Loving Dasia

by Ana’Gia Wright

  The expression on the man’s face changed, and he finally looked up at Gand R.I.P.

  “Now imagine that was your legs. You ready to talk now?”

  G didn’t turn his attention away from his stogie. He wanted to get a feel for what it was going to take to break this one. They had all the time in the world.

  He’d told Rafael to make sure Dasia was taken care of, and had opened a marker for her, so she could play to her heart’s content on his money. She was eating her meal in their suite as they spoke. They’d be here all night, if that’s what it took.

  “There’s nothing to tell. Like I told the others, I got a package with an assignment. I’m just following instructions.”

  G cut his eyes at R.I.P. No words needed to be spoken. He knew what needed to be done.

  Again, the man didn’t know how, but R.I.P. had managed to slice a very long gash in his face. The cut wasn’t very wide, but it burned like hell. It felt like a paper cut. He looked up at R.I.P., trying to determine what he’d cut him with, but he didn’t see anything.

  “Still not ready to talk?”

  “I’ve told you all I know.” The man was panicking now. He hadn’t planned on being interrogated by people using force. He wasn’t a stoolie. He’d spent enough time behind bars to know what happened to stoolies. He just hoped his story was convincing enough. These two men didn’t seem to play by the rules. They’d broken a number of them. They didn’t look like cops, but he couldn’t rule that out.

  Again G cut his eyes at R.I.P.

  This time R.I.P. put the man in a sleeper hold. As he tilted the man’s head, he noticed a tattoo on his neck. “Well, lookie here.”

  G looked up and raised an eyebrow to R.I.P.’s comment.

  “Our little friend here has a tag.”

  “Numbers beginning with?” G asked.

  “Nine.”

  “Agent gone rogue. Not a pretty picture in the big house. Least we know he’s not a stoolie.”

  “But it makes our job much harder.”

  G turned his attention from R.I.P. to the man in his arms. “Last chance. If he puts you to sleep, don’t plan to wake up. I’ll ask one last time—Are you ready to talk?”

  The man began to fidget, his feet dangling above the ground. Now was the moment of truth. He had to make a decision and fast. He wasn’t a stoolie, but he had bigger problems now. They knew he was a former agent, which meant they too were agents.

  “If he eases up off of me, I’ll tell you what I know. But only under one other condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  The man expected the question to come from the man leaning against the wall, not the one who had him in a chokehold. “You answer a couple of questions from me.”

  “No way,” R.I.P. said.

  “Wait. Ask your questions. Maybe we’ll answer them, maybe we won’t. Keep in mind, though, there’s no guarantee we’re going to let you live.”

  “But you need my information.”

  “Au contraire. I can take care of what’s mine. Look around. How easy was it for us to get you away from her?”

  “True.”

  The man observed the subtle nod G sent to R.I.P., and his feet lowered a little closer to the ground, but R.I.P. still kept a sure hold with his arms wrapped around his neck.

  “How’d you two know I was a former agent?”

  “Won’t answer that. What’s the second question?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know much, but what I do know is whoever wanted your lady friend dead wanted the job done fast and right. And he or she was willing to pay what amounted to the average person’s life savings to have me do it.”

  “Keep going.”

  “I don’t come cheap, and I’m fairly hard to find. I don’t deal directly with the clients. If someone needs me to do a job, they find me. I receive a package with target information and a large sum of money, and I take care of my end of the bargain.”

  “Where is this package delivered?”

  “It’s usually left in a trash can of someone’s house. A letter is delivered to a P.O. Box with a location. The P.O. Box is in a fake name. Very few people have access to that information.”

  “Got any names of the people who do?”

  “You know I can’t reveal that.”

  “Okay, let’s just say I need you for a job, how many options would I have to locate you?”

  “That I am positive about? Two people.”

  “That’s all?” G asked, his patience growing thin.

  “There is one other possibility.”

  “We’re listening.”

  “You know that I’m a former agent.”

  “So?”

  “You know as well as I know, to the government, former is just a technicality. I’m sure they’re keeping tabs on me. If someone had access to government files, it’s possible they’d find the P.O. Box information.”

  G signaled R.I.P. to finish off the man. Given this much information, he would definitely find out who sent him this assignment and tell him or her about this. They couldn’t afford those loose ends. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  G returned to Rafael’s office.

  “I need to get back to my lady. Thanks for loaning us your room and your men.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’d suggest you take care of the security tapes. R.I.P. will take care of the garbage.”

  “Already done. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do.” G made his way out of the office in search of his suite. He needed to have Dasia in his arms. He wouldn’t be comfortable until he did.

  G crept into the hotel suite in search of the love of his life. It was nearly five in the morning, and he was sure she’d be asleep. The lights in the suite were off, but he could still hear the sound of the television coming from the bedroom.

  Sticking his head in the door, he expected to see Dasia asleep in the bed. To his surprise, she was awake. He stepped into the bedroom and made his way over to the bed. “What are you doing still up?”

