Ink

The air in the board room was cool and dry. It seemed suited to the quiet, moderated hum of the air conditioner and the polished dark walnut conference table. The high back, warm brown leather executive swivel chairs seemed right for the walnut table. And the entire setting perfectly suited the cool, luxurious demeanor of the trim, lithe woman sitting alone on one side of the table.

Her skirt and jacket were dark grey, pinstriped with a slightly lighter shade of grey. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Only a few strands had escaped. They arched out to touch her neck behind her left ear. She reached up to lightly scratch the area with long, perfectly shaped fingernails.

Her ample breasts strained against her white silk blouse as she leaned forward and slid a single sheet of paper across the table. “Here you go.”

Across the table, Harold Deroso was dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his pudgy mid-forearms. His tie lay on the table in front of him to his right, and his collar was unbuttoned to display the sweaty sausage rolls of his neck and throat.

What was left of his thinning, conservatively cut coal-black hair was combed perfectly straight back, as if he had run a comb through it after he sat down. His dress jacket hung over the back of the chair. It seemed happier there somehow.

He slapped his palm on the sheet of paper to indicate his disrespect, dragged it toward him, and creased it as he picked it up. He glanced at it without reading it, then turned it over. The back of the sheet, of course, was blank.

He sneered and flipped it onto the table again. As it spun, he said, “This can’t be the whole agreement.”

“Of course not. You’ve already seen the entire agreement. This is only the signature page. The agreement hasn’t changed, as your attorney will attest.” She turned her head to the right. “Won’t you, George?”

He was already looking at her blankly when she turned her head to face him. The man was dressed in a nondescript dark grey suit. The knot on his stained blue tie had worked loose, though the throat button on his white shirt was still buttoned. What little bit of hair remained inside the horseshoe fringe was mussed.

He looked at her for another moment as her question wormed its way through his personal fog. Her silhouette was so crisp, so sharp and clean. What a graceful, powerful, beautiful woman. She might well have been modeled after Nefertiti. In fact—

She frowned. “George?”

“What?” He shook his head slightly. He glanced at his client, then at the woman again. “I’m sorry. Daydreaming. Did I miss something?”

Harold balled up the sheet of paper and threw it at the attorney. It struck him on the chest and bounced back to the table. “Yes, you missed something. You wanna daydream, that’s fine, but not on my time.” He looked at the woman. “Three grand an hour this guy’s charges me so he can sit there and ogle you.”

He turned back to the attorney and pointed at the balled up paper. “That’s the signature page, she says, or somethin’ like that. The agreement hasn’t changed, she says, an’ she says you got a copy of it in your files or somewhere.”

“Ah, yes. Yes, I understand.” He nodded.

Harold looked at him for a moment, obviously frustrated. He frowned and held his arms out to the sides, palms open. “So you got it, or what?”

George leaned slightly toward him and frowned. “I’m sorry. Do I have what, exactly?”

Harold’s face flushed red. “The agreement, you putz! The damn agreement we been talkin’ about! The agreement this shark over here wants me to sign! You got it, or what?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I have it.” George looked at the woman. “This signature page that you’re asking him to sign, Angela, it is the last page of the same agreement I have in my files, correct?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And neither you nor your client have altered it in any way?”

“Of course not, George.” She smiled just for him.

George turned back to his client. “Well, you see, Harold? There you have it.”

Harold glared at him. “Hell, I could’a asked her that! What am I payin’ you for again?”

Angela leaned forward again, and slipped another sheet of paper across the table. “Here’s a clean one.”

Harold slapped his hand down on that one and balled it up as well. He tossed it over his shoulder. It bounced off the window ledge and fell to the carpet. He sneered. “Yeah? How many more you got?”

She smiled, leaned forward and slipped another sheet of paper across the table. “Plenty. And there’s a copier just down the hall.” She glanced at George. “I get paid by the hour too.” Then she turned back to Harold. “And my fees are part of the agreement. So please, feel free to take your time.”

He glared at her, slapped his hand down on the most recent sheet of paper. He hesitated, then pulled it toward him. He reached under his jacket for his shirt pocket. “Hey, whaddya know? I ain’t got a p—”

A pen came sliding across the table. She smiled. “There you go.”

