“You sure you know what you’re doing?” the waiter says without making eye contact, as Banks takes a glass of champagne from his tray.
“Got you in, didn’t I? Got you both in.”
“As waiters,” Ricardo says under his breath, as another guest takes a flute.
“What did you want, a golden ticket? This is more impressive than it seems. I had one day’s notice.”
“Still,” Ricardo says, looking in the opposite direction of Banks. “That little guy seems pretty pissed.”
“He still watching me?” Banks asks, knowing not to turn back.
“Yup.”
“And the balcony?”
“She’s on the move, heading east, while her guys are heading this way.”
Banks gives a quarter turn, keeping his back to the direction El Bandido is heading.
“You do realize who that guy is you just pissed off, right? Braden Gilbert. He’s like a multi-billionaire. I have his app on my phone, everyone does.”
“Of course I do. I always research my employers and targets.”
“So then why did you—”
“Pretend to not know who he is? Just to piss him off. Image and fame are everything to that little prick, and I want him as mad as possible.”
“Why?”
“He’s too smart, calculated. I’m hoping if I can get him mad, you know really piss him off, he’ll become reactionary, volatile, and make a mistake. I need him to say something, do something, slip up somehow.”
“Well he’s definitely pissed. You still think this is a good idea? We could come up with some other—”
“No. It’s already in motion and going to plan. We move to phase two.”
“Right,” Ricardo nods and the two split in opposite directions.
Ricardo keeps eyes on El Bandido, while Banks walks a line that will keep his face from her view and cross paths with her guys. He greets a man he’s known for years along the way and shakes hands with another. He can’t seem eager. He doesn’t want it to look as though he has a plan. He must stumble upon them, composed and natural. Turning from another friendly face, he’s greeted by two more. These, not so friendly.
“So it’s done?” Vargas asks.
“The contract? Yes,” Banks says to Vargas, before turning toward the other man, the young one who was standing behind Amber in the box seats. The one who’s the kind of good looking that if he just randomly wandered onto the set of The Bachelorette, he’d somehow walk away with a rose.
“The kill?” Banks adds. “Well, that comes later.”
“We spoke on the phone. My name’s Diego Mo—”
“I know who you are,” Banks interrupts.
The comment gets the reaction he was hoping for. The young man of so much power and influence smiles, he likes to be known. It creates a level of comfort for him and a raised irritation for Vargas. Their clear and undisguised hatred for each other is what gives Banks hope.
“And your new target?” Diego asks.
“Will be dead by the end of the soiree.”
“I do hope you honor our agreement,” Vargas says.
“I’m a man of the money, but as you know, the girl comes first.”
“Very good,” Diego says.
“See you at the soiree,” Vargas adds and they both turn to walk away.
“That was meant to be literal,” Banks says, and the two men stop, slowly turning back to him. “I will be attending the soiree and completing your…job,” he says looking at each one individually. “But I will be doing so with my date on my arm.”
“You really think there’s any way—”
“Yes, I do,” Banks says, interrupting Diego.
“If we give you the girl, we lose our leverage. You might not even show tonight,” Vargas adds.
“I will arrive at the front steps, at exactly nine forty-five tonight. I expect Amber to be dropped off by ten o’clock, in the gown waiting for you in the lobby. If she is not there, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. If she arrives one minute late, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. If she is harmed in any way—”
“Let me guess, you’ll find us and kill us?” Vargas is quick to respond, but there’s fear in his eyes. Diego, however, seems entertained at the thought.
Banks does not react to being interrupted. He can’t show fear. He can’t show annoyance. He can’t show anything but a rigid exterior, with no cracks to be manipulated. His reputation and experience need to speak for him. They are the only thing keeping Amber alive.
“Very well,” Vargas says. “She’ll see you at ten.”
“But remember we’ll be there too,” Deigo adds. “And as you know, these soirees can get a little…out of hand.”
“I’m counting on it,” Banks says, turning from the men and leaving them to hope he’s on their side.
“Phase two complete,” Banks says as he places his empty glass on the nearby waiter’s tray. Alfonso does not look at him, does not acknowledge the comment. “Move to—”
“Ah shit.”
The words come from behind Banks, and Alfonso sees it coming, knowing not to show any recognition.
“Banks, one more thing. My boss wants to meet with you,” Diego says, quickly moving back toward the assassin.
Banks doesn’t turn. He’s already met their boss, only at the time, he didn’t know she was in charge. He invited her to the club, seduced her, and bedded her, with the sole intention of enraging her husband. El Bandido is notoriously difficult to get to, Banks figured if he could get the man to come to him for retribution for his wife’s infidelity, even better. Only he’s not El Bandido, she is, and there are only two options, she knows who he is, or she doesn’t. Either way, seeing her again, meeting up with her, is not a good plan.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“See, he agrees with me. Now let’s go,” Vargas turns, grabbing Diego’s arm to leave.
He shakes his arm free and gives the man a look of outrage, daring him to touch him again.
“You would deny your employer a face to face?” Diego says, and Alfonso can’t help but picture their last face to face. He remembers the fear he felt in seeing his boss making love to the very woman he planned to betray Banks to. The same woman he and his best friend narrowly escaped a life of serving. “Better yet, you would deny your girlfriend’s capture, a simple request?” Diego continues.
Banks takes a moment, trying to compose himself. This isn’t the time. This isn’t the place. There’s a plan. Follow it. He turns, his eyes meeting Diego’s then falling to Vargas.
“I’ll see El Bandido at the soiree.”
The words are final, and he walks away. Diego doesn’t protest or follow. He may be young, but he knows when to push, and he knows when a moment is over. This moment, this conversation, is most definitely over.
Banks walks past the winding hedge dividing the courtyard and spots Ricardo facing the east wall. He turns, shielding his face with his hand and faking a cough.
“Phase three.”
The comment is soft and said to the back of Ricardo’s head. He can’t be seen by El Bandido now. Not yet. If she doesn’t know who he is, she will soon enough.