Late, he thought. Tardy bitches, he didn't care for them. If they were slovenly enough to be late to such an appointment, they usually had blabber mouths. Two minutes and she can go to hell, he decided.
Just as a man and his wife walked out of Wild Bill's with a new pair of boots, he spotted her. He didn't have to be told it was her. He knew. They all looked the same. Trophy wives. Same body shape, same hairdo and same pretty face. Come to that, he thought, they all had the same personalities. None of them had done well at school, none of them had a career or built their own identity, and all of them were spoiltt brats who thought the world owed them a living.
Are you Steve, she asked. He detected a tremor in her voice.
Follow me.
As she struggled to keep up with him, he laughed to himself. She was just like all the others. If there were a quiz show called 'Guess who wants to murder their fiancee,' he'd win it, he thought. They reached a small alleyway that ran adjacent to Wild Bill's. He pulled her into it.
She gasped as he held her against the wall. Now listen to me. On the phone, you told me you want me to do a job for you. I can do that job. But it requires three things of you, all of which must be strictly adhered to. If you fail to do so, I will kill you and leave your fiancee alone. Do you understand? She nodded. Maybe she'd gotten herself into more than she could handle, she thought.
When he let go of her, she rubbed her upper arm. His grip had been vice- like, and her arm had gone numb. Now tell me, slowly, what do you want?
Britney composed herself as he watched her. All the same, he reminded himself. Brunette, five feet six, brown eyes, pretty face, anemic and neurotic. As I indicated when we spoke, I want you to kill my fiancee, as soon as we have signed the insurance papers. I'll tell you when.
Why do you want him killed? He looked round as a car drove past the end of the alleyway. It wasn't a cop car.
I don't love him, in fact, I hate him, he's an alcoholic. I'm virtually forced to marry him, and I don't want to. He's rich and well insured, so I'll get a nice payout and be able to live a life of luxury.
The same old reason as well, he thought. Greed. The bitch probably never got off his case, nagging and moaning him all the way to the bottle. Not being satisfied with ruining his life on earth, now she wanted the poor sod dead too. Not that he cared, money was money.
The three things: First, you don't talk to anyone about this. If you tell a single soul, I will shoot you. Britney nodded, her eyes wide open and her bladder on the point of exploding in fear. Second, fifty grand up front, no negotiation. Again she nodded. That was the easy part she thought. Third: details, lots of details. Name, address, place of work, the time he comes home and the time he goes to work. Also a list of places he frequents regularly, and a list of his family members, friends and business colleagues.
Britney hadn't expected him to be so frightening. A head taller than her and dressed solely in black he cut a very eerie figure. When she gave it a bit more thought, she realized he ought to be frightening, he was an assassin.
Now you have met me, you are bound to continue with the plan. No going back. I told you on the phone, if we meet you are bound. Do you understand? She nodded again. Remember if you don't deliver what I have asked for, it is you who will die.
Keke Miller looked through the window at the man getting out of the red Ferrari. Not bad, she thought.
I wouldn't mind a piece of that, the waitress said as she poured Keke's coffee. We don't often get guys like him around here.
Keke nodded in agreement as her eyes followed the tall, well-dressed man from his car to the door. The waitress walked back to the counter and Keke dropped a lump of sugar into her drink. Jesus, when will I stop doing that, she thought. Next time, take the sugar away from the table, Jessie. My ass is fat enough as it is, she shouted.
You've got a complex, there's nothing wrong with your ass, the waitress shouted back.
Keke kept her eyes on the man as he walked to the counter, and spoke to the waitress. Over there, the waitress said, pointing at Keke. Keke sat upright on the red seat and curiously watched as he walked towards her.
Hi, are you Keke Miller? he asked.
Keke looked at him. He wasn't the usual type of man that came to her for advice. Yes, that's me.
I'm Dan Stephenson, I called into your office a few minutes ago. Your secretary told me you could be found here most lunchtimes.
Darn woman, Keke thought. How often had she told Janice that she wasn't to be disturbed at lunchtime? Sure. Well, you've found me. Take a seat and tell me what I can do for you.
Dan sat down on the other side of the booth and pushed the unused cutlery to one side. Beautiful woman, not at all like the stereotypical private detective, he thought. Since when were they young, black and attractive? You're not what I was expecting, he said.