Aversion

* * *
Part Two

Six Months Later…

Franco leaned into his friend – an old-time friend, someone he has known for years. He hesitated before uttering the words before they escaped his mouth. He did not know if his friend was about to hear the words he was going to tell him. Come to think of it, he did not even know he if was ready to say them aloud. It was a message that had been in his mind for quite some time – ever since the multi-billion dollar a year corporation Macroware Technologies had unleashed their new product on the market.

The new hardware process was indeed an asset to their business, but the increasing demand for upgrades and enhancements was a bit overwhelming.

Franco had consulted with Mac for months before installing the new hardware; he was assured, reassured and continually informed that it was a good decision for his team in Las Vegas as well as their satellite unit in Kansas City. The problem was that the chip was involved in a multi-user interface, and they needed to get someone with better, more efficient capabilities to handle the technology.

Never, in all his years with the bosses and in working with Mac and their crew had they ever encountered hardware like what they were dealing with now. And with the new upgrades on their way, Franco did not know if he and his colleagues were fully prepared to handle the workload. True, this was a job for an expert, a job for the one and only person Franco knew could handle. Franco had been in talks with Rickey, just to get it off his chest, and Rickey had reconfirmed the very thoughts floating in his mind.

This was a job for an expert.

It was time to give Connor O’Flattery a phone call. The only issue is no one really knew where he was; rather, no one knew who he was these days. There was a federal search underway for him, ever since that high-tech endeavor he encountered with the Internal Revenue Service several years back, and he has been on the move ever since. Franco wondered from time to time if Connor was roaming the streets somewhere in Las Vegas.

Las Vegas was an incredible place to hide. He knew for a fact that there were crooks roaming the streets, dressed as common civilians and encountering normal, regular people all around. The difference between these ‘normal’ citizens and Connor were vast – Connor was an exile, not only from his home country, but from the United States as well. He was recruited from the Irish Republican Army some years back during another time in crisis – it was yet another revolution in the land of Ire, home of green hills and beautiful landscapes – there was war again, and that was never good. He remembered the day he met Connor in a downtown pub, right in the heart of the old ‘Strip in Las Vegas several years back – Connor’s accent was still thick, filled with the flavor and sound of his home land. However, the liquor had taken its tool and he was forced to explain his situation as intoxication took over, not to mention the man had a pistol pointed at his forehead. Franco remembered how Connor bared everything – his fleeing from Ireland and his refuge in the United States, like his ancestors before him. Why Connor remained in Ireland while his family came to American soil was beyond Franco, but he did not blame the man for leaving the land that showed him nothing but death, loss, murder and complete and utter chaos. It was a bad time for Ireland – it was a bad time for everyone. However, Connor O’Flattery came to the United States seeking a place to hide, and he found his place among millions of other outcasts like himself.

And, luckily for Connor, he got lost like the many others before him; lost in a sea of faces and nameless figures, roaming the streets and reaping the many, many countless benefits of Sin City.

Franco lost contact with Connor over the years, but when Connor came back to him in the very bar they had originally met, he, once again, divulged the details of his recent activities.

Connor had been arrested by the Federal Bureau of Investigation for Terrorism when he was caught involved in an Internet scandal to bring his cousins over from Ireland – cousins involved in the Mad Lady organization (the Irish Mafia). Apparently the Irish government had brought this to the attention of the United States government, and somehow with a combined, collaborative effort, they found Connor and did the thing which made the most sense for his amnesty in the United States.

They offered him a job with the Central Intelligence Agency as a governmental “Contamination Oppression Operative” – a COO, which was a label, just a name. What it meant was that Connor surrendered his inalienable rights as a refugee to the United States due to his nature of business. They recruited him (by force, none the less) to do what he was used to doing back in his home country.

A Contamination Oppressive Operative was fancy government-talk for governmental assassin.

or oor once again sought refuge when he got involved in a very intense, emotionally gripping operation.

