogs.

He walked over to the island, bracing his hands on the counter as he looked at her. Her hazel eyes were cool, but he could find the worry in the line of her mouth. 

"What would you do?" he finally asked. His fingers tapped against the counter, knowing he was perhaps opening himself up too much here. But if he could trust anyone to keep his weaknesses secret, it was Moira. 

She tilted her head, dark hair down around her face, and pursed her lips. "I suppose that depends on what you want, Remi. Figure that out first, then do what it takes to get it."

"Hm," he hummed in interest, finger tapping against the counter again. "Thank you, Moira."

She just nodded, turning back to the newspaper. 

He left the kitchen, and she called, "You might want to talk to Anya."

Now he smirked, understanding why she was still in her travel clothes. He went into the garage and slid into the Audi. Part of him knew this was going to end poorly. The rest of him wanted to see how long it would take to go downhill.

He started the car, leaving his house, thinking on what Moira had said as he drove to the Quarter.

What he wanted and what he needed were two very different things. What he wanted and what was good for him were even more sharply delineated. He did not know which of those things he was currently driving toward.

It was never a long enough drive, and he soon found himself knocking on the red door in front of him. There was a moment of silence, then he heard a floor creak as someone walked to the door. He took a breath, settling his expression into one of polite disinterest as it was opened. 

Charlie's expression went from mildly curious to stormy when she saw him. "Oh," she said, "you're back."

Her voice was flat, her arms folding protectively over her chest. She was wearing a simple t-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans, feet bare and hair down.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he asked, moving to step past her. She shifted subtly, effectively blocking his way in.

"Do you need something, Mr. Robicheaux?" she asked, tone shifting from vaguely furious to obscenely polite.

Displeasure slithered through him at that, and he narrowed his eyes at her, leaning forward so that she'd have to tip her head back even more to meet his gaze. She stepped back slightly, not letting him get closer, but still blocking his way inside.

"I thought I'd come see if you needed anything, actually," he finally said. "See if you'd settled in okay since I've been gone."

"Yes, thank you." Her tone was bland. She smiled politely. "I don't need anything, and I'm sure you're busy."

Remi frowned, not exactly sure what she was doing here. Uncertainty prickled across his skin at her emotionless demeanor. It was so different from the passionate creature he'd thought he'd known.

Before he could say anything, she'd started to shut the door. His hand shot out, palm smacking into the red-painted wood with enough force that Charlie flinched minutely. Her eyes flashed and she opened her mouth angrily, then shut it, lips twisting into a tight frown.

He almost wanted to smile, tentative understanding nudging at him.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" he asked, voice a little lower.

"No," she snapped, then blinked. "Wait, yes. Can you have Moira come see me?"

A momentary flicker of surprise and uncomfortable doubt lit in his mind, and he turned speculative as he looked at Charlie, wondering why she wanted to see Moira and not him.

She rolled her eyes, like she'd guessed what he was thinking. "I want to apologize. I was rude to her the last time I saw her, but I shouldn't have been. It wasn't her fault I was angry."

Those words came out heavy with another meaning, and he sighed through his nose. He wondered if it would be worth pouring more gasoline on that fire, or wait a little longer and hoped it died out.

So he just nodded curtly, hand going into his right pocket to retrieve his car keys.

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he could really consider them.

"Yes," she hissed without any hesitation, slamming the door in his face.

His temper flared and he opened the door, making Charlie spin around in the middle of the living room. He let the door fall shut behind him, forcing himself to stay away from her.

He knew exactly what he wanted. The question remained how bad she would be for him.

"Leave," she ordered. "I'm busy. I don't want you here."

Remi stayed silent, watching how her eyes snapped with fire and her cheeks flushed with anger. That was more like it. Certainly better than what had greeted him.

"I swear to God, I'll call the police if I ha—"

"It's not just the money," he said, cutting her off.

She fell silent, staring at him blankly. He returned her gaze, fingers moving minutely at his side as he waited. He didn't think he should say anything just yet. It was like any other manipulation—timing and tone were everything.