“You got a answer for everything, don’t you? Well lemme tell you somethin’, missy— you ain’t got a answer for everything.”

“Thank you. That’s what I like about you, Harold. You always make such perfect sense.” She pointedly glanced at her wristwatch. “Tick, tock, tick, tock.” She looked up at him and smiled again. “I love that sound.”

Harold grabbed the pen and turned it over. He spun the paper under his hand so it was facing him, then located the signature block on the bottom right.

He signed the page, finishing with an angry flourish that almost tore the paper, then slammed the pen down on the paper. He shoved both of them back at her. “Well, is that it or what?”

She picked up the paper and looked at it. Then she folded it neatly and looked at him. “Almost. Just one more thing.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, then snorted. “Yeah? Well good luck with that. You ain’t getting’ nothin’ else from Harold Deroso.”

“No no. Nothing like that. Because you’ve been such a pleasure to work with, my client wanted me to give you something.” She bent to put the signed agreement in her purse, which was on the floor next to her chair. Then she pulled a latex glove over her right hand. “Ah, here it is.” She brought up a silenced 9mm pistol and aimed. “Here you go.” She squeezed the trigger. A red spot appeared just to the right of his sternum.

Harold kicked against the carpet, sitting up straight and shoving his chair back. He was almost dead by the time his chair hit the wall.

George gasped. Finally he had caught up. He frowned. “Angela, you—”

She swiveled to the right. “Sorry George.”

He put up both hands as if to ward off the bullets. “No!”

She fired twice.

One round hit just inside his left eye. The other hit directly above the bridge of his nose. He was slapped back, then slumped forward with the action of the chair. His shoulders and head struck the table. As the chair rolled back, he slipped off to his right onto the floor.

Angela swiveled back to her left.

Harold still looked surprised.

To be sure, she squeezed the trigger a final time and a red dot appeared just inside his right eyebrow. The force of the slug exiting his head slapped the chair against the wall again. Then his body seemed to ripple. He folded forward and fell face-down on the floor.

She picked up her bag, stood, and set the bag on the table. She unscrewed the silencer, then turned the latex glove inside out over the silencer and the pistol and placed it inside her purse. She hung her purse over her left shoulder, then moved to the door. She stopped and gathered herself for a moment

Then she took a great breath, screamed and raced out into the hallway, her eyes wide. When she was almost to the reception desk, she stopped, her purse still hanging from her left shoulder, both hands clasped to her face. “They’ve been shot! Mr. Deroso has been shot!”

As everyone raced past her toward the room, she walked calmly down the short hallway and around the corner.

She pulled the pistol, silencer and glove from her purse and dropped them as one into a large trash bin, stepped into the elevator and pressed the Lobby button.

She opened her cell phone, brought up her VaporStream app and entered Roger’s email address. Quickly she typed Dinner @ 8 w/dessert.

As soon as Roger received and read the message it would disappear without a trace.

When the elevator doors opened, she walked across the lobby and stopped in front of the coffee shop counter. She ordered a Hazelnut Latte, waited patiently while the attendant mixed it, then paid cash, took her coffee and walked out onto the sidewalk.

When she was a half-block away, the paramedics pulled up, the siren slowly dying at the curb. Before she reached the corner, two patrol cars pulled up behind the ambulance.

Around the corner and a half-block farther, Angela stopped in a fast food place and went into the restroom. There she took off the blonde wig and rolled it carefully in paper towels.

She took off her skirt, turned it inside out, and released two small Velcro strips that revealed an expansion pouch in the front. When she put the skirt back on, it was a mellow brown covered with tiny, legacy blue polka dots. She slipped the wrapped wig into the pouch and gained the appearance of being about five months pregnant.

She turned the jacket inside out as well and slipped it on. She tugged at the sleeves and collar, and soon it fit perfectly.

Finally, she checked her appearance in the mirror from the side and the front. Good. It looked good.

She tilted her head, then swung her raven hair around and finger combed it. Perfect.

They’d be looking for a trim woman with short blonde hair who was wearing a pinstriped business suit.