He was ordered to cut all contact from his family. On top of that, the Central Intelligence Agency ordered him to do a ‘clean-sweep’ operation for the entire presence of the Mad Lady organization’s presence in the United States – he was ordered to breach the ranks of the organization and eliminate its membership. He was ordered to kill the only family he had left.

Connor took the assignment, but once it was completed, he resigned his mandatory position and had lived his life in exile ever since.

The problem was that Connor came to Franco for assistance, fully knowing the inner workings of the Mafia, since he had lived the life his entire existence. It was all he knew. Franco helped him in exchange for information, monies, weapons and assistance with technology. Since Connor was a CIA operative, he had extensive knowledge in the inner workings of the U.S. government as well as military ordinances and protocol. And the man was damn good at what he did.

After the clean sweep operation, Connor did the thing that made the most sense to him. He went into hiding, knowing full well that the federal government was going to be on his tail for the rest of his life. Hiding, dressing in disguise, faking identities and the like were Connor’s specialties, and since his flee from the United States government, there has been an underground contract on his life since. Assassins for the Central Intelligence Agency as well as cut-throat bounty hunters were looking for him, and since his disappearance, the total price of Connor O’Flattery, dead or alive, was over a million dollars. However, this was not public knowledge – the U.S. government could not expose its fault in letting him go. It was assumed that he was controlled and since he was working for the government, there was constant surveillance on him.

However, having the inside knowledge that Connor had, it was no major shock – at least not to Franco – that Connor had once again escaped their clutches.

It had been over a year since Connor was last sighted – and when Franco did meet with the man, Franco could hardly believe his eyes. Connor was a good six inches taller than the last time they met, and he put on considerable weight. Not to mention he went from his normal, milky-white and smooth skin to a deep shade of brown. His accent had changed considerably, and Franco could only imagine how much work Connor had to put into . T. Then again, Connor always had a knack of blending into any environment like camouflage.

Mac nudged Franco as they sat together in the booth, way back on the corner of the diner. They had been there for quite some time, the diner always being their first stop after the flights back and forth from Kansas City. Mac turned to his friend and leaned in, asking, “This ain’t good, Franco. If we can’t catch up with this shit, we’d give up our profit edge to the Naviano Family, and you know what that means. We’d be out – they will be able to buy our entire share on the strip, and then we’d be fucked.”

Franco nodded as he slowly sipped his coffee, letting Mac’s words wash over him as the steam from his cup lightly fogged his glasses and slowly dissipated.

“So what the fuck are we to do, Frank?”

Franco removed his glasses and loosed his necktie. He took a deep breath and sat up in his seat before he answered his boss. “My friend, let us look at the possible options we have. Every machine in every goddam casino is running on those fuckin’ Macro’ chips. Their networks are routed to those goddamn Macro’ servers. Let’s face it, we either gotta get inside of there, or we gotta hack into it. There’s no easy way to say this, but,” his eyes suddenly became sullen and dark, as if he was about to tell his friend, his boss the most devastating news ever. Franco knew Mac was not going to take the news well, but they were out of options. He continued, “well, we need someone with finesse, someone who can give us a leg up on this shit. Look, the government has signed contracts with Macroware Technologies, and the only way, and I mean this – the ONLY way we can get a leg up is to get inside their network and figure out how that shit is routed, then get in and bust it up. See, all that shit is tracked, and if the government gets any clue whatsoever about the shit we need, they will bust us up in no time flat.” He sat closer to the table, leaning ever closer to his boss and adding, “Mac, only one thing comes to mind.”

Mac leaned back in his seat in the booth, pouring more coffee and creamer into his cup. He swirled the contents together and let his spoon down back on his napkin before drinking his coffee and placing the cup back down on the table. Mac’s face winced for a moment before he reached for the sugar and added it to his cup of coffee. “I forgot how shitty the coffee is here, Frank. Why the fuck do we come here each time, pal?”

