Life is unpredictable. It’s important to plan for anything.
By dusk, I’m leaving again. I take the stairs this time because it’s nearly 7:00 PM and running into John isn’t on my list tonight. Jogging the thirteen flights down to the first floor would be a breeze, but when I hit the ground floor, almost home free, the exit door swings open in front of me and there John stands.
He beams the moment he spots me. “Hey, man! How’s it going? Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
He’s the overly friendly type, always looking for a friend in a friendly face. Which makes me wonder why the hell he chose mine.
“Been out,” I grunt.
He nods as if he understands this all too well. “Oh yeah, the clock never stops, does it? Are you hitting the gym tonight?”
“Already did earlier.” I attempt to move past him, but he’s blocking the doorway, and he isn’t budging anytime soon.
“Right, right. Totally get that. Gotta change it up sometimes, eh?” He pops me on the shoulder as if we’re best buds. I stare at the spot he just touched, wanting to punch him back with much more force. No one touches me without my permission. “I don’t blame you, man. That’s why I’m taking the stairs tonight. Figure I’ll change it up a bit. Avoid that plateau.”
“Right.” I nod, hoping my agreement will get me out of here quicker.
“Cool, man. Well, I bet you have places to be, people to see. Maybe I’ll catch you around sometime. We can grab a drink or something.”
“Or something.” This time, I don’t bother with pleasantries. I push through his barrier, forcing John aside so I can pass. He calls after me, wishing me good night or something equally predictable and mundane, but I keep going.
Guys like John are dangerous. He wants to be friends, but in my line of work, there’s no room for friends. Mark my words, if the police ever start looking for me, John is the one I have to worry about. We don’t talk much, and he doesn’t even know my name, but he’ll remember my face, and I can’t have that. If things turn south, I’ll take him out before he has a chance to squeal.
***
I decide to stake out the family home. This time I park directly across the street from the house in a slice of area that I’ve noticed is always open. I don’t question why as I recline back and keep an eye on the house.
Once again, it’s illuminated by soft, yellow lighting that gives the place a certain kind of warmth that makes you want to go inside and take a load off. I bet the place is warm and cozy. For what little I know of her personally, Brenda seems like the kind of woman to transform an ordinary house into a home.
The curtains are still open, and they have those blinds that let you see everything inside once the sun goes down. Glenn is sitting on his fat ass in front of a giant television with a video game controller in his hands. He’s focused, and when Brenda appears in the archway, her mouth moves, but her husband’s doesn’t. She seems to repeat herself, and then, with an aggravated look on her face, turns and walks away.
I find myself wondering what just happened. Was she asking him what he wanted for dinner? To take out the trash? Maybe she just wanted time alone with him. I nix that idea immediately. She wouldn’t want time alone with the man she wants dead.
Sometime later, she emerges once again with a plate of food in her hands. She doesn’t even bother speaking this time, just tosses the plate on the table in front of him and leaves the room again. Good old Glenn doesn’t even spare her a passing glance, still wrapped up in the game he’s playing.
I can’t help feeling sorry for the woman. She’s trying, and her husband couldn’t give a rat’s ass. It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate her, and therefore, he doesn’t deserve her. Once again, I reach the conclusion that she’ll be better off without him.
My palms itch to wrap around his neck and squeeze. I only wish I could do it that way. Up close and personal, watching the life drain out of him as I tell him what a piece of shit he is and why it’s come to this.
Every man should know the reason they’re about to meet their maker. Sadly, most never get the opportunity.
Glenn is no exception.
Once Glenn sets in on his meal, he chows down like nobody’s business, cleaning his plate in less than ten minutes. He’s a glutton, and it disgusts me. There’s nothing about this guy that is remotely appealing, which leaves me to wonder how he can get anyone to look twice long enough to cheat with him.
