The tunnel stretched on and on, like the entrance to the underworld, though Sykes doubted the afterlife featured a strip joint.

She stepped from the rough hewn passage into a cloud of cigar smoke and whiskey. The jukebox spun a rendition of Highway to Hell, the lyrics garbled by the conversation and laughter of the occupants. Her gaze took in the variety of dress, chalking it up to the mounting pile of oddities. A jolt of relief took her when she heard Tambly's familiar baritone carousing with the rest of them. She held onto to that wisp of relief until she laid eyes on her partner.

I'm going to kill him.

Tambly occupied a seat at the card game, a foul smelling cigar clenched between his teeth, clutching a glass of whiskey and a handful of cards. A naval officer's cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head. The lady of the lemon tree draped over his shoulders like a living ornament. Her unsettling gaze met Sykes's stare, a smirk playing on her lips. The digital camera dangled by its strap from her slim wrist.

That bitch.

Sykes didn't need to know all the details to know the little harlot was staking a claim on her partner. The enforcer pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the wolf whistles and cat calls in her wake. These idiots were hard up for women, but Sykes was ready to breathe fire when she reached the poker game.

"Belle!" Tambly noticed her at last, spilling on himself as he drunkenly toasted to her. "You made it to the party!"

Sykes lost some of her fire as the peculiarity of the situation smashed her over the head. She leaned forward, trying to catch Tambly's attention by clasping his wrist.

"Time to go. Rossofern's expecting a report."

Tambly snorted, slurping his drink. "The tosser can kiss my grits."

This was worse than she thought. Playboy, drunk, hooligan, her partner was many disreputable things, but he did his duty and took his job as an enforcer to heart. A room full of junk attested to his will power to adhere to the Agency code. Yet, a couple hours in this den of inequity had him ready to throw in the towel on a lifetime of service. No one ever leaves.

Sykes looked at the lady hanging on her partner. The smirk on her lips had a cruel edge.

"You," she snarled, grabbing a clump of red fabric to haul the woman away from Tambly. She followed Sykes without resistance, letting the enforcer pull her to an empty corner by the bar.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Sykes hissed, stifling the urge to throttle her. "Spike his drink? Something funny in the cigar?"

The lady shrugged, her red dress slipping from her shoulder. "He's relaxing into his new home," she said simply. "Would you like a drink? You look like a Sex on the Beach kind of girl."

"Bullshit!' Sykes shoved her, further angered by the woman's unperturbed expression. The enforcer made to leave, the intent to drag her partner away by his bootstraps clear in her face. Nails dug into Sykes's wrist, anchoring her in place.

The woman's lips pulled into a moue. "The females never settle in," she sighed, shaking her curls.

Sykes blinked at her, desperately wishing they never left the beach. "What is this place?"

"It's sported a few monikers over the years," said the woman, retrieving a curvy bottle of clear liquid from behind the bar. "Shot of Cabo Wabo?" She huffed at Sykes's stare.

"You need to loosen up, dear. That kind of stress will kill you."

"Quit stalling," said Sykes.

The woman lifted a brow, taking her shot. "Call it what you will, Ogygia, Aeaea, Neverland, Purgatory, the Devil's Triangle; men certainly like to name things, as if that gives them permanence." She sneered in disdain. "The women are worse though, they refuse to accept the inevitable. They always wash up on the rocks in the end."

Fear prickled up her spine. Sykes kept a calm mask, refusing to let the woman see it. "Please let us go."

The woman gave her a genuine smile, slapping her free hand on the bar. "I like you. You're far more polite than the last lady who turned up here. Truthfully, I do hate competition. How badly do you want to leave, Belle?" A roar of laughter drew their eyes to the card table.

"Both of us," said Sykes.

The woman was silent for a long moment. "You must care for him a great deal."

"I plan to wring his thick neck," sniffed Sykes. Rich feminine laughter filled the air.

"How about a sporting chance?" The woman drew a deck from the folds of her dress. "Five card draw, aces high, if you win, you're free."

"You want me to gamble for our freedom?" Sykes sucked on her teeth. "What happens if I loose?"

"You settle in and stop being such a pain in my ass."

Sykes looked at the deck. The card backing was awfully familiar.

___***___

Tambly's buzz was wearing off. This was a tragedy in itself, until his fuzzed over senses began to reassert themselves on the heels of a vicious hang over. He must have passed out at some point, deposited against the Wurlitzer. The box currently crooned Come Sail Away, scraping against the inside of his skull. The blurry bits of his memory refused to cooperate. A collective gasp snagged his attention. Movement made his teeth ache. He blinked through it. The bar patrons were clustered around the card table, obscuring the players. Groaning, Tambly staggered to his feet, using his height advantage to look over the crowd.