“It helps me think better – no fuckin’ lights from the ‘strip, no goddamn city cops, nothin’. Look Mac, we are fucked if the feds catch this shit. I know – they know about the business, they’ve known about it for years and they’ve learned to back off. But Mac, this is different. This is some high-tech computer shit that, no matter how many consultants we hire and no matter how many nerds we threaten, there is only one way we can solve this shit.”

Mac placed money for the tab, plus tip, on the table before tightening his necktie and then he stood. He sighed before Franco rose from his seat, his face now white from panic and stress. Mac put his hand on Franco’s shoulder and said, “You better say it before I beat it out of you. And I know what you’re going to say; I’ve been thinking the same goddamn thing since Macroware announced the hardware half a year ago. Go ahead pal, spit it out.”

Franco lowered his head and said, “We gotta find the Mick.”

* * *

Heidi slept comfortably in her suite in the penthouse of the hotel. She knew that Mac would be back in town today, but she figured he would not mind if she stayed for a while before Mac returned, and he never complained when she was waiting for him, still in her sleeping clothes. However, Greg knew he needed to leave – he knew what Heidi did for a living, but it did not bother him. It was good to have a girlfriend who, for once, did not need him and was not out to get him for his money. Heidi did very well on her own, and Greg imagined her boss cut her a decent share of her wages.

He softly nudged her, and whispered in her ear. “Honey, I have to get to the airport pretty soon. Do you want to have some breakfast before I leave?”

She moaned softly, fighting the feeling as sleep left her slowly and the unpant ant consciousness that was being awake streamed through her. She opened her eyes and smiled at Greg as he was leaning over her, holding his watch in his hand. She yawned before answering, “No Greg, we can’t go downstairs. Some of the high rollers are in town for the World Series of Poker, and you know I have a few regulars down there. If they see me with some unknown stranger, they will feel less privileged.” She ran her foot along his leg and continued, “But, we can have breakfast brought up if you are hungry.”

He got out of the bed and put on a pair of boxer shorts. He walked to the front door of the penthouse, removing the newspaper and opening the front page. Greg then brought it over to Heidi as she sat up in the bed, stretching her arms and scratching her head.

“What is it?” She read the headline aloud, “New Defense package – Once again, Macroware technologies signs another contract.” She took the paper from his hands and glanced through the article. “Babe, they’re signing more and more contracts.”

“I know it.” Greg smiled broadly. “And to think it all started at my hospital. Heidi, the cash is flowing in so well on my commissions from my initial contract with Mister Bradley, soon enough I won’t even need to work.”

Heidi frowned as she looked over at Greg, who was walking toward the kitchen to find a menu for one of the hotel’s restaurants. “Greg, why doesn’t Macroware ever do business abroad?”

Greg found the menu he was looking for and answered, “They don’t have to. They are a multi-trillion dollar a year corporation, why would they need to get involved in International politics? There is no need, they’re doing fine; we’re doing fine. Ooooh strawberries are in season!”

“Babe, I’m serious. There is something wrong with that company.”

He walked toward Heidi as she rose from the bed and put on her bathrobe. He loosed the belt and ran his fingers over her now exposed breast. “But look at all the great things they produce.” He lowered his head inside of her robe and softly nipped at her, causing her to breathe a bit faster. He sucked or anr and said, “You didn’t complain when you walked out of the hospital in significantly less pain than the other augmentation patients.”

“That’s drentrent.”

He rose his head again and looked her in the eyes. “How so?”

“Greg, there is a big difference between a defense contract and a pair of tits.”

He answered, “Heidi, you’re getting worked up over nothing. Come on, let’s get some breakfast and forget about it. Look, I’m swimming in money, there is nothing to worry about. It’s a legit company, they know what they’re doing.” He walked to the telephone.

She whispered, “they sure as hell do know what they’re doing. But I don’t buy it.”