She washed her hands, slung her purse over her left shoulder, and walked out of the restroom.

It was her twenty-fifth hit.

Twenty-six if you count George, but George wasn’t a job. George was a bonus. Both a lawyer and a horn dog. Despicable squared.

2

At 7 p.m. she was sitting at a small table on a balcony across from the diner. A light breeze tugged at the broad brim of her fashionable, open-weave straw hat. It caused the strands of her raven hair to feather over each other across her shoulder blades.

She was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black silk blouse, tucked in at the waist behind a slim black leather belt. A pair of black leather Minnetonka Silverthorne sandals adorned her feet, and a dark blue jean jacket completed the outfit. A medium sized black leather shoulder bag lay on the balcony next to her chair.

She thought about the job she’d completed that morning and smiled wanly. She never became emotionally involved in her work. But the hit on that asshole Deroso was pure pleasure. If she had known him earlier like she had come to know him before the hit, she might have done it pro bono.

Pro bono. More like pro bozo. She had actually posed as an attorney. Unbelievable. Well, thankfully, not unbelievable to the mark, but she couldn’t understand why. It was the least-researched and most poorly portrayed role she had ever played. Maybe she looked the part of a successful young female attorney in her modest, pinstriped skirt and jacket, but that was as deep as the façade went.

It was truly amazing how many false assumptions the mark settles for when the contractor plays nothing more substantial than a caricature.

And Georgie the horn dog reindeer? He would have seen through her in a heartbeat if he wasn’t so busy setting the standard for his gender.

Speaking of things with penises, where was Roger? He should be arriving at pretty much any moment.

She leaned forward and placed her right elbow on the table. She put her chin in her hand, then adjusted a small dial on the bridge of her sunglasses and zoomed in on the door. Where are you, Roger boy? Early bird. Worm. All that.

The standard operating procedure, if it were written down anywhere, would dictate that middle management would show up at least an hour early to case the meeting place, make sure all the customers came and went, maybe do a walk through. After all, he had even more to lose than the contractor did.

If nabbed, the contractor would be up for the individual beef. But middle management would be up for whatever the contractor wanted to offer to the feds to sweeten her own particular jackpot.

But Roger didn’t follow the SOP. He probably didn’t know it existed. Roger showed up at quarter to 8, and he appeared to be in a hurry.

If that weren’t enough, he approached the door of the diner tentatively, looking around carefully three separate times, then finally opened the door and went in.

She shook her head. What a moron. Why didn’t he just get a black magic marker and write “Please arrest me” on his t-shirt? And who comes out for supper in a white t-shirt? Seriously?

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Probably the wisest thing would be to move inside the empty apartment behind her, place a chair in the shadows a few feet back from the window, and sit down to wait. See whether the jerk was brought out in handcuffs.

She leaned forward again, put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. She didn’t see him passing the front windows but the angle probably was too steep. There was a row of booths along the windows, then the aisle. Besides, he would have covered that distance while she wasn’t walking. He always took a booth in the back corner near the door to the kitchen.

She kept watching the door, then shifted her gaze to the right, to the alley that ran between the diner and the dry cleaning establishment on the other side. If they nabbed him inside, they wouldn’t have to bring him out through the front. The kitchen had to have a separate exit, or something like that.

Or maybe it had to have an exit on the alley, so they could get rid of garbage without carrying it through the serving area. Something like that. Anyway, if they nabbed him they could take him out through the alley. She was sure of that. And if they weren’t going to bring him out the front door, they sure wouldn’t bring him out this end of the alley either.

The thing was, she could sit here and “if” this whole thing to death or she could go meet the guy and get it over with. Well, actually she could go meet him or she could forfeit her paycheck. That was the policy— one chance to get paid or you miss it— and those were her choices. Not that he’d have the money on him, of course.

Still, he was her connection to her paycheck so she had to meet with him. She was going to talk with Morrison though. Maybe tomorrow. This Roger guy was too spooky. If Morrison wasn’t willing to find her a new handler, she might have to take her talents elsewhere.