  “Wondering what happened to you.”

  “Sorry about that. The head of security is an old friend. You know how some people get. I just lost track of time. So what’d you eat?”

  “Crab cakes, green beans, and fried corn.” Dasia’s mouth watered at the thought of food. She was still hungry. She refused to be one of those women who gained a hundred pounds when pregnant, so she’d resorted to drinking juice instead of indulging her hunger with another full meal.

  “Uum, good eating. You need anything else?” G reached over and turned the volume on the television down. It was distracting him.

  “Dessert.” Dasia batted an eye.

  G leaned over and kissed her. Then he kicked his shoes off and slid beneath the covers to give his woman what she so desired.

  Chapter 28

  G looked down at his watch as he finished with his last client of the day and packed up to leave the office. It was still early, so he decided to go home and work out until Dasia got off work.

  As he exited the building housing the legal office he used for his contracts, a tall man in a dark suit with an Italian cut and dark sunglasses approached him. “Mr. Guatreaux?”

  G had seen this guy on a number of occasions over the past couple of days. His men were watching, so he was sure this guy would be taken care of. Still, he wondered why this guy had been following him. “Who wants to know?”

  “My boss would like a few words with you.” “Well, then maybe your boss should make an appointment.” G turned to walk away from the man, but another gentleman wearing similar attire confronted him. At gunpoint. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you,” the voice behind him said.

  “What the hell do you want?” G tried to mask the anger, but he was unsuccessful. He needed to stay calm. Getting angry had almost gotten him killed once before in a situation like this, and he didn’t want to go through that again.

  “J
ust a few minutes of your time. We promise to let you get back to your business as quickly as possible.”

  G looked around, trying to determine if he had any other options. He searched for a possible escape route, but innocent bystanders blocked his path. Not wanting anyone to get killed by accident, G weighed his options—Go with them peacefully, or let them take me out?

  G expected at any moment for one of his bodyguards to intervene, but no one seemed to be at their post. He’d have to have a talk with them if he made it out of this alive.

  G raised his arms, allowing the gentleman with the gun to search him. Apparently he was dealing with professionals. The guy removed G’s Springfield Armory from his shoulder holster, the SIG from the small of his back, and even the baby .22 he kept strapped to his calf.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get your weapons back. Let’s go.”

  Following behind one man, the other still pointing a gun between his shoulder blades, G climbed into a Hummer with dark-tinted windows, hoping he’d come back in one piece.

  The thirty-minute drive felt like hours. G sat perched between the two men in the back of a black Hummer, United States flags flying on either side. He was without doubt dealing with government goons. He recognized the type, because years ago he used to be one of them.

  The government had recruited him in his early teens when some undercover agent had seen him in a sharpshooting contest. His father had always told him he had a gift with weapons. From boyhood, G had mastered the art of marksmanship, a skill he’d learned from his father.

  He hadn’t worked for the government in a number of years now. He’d left the job for reasons no one other than his best friend and former partner Chaos really knew. Yeah, he’d given the usual excuse of stress and that he felt he could no longer take the life of a fellow man, but he was really tired of being used.

  His last mission was to take out a woman who’d been selling United States secrets to foreign countries, or so he was informed. He followed her for months, sacrificing his life for his government. He’d missed his sister’s wedding and the birth of his first nephew. After completing the mission, he found out the woman was the scorned lover of a high-ranking official and was threatening to go public with their relationship. G promptly resigned twenty-four hours after receiving the news.

  G followed the first suit into the upscale restaurant in Alpharetta, the other trailing them. He hated having someone with a gun at his back, especially when he wasn’t sure the person was on his side. The leading suit stopped in front of a door leading to a private room in the establishment. He knocked twice and then opened the door.

  Gesturing G inside, the first suit stepped through and closed the door behind him, leaving the second suit to watch the other side.

  “Mr. Guatreaux, so nice to finally meet you. Please have a seat.”

  The man sitting at the table looked familiar, but G couldn’t quite place him. He tried to remember back to the days when he worked for the Agency but still couldn’t place the face. He’d seen a lot of his comrades die over the years, so he usually took notice of everyone’s face, but where he knew this one from eluded him. “I’d prefer to stand,” he said in a condescending tone.

  “If that is what you wish. However, we may be here awhile.” Ignoring G’s glare, the man cut into his steak and proceeded to place the morsel in his mouth.

  “Is someone going to tell me what this is all about?”

  “My predecessor told me you were impatient.”

  “I’m not impatient.” G huffed. “I just have a life.”

  “Well, then let me cut to the chase, so you can go back to the mundane existence you call your life.”

  G wanted to say something to the man’s comment but decided to play nice and let it slide. At least they were getting somewhere, and the sooner the offer was made and declined, the sooner he could get back to his business.

  “You probably don’t remember me, but I used to work closely with you and your comrades. I spent months at a time making sure that your alias, Mr. Porter, stayed on the radar of existence.”