Greg placed an order for Heidi, and then ordered his own breakfast. He hung up the phone and said, “It will be here in about thirty minutes, I hope you’re in the mood for pancakes.”

Heidi removed her robe. She walked to the bathroom and said, “Sure that sounds great, sweetie. I’m going to take a shower and get ready – I gotta be out of here soon anyway. I’ll take you to the airport.”

Greg walked to the bathroom as Heidi started the shower. He took off her robe and then lowered his boxer shorts adding, “It’s a pity that the water conservation is still an ongoing issue for the residents of Las Vegas. At least we can aid that effort.”

They ped ped into the shower together.

* * *

Eager fingers tapped lightly on the keys, the harmony produced by the sweet naturals of the white keys blended smooth and harmonious with the sharps of the black keys. A page turned, two eyes cease to blink as the small hands gradually progressed, hitting the keys with more fervor, more intensity, more passion.

The girl’s eyes left the book as she lowered her head, moving her arms and hands along as the solo concerto rang through the house, each note finding another space in the mansion to hide. Then, as if they were lost and needed to find their way back, the concerto became intense, recalling several flats and sharps, complicating the sound. Notes blended with one another until they found harmony, each note waiting in line until it was called. Sounds clashed, harmonies broke, and a story, full of passion and energy unfolded until it seemed the piano succumbed to the finale as Ashley completed the piece.

She stepped back from the piano anilediled in satisfaction. She was getting closer and closer to mastering each of the concertos Miss Franklin had given her, and the harder she practiced, the better she got. Mary Franklin even let Ay woy work out on some improvisational piano work, and Ashley was beginning to get a feel into the composition aspects of music. Nothing could stop her, she found something to keep her continually energized.

That was, until she heard her mother’s voice call, “Ashley keep it down in there, I am trying to read.”

Ashley became frustrated that the very thing her mother had asked her to do was now something she liked. She hated the piano lessons at first, but Miss Franklin had been so patient and was always great with encouragement. Ashley eventually began to love her piano lessons, and now music had become a part of her. She loved it; she lived it.

And now it was something that might get taken away from her.

She, an innocent child, a child at at her age, is supposed to be carefree and full of positive energy – was now experiencing a strain as it ran through her, an unknown, unfamiliar yet somewhat addictive energy. It was hate.

Ashley slammed the drawer shut on the piano, housing the keys underneath. The feeling ran though her, like a rabid disease overwhelming her sense of reason and coherence. Befohe ehe even knew what she was doing, she gave Luke, the dog who was obediently sitting on the floor, a dirty look before she ran up the stairs and slammed her door. She tucked her head under her pillow and yelled obscenities, directed at her mother down the hall.

When she finally got the cursing ou her her system, she trotted down the stairs again to find the dog waiting for her. He looked up at her with soft, warm eyes, almost seeming as if he was listening to her, reading her as she watched him in silence. She sat down on the floor with him and pat his head, leaning into him to apologize for being rude before. She hugged Luke and sat with him on the floor, letting the feelings of rejection (based on her mother’s actions) wash over her, and sitting with the dog helped her feel better. Ashley whispered in Luke’s ear, “If she wants me to be good at the piano, why the heck does she tell me to stop practicing?”

The dog wagged its tail and licked Ashley’s face. She giggled quietly and hugged Luke again, and then she lay beside him and looked at the ceiling of the living room and listened to the quiet footsteps of the workers inside the house as they completed their tasks for the evening before leaving or going to their quarters across the other side of the property.

Ashley grabbed her notebook and read the notes, playing their sounds in her head. Every now and then she would scribble something on the side of the pages, remembering certain aspects of her keystrokes and hand positions for the more complicated parts.

* * *

The lights flicked on in the bathroom, and then the faucet was run. Wade splashed waon hon his face and looked in the mirror as he said, “Why the hell am I still doing this?”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Shit.” Wade took the towel from the rack and dried his face, and then wiped it over his head. “Nothing, I’m coming.”