Fortuna sat on one side, tapping her fingers on the table as she studied the cards in her hand, a large stack of chips before her. Opposite her was...

Oh, he was in such deep shit.

He shoved his way through to her side, collapsing next to her. Tambly tried to ignore her greatly diminished chips, swaying in his seat.

"What are you doing, Belle?"

She ignored him. "I'll raise you twenty."

"You'll have to start betting clothes soon."

"Like hell," Sykes emphasized the assertion by slamming her cards face down. Tambly didn't missed the poor quality of her hand.

"Maybe you should fold, kitten" he murmured for her ears only.

She spared him a glare. "I don't need your advice, idiot. This is mostly your fault." The toe of her boot kicked his shin beneath the table. "And stop calling me kitten."

"You have a good rest, sweetie?" Fortuna grinned at him. It was not a nice grin, without whiskey coated glasses, but a predatory one he felt in his bowels. "Was just helping your partner here adjust to her new accommodations."

Sykes flipped her the bird. "You betting or not?"

"Rushing into another loss? Really Belle?" Fortuna's strange eyes were fixed on him. She licked her lips. "How bout we bring this little farce to a close? Your heart isn't in it, sweet Belle. All in?" Well, she was bloody confidant.

"If you're done talking smack, let's do this." Sykes picked up her hand, shoving her pitiful offering of chips into the pot.

"Uh, Belle."

"Shut it. Let's see 'em."

Fortuna laid down a full house, the gleam of triumph in her eyes. This was bad, this was very bad. What stakes were they betting on? He dreaded the answer. "Your turn, kitten," she cackled. 

Sykes didn't rise to the bait. He didn't want to watch her lose, but she was so calm as laid her hand on the table.

Four of a kind, all aces. "Don't call me kitten." The gathered patrons let out a cheer.

"Holy-"

Fortuna leapt to her feet. "You bloody little cheater, I'll strip you of your skin!" Her shriek echoed in the sudden silence. Those mismatched eyes glowed in her pale face.

His partner rose to her feet, planting her palms on the table. "I don't think so. Should I explain where those aces came from?"

The moment swelled, pregnant with violence until Fortuna straightened to smooth back her curls. "I can't believe you out foxed me on my own soil," she glared at the apparent victor. "Once you leave these shores, you'll never find your way here again. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Sykes turned for the emergency exit. "Let's go, Merrick."

"I didn't say he could leave," purred Fortuna, sliding into his lap once again. Funny, but he didn't feel nearly as thrilled this go round.

Sykes's mouth puckered. "The terms of our deal were if I won, we'd go free."

"Someone clearly wasn't listening," replied Fortuna in a sing song voice, wagging her finger at the flustered enforcer. "I said you could go free. Not a charity here, no two for one deals." The other men in the room shuffled uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with the mercenary nature of their hostess. He wondered how many were duped by Fortuna's silver tongue. How long had they been here? Forever. He could hear his Belle grinding her teeth.

"Go," he told her quietly. He didn't ask her for promise of rescue. Fortuna made it quite clear this island wouldn't be here after she left its shores. He feared the devil woman would go back on her deal if his partner fussed. "Tell them I was lost in action." He slipped the digital camera from Fortuna's dangling wrist, holding it out to Sykes.

She wasn't looking at him, holding a stare down with the mistress of the house. "What would it take?"

Fortuna stilled, her sharp intake of breath betraying her interest. "A sacrifice, something precious, something dear. What could you possibly give in exchange for this worthless man?"

"Hey," Tambly protested. Her hand slid up around his mouth, dry like the skin of a snake. Her nails dug into his cheek.

Without a word, Sykes reached into the largest pouch of her belt, removing its contents. She placed the paperback with reverence on the table between them.

"Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett," said Fortuna, releasing her grip on his face. She picked up the book, cradling it against her breast. "Such warmth, this is indeed quite prized."

"It's signed by the author," his partner choked out, pressing her fists into her thighs.

Fortuna stroked the cover, her odd colored eyes watching Sykes closely. She slipped from his lap, nodding her head to the other woman. "I accept your tribute in exchange for your companion's life. Farewell, Belle."

My life in exchange for a ream of paper? Tambly thought numbly, joining his silent partner as they left via the Beetle Stairway. The noise picked back up once the emergency door was closed. They emerged outside, to a lightening sky. The sight of her face revealed the truth; how important such a common object could be. By her stony expression he knew better than to bring up the events of the night. As they followed the path back to the beach, her hand slipped tentatively into his. She hadn't hesitated to offer the book.

Hand in hand, they approached the crackling barrier. He took a deep breath, hoping Fortuna's promise of freedom held true.

They stepped through.