“Were there any complications?”
The small man dressed in worn Army fatigues crossed his legs, getting more comfortable in the expensive high back, leather chair.
She tilted her head. “Did you hear me?”
“No. No one saw me and that there device worked like a Swiss clock.”
She sat back, her eyes locked on him, lit up her first cigarette of the day, drew in the smoke and released. The small swirls danced in the air above them both as she contemplated what was next. The world was full of people like this one. As distasteful as that was, as he was, they served a purpose from time to time.
She suddenly leaned forward and slapped the desk. He jumped, his beady eyes growing large.
“Good. I knew we’d done the right thing by hiring you for this assignment.”
“Th-thanks. I-I try to d-do good w-work.”
Was that fear or did the dumb shit have a stutter? She realized she didn’t really care.
“It appears that you have. You have my thanks and of course. . .”
Reaching into the drawer, she lifted out and then tossed the envelope of money across the desk, watching it land less than two feet from where he sat.
He stared at the envelope, glanced in her direction then back to the money, licked his cracked lips, then looked back at her.
“Is th-that really fi-five thousand dollars?”
“Yes it is. Would you like to count it?”
The heat began to rise from deep within her chest, her heart rate rising with each second that he sat there staring like the ignorant junkie that he was. His need obviously growing. She let it.
“No. No. Of c-course n-not. It’s j-just that I-I’ve never had. . .”
His voice trailed off as he stretched out a rough hand and plucked the money from the glass top. He then rose and quickly stuffed the envelope into the breast pocket of the jacket.
Giving her one more unsteady glance, he thanked her again, turned and headed for the door, his goal, no doubt, a drunken, drug-induced binge unmatched by anything he’d yet undertaken. Pity.
“Wait.”
He stopped in mid-stride like he’d been shot. Then slowly turned back in her direction, his eyes staring at her oriental rug.
“What?”
“I usually celebrate these kinds of things with a toast. Would you like to have a brandy with me?”
She pointed at the corner of her desk, her rage and desire rising higher. In concert, like heavenly harmonies.
“It’s a Chateau de Laubade 1974 Vintage Armagnac and three hundred dollars a bottle. It will undoubtedly be the best drink you’ve ever tasted.”
He licked his lips. “I-I guess so.”
She poured two glasses and stepped over to him, handing him the glass.
“Let’s toast to success and your discretion, yes?”
“I ain’t m-much into toastin’, ma’am, but I’ll keep a secret and d-drink your booze.”
“Yes I suspect you’ll do both. In fact, I’m sure of it. Bottom’s up.”
He downed the drink and then offered her a crooked smile, yellow teeth and all.
“You’re right, good s-shit.”
“Yes, it is. I’m glad you got to taste some good shit before you leave.”
She then pulled her hand from her side and plunged the seven-inch steel knife deep into the man’s heart, the blade entering just below his ribs. She twisted.
There was no real surprise on his face, not even a true widening of his eyes, just a shallow gasp. His accompanying slow dissension and delayed thud came next as he hit the floor, directly on top of the Oriental rug.
She dropped to one knee, capturing every last pulse of the ebbing adrenaline rush her actions had created. She waited, then spoke.
“Thank you again, sir. I hope your last drink was a pleasure that stays with you, wherever you are. I hope you understand. In my business, we can’t allow loose ends.”
She nodded at the two body guards, who stood motionless by the door. They moved quickly, wrapping the body in the rug and moving quickly through the door. In three minutes’ time, her office belonged to her alone.
After one last look at the door where the men had disappeared, she returned to her desk and stood looking out her large window.
The sparkling Lake Michigan shoreline reminding her once again of the contrast between beauty and the terrible in this world. Her world. The one she’d embraced.
Yet, if one embraces such a life, is it terrible?
She supposed that was one for the philosophers. She only knew how she felt when she was in complete control.
And make no mistake, she was.
Reaching for the brandy, she poured another and sipped with pleasure.
“Such a path we weave,” she whispered.