To make sure he’d had time to settle and nothing else was going on, she waited until 8:15. Well, 8:20. Okay, a few more minutes.

It was almost 8:30 when she got up, slung her purse over her left shoulder and made her way to the stairwell. She took the steps two at a time to the bottom, exited the building and crossed the street.

She tugged open the door of the diner, stepped in and turned right. The counter stretched away in front of her on the left. Booths lined the front window on the other side of a narrow aisle. She followed it to the end of the counter and turned left. At the end of that aisle was the kitchen door. And just this side of it on the right was—

Nothing. He wasn’t there.

She stopped even as she realized she should have kept walking. To cover, she brought her index finger to her lips as if she had forgotten something. Then she turned around.

Two men in the corner booth. They were sliding toward the aisle as if they were finished.

She glanced at the table between them. No bills on the table for a tip. No change. The ticket wasn’t laying there either.

She glanced at them. Neither man was looking at her, or anywhere other than the table of the booth. They were trying very hard not to be conspicuous. Almost as hard as Roger had tried.

She looked at the table again. Food on both plates. Coffee in both cups.

She wheeled around and raced for the kitchen door.

As luck would have it, the bus boy pushed open the door just as she got there. He was pulling his cart behind him.

She dodged the edge of the door, grabbed the cart with her left hand and flung it behind her.

Just as the door swung shut behind her, she grabbed the door to the alley, flung it open, then turned and raced through the kitchen.

On the other end of the kitchen was a rebar ladder that led to the hatch that led to the roof. She ran harder than she had ever run before, and she leapt. In mid-flight she hoped the ladder was firmly attached and wouldn’t clang against the dirty white concrete blocks.

The feds burst through the door from the dining area, guns drawn.

Without looking around, the prep cook raised his right arm and gestured toward the open door to the alley with his spatula.

Both men raced out into the alley.

They stopped. Looked both ways. Looked up. The dry cleaner building was only three stories. The diner was one story in front and two stories in the back. That was a private apartment.

The woman had simply disappeared.

3

It took Morrison almost a week to call her.

A VaporStream message popped up first: 3 pm by ear.

Okay, he was going to call her at 3 p.m.

There was an excellent part on the outskirts of town that she very much enjoyed. It had hiking trails where a person could get lost, and three cell towers had line of sight to her favorite trail. Perfect.

She drove to the trail head and got out of her car at 2:45 p.m. She strapped her waist pack on and headed up the trail. Right at 3 p.m. as she was passing by an ancient juniper, the phone beeped.

She swiped it, held it to her ear and said, “Angela.” She stepped off the trail and moved past the juniper into a group of boulders.

“Angela, Morrison. It went well?”

“Of course. Well, my part. You know.”

“Right. Yes, unfortunate, that. Of course, your task was in two parts as well. And I’ve decided, since Roger was interrupted—”

“Roger’s an idiot. I won’t work with him again.”

“Now Angela, you know—”

“Morrison, I respect you. I think you know that. But I won’t work with Roger again. He shouldn’t be within a thousand miles of this business. He’s going to cost you. If I work with Roger again, it will be without his knowledge and I’ll be paid to do so.”

There was a moment of silence. “Are you through?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m through.”

“He is related to me, Angela. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s fine, Morrison.”

“I hear an unspoken response. Or perhaps a desire to respond.”

“Remember the Godfather movies?”

“Yes.”

“Remember Fredo?”

Another silence. Then, “Despite our policy regarding a contractor missing a payday—”

“I was there, Morrison.”

“Yes. May I finish?”

“Sorry. Yes, please.”

“Despite our policy regarding a contractor missing a payday, I’ve decided to pay you the full amount if you provide the document. Complete with a signed signature page, of course.”

“But if I don’t have the signature or the document, I get nada. Is that the deal?”

“That is, as you say, the deal.”

“So if I remember, it was only thirty Gs for part one, but a hundred Gs for part two.”

“That is as I remember it as well.”

“Yet somehow it seems part one has suddenly become more important than part two.”

“Actually, no. The gentleman no longer wields any influence concerning what you attained for me during part one, so actually part one is worth even less than the original bid.”

