“The woes of love. Oh what they put us through.”
It takes a moment and a physical shake of his head for Banks to pull his eyes from the place he last saw Amber. Blinded from the world around him as she ran away, Banks missed his newest guests.
“Nothing but a headache and a lawsuit,” Braden says on one side, finishing the sentiment of El Bandido, who stands on the other.
Her long bouncing curls hang tantalizingly close and Banks can smell her conditioner. Mango and coconut. The same he smelled on his hands for two days after their rendezvous in Miami. Beside her, stand two large men, bodyguards, and by the look on their faces, they take their post very seriously.
On his other side, stands Braden Gilbert. The short kid in his stupid tuxedo t-shirt stands between two men as well. Equally as large as El Bandido’s and equally as serious in their job.
“I guess I missed the memo.”
“What’s that?” Braden asks.
“Well apparently it’s bring your ogres to work day. I’m sorry, I feel ill-prepared, I suppose I better head to the store real quick. Is there a Trolls‘R’us around here? Maybe a Hulk-mart? BeastCo?”
The four large individuals don’t seem entertained, but the comment isn’t missed on Braden or El Bandido.
“You’re funny,” Braden says.
“He definitely has a quick tongue.”
The comment from El Bandido drips with sexual innuendo and it isn’t missed on Braden.
“Wait. Have you two…” Braden’s comment trails and it’s clear what he’s asking.
“You haven’t?” El Bandido responds. “I’m sure he could even show you a good time.”
“Oh my god! This conversation is my nightmare,” Banks interjects.
“Oh come on. I didn’t mean you two together. You could show him a good night because you seem to be able to get all the most beautiful women.”
The comment was both a compliment to herself, and a nod to Amber. Even something that small, that little recognition, is enough to send Banks over the edge. He breathes and fights to stay in control.
“Where’s your husband?” Banks asks.
“Off somewhere being the face of the cartel, while I’m busy down here in the mud, actually running this business.”
“And he doesn’t mind you getting…down in the mud?” Banks asks, the question suggestive, but it doesn’t get a rise out of her.
“No,” she responds. “He’s a good man, does his part for the company, but most of all, he’s given me the gift of love, unconditional love. And if I’m not mistaken, that’s something that nice girl has given you as well.”
“Ha!” Braden laughs. “I’ve seen her give him nothing tonight but a literal kick to the groin.”
“Figurative,” Banks responds instinctively.
El Bandido smiles, but Braden doesn’t enjoy the comment.
“Really? I’m about to kill you and you’re correcting my grammar?”
“You’re not about to kill him,” El Bandido says, jumping in.
“Thank you, at least one of you are thinking—”
“Because I’m about to kill him,” she continues, interrupting his statement.
“Oh, I hate to see you two fight. What if I promise to just go home and kill myself? Problem solved?”
Banks takes a step and quickly feels a hand fall on both of his shoulders. One ogre from each side has stopped him in his tracks. Their hands feel like vise grips. With little effort, they could probably tear his arms from his body.
“Whether she kills you or I do. You’re not leaving here Banks.”
“You were hired to do a job, and you know what happens when that contract is broken.”
Banks obviously knows what El Bandido is talking about. Everyone knows. Once a contract is agreed upon, the job must be completed. If it isn’t, if it’s neglected or abandoned, the next contract will have one more head on the list. In this case, Banks’s head has now made two lists.
“Look by now you know you both hired me to kill the other, so why don’t you just off each other right now? And since we’re all such good friends, I won’t even charge.”
“You think this is a game?” El Bandido asks, as one of her henchmen lands an uppercut in Banks’s gut, doubling him over.
“El Bandido and I have talked,” Braden cuts in. “We may not have come to an agreement, we may not see eye to eye, but we damn well know when we’ve been played. Not even the great Banks can play both sides and get away with it.”
The comment about them talking reminds Banks he wasn’t doing his job. He wasn’t paying attention. He was too distracted by Amber, too worried about her, and missed his opportunity.
