Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: Myra Reldon/Helen Menz
Word Count: 619
Summary: Myra works the club angle for the Old Tiger, and has to deal with still more slime, even in the modern world.
Author's Notes: No idea where this came from. Been looking to write something for Myra for a while, and this was the first thing that came to mind, with her currently being in the Old Tiger’s world.
Myra thought the men in her own time were crude, but they had nothing on the ones that sat shoulder-to-shoulder with her at the yuppie club she was hitting up. There were always unpleasant experiences when trying to dig up leads and make connections in the underworld. Myra was currently working her way into a small, but rising ring of dealers that liked a more up-town style of club. She was more experienced with a different crowd, but she knew it would be possible to get one of the dealers to soften up to her with the right approach.
She was a regular at the club now, and they were more open to talk around her as she worked at a drink. No details were being revealed directly, but while they thought they were being discreet, she was easily reading between the lines. She’d have a solid report for the Burbanks by the end of the evening, and might even get orders from the Old Tiger by the next morning if he was around.
For now though, she had to deal with the slug that was leaning against her with a hand draped over her shoulder. The seemingly harmless motion was almost lewd with the way he was doing it, and it was pushing her sense of decency to its old-fashioned limits. Still, the other girls around the bar that looked her age were putting up with far more crude advances than she was, and so she had to consider it luck she wasn’t stuck in a spot yet where she had to get cozy next to him.
She giggled airily as he tried to impress her with stories about his car and how he’d dodged the police during one of the biggest raids in the city, the very one that The Shadow had worked so diligently to orchestrate. She feigned interest and excitement perfectly as she leaned up against him drunkenly and finished her glass. He snapped his fingers and he asked Helen what she wanted, and she asked for a Long Island Iced Tea. Such drinks were hardly anything but alcohol, but if she played her cards right, she could get away with drinking hardly any of it, while he would drink himself nearly under the table. She watched as he added a second motion to the action of ordering a drink in the loud club, and kept an eye on the bartender.
As he filled the drink, she noticed him palming some small item, and knew it was being spiked. She would have to chance a sip or two, and hope whatever resistance she’d built up from exposure to other various drugs in her past was enough to offset the effects of a minor dose. Rejecting the drink outright, even if she supposedly changed her mind, might clue them in to the fact that she’d noticed.
Her ‘date’ paid for the drink and she took a small sip, and another before making a face and setting it down. The drug was tasteless, but she complained that the drink tasted horrible anyways, and ordered something else from another bartender that walked up in place of the crooked one. She ordered a different drink and was thankful that it did not end up spiked. She easily stifled an instinctive cringe as her neck was nuzzled by the drunken man next to her. Instead, she giggled and leaned a little more against him, and asked him to tell her more about his impressive getaway form the cops the night of the raid.
The things she did for the Chief…