Bridgett kicked off her high heels and waited on the edge of the bed as Wade turned off the light in the bathroom and came over to her. She reached for his pants and asked, “So how do you want to fuck me tonight?”

He pushed her on on the bed before unbuttoning her blouse and gripping her in his hands. “How about you shut up and let me do what I do best?”

“This is what you are good at? Oh well, at least you’re good at something.”

He reached his hands around her neck and asked, “How about I just shut you up right now?”

She smiled, “Have your way with me. Go ahead, hurt me. Hurt me bad, you ignorant asshole.”

He straddled himself over her. “Goddammit bitch, you don’t ever learn to keep quiet, do you?”

Bridgett unbuttoned his pants and began to stroke him in her hands. He lowered his head to her neck and began to lightly suck at her soft skin, kissing trails down her neck to her chest before licking the stiffened peak of her nipple, lightly rolling the flesh between his tongue and teeth. She began to moan in appreciation, and Wade rolled over onto his back, letting her sit atop him. Bridgett lowered his pants and removed them, letting them sit on the floor by the foot of the bed.

Wade reached his hands up and massaged her in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her nip nipples. She smiled before she spun, her back now facing him. She leaned into him, and licked down his body before reaching for his erection, stroking it in her hand and eventually bringing her lips to the tip, and letting it fill her mouth. Up and down, she licked and sucked on him, grabbing him at the base as he brought his mouth to her. They gave each otpleapleasure, listening the appreciative sounds from the other as they brought the other closer eleaelease. Bridgett came first, and Wade reached for her hips sliding her body over him and then straddled her again. He quickly entered her, filling her and finally spending himself inside of her.

When he rolled off of her, she lit a cigarette and turned on the bedroom light.

Wade sat up and watched as she smoked, the hazy cloud lingering over her before she blew it away. He turne her her and asked, “Bridgett, how much longer do you think you can get away with this shit?”

She smiled as she answered, “As long as you will keep taking the bait, Wade. You are an easy target – I’ve had you pegged since day one.”

He frowned as he thought about his first few days on the job. He was happy because it paid well, and now that he was out of debt with Franco, he could pretty much quit whenever he wanted to. The truth was that the money was good, and now he had stability. He did feel shallow for his ‘relationship’ with Bridgett, but he really did not care too much. According to her, he was just a tool; a weapon to be used against her husband. If anything, Bridgett could bullshit her way into making her husband believe it was good for their relationship, seeing as how he was very rarely home. Wade did not particularly care for Bridgett, other than the fact that she paid him well, especially on days like this when he would be brazen enough to come into her bedroom. “I gotta go.”

She sat up ask asked, “So soon? Bill won’t be home until later, and –”

“Girl it ain’t always about you! I got shit to do, lemme go take care of my business.”

“And here I thought you already did.”

“God you really never shut your fuckin’ mouth. You want me to put this back in?”

She laughed at the gesture as Wade grabbed his crotch. “Please, get over yourself.”

He reached under the sheet that lay over her body, his hand crawling up her leg until resting between her thighs. He crept his fingers closer inside, watching her face light up as he crept closer to her entrance. Wade stopped and said, “Don’t make me get you to beg me again.” He lightly stroked on her skin, feeling her react.
Some things never change.

“Please…” She shuttered as he quickly rubbed on her, pleasing her in the most sensitive areas.

“You want more, bitch?”

She began to grind her body against him, her mouth dry and anticipating. “Wade, please…”

He smiled before tucking his head under the sheets, bringing his mouth to his fingers as they rubbed on her. “Who am I, bitch?”

Bridgett rubbed herself against him, the sensations almost bringing her over the top. “You my daddy.”

He nodded before he licked on her again, knowing right where she liked it best. Once again, he pleased her with his mouth, and this time when she came, she grabbed a pillow and had to hold it over her face as she moaned and screamed his name.

