Chapter 7: What’s With the Attitude?
The moment they entered the private guest box provided by the auction house, Romeo and Claire let go of each other’s hands with extreme speed.
“How nauseating.”
“That was disgusting.”
The two said in unison.
In truth, they didn’t really hate each other. It was just that every time they had to put on an act in front of others, it was genuinely sickening.
Claire rolled her eyes and said, “Alright, let’s get down to business.”
Romeo shrugged. He took a small, thumb-sized flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. The head of the flashlight emitted an infrared beam.
It was an infrared flashlight, used to detect micro-cameras.
Usually, for the privacy and safety of their guests, hotels wouldn’t install cameras in private boxes. However, given the number of “that kind of” videos of famous people that had been leaked online, one could never be too sure.
Romeo scanned the surroundings and said, “Nothing unusual.” With that, he took a portable computer, half the size of a palm, from his inner pocket and handed it to Claire.
“That’s good,” Claire said, taking the computer.
This type of portable computer was one of the representative products of the interstellar era. It was only half the size of a palm, taking up no space, but had a massive storage capacity and could run at super-high speeds with just a little data.
This computer had been modified by Claire. It was equipped with a custom-made microchip that allowed it to run without needing an external data connection.
Claire pressed the power button, and the computer, originally half the size of a palm, instantly expanded into a fourteen-inch, ultra-thin laptop.
The computer screen flickered, and Claire’s fingertips danced across the keyboard for over ten minutes.
“Found it,” Claire said.
“The world’s most famous aestheticist painter, Wendo’s last portrait of the beheaded queen, Saradona, titled ‘Cupid in the Garden,’ is stored in storage room number 7.”
Claire let out a mocking laugh and added, “It’s just an ordinary storage room, with no temperature or humidity control. It’s hard to imagine what kind of torture a famous painting like this would endure in such a room.”
“Whatever, it’s just a painting. I’m only concerned with how we’re going to get such a fragile old painting out of this crowded public place in one piece,” Romeo said. “Even with the nano-protective film I brought, this is still not going to be easy.”
Claire shot him a look. “Are you allergic to art, Roy? Do me a favor and get a new name. Stop using the name of a protagonist from an ancient romantic drama like Romeo.”
“I won’t,” Romeo refused.
Claire: “Oh.”
Hacking into this hotel’s internal network was much simpler than hacking into a place like the central bank. Claire quickly dealt with the surveillance and other anti-theft measures.
“Get going,” Claire said. Mainly because the sight of Romeo was annoying her right now. Out of sight, out of mind.
Romeo checked the time. There were still two hours until the auction officially began. There was plenty of time, but there was no harm in acting quickly.
“I’m off then.” Before leaving, Romeo shot Claire a flirtatious wink. “Darling, don’t miss me too much.”
I won’t. Claire once again rolled her eyes at Romeo’s retreating back.
This psycho’s methods of annoying her were truly despicable.
“Mr. RV, I need to have a word with you.”
The manager of today’s auction found RV, who was sitting in the VIP area sipping whiskey, and said:
“In just one hour, I’ve received complaints from three guests. Your subordinate, Miss Della, has an extremely poor attitude towards the guests and has even yelled at them. Sir, I understand the needs of your work, and I’m willing to cooperate, but we also have a business to run…”
RV rubbed his temples. Della again. “Alright, I’ll have a word with her,” was all RV could say.
“We don’t dare assign her any work now. We don’t want a repeat of the incident where she splashed champagne in a guest’s face. Did you know, Miss Della, she…”
The manager rattled on, complaining to RV about Della. He could expand something that could be said in one sentence into a short thesis.
Oh, RV really wanted to tell him to shut up and leave him alone. But the manager’s tone was gentle and his attitude friendly, just a bit long-winded. RV couldn’t bring himself to be rude to him, so he could only nod in agreement while his eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, afraid of missing any useful information for the mission.
The auction hadn’t officially started yet.
On stage, some scantily clad, gorgeous Alphas and Omegas were performing a dance with exaggerated movements and suggestive poses. The moves were so bold that RV, watching from below, was afraid the dancers would start a game of hate-fucking in the next second.
RV looked around. Whether it was the Beta staff or the other Alpha and Omega guests, everyone seemed accustomed to such performances.
Some of the Omegas in the audience were even dressed more revealingly than the dancers on stage. They flitted among the Alphas, and some went directly into private boxes or restrooms with the Alphas, as if to say that reality was clearly crazier than the stage.
“Sir, if you ask me…”
The manager was still rambling on, but RV’s gaze shifted to the staircase in the distance behind him. There was a familiar figure there.
It was Romeo. He had come out of his private box and was coming downstairs.
“Sir, I think…”
“Alright, please shut your mouth for a moment,” RV covered the manager’s mouth, his eyes following Romeo’s figure. “Wen En, he’s out.”
