Always act like you have a tail even when you think you don’t…
Hans got out at the corner of West 12th Street and Seventh Avenue, walking two blocks north while taking advantage of a Don’t Walk sign along the way to check his six. Making a left on West 14th, he continued three-quarters of the way down the block toward Eighth Avenue. After stopping to tie the laces of a wingtip shoe that didn’t need tying, he arrived at the small boutique luggage shop that was nestled in between a bank and a Walgreens drugstore. Blink and you’d miss it.
Elder & Sons sold all the major brands—Samsonite, Travelpro, Hartmann, American Tourister—and had been in business for more than thirty years, somehow managing to stay afloat despite increasing competition from major chains like Macy’s and Target, not to mention the endless array of online options. Amazon alone would seemingly have spelled doom for an independent shop that could never win, or even compete in, a price war.
And, yet, Elder & Sons endured.
Perhaps it was the personalized service. The name didn’t lie. Elder & Sons was indeed a family business. A father and his two boys, now in their twenties, neither of whom ever entertained any other pursuit while growing up besides luggage. For all the Elders, luggage was their life. Their public lives, at least.
“Can I help you?”
Hans removed his sunglasses, smiling at the younger of the two brothers behind the counter. The older brother was tending to a customer over by the display wall. “Yes, I’m here to pick up a delivery,” said Hans. “It was special ordered for me.”
“Of course. Wait one second, I’ll be right back.” The younger son of Elder & Sons disappeared behind a thick curtain, returning within a matter of seconds. “If you could come this way, please.”
Hans followed him back behind the curtain, through a small office, and down a set of rickety wood stairs to a stockroom. The man waiting for him there needed no introduction.
Richard Elder handled all the money for the syndicate, although no one in the very small group actually referred to themselves as a syndicate. Just like no one in the group referred to Richard Elder by name. He was known only as the Bookkeeper.
After a nod to his son, who quickly turned to climb the stairs back to the showroom floor, the Bookkeeper and Hans were alone.
“It’s been a while,” said Hans.
“Perhaps you should lower your rates,” said the Bookkeeper.
“If you actually believed that, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?”
It was a very good point. The best don’t come cheap, and the Bookkeeper knew it. He admitted as much by letting Hans’s retort linger in the air a moment before getting down to business. He opened the hard-shell briefcase that was resting on the workbench against the wall. Hans walked over to take a look. He knew immediately.
“That’s too much,” he said, staring at the neatly stacked and wrapped bricks of fifty-dollar bills.
“You’re right. It’s exactly twice as much as what was agreed to,” said the Bookkeeper, handing Hans a manila envelope. “There’s been a slight change in plans.”
Hans removed the photo, which was attached to what was called a leg sheet. It detailed the comings and goings of the additional mark, possible venues for a clean hit.
“Two for the price of two?” asked Hans.
“We wouldn’t expect a discount.” The Bookkeeper pointed at the photo. “Do you know who he is?”
“Better yet,” said Hans, “do you know who he is?”
There was a lot to unpack in that rhetorical question, beginning with the fact that this additional mark was far from your average target. Of all the people on this planet, 99.9 percent can be eliminated, if handled correctly, without any real fear of retribution. For the remaining one-tenth of 1 percent, the stakes are much different. Their connections run extremely deep, their circles tight. Government. Intelligence. Military. Royalty, and other select families with a similar degree of power and influence. Those loyal to them will stop at almost nothing to get revenge.
“It turns out he’s working with von Oehson,” said the Bookkeeper.
Contract killers get paid to do two things. Kill, and not ask too many questions. But you’re not long for the business if you don’t know when to make exceptions. Sometimes you have to know more.
“Are you sure?” Hans asked slowly. What he was really asking was whether the Bookkeeper was giving him firsthand information. Claiming “I have it on good authority” wasn’t going to cut it. Neither was the offer on the table.
“Yes. I’m sure,” said the Bookkeeper. “And I also understand.”
As with contract killers, the luggage business also had a secret to longevity: always know what it takes to satisfy whoever walks through the door.
The Bookkeeper reached underneath the workbench, grabbing another briefcase. It was identical to the first one in every way, including its contents. He popped the latches.
“Two for the price of four,” said the Bookkeeper. A total of one million dollars.
Hans nodded. “That looks about right,” he said.