Braden gives a nod and one of his bodyguards lands a right hook across Banks’s jaw, dropping him to one knee as blood splatters the ground. Banks looks up, back toward the building aglow with lights, hoping he doesn’t see Amber. He prays Alfonso and Ricardo saw his signals and got her out of here, away from this soiree and those who inhabit it. He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep their attention. How much longer he can keep their eyes on him, and minds off the girl who ran from him. But with no way to know if she’s out, if she’s safe yet, all he can do is keep trying. And hell, maybe he can still get them talking.
“Look,” he says, spitting blood onto the dirt at his feet, before standing once again. “No one is killing anyone here. Remember where you are. This little soiree, this summit, it’s filled with the baddest of the bad. There are rules, understandings that are honored. No murderer is ever walking out of here alive. And if they do, they would surely wish that they hadn’t.”
The reminder seems to do the trick. No more hands are laid on him, for the moment at least.
“I may be no one’s favorite person right now. For the first time in my life, I might not even be my favorite person right now. But I am valuable. I am very good at what I do, and there are those here tonight who would agree. I’m sure they wouldn’t like to see me, a very popular client, killed over some little spat.”
Banks hopes that the reminder of who’s here, those much worse than cartel bosses and tech billionaires, will calm the excitement. The public fears gangs, mobs, and terrorists, but the real villains, the real threat, the real fear, lies with the politicians and civil servants. People with armies and drones. People with the money to buy anyone in the world. People with the resources to infiltrate. The most dangerous people are those with ties to the CIA, MI6, and FSB. And those people, they’re here, in fact, they’re everywhere.
The four horsemen of the apocalypse look to their bosses for word. They’ll move in, they’ll do what they’re told regardless of the consequences. But in a world like this, the ones who carry out the act are only half responsible. Those who make the order are equally to blame.
“Right, now that we have the whole let’s not kill Banks thing settled, what do you say we talk this out? Really delve into the relationships here and what’s causing all the problems. First off, what are a cartel boss and a tech billionaire doing in business together? Didn’t think you two ran in the same circles.”
It’s clear his line of questioning is not going to fly. The four ogres look like dogs, ready to pounce. Braden seems to consider the option, but El Bandido smiles.
“You’d be surprised at the circles I’m in,” she says. “Not that you’d ever get any information from me.”
It’s clear she knew exactly what Banks was doing. She’s a professional and knows when to keep her mouth shut.
“Maybe so, but this kid,” Banks begins again, speaking to El Bandido, knowing the comment will upset Braden. “He can’t be invited to such elite circles. He couldn’t possibly be welcome among those you associate with.”
It’s working. Banks can see Braden’s big head is about to explode. One more comment and he’ll blow, he’ll spill it all, he’ll give Banks exactly what he wants.
“People like you run the world. He just invented some app.”
“Some app? Some app!” It’s worked. Braden has snapped. “I invented ConnectU, the single largest social media platform in the world. I have over three billion subscribers. I’m on almost every smartphone in the world. I can see and hear everything those phones do. I have more power over the world than anyone in history. I am the elite.”
Braden’s schoolboy exterior doesn’t match the confidence and dominance even Banks can feel radiating from the kid. He may be young, he may be weak, but he holds power, and he knows it.
“And I can crush some two-bit assassin like a cockroach.”
“Okay,” Banks says, taking a step back. “That sounds like my cue. What do you say? Should we go our separate ways, maybe get some drinks, and try to enjoy the party?”
Banks steps backward again, and this time hands do not collapse on his shoulders. He lets out a small smile, amazed with himself. It worked, and he can’t believe it. He got what he wanted, and they aren’t attacking him right here, right now. He knows no one at this event is starting world war three over a lonely assassin being murdered. None of these people would really care if he were killed here tonight. Sure he’s worked jobs for people here, but he’s nothing more than a tool to them. He’s nothing more than a trigger. Assassins are like medusa’s snakes, you kill one, and two more pop up in its place. He wouldn’t be missed and his death here tonight, wouldn’t be a call to arms. Though, if he’s being honest, no one’s ever been killed at this event, so no one really knows what would happen.
