was sweating hard, perhaps still nervous. I managed to pull myself together and answered the call. "What's up?"
"That was the attorney? You finished the job?"
"You saw the picture?"
"Yes."
"Then don't ask me stupid questions."
"I don't want to come home."
"You're drunk, aren't you?"
"What would you had done? He abused me, I dealt with his madness. Then he goes out and cheats on me as if I was nothing. I go on a vacation and she comes right into home like I was never even there."
"Stop drinking. Sober yourself up. Drink water. Your children will find out they no longer have a daddy soon, you need to plan a funeral and deal with social media."
"Fuck him, he can be buried in a box for all I care."
"No matter what he's buried in, your children need to know he's gone."
I looked at the only photo of him with his family. He was dressed in an expensive white suit, looked like Donald Trump. I looked down at the attorney, lifeless. His bible beside him, gun still smoking also beside him. I sighed.
"He told me there was three hundred thousands dollars somewhere planted in a safe."
"Did he tell you anything else?"
"That you have the code to that safe." I lied, he never told me she had the code. I was just guessing through common sense. "There's more money sitting around, most likely."
"What are you saying?"
"I want forty percent of the three hundred thousand."
"I already paid you."
"You didn't tell me about the box with the pistol in it, consider the forty percent a small fee."
"What if I'm not willing to pay you that forty percent?"
"I'll find you. If I find you, you won't like what I'll do."
"Okay, I'll send the money to you."
"Good, makes things much more simpler."
"What are you going to do now?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"To get the money, I'll give you all of it."
"Where is it?"
"England."
"Want me to go with you to England?"
"Yes, if you'd like."
"For all the money?"
"Yes."
"I'll do it."
"When?"
"Your the one taking me, you tell me when."
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
Usually I wouldn't do it, but this time I had my eyes set on the prize. I needed the money, in fact I could get more money there also. There was something there special I wanted, that I was thinking about strongly. Perhaps I can get it, I will get it. Our dollar bills are worth so much more than theirs, so this money better be American dollars. I wondered why she had kept the money in London, maybe she's from England.
The next day, I thought about that strongly. This was only the second time I've seen her in person, the first time we had seen each other was in Chicago. There, she had told me everything I needed to know about the mansion she lived in. She told me about every camera, how to cut them off. Told me about every single door, which ones were unlocked or not. They left one door unlocked all day at all hours, the side door.
The woman was sexy, very beautiful. She's a genius, one of the most intelligent women I've known. She's got an small accent, an accent strong enough to make her voice pop off as exotic. Like Marcie, but at the same time nothing like Marcie.
The woman standing before me cried before getting to this airport, probably still is crying under those shades. Marcie would never do that, never shed a single tear. I've known Marcie for awhile, felt like so long. I've never seen her cry, not once.
When the man who went by Agostino slapped her when I first met her, she shed no tears. When she was turned on and back stabbed by the man who she had loved and trusted, she shed no tears. Even when she was turned on by the own people who share her on blood, her own family. She still shed not one single tear. Being betrayed by family and the people we love most was our most common possession, I had been betrayed so many times as well.
The crying woman didn't speak, she wore a small neckless with a silver cross. The cross fell down to her breast, her wedding ring was bigger than some people's guns. It was large, large enough to kill a man. When we got to our destination, she went to the bathroom and wiped her eyes. She came back even more erotic, the eyeliner she worn was rimmed around her eyes. Her dress was attached and clinging to her like unseen hands made of fabric.
We went for a drink together, I took on the hard shit. I've never drunk weak, went straight heads up with whiskey. That's the good stuff, no chaser. She got wine, white wine. She sipped from her glass the second it was in her hand, she drunk glass after glass. Went into a phase where she didn't want to be bothered, not at all. Not until her liquor was gone.
I watched her move, each leg movement. I squinted, cleared my throat. I caught her peeping around through my peripheral vision, checking to see if anybody had been watching her in her literary voyeurism. I was still here, right here beside her. While she read her book, I read her just as hard. Honestly, I was wondering if she was wet.
Five minutes later, she released a sensual noise from her lips. A sinful, nasty, freaky, naughty noise. She shifted herself again, made yet another noise. She licked her lips, made another sex inspiring noise. I watched her snap herself back into the real world, looked around to see if anyone had noticed but hadn't noticed me noticing her. She closed her book in a disturbing way, she was intimidated by whatever she was reading. Whatever it was, it had attracted her sexually. She was stimulated by whatever she was reading, either that or all the wine. Possibly even both.
"What movie are you watching?" She asked, after finishing another glass of wine.
"Star Trek, original version."
"I see, my husband always watched the original version."
I knew that, because I had seen everything in his bedroom before killing him. I knew her abrupt disdain was from the sorrow of her husbands death, but she still went back into her book. Reading, frowning. She returned right back to sex and fantasy.
She had nice brown skin, I looked at her cross sit right between her breast. She was so professional, spoke so strong, accented with a small exotic and sexy tone. The fasten seat belts sign went off, a flight attendant came down the aisle. He looked at the passengers, stopped at my row.