“Actually, the gentleman no longer wields any influence concerning anything at all because I personally rendered his influence wielder impotent.”

“Well, yes, perhaps. I do see your point.

“Let me try a different tack. Say we’re all on a train. Now, perhaps you and I want the train to leave at a certain time, go certain places, make certain stops, and so on.

“But say there’s one gentleman on the train who wields much greater influence than we do. So he alone determines when the train leaves the station, where it goes, and so forth. Well, that means you and I are simply out of luck.

“Then say one day we board to find that the gentleman is no longer on the train. Well, whether he stepped off or was pushed and by whom doesn’t really make a difference, does it? What matters is that he no longer wields any influence. See?”

“Ah, okay. Yes, I understand. Absolutely. Okay, so I’m gonna get back to you, Morrison. Is that all right? I’m going to investigate a few possibilities.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m probably wrong, so I’m almost embarrassed to even mention it. I mean, it’s probably nothing at all. It’s just that when I hadn’t heard from you, I considered my fee forfeited this time around. You know, per the policy.

“I’m sure you understand, that put me in a completely different frame of mind. For example, nobody else would pay me anything at all to effect part two of our deal. As you say— and that was an excellent analogy, by the way— there’s no need for a conductor to punch a gentleman’s ticket when the gentleman already has stepped off the train.

“So that’s where we are.

“Now then, enter Roger. Had Roger not— shall we say, been detained? I would have walked away with a hundred and thirty Gs, and I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But since he was, and since that meant I was going to miss a paycheck— well, honestly, I was trying to come up with a way to recoup at least some of my losses.

“Okay, you with me so far?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I started thinking perhaps part one might actually be worth more than our original deal, even completely omitting part two. If not to you, then maybe to someone else. And that made me think perhaps I could hold an auction.

“So I thought I’d put out the word. You know, see what happens.”

Silence.

“Morrison? Are you there? My phone cuts out sometimes out here so—”

“Just a moment, please.”

Angela waited. And waited. And waited. Almost twenty minutes passed. “Morrison?”

“We will give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“So... I’m guessing you’re thinking of holding an auction of your own. Is that it?”

“Something like that. But I have the contacts, and I know for a fact nobody will offer you more than two hundred and fifty ‘Gs’ as you call them.”

Damn it. That’s what he was doing while I was standing here like a moron. “All right. You win. Two hundred and fifty grand.”

“Do you have it with you on the trail?”

“No, but it’s in my—” Wait. How did he know I was on the trail? “Morrison, what trail do you think I’m on?”

Morrison laughed. “You’re on Grand Venture, about two-thirds of the way up the mountain. Quite a climb in, what, about fifteen minutes? Are you in those rocks near the old juniper?”

How does he know? “No, I’m not.” She moved out of the boulders and headed down the trail. As she came around the first bend, she saw a cell tower. It was one of three. Damn it.

“Sure you are. Or were. And the document is in your car, isn’t it?”

“No. I don’t know. I mean, I do know and it isn’t there. It’s in a safe deposit box.”

“We’ll see you at your car, Angela.”

“You? You’re coming here yourself?” She had never been allowed to meet Morrison. It was one of the things that attracted her to the job. The mystery added to the adventure.

“Why not? I think it’s time we met.”

When she was still a quarter-mile from the trail head, she stopped and watched as a helicopter hovered near her car, then gently set down.

Her phone rang.

“Angela.”

“Yes, I see you. Come along, please.”

“You know, Morrison, we did have an agreement. And I did miss the pickup. So really I should forfeit my payment. I mean, fair is fair, and that’s how the policy reads.”

Silence.

“For that matter, you know, if it had been nothing but me doing the guy— like it is most times, I mean— the forfeit would be in effect, so why not now?”

Silence.

“So I’m just saying, you know, I’m more than willing to call it even on this one.”

“Angela, it’s all right. I’ve told you I’m going to pay you, and I’ve told you how much. Please come to the car and deliver my asset. All right?”

“But—”

“Tell you what, Angela. Once you deliver this asset and once I pay you off, you’re fired. How’s that? For one thing, you will know my identity. For another, you will understand some things you didn’t understand before. Does that sound fair? I’ll pay you off, and you walk away.”