* * *
Wade walked into his car, but before he shut the door he jumped in his seat as he realized Elena was sitting in the passenger’s seat.

She was crying; her eyes swollen and red, seeming as if she was a glass figurine, ready to break as soon as the first se toe touched her.

“Elena! What –”

“Wade, I am so sorry, but I have nowhere else to go. They are after me, I have to leave the country but I can’t, I have to send my family back first, and oh God I have nowhere to go. If I stay here they will find me, and I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I can’t do anything.”

Wade closed his door and leaned on the steering wheel. “Look, Elena, I don’t know what this is about and I do not know what I can do to help, but … I don’t know what I can do.”

She took his hand in her own and kissed it. She raised her eyes to meet his and said, “I can do anything you want me to.” She put her hand in his crotch, causing him to stiffen. “Anything at all.”

He slowly removed her hand and put it in her own lap. “I don’t need that from you, Elena.”

She buried her face in her hands and began to sob heavily. “I cannot go back to Russia. I cannot leave here until I know my family leaves also. I have nowhere to go.”

He started the car and told her, “Fasten your seatbelt. I’ll take you back to my place, and as soon as we get there I will make a phone call.”

“Thank you, Wade. I do not know how I can pay you back, but I will.”

“Don’t even worry about that now. Just stop crying. Please, for me.”

He took every shortcut he knew of and drove as fast as the car would take them until he got to his apartment.


Elena sat on his couch as Wade took a shower and joined her in the living room of his small apartment. He sat down next to her and ask“Wha“What the hell happened?”

She was shaking. The word esc her her mouth, slowly and very reluctantly. “I… my papers… naturalization… never… am not supposed to still be here… money to send my family back… do not know what to do… cannot go back… work… maid for them… cannot trust…”

He sat back and tried to make sense of it all. He did not want to kick her out on the street, and he recalled the one time he thought she might have an interest in him. It was about three weeks r her he placed his phone number very secretive in her pocket after having a quick go with Bridgett. He was sick of the game Bridgett was playing with him and he wanted to get out. Before he did, he wanted to keep in touch with Elena; something about her intrigued him. She was mysterious, beautiful, and always seemed genuinely kind. He liked her, and he had no idea if she would be interested in him, but now she was here, sitting on his couch, damn near throwing herself at him.

Wade wanted to help her now, not only because he was very attracted to her, but because he actually started to care about her. He wrapped his arms around her as she wept into his chest, spilling her tears down his skin and running her hands over his back. He lightly kissed her head, not anticipating anything to come of it. He just wanted to comfort her, to let her know that she was safe. “I do not know what I can do, but I might be able to get in touch with a few guys I know. Look Elena, it might not be easy, but I can probably set you up with a place and you will be okay. If there is placplace you can go into hiding, these guys can set you up.”

She lifted her chin, asking, “Where is it?”

“Have you ever been to Las Vegas?”

* * *

He knew it. Somehow, he had always known, but since this new report, his suspicions were confirmed. He threw the photos aside and sighed loudly. He was waiting for the moment to c and and now that it was here, hs nes nervous. He had done it before, but it was never someone that he knew, never someone that he had lived with and cared for.

True, cheating on him was not that bad, but he was afraid she could possibly leak some of their business deals out, and that would ruin the entire plan for what he had in store. Everything was set, all he needed to do was initiate the network and make more hardware, readily available to dump on the open market. They were ready, he was ready. But now that he had a liability, it needed to be absolved. He didn’t really want to do it, but some things just can’t be thrown aside.


Sometimes one needed to get professional help, even for the simplest of tasks.

He needed to make a phone call. There was only one group who could help hith ith this problem, and he slowly reached for the phone. Before he lifted it from the receiver, he double-checked around the office to make sure no one else was still there. It was well past midnight, and the cleaners were already gone.

