The Master Race, Chapter 33
Tea for Two
Sam watches the security footage intently. There are numerous people in the room, including the hotel manager. Xi has made good on his promise. All is as she demanded. Although the Hilton family controls Hilton Inc., the mainland Chinese government owns 25% of Hilton and 100% of this hotel. Recently, this hotel began falling short of its quotas. Soon after Xi came to investigate why, the murders happened. Then there’s this convoluted mess with the traitor who needs to be fretted out that’s been dumped in his lap as well.
The images she’s reviewing must shuffle at a lower [frame] rate than she would normally employ else computer [the hotel’s mainframe] wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. Computer is being used for redundancy and reference. The security cameras have the usual redundancies and reference, not to mention filters, yet she insists on computer for oversight and wearing the Heads.
She hits pause on one of the numerous monitors that she’s using for her audit. A blonde hottie, built, twenty-something, athletic, walks across the lobby—in the background whilst Puck and the Dame are treated as foreground, from her point of view and interest.
“Nice trim,” Sam casually observes. Xi notices her distraction.
The slice [in question] is Ellen Hoog [born March 26, 1986 in Bloemendaal], a sexy Netherlands field hockey player. Too bad the NHL doesn’t breed them like this, if they did the league’s popularity would be assured [in spades].
The Dutch female field hockey player is of the first ladies team of Amsterdam. She is also a member of the Dutch National Women’s Team. She is a striker. In 2004 she made her debut in the national team. She has played 34 matches for the national team in which she has scored 7 times.
In August 2005, she became European Champion in Dublin (IRL). In December of the same year she won the Champions Trophy in Canberra (AUS) with the Dutch National Women’s Team. She was also part of the Dutch squad that became World Champion at the 2006 Women’s Hockey World Cup.
Her father died from cancer a week after the European Championship victory in Ireland. After his death she had difficulties picking up her normal life again, but regained the motivation to start playing when the new season started in October 2005. She’s been a dominating monster [player] ever since.
Now to expose Xi’s thief using the subliminals that are being broadcast by the carrier wave which has been cleverly hidden in the imaging of the hotel’s security cameras. A subversion that’s much too clever to have been devised by the person that they [she and Xi] suspect of the larceny.
Sam makes a series of arcane gestures with her mannequin hands. The prudz that glove her making her hands look like the hands of a mannequin. All of the humans in the room, save one, begin uttering in unison—the lone exception being the hotel manager.
“Honestly, I thought it was kind of pointless with the little switch-a-roo in between. Sometimes it’s worth building the storyline with one person holding the championship for a little longer. The same thing happened when Velvet [Sky] won it [at Bound For Glory], she was built up as the top babyface and finally she won it and she dropped it immediately and I felt like it was kind of weird.”
Then, just as abruptly, they cease their singsong. Only three people in the suite are aware that anything has just happened. Everybody else seems totally oblivious of the “event”. That quickly changes, of course.
Hard face, harsh makeup, a shrew’s brittle grating voice, flowing shoulder-draping too-blonde tresses, blue eyes, huge knockers—the “big” rack—those twins, slim hips, [tight] flat ass—a white girl’s [or Asian girl’s] trademark pancakes, miniscule waist, large [cruel] mouth, and long, sculptured legs … Hot sassy vixen that is confident, deceptive, and alluring … Wears tight fitting, distracting outfits … Takes care of business and stirs-up trouble. Loathsome. Borg. Dominatrix.
Life’s a bitch and then you die. Because … The devil is always in the details. Meticulous planning—practice, practice, practice. And, one little mistake, a moment’s carelessness, the oversight he drilled endlessly to preempt, and it all goes down the drain. He [the manager] Marion Lopes forgot to remove his contacts. Further compounding his mistake, Marion does the totally useless, second most stupid thing he could do [in this situation] and takes a step back.
Sam and Xi turn round to face him. “Forgot to take out your lenses? They must be real beauts to elude a demon’s [casual] visual inspection. I bet that once you’re wearing them, it takes close careful scrutiny to ferret them out even when you know what you’re looking for,” The Nosferatu teases, the acid tone of her deep [for a woman], raspy voice underlining the seriousness of what has just been revealed.
“What?! Huh?!” Marion’s feeble attempt at denial. He begins to sweat. His starched collar is suddenly way too tight.
Stealing from the Mob—such a stupid thing to do, the dumbest thing you can possibly do, and yet people still do it—is akin to suicide. Stealing from the mainland Chinese government runs a very close second. You get caught by either one with your hand in the till and hell hath no fury not even a woman scorned. It’s all downhill from here, for Marion.
Marion moves his hand toward a coat pocket. The third most stupid thing that he could possibly do in this situation. She smiles.
“Go ahead. Embarrass yourself.”
He weighs his options, thinks better of what he’s about to do, and stops. Marion drops to his knees and assumes the position. He should have gone for his gun. But, he’ll find that out soon enough.
“Looks like you just flushed out my embezzler,” Xi announces proudly, beaming from ear to ear. By now, the jig is up and [except for the clueless retards and those tasked with watching the scanners] every eye in the room is fixed upon the proceedings. “What are you all looking at? Get back to work. Except for you two … You take him downstairs to the basement, AFTER you’ve disarmed him and made a proper search his person. I want no surprises. If he escapes, it’s your heads. If he dies before we get a chance to question him, it’s your heads. Any version of fuckup where he’s concerned and it’s your heads. Understood?”
It’s quite obvious, without a word being said, that they understand. But, it’s the apparent “nonsense”, totally out of context jibber-jabber, which Sam spouts as follow-up which really sets the sobering tone [at least from Lopes’ point of view]. Of course, Xi has the opposite point of view for equally obvious reasons.
“S.M. Stirling has an entire series of novels on the “Emberverse”, where electricity stops and gunpowder will not spark. The first book was made into a movie. This movie is not like Lost. It is more like Santiago. People forever being hunted, forever being caught, and forever escaping, all in search of the amulet until the series ends.”
That’s when you see all of the hope go out of Marion’s eyes. He can read in-between the lines, and now knows that he should have gone for his gun instead of peacefully surrendering—Triads, Tongs, anybody, anything but what this shrew bitch craves, he laments to himself. You know … ‘cept fer titties, hee yuck-yuck …