“Sure, that sounds fair.”

“And that’s what’s going to happen. I promise.” He paused. “Think about it. If I wanted to erase you... well, let’s just say you’d already be off the train.” He laughed.

He meant it. He actually meant it.

She stopped at the edge of the parking lot and looked at the chopper. “All right. Well, I chose this line of work, and every line ends somewhere. See you in a minute.” She closed the call and stepped into the parking lot.

Two men got out of the chopper, then a third.

Somehow, the first two looked familiar. She frowned. They were armed. Kimber .45 caliber pistols. Top of the line. In composite holsters. Good.

When she was still thirty feet away, the two men in front parted and the man behind them stepped forward. “Hello, Angela.”

“Roger?” The other two. They were the feds.

He nodded and laughed, then put on a British accent. “Roger Morrison Williams, at your service.”

“So the meeting at the diner. You never meant to pay me. You wanted the paper.”

He smiled. “Something like that.” Then the smile went away. “All right, first of all, are you carrying?”

“No.” She put her arms up and turned around.

“Very well. Where is my paper, Angela?”

“In my car. And my paper?” She grinned.

“Ah, ever the optimist. No, I’m sorry. Your instincts were correct. We aren’t going to pay you after all.”

She nodded, then looked at the ground. “Okay, so I just walk. I’m okay with that. It’s in my bag.” She gestured toward her car. “In the trunk.” She turned away and took the keys from her pocket.

“Stop.”

She stopped and turned around.

He gestured. “Toss me the keys. I’ll get it.”

She shrugged and tossed the keys to him.

“Boss, don’t use the remote. Those things can be wired pretty easily.”

Roger looked at Angela.

She averted her gaze.

He smiled. “Right, right. Thanks.” He walked toward the car.

“Roger, really, I have no hard feelings. And I don’t want anything to go wrong here. Let me open it for you.”

“No.” He paused. “Tell you what though.” He looked at the taller of his two bodyguards. “Robert, would you mind?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Good.” He tossed the man the keys. “And Miss Angela here will accompany you.”

“Yes sir.” He looked down at her. “Come on, girly.” He laughed. “Shouldn’t be playing in a man’s world.”

She averted her gaze. “I guess not.”

He walked toward the trunk, and Angel walked beside him.

Just in case, Roger stepped back around behind the other bodyguard.

Robert stopped at the back of the car. “Okay, any special trick to this?”

“No sir. I mean, the key sticks sometimes, so I usually push it in pretty hard, but—” She shrugged. “It’ll probably work all right for you. I mean, I’m not as strong as you are.”

“Right.” He sorted through the few keys and picked what looked like the right one. “This one?”

“Yes sir. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather use the remote?”

“Nice try. I don’t think so.” He put the key up to the keyhole and shoved it in.

Electricity raced through his body. He collapsed forward and was in full contact with the trunk.

Angela released his Kimber and fell onto her left shoulder. Before she hit the ground, three bullets had ripped through the second bodyguard’s heart.

The impact shoved him back against Roger, who clambered up into the helicopter.

Angela turned and put two rounds into Robert’s right temple. He fell off the left side of the trunk as she turned toward the helicopter.

Roger grabbed the pilot’s shoulder and screeched, “Get this damn thing in the air! Get us out of here! Get us out—”

The pilot nodded and started to look around. Then his head jerked hard to the left, then lay on his chest as he slumped in his seat belt.

Roger was splattered with blood. He turned around, screaming, screaming.

Angela stopped, took a stance. “Goodbye, Morrison. Roger, and out.”

She squeezed the trigger.

The screaming stopped.

4

It turned out the agreement Harold “Rosy” Deroso had signed was worth considerably more than a quarter-million dollars. In fact, Angela sold it to the second highest bidder after he agreed to move in with her.

The last time anyone saw them, they were living in a small, modest bungalow. Well, on their own island.

He’s retired and you would know his name if we chose to share it.

And Angela? She hasn’t decided about retiring yet.

After all, when you’re very good at what you do....

* * * * * * *