He opened up his desk and removed a business card. It had the letter “I” embossed on it, and a three-digit number on the back. Every one of these cards were personalized for the person who was given a card, and he made it a habit to forget the number, just in case anyone ever came around asking questions.

The phone number was easy enough to memorize, but it was the three-digit pin that was personalized. Anyone calling the number would imagine they just got a wrong number, for the options on the recording made it sound as if it was a sanitation company.

Essentially, it was a sanitation company. They did know how to clean up after a big mess. The difference between this and other sanitation companies is that this one specialized in bodies.

He dialed the number and waited for the prompt to come up. As soon as the option for catering services and janitorial assistance came up, there was a three-second pause, and that pause window was for those with pin numbers to enter them. Other people would just wait on the line until more options came up, and they would get through to a legitimate, bonafide service for catering services and janitorial assistance. However, once he entered his pin number, he heard the voice on the other line answer.

“Hello Brad.”

“I need a four-ten. And I need it as soon as possible.”

“How big is the order?”

“One party, anticipate one hundred twelve pounds of refuse, and a possible uninvited party, approximately two hundred additional pounds of trash with that.”

“Very well – I have a four-ten, ready for three hundred twelve left. I do not think it will take more than one truck to handle that and one crewmember. Alright Brad, how would you like to set up payment?”

“Same as usual. Hit the vault for one hundred thousand, code name ‘birdie on the green’. Wear gloves.”

“Give me a minute for clearance.” The line hummed very quietly for a moment before the operator came back on. “Copy that Brad, we have confirmation of payment. The cameras validate capacity. Birdie on the green for one hundred grand, your order for a four-ten has been processedour our confirmation is ‘A’ as in alpha, ‘G’ as in golf, ‘C’ as in charlie, ‘T’ as in tango, and the numbers three, niner, four, and six. Again, that is ACGT3946.”

“Alpha Charlie Golf Tango three niner four six, over.”

“Good luck, Brad.”

“Make it look good, Denise. I do not want to hear about any goddamn mess when I come back.”

“No worries Brad, you are in good hands.”

He hung up the phone.

* * *
Within minutes after the call was placed, Denise got up and walked into the back door, knowing full well who was waiting there. She sat in her chair as the boss spun around in his chair and faced her. “So did he finally call?”

“I just got off the phone with him. He ordered a hit on his wife and I’m guessing her accomplice. She must have really pissed him off this time.”

He opened his desk drawer. “This will make the Mick happy, he’s been waiting for a hit like this for a while. Is he still posing as a Mexican?”

“I’m pretty sure he is. Last time we heard, he was in Mexico, drinking margaritas and tanning his pale Irish ass on the beach.”

“Make the call. What’s in it?”

“A hundred grand.”

The man smiled, “Give the Mick half, the rest gets allotted, you know how this goes.”

She nodded before she stood. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“No thank you, I’m fine. I’ll be fantastic once the hit is done. And Denise, make sure you tell him to make it look good – this isn’t some knock it out shoot ‘em down deal, this is a high profile woman with a high profile husband. It’s gotta look good.”

She opened the door and faced her boss, “Knowing Mickey, he will make it look like someone else did it.”


* * *
Connor O’Flattery, dressed as a tall dark Mexican, full with accent, beard and mustache, graciously accepted the beer handed to him from the flight attendant. He put on his headphones and listened to the music, which later on turned into a voice-over from the agency. The voice on the recording, distorted as always, informed him of the client’s name, nature of business, and who the primary target was. He was also informed when and where to collect his payment, and where to drop off the weapon of choice and how to dispose of any evidence. All the information was extraneous, as always, but he smiled when he thought about the agency’s method. It was usually the same. However, this hit was interesting – he would have to make it look like someone else did it, as opposed to dumping the body, causing the victim to become a missing person. Connor had done this and and time over again.