But he couldn't decide if he was doing the manipulating, or if she was as she crossed her arms.

"It's always about money. Everything has a price remember?" She smiled as she threw his own words back at him.

His mouth pressed down into a regretful line. "I didn't—"

"Didn't what?" she asked, interrupting him this time. "Didn't mean it? Yes you did. You said it, Remi, and you meant it. I can't get anywhere in this life without your money. Or someone else's money, or what the hell ever."

"That's not my fault," he snapped, making her startle. He shook his head. "I don't make the rules, darlin', I just game the system. So I have the money, what do you care as long as you're getting what you want?"

"Well if I keep costing you more than you thought, why keep playing the game?" she fired back, then blinked like she hadn't meant to say that. She tossed her head, auburn hair fanning out, then looked at him with a bitter smile. "You've been gone three days, Remi. I've had more than enough time to stew."

Remi's fingers fluttered at his side, but he didn't allow any more reaction than that. He never would have used the word if he'd known he was talking to more than just Moira.

"You're right," she said, voice suddenly defeated. "I can't get where I want without you."

Remi took a step forward at that, sensing an opening. But then she held up a hand, forcing him to stop. He let out a short breath, not exactly sure where this conversation was heading.

She crossed her arms, a stubborn look moving like a shadow across her face, and his stomach dropped ever so slightly. The silence stretched as she seemed to weigh what she wanted to say next. His patience wore steadily away, but once again, he knew silence would be his ally here.

But she seemed to have taken the same strategy, and stood watching him as carefully as he watched her.

Each deciding how to get what they wanted.

"You said that all you wanted from me was for me to get through school, and then to not ask questions after I cleaned up the blood," she finally said.

"That's right," he said carefully.

"Well then that's what you'll get," she said serenly. "Nothing less. Nothing more."

He raised an eyebrow at how she'd said that. Then he frowned as she turned her back on him, walking toward the stairs.

"You need anything, Mr. Robicheaux, you'll know where to find me," she said over her shoulder. His eyes followed her up the stairs as she called, "I hope you had a nice trip. Feel free to let yourself out."

The stairs creaked once, and then a door slammed.

Remi's breath eased slowly out of his lungs, a small laugh ghosting from him. He took a step toward the stairs, then shook his head. Instead, he did just what she'd said. He let himself out.

Looking at his watch, he found it was getting close to six. Then he looked down, frowning at his decision to leave his jacket and tie on his bed. He took the Audi's keys out of his pocket, jingling them in his palm.

Soft yellow light streamed from the windows behind him, and from the corner of his eye he thought he saw a shadow pass near the curtain.

He rolled his neck, getting the bones to pop, then went to his car and got in. For a moment, he just sat in the lengthening shadows. 

She had an extreme ability to upset what passed for the balance of his life.

Finally he started the car, driving toward the west part of the city. He apparently needed to talk to Anya anyway.

It seemed to take much too long getting to the club she ran, but as soon as he stopped his car, a woman in a neat black suit opened the door. He gave her the keys, making his way through the front door.

Leather and red suede dominated the space, sultry music with Russian lyrics enveloped him. It was mostly dark, red tinted lights offering the only illumination, leaving plenty of dark corners for Anya's employees to ply her guests with whatever would turn a coin.

"Mr. Robicheaux?" a passing waitress inquired. He nodded and she offered him a deliciously naughty smile. "This way, please."

Remi nodded, following her through the softly milling crowd to the back. She let him through a door marked 'private', giving him one last sexy smile as he passed.

Then ice ran down his spine when he stepped into the room. Anya was standing with her back to him, her fists clenched at her sides. Yuri sat in the chair behind a tasteful oak desk, his boots propped up on the corner, crinkling a paper with rows of neat writing on it.

Both Kalnikov siblings looked at him, but his immediate concern was the dark shadow looming to his right. He turned sharply, staring into the strangely empty eyes of Yuri's favorite attack dog, Petrov.