Desperation and a basic lack of character are my guesses. People really need to step it up and set some damn standards. Once that bar is lowered, you get what you deserve. It occurs to me that’s partly why I’m single. I have a bar that has to be met, and I’m not willing to lower it for anyone. I don’t care who they are.
The rules are simple: take care of yourself, be kind, be generous, be honest, and most of all, show some fucking loyalty.
That’s why I have to respect the Costellos. For all their shady shit and life of crime, you can’t find anyone more loyal than that group. They’ll fight to the death for their kin, blooded or not.
It’s eight in the evening when a sliver of light cuts across the driveway, alerting me that the side door is open. Glenn appears a moment later and gets into his car. When he backs out, I reach for my keys to follow.
That’s when I see Brenda in the upstairs window. Turning on a lamp, she moves through the bedroom, pulling off articles of clothing. For some reason, I can’t move. I’m glued to the spot, watching as she reveals inch after inch of smooth, flawless skin. I bet up close, it’s the finest ivory with just a hint of blush, and soft and smooth like porcelain.
Releasing what I know to be dark-blonde hair from some kind of bun, her long locks unravel down her back, falling into a sleek, curvy column that dances across her spine and tickles the crease of her buttocks.
I can’t bring myself to look away. From the gentle sway of her hips as she walks to the curves and slopes of her body, I’m captivated. I can perfectly recall the cadence of her voice when we spoke—distinctly female, but deeper than most, with a naturally seductive velvet quality.
I can’t get it out of my head, often hearing in between moments of quiet.
When her hands reach back to release the clasp of her bra, her body turning to face the window once again, I yank my eyes away.
This isn’t okay. I’m allowing myself to be distracted, and that’s not how I do things. I’m more disciplined than that, I chastise myself.
A quick look at the driveway reveals that Glenn is long gone. I was so wrapped up in the vision upstairs that I hadn’t even noticed him leave. Cranking the engine to life, I let the reality of that sink in. I’m a contracted killer with a crystal-clear record. I didn’t get here by allowing my clients to get inside my head.
My tires squeal as I slam on the gas, tearing out of the parking space faster than I intend. I’ve broken several cardinal rules tonight: never lose focus, and never get noticed chief among them.
Rest assured, it won’t happen again.
Eight
~Faith~
I felt Cal’s eyes long before I knew for certain he was watching. He has a presence about him that reaches straight through me. I don’t know if it’s the sheer strength of his character or an invisible connection or that he’s the epitome of danger, but he speaks to me.
As soon as Glenn announced that he was leaving, I retired to the bedroom upstairs, and in the cloak of shadows, I easily spotted Cal’s SUV parked outside.
And that’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands and play the cards dealt before me. Allowing my fantasy to play out in real life, I turned on the lights in hopes that he would look up and see me, and then I undressed. Yes, the whole neighborhood could see me if they happened to look up, but my only concern was with one man.
Cal has been on my mind from our first meeting, and if I have it my way, I’ll have him before all of this is said and done. He may be a hired hitman, but he’s on my payroll. The question is, will he be wil
ling to break his own rules to have me…just once?
I may be pushing my luck, but the boldness with which he lives his life emboldens me, too, and I can’t deny my desire to touch it, to experience a bit of that fire, even at the risk of getting burned.
The morning comes far too fast. Despite Glenn getting in late last night, he’s up and moving instead of dragging ass like usual. He’s in a good mood, and I can only imagine from what. But I’ve grown beyond caring, as I’m in a damn fine mood myself. That squealing of tires last night still makes me smile. I didn’t have to see him there to know Cal was watching and witnessed exactly what I’d intended him to.
Did he like what he saw?
I make breakfast, whipping up eggs and toast for a sandwich to-go for Glenn, eager to have the house to myself. I’ve decided to treat myself today with a nice mani/pedi. It’s been a while since I left the house long enough to do anything beyond running errands. In the event of Glenn’s demise and my impending vacation beachside, I want to look and feel my best.