“Understood, I’ll follow him right away,” Wen En’s voice came from the micro-earpiece.
“Then should I go in and have a chat with that woman?” Della asked.
“Of course,” RV said.
It was better to let Della deal with the mission target than to have her torment the rich people.
Seeing that Wen En had tailed Romeo, RV released the hand covering the manager’s mouth.
“Mr. Manager, if you have any problems, please report them to headquarters,” RV said. “Now, I have to go on a mission.”
RV quickly disappeared from the manager’s sight. The manager let out a long “sigh—” and said helplessly:
“I knew it. These maverick Interstellar Special Police would never care about what I have to say.”
Della gave the middle finger to a drunk Alpha guest who was trying to hit on her, then took the Martini she had just served the guest and walked away without a second glance.
The guest was still cursing her wildly.
Whatever, she didn’t care.
As she went up the stairs, she passed by Romeo. Romeo just saw her as a waitress and didn’t notice anything unusual. He gave her a polite nod and went on his way.
She saw Wen En not far away, following behind Romeo. Their eyes met for a moment, then quickly parted.
It seemed Wen En could handle it. In that case, she would go and meet that intermediary fraudster with three IDs, that Omega woman.
She arrived at the door of the private box and, without knocking, unceremoniously pushed the door open and walked in.
“Hey, how rude,” the woman, now known as Claire, stood up with a surprised expression.
“Ma’am, your Martini,” Della said, holding the glass of Martini.
Her eyes glanced at the portable computer in front of Claire. Claire’s intuition was sharper than she had imagined. She seemed to sense something and closed the computer screen.
The fourteen-inch laptop instantly folded into a portable computer half the size of a palm.
Della saw Claire press a recessed switch on the side of the portable computer. It was the format switch, meaning the information on the computer had been completely erased.
“When did I order a Martini?” Claire smiled and said, “Miss Waitress, you must have the wrong room.”
“Isn’t this box number 793?” Della said, closing the door and locking it from the inside.
She didn’t waste any more words and got straight to the point. Claire’s face turned cold as well.
“What do you want?” Claire asked.
Della walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Mia, Clara, or should I say, Miss Claire, let’s talk.”
“No comment,” Claire said coldly.
Della took out her F.I.A.D. credentials. The cover of the credential book was made of custom, special-grade cowhide that was fire and heat resistant. The F.I.A.D. logo, a roaring lion’s head, was printed on the cover.
Oh.
Claire knew she had messed with someone important this time. Her expression changed with the skill of an award-winning actress, from cold indifference to warm and friendly.
“Of course, what would you like to talk to me about?” Claire sat down, looking as if she was listening intently to Della.
“Where did Romeo Solstice go?” Della asked.
Claire said in surprise, “Who’s that?”
Della looked at her.
“There are so many people at this auction today. How could I possibly remember everyone?” Claire said with a troubled look.
“The Alpha who came here with you,” Della said.
Claire shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know him.”
Della took out a digital screen and swiped to a picture they had taken not long ago of Claire and Romeo walking into the auction arm in arm.
“Oh, that person,” Claire said, as if she had just realized.
“I’ve only known him for less than two hours. I didn’t have time to remember his name. An hour or two ago, I was walking down the street, planning to get some coffee, when this Alpha suddenly appeared and asked if I wanted to get in his car.”
Claire smiled. “Please, he was driving a Palaumera. Alright, I admit I’m a bit vain, but when a handsome Alpha is waiting for you in a luxury car, I think you’d have a hard time not getting in, right?”
“I wouldn’t,” Della said. “Because I’m not a fraud, nor am I a thief.”
Claire blinked and slowly exhaled. A flash of impatience crossed her eyes, but she quickly suppressed it.
After just a few probing words, she had already sensed that this Beta woman in front of her was just like most Interstellar Special Police—unyielding to both hard and soft tactics.
Della said expressionlessly, “Cooperate with us. Tell us everything you know about Romeo, and I think we’ll do our best to get you a reduced sentence in the interstellar court.”
Hearing this, Claire almost laughed out of anger. Trying to trick her into cooperating, fine, but why not even offer a verbal promise of some benefit?
“And if I don’t?” Claire sneered.
“You can try and see what the consequences are.” Della didn’t coddle her either. What she said was no different from a threat.
The moment she finished speaking, the table in front of them was flipped over with great force. Della subconsciously braced herself against the table to keep it from hitting her.
Something’s wrong, Della thought. Her body sensed the danger a step faster than her mind and took a step back. It was this step that saved Della’s face. A sharp blade slashed past her eyes, just ten centimeters away. The blade could have gouged out her eyes.
Claire had pulled out a butterfly knife from somewhere.
“It seems only one of us will be walking out of here alive,” Claire said.
Claire’s voice was like an icicle on a winter eave, as if she wanted to smash a bloody hole in Della’s head.