"I'm sorry, we have a small situation." The flight attendant said, his British accent so thick and annoying that I had a hard time understand the words he spoke. "Our flight is full, we've got to do some adjusting."
I didn't say anything to him, just glared at him with anger. The woman said nothing either, she didn't hold a smile. She had wiped her eyes, put down her book as well. She looked depressed, like her husband had just been buried.
"Is your middle seat taken?" He asked.
"Yes." I quickly answered. "Harold is sitting there."
"Harold?"
"My turtle, don't tell me you can't see Harold."
The woman sitting beside me didn't miss a beat, ingenious. "It's hard to miss a six-foot turtle, I see him well."
"So your seat is available." He said, shrugging. "Tell your turtle we've gotta full flight and are in the need for adjustments."
"Fuckin, bitch." The woman next to me cursed.
She was from an island, was married. She was crying, wondered if she had cried reading erotica. I wondered if she had just buried someone she loved. A woman came down the aisle, holding a giant backpack and oversized luggage with her.
"No, please don't be her." The woman beside me said.
The young woman heading our direction, her yellow complexion the same hue as fresh white chocolate. Her jeans were tight, a short cut tshirt showing her belly button piercing. She looked athletic, like she had done so many sit ups. Her face, looked familiar to me.
She snapped at the flight attendant. "I'm still not understanding why I gotta change seats."
She was obviously black American. Those jeans fit her small waist to perfection, rocked her thighs. Tight pants, well below her belly button. Showed her body, showed her sexiness.
"Sorry ma'am," A woman attendant spoke. "The other couple has a baby, they're supposed to seat in the seats with designation for babies. It's policy."
"Well I'll wait for you to show me that policy in writing."
"We apologize for the inconvenience."
"You gone be apologizing to my momma and daddy too as soon as I land, I don't care what country I'm in. The second I get my hands on a phone is the second you gone be apologizing."
She said her momma and daddy, as if she were a ten year old spoiled rotten brat. "I'll do that to your satisfaction."
"What apologize to my momma and daddy?" The young girl laughed. "You stupid as hell, can you at least get me some more drinks. I'm in the mood."
The flight attendant left fast as she could, in a big hurry. The young girl flicked her off, looked over at us and apologized. At least she has manners for us. The woman sitting beside me looked up, sighed deeply.
"Hey, it's you again."
"Whoop, whoop." The woman sitting beside me said.
"Sorry, they moved the two others with me too. You lucky you ain't get that fat bitch that weighed more than both us combined, times two. Sent her big ass wobbling another direction. Shit, I'm glad I ain't gotta sit with her. I bet the people she was sent to mad as a bitch right now."
"No telling." She wasn't interested at all.
The girl went on a rant, about how they moved her seat and she booked seats online for a window seat. She wanted to put her head against the window and sleep, very upset that that's changed. She's highly upset with sitting in a middle seat, questioned God about why it had to be her. She's very dramatic, very. Like an actress.
"How are you feeling now?" The young girl asked.
"Better." The woman said. "Can't believe I'm on a plane to London."
"You still crying?"
"Occasionally."
She put her luggage up, sat in her middle seat. "I fuckin' hate middle seats, can you believe this shit."
She saw me looking at her, struggling to get comfortable. She smiled, she has a pretty smile. Her teeth straight and bright white, lips pink and kissable. She hit me with her elbow, to attract my attention although she already had it just like she had everyone else's attention.
"Mrs. Ford hanging in?" She asked me.
"What?" I replied.
"Mrs. Ford, the lady sitting next to you."
"You a friend of Mrs. Ford?"
"Nope, just met her in line getting tickets. I had another problem and had to go the front counter about it."
"What's wrong with her?" I asked, like I was clueless of her existence.
"Heartbroken, she's running away from home."
"Isn't she too old to run away?"
"She told me that and I'm telling you too."
"No wonder, explains the crying."
"She told me she never been to England. That she just came here with some credit card with a million dollars on it and just bought a ticket, being heartbroken makes you do that shit sometimes. Love is an investment you know."
"Heard it could be traumatic."
"Nah, don't always work like that. I'm in love, I'm not traumatized. I don't think I'm crazy either. We had our first fight because he didn't invite me to his first international concert in London, I decided to come and surprise him anyway."
"He's a rapper?"
"He's a rapper, I was an actor. But now he's under my record label."
"Wait, you on the record label?"
"CEO baby."
"Sounds fun."
"Hell yeah, I get to run this shit and feel all special. It didn't even take anything much, my parents rich as fuck."
As Lily took fastened her seatbelt, my business phone rang. I looked at the call, Prodigy.
"Talk to me." I answered.
"Heard you were on a plane to London."
"From who?"
"Birds."
"What's up?"
"I've got a hit I need you to do in London, a rapper."
"Really?" I looked over at Lily. "Time zone?"
"Tomorrow night, he needs to be exterminated. I'll pay you myself, sending you a picture now."
"Alright."
My phone vibrated, I didn't open the picture just yet. Not until the phone call was over.
"Can you do that for me?"
"With no problems."
"Good luck Shadow, might add a mil into your budget for this. Get her done." He disconnected the phone call.