After all, it wouldn’t look right if a wife in mourning suddenly started getting her nails done as if in celebration. Before is better. I like to plan ahead.
I don’t kiss Glenn goodbye today. Instead, I turn my cheek and smile demurely so he won’t be too offended and start asking questions. It’s a good idea to start getting into practice for when he won’t be here. No sense catering to his every whim anymore, since I won’t have to ever again in just a matter of days. Day, perhaps, if I’m lucky.
Cal sure is taking his sweet time.
I tell myself to knock it off. I’m getting greedy. I just can’t help myself, though. The idea of being my own person again is exciting. The added small fortune I stand to gain as a result sure doesn’t hurt either.
I look everywhere for Cal when I leave the house, but I don’t see him anywhere. Probably for the best. He can’t kill Glenn if he’s busy watching me.
The drive to the salon isn’t far. Near the grocery store I frequent, as a matter of fact. Maybe I’ll buy a nice bottle of white wine for this evening when I’m done as a sort of goodbye to Glenn and hello to the future. Of course, I’ll celebrate it with him, assuming he comes home at a reasonable hour.
A little bell chimes as I walk through the front door, and the pungent smell of chemicals burns my nose. I approach the counter where a short, thin, pretty Asian woman stands smiling at me.
“Hi. Faith for ten o’clock.”
“Oh, yes. Please, follow me.” Her accent is strong, but her English is clear. I follow her past several rows of attached desks to the first in the fourth row. An even younger woman sits scrolling through her phone. When we approach, she lifts her head, exchanges words in a language I don’t understand, and then tells me to sit.
Her nametag reads Sarah, but I would bet my bottom dollar it’s way more complicated than that. I tell her I want “a French manicure please,” and she nods and gets started.
I allow myself to relax. It’s been so long since I’ve been inside one of these salon and spa places, but the sights and smells haven’t changed.
Within an hour, I’m out the door with a beautiful manicure that I can’t stop looking at all the way home. Thanks to a wireless headset, I tidy up the house while making phone calls. Today, not even the rude comments can get to me.
I have a fresh new paycheck, however modest, in the bank, and I feel good.
When it reaches 4:00 PM, I hang up the work hat and get started on dinner. I’ve decided on shrimp scampi. Glenn likes it well enough, but I love it, and I’ve decided that while I should be good to Glenn in his final days, it’s about time I’m better to myself, and this meal is my absolute favorite. Not even the famed Olive Garden can beat the rich, lemony flavors with a hint of heat I put into it.
While I squeeze lemons, I wonder if Cal likes seafood. I’m not a huge fan of it, but I have my days and my favorite dishes. Of course, while I entertain thoughts of Cal being the one to come through the door after a long day of work, his rare smile reserved just for me, Glenn bursts the bubble by entering instead.
He’s been working out and trying to take better care of himself lately, for all the good it’ll do. I can see hints of his labors in his face, though, a slight trimming down of his jowls and the swollen look in his cheeks fading just a touch. For once, he’s not winded from climbing the four steps outside.
He sniffs the air as he closes the door. His shoes make a loud thud as they drop, one by one, beside the door. When he takes off his jacket, I shift my gaze. I hate his work shirts. They do nothing for his pudgy frame, only serving to enhance the size of his love handles. I suppose if I loved him, it wouldn’t matter, but I don’t, and it does.
Repulsed, I give the red pepper container a few violent shakes into the pan.
“Hey, honey.” Glenn approaches from behind and leans over my left shoulder to inhale the aroma of dinner, his nose whistling in my ear, then kisses the side of my head.
An irrational sense of anger rushes through me like a bolt of lightning. I grit my teeth, withholding the emotion so I don’t say or do anything I’ll regret later. Sometimes, it’s better not to say anything if you have nothing nice to say.
“Dinner will be ready in five.”
“Great. I’ll go change and be right back down.” Glenn bounds up the stairs, sounding more like a herd of elephants than a single man.
