Don't Order Dog_ 1(14)

He nodded at the man he called Dublin, silently noting that this would be their third job together. Although he knew Dublin’s real name, he would never say it. Not on a job, not ever. Nor would Dublin ever say his. Agency rules. “So you’re my fixer on this one, eh?” he muttered as he shrugged off his backpack and looked around the swank, lavishly appointed room. “Makes perfect sense. Your mouth is the only thing filthier than this city.”

Dublin’s raucous laugh filled the room. “Yeah, and that’s sayin’ a lot,” he said with the gravelly voice of a smoker. “S’one nasty feckin’ town down there. Some beautiful lookin’ girls, but I’d put on four condoms before I laid my hands on any of that strange if I were you.” Dublin barely finished his sentence before convulsing once again into laughter.

He wondered how someone like the loud, foul-mouthed, overweight Irishman now stretched out in front of him managed to get by in this particular profession. Then again, maybe those qualities were exactly why he got by in this profession. Whatever it was, he didn’t object; he was just glad to have Dublin on his team. As far as fixers go, Dublin didn’t just get by, he was the best in the business.

“Well, if anyone can get his hands on something, it’s you,” he replied as he walked over to the wall-sized window of glass that looked out on the decaying city. “Of course that’s probably especially true for venereal diseases. Personally, I like to keep my nose and other parts clean.”

“Yeah, yeah– bein’ the feckin’ saint that you are,” Dublin retorted as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Prob’ly just as well. If I stay any longer, my fookin’ meat and potatoes will rot off.” He lit a cigarette and stared at his colleague for a long moment. “Speakin’ of rot, you’re really stayin’ at some shite hotel in town, huh?”

“I am. It’s actually much nicer than this,” he replied. “I doubt you even get complimentary roaches here.”

Dublin’s face split into an incredulous grin.

“Bugger-off mate! That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugged as he stared down at the colorful crowd swarming like ants around the market below. There was no need to defend himself on the subject of hotel accommodations. He had his own reasons for staying in the slums – none of which his colleague needed to know about. Besides, he wasn’t here to live it up. In fact, blending in was a necessary part of the job. And regardless how good the money might be, this was certainly not the job of a rock star. Well, perhaps it had a few similarities, but not many of the good ones.

He turned from the window and dropped into an oversized leather armchair that sat across from the sofa. “Alright, let’s get to it.”

“Right.” Dublin snapped into focus as he sat upright and snuffed out his cigarette. Looks and language aside, he’d still not forgotten who was in charge.

“What’s the status on the package?” he asked. This was always the first question, the most important question. Without the package, nothing else mattered.

“Package acquired, of course,” Dublin answered. His eyes darted instinctively at the three cell phones lying on the coffee table in front of him. “Not that it was feckin’ easy. S’like bein’ in the feckin’ dark ages around here. And I’m beginnin’ to think my job is almost as messy as yours for chrissake.”

“Sure,” he said dismissively. “And you confirmed the specs?”

“Yeah, yeah, confirmed,” Dublin replied, a trace of irritation on his face. “I am a feckin’ professional ya know.”

“Of course you are, Dub. Why do you think I always ask for my favorite Irishman when it comes to the tough projects?”

Dublin stared back at him with slits for eyes as he lit another cigarette. He wasn’t used to being made fun of.

“And our staging area?” he continued.

“Room 805. Visually checked. Everything as expected.” The Irishman’s mouth exhaled a long trail of smoke as he laid back on the couch. A thick roll of ghost-white skin revealed itself beneath his vintage KISS t-shirt.

“Time?”

“Package’ll be delivered tonight. 9pm. You’ve got my guarantee on that as always. 805 will be open for business by 6pm. I managed to get it logged by maintenance as a corporate hold until show time tomorrow, which means every employee in the building will think some executive fuckety-fuck is in there shagging his mistress. Trust me, you won’t have any interruptions.” He paused and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Tha rest is up to you, mate.” Smoke poured from his nostrils as Dublin’s mouth formed into a grin. “Got a long night ahead of you, eh? Ha! Fook yeah ya do!”