It was a disaster - there was no other way for Vincent to describe it. Bernardi was sending glorified murderers to "interrogate" him, he had still received no word from his informants other than Meretti's conveniently timed and utterly<span style="font-style: italic">useless</span>warning, and against his better judgment, he was about to involve yet another self-interested third party with his scheme when it was already falling to pieces. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no safer alternative. He was fighting a war in the shadows, and neither he nor Bernardi could trust their own men to stick to their respective sides. It was necessary for both of them to look elsewhere for help.<br/><br/>He picked up his phone's receiver and dialed a number that was usually left to his subordinates.<br/><br/>"Hello. Am I speaking to the Dia Mante Funerary Supply Company?"<br/><br/>"You are, sir." sounded a reedy male voice with a faint nordic accent. "May I inquire as to the nature of your business? Our private services are readily available, but if you are a reseller I must say with regret that our stock for the month is largely depleted."<br/><br/>The man's last remark earned a quiet scoff from Vincent. Although its number still worked, the Dia Mante building itself was nothing more than a pile of rubble lying in an abandoned lot, and its stocks were undoubtedly in a similar condition. He didn't even know where the illegitimate side of their business operated from, but apparently the destruction of their only front did not impede it greatly.<br/><br/>"That's fine. I would like to order a piece done in black hardwood, seven feet by seventy inches. I also wish to make an inquiry, though that can be done in-person with one of your employees. It involves recent transactions that your company may have made."<br/><br/>"Ah, an excellent choice, sir." There was the distant sound of old paper being unfolded. "A casket both elegant and reliable, guaranteed by word and bond to deter all but the most tenacious of vermin. Simply give your name and it will be but a moment while I make the proper arrangements."<br/><br/>"It's Vincent Morris. Do you need any other information?"<br/><br/>The man coughed. "No, this should be sufficient. Please hold while I transfer you to our specialist for the specifics."<br/><br/>There was a brief delay before a distinctly more feminine voice enlivened the receiver, quiet and well-mannered but no less peculiar than the last. "Good evening."<br/><br/>"Good evening," he responded impatiently. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have a friend waiting and would like this business to be concluded as quickly as possible. To whom am I speaking now?"<br/><br/>"I... go by Marissa." The girl sounded faintly troubled. "I haven't much of a family name. These sorts of things are all I'm good at, so the papers would be a hindrance."<br/><br/>Vincent began to wonder if was being had, or through some error found himself in the patronage of a<span style="font-style: italic">legitimate business</span>. But a girl without a name? The mind boggled. Was there some part of the process he had missed?<br/><br/>"Have you killed many people?" she sighed, as if she were asking the colour of his favourite tie.<br/><br/>Evidently this was not a legitimate business.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Now?</span>" he questioned with no small amount of bafflement, "Or in the abstract?"<br/><br/>"Oh, a good answer!" The young cleaner grew suddenly emphatic. "I only need to hear about the ones I'll be dealing with, unless you're wanted for the others or want to unburden your conscience. That's extra for the risk... or extra for my time and understanding."<br/><br/>Vincent raised an eyebrow, exasperated. Her easy familiarity with this business was refreshingly direct, if more than a little uncanny. Taking the brief silence for an invitation to continue, to his horror Marissa did exactly that.<br/><br/>"Normally clients just shout when I've been perfectly civil - I can't imagine why. The nature of death, loss, and grief? I'm an undertaker, not a priest. But I<span style="font-style: italic">do</span>have to ask," she lamented. "The caskets only fit so much."<br/><br/>"Just one," he answered flatly, "and if your expedience also costs extra,<span style="font-style: italic">tonight</span>would be ideal."<br/><br/>"Only if risk is involved," she proudly assured him. "I'm always expedient; for some reason they never appreciate it. The rest depends on four questions: Where are you? Have you or the deceased been discovered? Are you likely to be? Who will notice their absence and when?"<br/><br/>"I am in my house on the 24th of Langley, which is just slightly outside of the downtown area. The deceased was shouting at my doorstep less than an hour ago, but given the time of day this may mean little. No-one is likely to witness the aftermath, and I suspect that his failure to kidnap and interrogate me will be noticed as early as tomorrow afternoon," he concluded with a short pause, before adding "...if things continue to proceed as poorly as they already have."<br/><br/>The line went silent for a moment as the young woman thought things over. At length she offered a dour response. "Three of four," she muttered. "Troublesome. Are you certain you need my help? Your kidnapper is gone no matter what I do. He was sent; you'll be searched for. The best I can offer is that he'll never be found."<br/><br/>"I can handle the men who sent him," Vincent stated with less certainty than he was truly comfortable with. "My concern is that once I have deprived them of the ability to antagonize me directly, they will resort to subtler methods and attempt to involve the police. This would normally be of no concern, but I am without certain resources during this venture and am therefore forced to rely upon other, more flexible ones; namely, my money and your services."<br/><br/>Marissa pondered this further. "If you're certain. I can be there in an hour to give the particulars, I think. Touch nothing until I can see the deceased, unless you must. You'll find I'm quite subtle..." she trailed off awkwardly, "excepting the occasional dalliance with quicklime and embalming fluid. It's not impossible to find a body in a warehouse, Mr. Morris. Sometimes there are suspicions and, er... well, the warehouse has to be on fire."<br/><br/>"...Is it a<span style="font-style: italic">common</span>business practice for you to reminisce out loud about past failures, Marissa?"<br/><br/>"It wasn't really a failure;" she complained, "the body was never found. Of course, neither was the warehouse. I'm very dedicated to these things."<br/><br/>Vincent sighed over the phone, but in truth, he was grateful to hear the woman speak of former jobs. Such information was likely to be more useful to him than the task he had called for, and with any luck, it would help him determine in a hurry whether he needed to disappear as quickly - and as absolutely - as Ander Fredrics did.<br/><br/>"Very well. Come along as quickly as you are able and we may speak more in-person."