"Collect all the intel you can about the area. A private plane will be leaving the day after tomorrow."
"Give me some time, why don't you?"
"Stevie." Regina slams her hand on the glossy wood desk. "Don't fuck around. Execute and then get your ass back home."
"Me? Fuck around? Did you forget who you're talking to? I have a hundred percent kill rate."
"Good. Don't let this job break your perfect record." She arrogantly smooths her brown bob.
"Why the hell would it?" I question.
Regina doesn't provide me with an answer, which infuriates me. Usually, she has plenty to say, even when no one asks her opinion.
"Just get it done." She dismisses me the same way she did her man candy.
"I will," I huff. Did my stock as an assassin abruptly plummet? Why the sudden doubt in my abilities?
"Call me as soon as it's over," she instructs just before I leave the room.
I look back at her, squeezing the doorknob so tight my knuckles strain.
"I know the drill," I spitefully remind her.
I STUDY THE blurry picture of Benjamin Sabatino. Memorizing the way his long, brown hair is tucked behind his ears and the path his thick, mountain-man beard takes along his cheek and over his lip. He has dark sunglasses on in the photo, so I can't make out his features clearly, and the side profile doesn't exactly help either. But I have to work with what I got. His anorexic file doesn't tell me shit. Not an address or a friend or a hang out, so I'll have to scout the town until I find him. This should be so fun.
There was an abundance of information on the rural area though. So, I studied up on that as much as I could in the short time I was given.
The jet lands at a private airport an hour outside Pagosa Springs. There's a SUV waiting for me when I exit the plane. I didn't pack much. One medium-sized duffel bag with all the necessities. Warm clothes, toiletries, makeup, binoculars, a .22 with detachable silencer, a collapsible sniper rifle, and a handful of throwing knives.
The Colorado air is cool and crisp and smells like snow. But not like New York snow. This is cleaner, void of pollution. You can actually feel the purity purge the contamination out of your lungs.
I toss my bag onto the back seat of the Tahoe and punch in the hotels address in the GPS. I chose this particular establishment because of its high elevation and panoramic view of the town. I'll be like a hawk on a perch searching for its prey.
The drive is long, but the alpine scenery is stunning. High, white-capped mountain peaks follow me around every turn as I make my way to where-the-fuck-am-I Colorado.
I arrive midday, so there's still plenty of light to burn. I set up the suite-if you can even call it that. It's more like an exaggerated hotel room-the way I need, keeping the shades drawn just enough to peek through with the chairs situated in front of the two windows. I order room service, make myself comfortable, and start my search for a needle in a haystack.
It's been three days, and there's been no sign of Benjamin fucking Sabatino.
This is what happens when Regina gives me next to no information. I've canvassed the town. Staked out the local post office, diner, grocery store, and pharmacy. Nothing. I have peered through binoculars for hours scanning the townspeople coming and going. Seeing the same faces over and over until they are branded into my brain. But no Benjamin fucking Sabatino. I pick up the blurry photo and study it again, trying to find any clue in the background I can. The jacket he's wearing is even so generic I've seen it on a hundred other men. Finding him should be cake in a town this small, but he's proving to be more of a challenge than I originally anticipated.
"Are you a ghost?" I fan the picture and smile to myself. "I'll find you even if you are." I drop the photo back on the coffee table as my stomach rumbles. I've been holed up in this hotel room all day. I need some fresh air-I glance over at the six-hour old, half-eaten hamburger-and some fresh food.
Maybe a change of scenery and a strong drink will give me some new perspective and refresh my eyes. Selfishly, I wish Claudia was here. At least then I would have someone to go out with. For a split-second I consider buying her a plane ticket, but reality kicks me in the butt and reminds me why I'm really here. It's not for a vacation, it's for an assassination.
I take a long, hot shower, throw a little makeup on, and just for the fuck of it, smear my lips with some hooker-red lipstick. Benny would have a cow. He liked me fresh-faced. No bold colors overshadowing my natural beauty. That's what he used to say. But he's not here anymore.
I wind my hair into a high, tight bun, lace up my snow boots, and throw on the heavy winter jacket. Lastly, I slip one of my small throwing knives into my back pocket. Mainly out of habit.