However, it had been a while since he had been in the United States. He was glad to finally get back, and he figured since he had been gone long enough, it was about time to get back to Las Vegas and talk to the old crew and see what they were up to. He always enjoyed a good game of Blackjack, and he knew just the right place to go.

His old hangout. It also happened to be along the line of casinos ran by Mac and his guys. He figured he could talk to Franco and see if there was anything or any jobs he could get in on.

Connor had read about the new hardware developed by Macroware Technologies and he figured the good old boys might want an extra set of eyes to watch over everything. Plus they could give him a place to hang out. He had changed identities once again, a habit he had gotten into and rotated once every other month or so. He was not so fond of Eduardo Galvez, his current identity, and he figured he could try something new as soon as he got to Las Vegas.

However, Los Angeles was the first stop. He had to take care of this job before heading off to Sin City, and this job was going to involve quite a bit of surveillance and research into his job. He needed to learn the person’s habits, their daily routine, their life, and anything else that might interfere with what he needed to do.

A flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers in the aircraft. “Ladies and Gentlemen, as we make our approach to Los Angeles International Airport, please bring your seats forward and trays upright at this time. Also, please turn any electronic devices off to prevent disruption of navigational equipment onboard. We hope you enjoyed your flight, as we have enjoyed having you onboard.”

Connor, or Eduardo rather, removed his headphones and hit the stop button on the portable cassette player. He put the items back in his bag, and then tucked them under the seat in front of him.

Once the plane landed, Connor walked down the terminal with the rest of the passengers and followed the signs to the rental car companies. Once he found the rental car offices, he picked the first one and reserved a car. He paid with a fake credit card that he had doctored, and as usual, the payment went through. It was the same method he had been using for years – he had the numbers routed to random accounts across the United States,uctiucting small, almost unnoticeable amounts from thousands of accounts to be routed into one main account, and the card deducted money from that very account. He would discard that particular card and reset another one to do the very same thing. Connor had been doing it for years, and it had always worked. However, now that more and more banks were getting on the Macroware Technologies network, his chances of doing this as successfully as usual were getting more and more slim. He grabbed his bag tight, its contents being clothes, his portable cassette player and several magazines. He figured he could probably score his necessities in Los Angeles; it is not like crooks were few in the city. He would know – he had lived in L.A. for a few months between running back and forth from Las Vegas to the rest of the country, doing random jobs and taking contracts all over the place. But the feds got close, almost too close, so he stayed in Mexico for a while. His timing for returning to the United States could not have been any better. As luck would have it, Connor would not be able to ever get back to Mexico, or any other country for that matter. No one knew this, but it was a plan in the making that no one knew about. Not yet anyway.

When Connor stepped outside, he lit a cigarette and casually observed the rest of the passengers greet their families at the curb, hugging and kissing one another as they welcomed their beloved travelers home. He laughed to himself, watching others prepare for their trips.

Watching people, studying and observing them was second nature for Connor. It was his business to know how people worked, how people lived their lives and moved along. He had to learn patterns of habit because it gave him a better understanding and grasp as to how people functioned. Knowing their habits made it easier to kill them efficiently. They would never expect it, going about their routines. He counted on it.

Connor inhaled the smoke and blew it out, watching cars zoom in and out, back and forth from the entrance to the terminal. Once he got sick of watching the same reactions from different people, he threw his cigarette to the curb and walked to his rental car.

It was a four-door sedan, American made. He opened the back door and threw his bag inside, and played out his plan in his mind. He needed to drive to Beverly Hills, pick up some equipment and head off to the location where his victim lived. But first, he had to learn the person’s habits, what the person does, and what would be the best way to take the person out. He opened his bag and looked at the name, as always it was in code. But knowing the client’s name, he could decipher who the target was.

He lit another cigarette and then lit the paper on fire, letting the name burn in his mind as the ashes fell out of the window. He quietly said to himself, “Bridgett Bradley, target for a four-ten.”

* * *