The knife in his pocket was suddenly in his hand, the switchblade making a nasty snicking sound that immediately had everyone in the room freezing. It nearly made him smile how certain sounds could serve as a small intimidation.

Which, incidently was why he always carried a switchblade. The sound alone could occassionally discourage any hasty violence.

"Call off your dog, Yuri," he said. "Now."

Yuri watched with heavy-lidded eyes for a moment, then Anya snapped something in Russian, and he waved his bodyguard off.

"Mr. Robicheaux," he said with contempt. "Why are you here?"

Remi smiled patiently, the gesture designed to appear dismissive, which made Yuri turn red with anger. He obviously couldn't say anything now. It would raise enough eyebrows that he'd come here at all, rather than going straight to Dimitri.

It would seem today was just going to be one of those days made to frustrate him at every turn.

"I called him here," Anya suddenly said, making both men look at her. She met her brother's eyes steadily. "I'm thinking of expanding the business. It would be easy to run, well, anything through here."

Yuri said something to her in Russian, but Remi didn't betray his aggravation at not understanding everything said. Instead, he put the knife back in his pocket, still watching Petrov.

Anya snapped something back, then abruptly switched to English.

"Baba won't listen to me, that's why, Yuri." She turned, her kohl-lined eyes a lovely shade of grey and mysterious. "I was going to surprise him. Show him I know what I'm doing."

"No point," Yuri said with a laugh. Then he sneered at Remi. "Little Anya wants to play with the big boys. Are you playing?"

Now Remi raised an eyebrow, not caring for the innuendo that lurked beneath that sentence. He shrugged. "Whatever makes money, Yuri. I don't care who I work with to get it. You should know that."

Yuri's smile twitched back toward a scowl at the small jab. Then Remi turned to Anya, more or less dismissing her brother. "Maybe I'll come back some other time, yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Robicheaux," she said, also turning away from Yuri. "I didn't realize he would be here. Yes if you can make the time, I would greatly appreciate your authority on the matter."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, then opened the door, never turning his back to the room. "Evening," he said, still only making eye contact with Anya.

She nodded, looking pale, but he couldn't interfere. Family was a tricky business.

Remi left the club, thoroughly exhausted. Every now and then, he wished something would just go exactly the way he wanted it to. He waited for his car to be brought around, looking at his watch. The streets were un-surprisingly quiet. Anya's place was an exclusive sort of club and it was a week-night.

For all intents and purposes, he stood alone on the sidewalk, waiting.

Then the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he sidestepped, whirling away as something sharp and silver whipped past his shoulder. 

It hadn't been meant to kill.

He didn't care. He turned, expecting Petrov.

Instead he found someone he didn't recognize, but he certainly recognized the tattoo on the back of the man's hand. He worked for Yuri. And he was either stupid or new, because he lunged forward, another knife in his hand.

He jabbed it forward, aiming for Remi's liver. Remi twisted, the blade cutting his shirt and biting into his skin, grabbing the hand with the knife in it. His fingers bit into the meaty part of the man's hand below his thumb and he twisted brutally.

There was a sickening snap and the man screamed before Remi took the knife from his now useless hand and jammed it down into his neck, right above his collarbone. The man gaped soundlessly, like a fish, as Remi lowered him to the ground.

He pulled the knife out, turning his head as blood sprayed from the severed carotid.

Then he stood, striding back through the club. Several people gasped as he cut through the crowd and he knew the damage was worse than he'd estimated. He didn't care.

The door was locked this time, but it didn't stay that way as he drove his heel into the wood, popping the lock clean from the frame. He threw the knife, ruffling the hair at Yuri's ear before the blade sank into the wall behind him.

"Next time, do it yourself," Remi hissed. "Your father will be hearing about this."

All the blood drained from Yuri's face, but Remi had turned and left the club as quickly as he'd come back in, palm pressing into the shallow cut on his abdomen.

His car was waiting for him this time, and he got in, not caring about the bloody handprint he left on the door, or the smears of red he left on the dark grey leather of the steering wheel.