Click. Click. Click. Click. You swallowed, straightening as she approaches, heels clicking to the ticking of the clock. The boss was a perfectionist, and you didn't want to be caught slouching again. Almost unconsciously, you brush your suit jacket with a gloved hand, making certain there's no dust or dirt staining it, and adjusting the small bow tie that completed your uniform.
You still weren't used to such fine clothing—and neither was half of the crew, but as long as you got paid and you had a guarantee that you could lay down in your bed and wake up in the morning unmolested, you didn't care if you felt like a shaved gorilla.
She turns the corner then, all gravitas and sharp angles. A heavy coat weighs down her shoulders, worn like a cloak to make her rail-thin frame seem more well-rounded. Ice-blue eyes scan the hall, and finding it passable, she nods, turning back to face somebody behind her.
"Here." Her word is a stone-cold command, and her heels continue to click down the hall as she draws closer. You snap to attention, taking on the pose of a Victorian era butler instead of a jumped-up gangbanger.
"Good evening, miss Warden." She doesn't even look at you as you bow your head in greeting. You can see why—two men follow her around the corner dragging another, gagged man between them. He's conscious, but it seems the fight has gone out of him—probably thanks to the bruises coating his face and forearms, his jacket already gone. You'd seen him before, but couldn't remember where. HE was another gang member, though. So tonight was gonna be that kind of night.
You open the door for the Warden, holding it mechanically as she steps into the barely-used 'interrogation room'. The cleaning crew had come by just a few minutes ago to replace the tarp and oil the hinges on the chair, and now you knew why.
"Leave him here," she tells the muscle-bound goons, gesturing at the chair. "You. Tie him down."
"Yes, Warden." The bundle of bruises is dropped into the chair, and you insert his wrists into the cuffs. You honestly have no idea where this thing came from, but the Warden liked it. It felt like some kind of medieval torture device. The cuffs click closed, and you take a half-step back before the boss stops you.
"Your gun." You unclip the holster from your belt a bit awkwardly, and pass it to her. She raises an eyebrow, but thankfully says nothing as she pulls it from the holster, examining it. "Wake him." She points with the pistol. "Doesn't get to die in his sleep."
It takes a moment for you to rouse him, but a flew slaps to the face and a cup of cold water does the trick, thankfully. You had to move quick around here, not waste the boss's time.
"Whh…" He groans, then suddenly his eyes focus, looking the boss in the face. "Mmf!" She backhands him with her gun hand, and he lets out a muffled cry of pain. You take a position behind the Warden, and try to look intimidating instead of frightened. You're not entirely sure you're succeeding.
"Thought you could get away with stealing from me?" she asks, grabbing him by his short hair as she leans in, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Skim some off the top, here and there? No way she'll notice, right?" She spits in his eye and levels the gun at his face. "You think I'm stupid? Think I don't triple check the books every week?" Her eyes flick to you. "Am I stupid?"
"No, Warden. You're perfect, Warden." The response is trained, sliding out of your mouth like it's oiled. She nods, turning back to the traitor. Your stomach does a backflip.
"See? You had your chance to come clean. Pay it back. But you didn't. So now here we are." She gestures grandly at the interrogation chamber, the torture tools hanging from the wall. Fuck, you really hope she doesn't ask you to use any of these. You were just supposed to man the door. "You failed me. If you're gonna fuck up the beat, step out of time, then you. Get. Cut." The man panics, tries to force something out through the gag. Anything to make her hesitate, step back.
But the Warden doesn't hesitate. It's how she made her name in this town. Everything flashes white.
When your ears are finished ringing, the Warden is pressing your gun back into your hands. She doesn't even look like she's bothered by the unmuffled gunshot, wiping hints of smoke and gunpowder from her coat even as flecks of blood stain her suit.
"Clean this trash up," she commands. "I'm done here."