  The light went off for G then. He knew exactly who this man was. Octavious Finnerdy.

  “I have a proposition for you, Mr. Guatreaux.” Octavious waited for a reaction, but to his surprise, G just looked at him with a blank stare.

  “Ah, I see someone has been working on his temper.”

  G turned to his left at the sound of the familiar voice. He immediately recognized Napolean Tibidour. Now, he was even more confused as to why he was here. For the former head of the Agency to be called in from retirement, something big had to be brewing.

  G replied, “I’m not the same man that used to work for you.”

  “Agreed. We’ve been watching you, hoping you’d reconsider your resignation, but with the new woman in your life, I am positive that’s no longer an option. However, we need your expertise to extinguish a flame of injustice.”

  “You don’t need me to do a damn thing.” G had no intentions of getting sucked back into his old life.

  “At least hear us out,” the former head of the Agency said as he joined the other gentleman at the table.

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Because we all have something at stake here,” Octavious said.

  “Well, can we all at least get acquainted first? I mean, everyone in this room seems to know so much about me, but I don’t know all of the parties involved.”

  For most of his years at the Agency, G had been delivered assignments via carrier. Only on one previous occasion did he have any contact with the parties responsible for giving those orders. He’d been a good little patsy for all of those years, but if they were coming to him after he’d been away for this long, he had the right to know who he was dealing with.

  “Since he was your old boss, if you take this assignment for the length of it, I’d be your new boss.”

  “I don’t work for anyone but myself, and you’re yet to convince me to change that.” G, his interest piqued, wanted to get as much of the details out of them as he could.

  “I am sure that can be arranged, considering those we are sure you will bring with you are all formers.” Octavious handed him a manila folder. “You’ll find most of what you need there.”

  G opened the folder and began to review the file. “So why is it so important this guy die?” He continued to flip through the file, which held the standard information about the target—aliases, address, height, eye color, occupation, and a rap sheet fifteen pages long. The guy had been charged with crimes ranging from petty theft to money laundering. What he did find strange, though, was that the name was omitted.

  The new head of the Agency said, “The United States government doesn’t take kindly to people hacking into its computers, and they’ve hired us to take care of this loose end.”

  “Why me?” G wasn’t convinced he was being given the whole story. Killing someone for hacking into the government computers just didn’t add up. He’d fallen for that once. Never again.

  “Because this should be easy for you, and the gentleman lives right here in Atlanta.”

  G closed the file and handed it back. “Sorry, gentlemen, but I’m not your man. I can’t help you.”

  “I told you he wouldn’t do it,” Napolean said, trying to hide his irritation at this total waste of his time. “He made it perfectly clear to me when he resigned that he was done.”

  “You underestimate me. He still doesn’t realize who it is we’re dealing with.”

  G watched the banter between the men for a few minutes and was careful to stay out of the conversation. He wanted as far away from the Agency as he could get right about now. They’d dragged him away from his business for long enough. It was time they let him get back to his life.

  “So are we done here, gentlemen?”

  “Not by a long shot.” The new head of the Agency handed G another manila folder.

  “What’s this?”

  “A little additional encou
ragement for you to consider. A little insurance, if you may.”

  G flipped the folder open and stared at the man in the photograph. It was in black-and-white and slightly blurry, like it had been shot at night and the photographer didn’t have a steady hand. Still, it was clear enough to identify most of the man’s features. The face was familiar, but he didn’t remember where he knew the guy. He studied it a little longer, willing himself to remember, but nothing came to mind.

  “Recognize the man in the picture?”

  “Maybe.” G didn’t want to give away the gut feeling that he knew this guy and that this situation was about to take a turn for the worse.

  “Well, let me fill in a few more blanks for you. The man in the photograph is the same man that broke into your young lady’s apartment and attacked her. He’s the same man that hired someone to murder her, though you and your comrade averted that attempt. He’s also the same man that, as we speak, is arranging for your lady friend to have an unfortunate accident. So, you see, by taking this assignment and disposing of our problem, you’ll be solving your own.”

  “How do you know about the break-in at the apartment and the murder attempt? And what kind of unfortunate accident are you referring to?”

  The new head of the Agency was tired of playing this game. “Don’t play dumb with us. We told you we’ve been watching you, which means we’ve been watching her. Though she may be your concern, she is not ours—business is just that, business—but the man in the photo is. Tell me, do you recognize the name in the file?”

  G was so absorbed with the photo, he didn’t take the time to look at the other information in the file. He read the first line in the page—Jeremiah Jamal Delpriore, suspected of murder-for-hire.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  Finnerdy turned to his former boss. “By golly, I think he’s got it.”

  “Answer me.” The words were mumbled, spoken through G’s gritted teeth.

  “Your assumption is correct. The local police are investigating Mr. Delpriore for attempting to hire someone to murder his ex-fiancée. A Ms. Dasia Warrington, if I am correct.”

  G didn’t appreciate the man’s smugness. He hated it when people knew how to push his buttons.