Tom hadn't quite expected this last assignment before going to Hell to be such a complicated one. After a night with Sohm, which was actually more pleasant than he would have guessed it was going to be, he'd been contacted by the French Special Divisions and told that a plane was ready for take-off at the Memphis International Airport and that he was supposed to be on it in twenty minutes.
Tom, of course, had no prior warning and was required to dress properly to be presented before foreign dignitaries, grab something to eat, and find his case file before running out the door and speeding most of the way to the airport to make the plane trip even halfway late instead of totally off schedule.
On the plane, two armed riflemen asked for his weapons and he handed over his pistol, being seated across from a man who was reading through several packets of papers. Tom had nothing to do but wait for him to finish what he was doing. It seemed like almost an hour before the Frenchman set the packets aside and removed his glasses.
"Monsieur Lanzig, tell me how much you know about acquiring prostitutes," he said bluntly.
Tom was completely confused. "What?"
"Do you know anything about the subject?" the man asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"No, I'm afraid I don't know anything about picking up hookers. It's illegal in America."
"I am aware of that," the Frenchman shot back testily. "But you are the only agent we can find within reasonable acquisition that can help us. So, it seems we have a lot of work to do in the next eight hours."
Tom sighed. "Look, just tell me what I need to do and let's get beyond all these unpleasantries and crap. What am I here to do?"
The Frenchman tapped the case file twice. "Did you read this?"
"Yeah," Tom replied. "Find a hooker, get her in bed with me, wait until you guys show up to capture her, don't get killed. Real hard. So why did you ask for me?"
"Because she is a succubus."
Tom rolled his eyes. "And you guys don't have any way of subduing her, right?"
The two guards stiffened at that, clearly offended. "I have with me photographs from the murder scenes. As you'll see, this succubus is on the warpath." The Frenchman removed a small case from overhead and opened it, handing Tom a stack of photos.
In each photo, a man lay on a bed with his skin lacerated all across his body, and a message written in his blood on the wall where the headboard of the bed stood. 'Withering Sex Drive' 'Disappointing Stamina' 'Unequalled Pacifism' 'Too Easily Dominated' 'Scared' 'No Back' 'He Is A Robot' 'Is This All You Have To Feed Me?' 'I Hunger For A Man' 'I Grow Weary Of These Children' 'Bring Me A Challenge' 'I'm Still Waiting...'
"And what makes you think that I can do anything about this?" Tom asked.
"Because you have been trained by a succubus, and you have a particularly helpful curse placed on you."
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Tom said, shaking his head. "I have not been trained by a succubus. I got an unofficial lesson on how to be dominant. I am in no way qualified to take on an actual succubus. And if she's thinking about putting her hand through my skull, how the fuck does my curse help me?"
"You have been particularly successful in pacifying hostile case subjects. We will provide all the necessary equipment, tools, and anything else you may need in your assignment. You have full cooperation of the French government and Special Divisions."
Tom rolled his eyes. "That didn't answer my questions."
"She kills because of the inadequacy of the men she couples with. You may be able to pacify her enough to be apprehended."
Tom let out a long, displeased sigh. Okay, another freak without any sense of humanity whatsoever, and this one had killed a dozen agents from France. Now, it was Tom's turn to have a swing at her. If this was his last assignment, at least he wouldn't have to face Ceria in Hell. A silver lining to everything, Tom mused to himself.
"So tell me more about this full cooperation? If I'm supposed to pose as a rich whatever, I need to know how far I can take it."
"Any and all requests will be met without question up to one million euros total. We have constructed an identity for you to use while hiring the succubus." The Frenchman pulled a folder out of his case and opened it, sliding several legal documents and identification cards and a passport, all with the name 'Wallace Price' on everything. Tom almost winced at the description they had given him.
He was supposed to be the de-facto owner of a mechanical engineering company called Bottom Line Engineering, and apparently that made him a snobby asshole who spent his time meandering around classy prostitutes and spending all his money. Apparently, they thought that throwing money around and acting like a jerk would get him into bed with this succubus faster than anything else.
"Study this and let's go over your delivery of it," the French agent said, waiting patiently as Tom started to go over everything to himself and fit himself into the fake persona. The idea of having money to do whatever you wanted was really something anybody could run with, but executing it without being conspicuously new to it was another matter entirely.
The rest of the flight to Paris consisted of Tom literally rehearsing how to deliver lines, his attitude, and the types of things to do. The agent, whose name Tom learned was Henri, said that everything would be taken care of for Tom and that the succubus would be hanging out in the Casino Le Lyon Vert. He would be taken there, and then taken back to Paris by limousine so Tom could woo the succubus.
Obviously they didn't think his opulence and generally self-important attitude would be enough to sway the prostitute's opinion. Not to mention they thought leaving him alone with a succubus for four hours was a good idea, despite his persona being less than a day old and flimsy at best.
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The casino was absolutely beautiful both inside and out, but Tom had a hard time enjoying it as he searched for the succubus. He'd been given a photo of her and told to study her face so he could recognize her in a crowd, but with so many people here, and with a less-than-photographic memory, he was having a hard time finding her.
It would have been nice to know her measurements too, to find out what kind of shape he was looking for of course.
Tom made his way to the bar and ordered a glass of wine, shelling out enough money to buy a motorcycle to keep the drinks coming. The only problem with coming here was that he spoke no French whatsoever and it was going to be very difficult to talk to this succubus if she didn't speak English.
He figured he'd wait a while before looking, hoping that the woman was somewhere trolling for a client and would check the bar. It seemed like the best place to go pick up a guy, while he was sitting here drinking alone.
Occasionally, the agent would glance around the large casino, hoping that he would catch a glimpse of her. He didn't know how he'd be able to find her like that, but it was the same brand of blind hope that drove stranded hikers into the snow when they got lost.
He downed the rest of his wine and set the glass on the table, turning around to face the bar.