After a few more steps, Banks turns back, unable to help himself.
“Rosa…El Bandido, as I suppose I should call you, it’s been a pleasure. No hard feelings I hope.”
Her eyes narrow, but she says nothing.
“Braden, grow up and get a damn suit. You look like you’re late for freshman orientation.”
The kid’s anger is still plastered on his face, but he feels he won, even if he didn’t get what he wanted…to watch Banks die a slow death. As a billionaire in his early twenties, he’s probably had very little practice at not getting exactly what he wants.
“I bid you both adieu. Till next time,” Banks says, turning from his two clients, only to be sucker punched by another.
On his ass, shaking his head free of the abrupt beating, he looks up.
“You really thought it would be that easy?” Vargas asks, looming over him.
Just then the steel toe of a boot lands a blow to Banks’s stomach, curling him into the fetal position, as he gazes up at Diego.
“I may hate this man, may even want him dead…and guess what? I know he feels the same about me.” Diego gestures to Vargas as he slowly circles Banks. “But we don’t lie to each other. We stand up as men, and we say that the first chance we get, we’ll put a bullet between the other’s eyes.”
Banks props himself up, spitting blood once again on the ground as he does.
“So I guess you figured out that you both hired me to kill the other. This whole thing is just—”
Banks stops, he can see the look in Diego’s eyes. He didn’t know.
“You hired him to kill me?” Diego asks, no longer looking at the man on the ground.
“And you apparently did the same,” Vargas responds.
Both men stare at each other, slowly circling the man they sent to his knees, but giving him no more of their attention.
“I suppose this ends now.”
“I suppose it does.”
“I’m starting to feel like a bit of a third wheel,” Banks cuts in, “so I’ll just—”
“Wait for your turn to die,” Vargas says, giving the last indication they even remember his existence, before they charge.
The sight is toxic, pure poison. The end, either way, results in a bad outcome for Banks. No matter the danger he’s in, he can’t help it, he can’t help but watch. Two men, both want him dead, both ignoring him, both instead trying to kill each other. It’s like trashy TV, it’s like high school drama, it’s horrible to watch, but captivating nonetheless. He knows he should leave, should turn and run, get out of here while he can, but he can’t seem to look away.
“That’s enough!” The words bellow out from the curly haired demon, El Bandido.
Both men, bloodied and exhausted, are ripped from each other. Their boss’s bodyguards hold each one a body length apart. That’s his cue. That’s his direction to leave and this time he’s going to take it. Half a step, that’s all he gets before he feels the arms of two men loop around his own. Braden’s two bodyguards had circled behind him. His chance to run is gone.
“This is neither the time nor the place. That, you’ll be given later. But for now, we have a problem. We have a rodent that needs exterminating.”
By now there’s a crowd of onlookers, gathered, though uninterested in stopping the madness. El Bandido’s eyes move through the crowd still sipping their drinks. They watch, of course, but they don’t fear it or shy away from it. Violence is the life they know. It’s the life they live. This scene, this outburst is nothing new to them. And with security what it is, they know the only weapons in this place are those these men were born with. They’re safe, and this is nothing more than light entertainment after a busy summit.
Banks on the other hand, well his safety has gone out the window. He’s tried it all. Telling them to kill each other. Vowing to kill himself. Arguing that the other guests won’t take kindly to someone being killed at the soiree. Fighting that he’s important to others and they’ll retaliate. None of it’s worked. It was all bullshit of course, but he had hoped for the best. Now he sees the reality, and there’s only one option left he can try. His final stand…and will it work? Who knows. But Banks knows one thing for sure. Once he uses this last option, there’s no going back. It’ll be out there for everyone to know. Dead or alive, his life will change forever.