I shake my head. What good are the workouts if he’s not going to take it seriously? He must think I’m an idiot if he doesn’t think I could smell the cheeseburger on his breath. It’s such a common occurrence, I shouldn’t be offended or annoyed by it anymore. But it’s hard ignoring something so seemingly benign when I’ve gone through the effort of putting together a nice meal only to find out he’s been filling his body with trash.
This is just another example of what I’ve had to deal with over the years. Is nothing I do good enough? Is it too much to ask to be appreciated?
In my anger, I decide not to wait for Glenn to return before I sit down at the dining table and help myself to a heaping plate of buttery shrimp and noodles. My mouth is already watering in anticipation of the zing from the lemon and the hint of heat from the pepper flakes.
Glenn doesn’t seem too surprised to find me eating alone or without him. In fact, he takes his plate from the setting across from mine and, while standing, scoops three giant helpings onto it. Completely ignoring the white wine I set out for the two of us, he goes off to the kitchen and gets one of his cans of soda from the fridge instead.
Soda and shrimp scampi. It’s like he’s completely devoid of basic class and culture.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he says as he heads toward me again, “but there’s a basketball game on tonight that I can’t miss.” He bends down and drops a quick, rough kiss to the top of my head that jostles me enough to reignite my festering anger. Flashing a wide grin, he says, “Me and the boys at work took bets. I got twenty bucks riding on this one,” and he walks off into the den where I know he’ll remain until the game is over.
If I’m lucky, he’ll go on his nightly jog, and Cal will be there waiting to off him.
I stab a shrimp and shove it into my mouth, chewing with aggravation that I’m too aggravated to enjoy my meal as thoroughly as I should. Glenn ruins everything.
Nine
~Declan~
Glenn doesn’t leave the house tonight. I’m surprised. And a little disappointed. I’ve come up with a surefire way to kill my mark, and I’m eager to get on with it.
I end up sitting in my car until one in the morning, just in case he decides to go out for any reason. Especially after Brenda made her way upstairs hours ago. I know, because she stood in front of that damn window again, removing one article of clothing after another, as slowly as possible.
Still, all I could make out was her silhouette, long and lean and full of curves that I won’t soon forget. I could have dismissed the first time as a one-off. She forgot to close her blinds. Maybe she just wasn�
��t aware of her surroundings—you’d be surprised how many people aren’t. Or maybe she was just one of those people who were so comfortable with themselves that they didn’t care what the world thought or how they viewed them—or how much they viewed of them.
Tonight, I could almost swear she was watching me, though. I have the distinct impression she did it on purpose.
Does she want me to see her? Is she baiting me?
Doesn’t matter. It won’t work. I have my rules. Rules I follow to the T because it’s what keeps me alive and out of jail. I didn’t get this far by nailing my marks’ wives whenever the opportunity presented itself. And it has…many times.
Brenda isn’t any different than any of those other women. Yes, she sparks all of my protective instincts, but women like her—vulnerable, naïve…soft—do. She gets me hard, too, just thinking about her, but I’m not a slave to Little Willy. My self-control is something I pride myself on and a major defining factor that divides me from those I’m hired to kill.
If I cross that line, I’ll be no better than those I murder.
So, when it’s clear Glenn is in for the night, no stepping out on the missus, I beat it back to my apartment for some shuteye before I can no longer keep them open. I have to be fresh if I’m going to get my man and pull it off without any hitches.
Four hours. That’s all I have before I’m rising again. Glenn’s schedule is flexible, and today he’s working an eight o’clock shift. I skip the gym again so I can be at Brenda’s early enough that I don’t miss him. If I’m lucky, he’ll go for the jog he missed last night, and I’ll get him then.
***
As it turns out, Glenn didn’t so much have an early shift as he had an early meeting with his side piece. Picking up coffees and a sack of food, he arrived in the little cul-de-sac just before 8:30 AM.
Deadly Deception: A Dark Romance Page 5
