by K. T. Tomb
Damn sexy! he thought. There aren’t many ladies in the world anymore.
Indeed, the woman alighted from the car as if she had been riding a horse sidesaddle; her thighs were parted for only the briefest moment. She straightened the skirt of her figure hugging dress, placed a yellow envelope under her arm and stepped confidently, though cautiously, toward the man in the cowboy hat that was standing up from the pine bench underneath the nearby willow tree.
She sat down softly beside him and kept her gaze straight ahead not once glancing over to look him in the face. Truth be told, anyone observing would never have thought that they were more than two strangers sharing the reprieve of a seat in the shade.
Suddenly the envelope left its nest beneath her arm and rested on the bench between them. As she pushed it across the surface, she said a few things very clearly and the man listened very carefully.
“Your work is very clean; that’s why I chose you. Take him out however you can. His name is River Ryans and his plane lands in New Orleans in an hour. You have until the Friday after Mardi Gras. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“Is there anything else that you need to know?”
“Nope. Anything you need to know?”
“No. Just let me know when it’s done so I can complete the payment.”
“What about the local job?”
“I’m taking care of that myself. Personal touch, you know. It’s kind of personal.”
“Fair enough. I’ll get in touch the same way I did before.”
“Thank you,” she said as she rose daintily from the bench and straightened her dress again. “You have yourself a wonderful afternoon now.”
“Yes, ma’am. You too.”
Chapter Three
I opened my eyes on the private jet and the lights were overwhelming; lights in the cockpit, lights on the landing strip, lights from the nearby city.
I realized quickly that the plane had landed fine in New Orleans, and I couldn’t wait for my time in the city. After everything that had happened back home, I really needed a vacation. My hotel, courtesy of a client, was right on Bourbon Street and I was anxious to check in. Five stars, all-inclusive meals and drinks. Without a doubt, it was going to be the best vacation I’d ever taken.
I thanked the pilot for his service and the safe flight, got off the plane and hailed a cab.
“Where to, monsieur?” the cabbie asked.
“Bourbon Street. I’ll get out there and walk to the hotel, I want to take everything in,” I replied happily.
“Oui,” he said, speaking with a heavy Creole accent.
As we got closer to my hotel, Renard, my cab driver, became a whole lot chattier and I really didn’t mind. He was a fountain of information… a veritable walking New Orleans encyclopedia.
He told me that Bourbon Street was where people from all walks of life come to let their hair down. A real life carnival of sights and sounds that ran all year long with the epicenter arriving at Mardi Gras time.
“When Adrien de Pauger laid out the New Orleans streets in 1721, he chose one to carry the name of the French Royal Family ruling at the time, Rue Bourbon. Since then, Bourbon Street has become one of the most recognizable destinations in any city in the world.”
“Huh! I did not know that. Quite interesting,” I replied.
“Yes, yes. There’s a lot of history here. It’s one of Louisiana’s oldest cities you know and the French who settled it loved being close to port. All the riches that came to the colony came from the sea, so naturally, if you stayed close you’d benefit most from it.”
“That’s how it always is,” I said, thinking to my own occupation. “If you want warmth, you stay close to the sun.”
“Yes, yes,” the cabbie chuckled. “The street becomes a pedestrian walkway during the evening hours. Vehicular traffic is prevented from entering the street to allow the visitors to walk freely on the road.
There was so much to experience on the way down the street. Over the years, it’s been home to vaudeville, burlesque, jazz joints and gentleman’s clubs. And that is what’s been the inspiration for the bawdy, party rich atmosphere the street is known for today. But the truth is that you may be surprised to find that it offers more than the obvious nightlife options. A lot of the local venues feature cover bands every night and exotic striptease clubs. There’s also quite a few traditional jazz clubs, upscale lounges and historic restaurants too.”
“I’m telling you, I can’t wait to get to the hotel and take a walk into the town, you know. Get a feel for what’s going on. Get some good food to eat.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, partner!” the man replied, his accent was in full swing and it made a broad smile spread across my face.
It was a short ride from where we were to the main intersection, and I got out of the cab, looking around in awe. The smells alone were enough to make my mouth water, not to mention the visuals. Food was everywhere, and it all looked so amazing. I’d had top-notch cuisine before but never had I experienced food like that. Seafood was prevalent, as was the aroma of spicy chicken and I was eager to sink my teeth into a skewer of the stuff. I could not wait to get into the city. I needed to the escape from home. The sights, the sounds, it was all exquisite and it was all waiting for me. I could not wait to dive right in.
Chapter Four
“You have to call this guy,” Sheila said to one of her friends. It was a girl’s night out, and the women were at a wine bar, three bottles deep already. Considering there were four of them, three bottles wasn’t a lot, but there was more to come.
“Really?” Erin replied. “I don’t know about that. It seems really… wrong.”
“Listen,” Sheila said, as she looked at her cohorts, “I know what you were like back in college,” the other women tittered at that, “and when you got action, you were all smiley and singin’. We could barely get you to shut up. I know when you’re gettin’ some, and either you’re not gettin’ any, or what you’re gettin’ ain’t workin’… if you know what I mean.”
Erin sat quietly for a moment and took a swig of the Riesling in her glass. It was good wine—aromatic and floral—not too sweet like a cheap one, but not overly dry like other white wines either. While she was quiet, Clare spoke up.
“Look, I’m not proud of this,” she said, “but I took Sheila’s advice.” There was a collective intake of breath. “Jack was out of town on one of his hunting trips. The kids were all going to friends’ houses for sleepovers. I called the guy and set something up and… pooowh.” She mimed her head exploding. “It was worth every minute. Now I can get through the ten minutes of grunting and groping that my husband calls sex, and all I do is think about that night. I swear I haven’t been that wet since I hooked up with Jeff—you remember that defensive end from the football team? Six-four, with all six abs and arms like tree trunks? It was better than that,” she finished with a smile as she gulped down the rest of her wine.
“Yeah,” Kathy abashedly chimed in, “he really is that good. I know that it’s probably wrong, but, Jason, just… he doesn’t… well… he doesn’t get it done if you know what I mean. Not like he used to, and I really needed it. Best night of my life,” she finished, trying and failing to hide a satisfied smile.
“I just don’t know how I feel about that.” Erin hesitated. “I mean… I really haven’t been gettin’ a whole lot, and I know I’m… pent up but…”
“Look honey,” Sheila said, “he’s discreet. The only people that will ever know what you decide to do are you, him, and us—if you even decide to tell us—and we wouldn’t tell a soul.”
“More wine, ladies?” asked the sommelier.
“Yes, please,” they all replied in chorus.
The only one who didn’t say anything was Chelsea. All of her life, she had been told that the sanctity of marriage was as great as God’s covenant with His people to remove sin from the world. To her, going back on the vows of her marriage; acti
ng against her husband, would be sinning directly and willingly against God. She could not believe that these women could even think about doing it, much less that they already did something so abhorrent.
Chapter Five
The plane took off and flew south.
The solitary figure near the window leaned back in the seat. It was an evening flight, so when the plane landed, it would be dark in New Orleans. It had taken a while to finally track down the target. He had done an excellent job of covering himself. It had taken the contractor months to even dig up the target’s name, much less any type of location on the guy. There was literally nothing out there. Finally, the contractor had managed to locate one of the target’s old clients. And asking the right questions had led the contractor down a long line of women—most married, some engaged, some just older and without any type of relationship other than the one they had with River—and finally the target was within reach.
A couple of hours’ flight, a day or two of scouting and then… payday. It was not the thrill of the chase or the extreme amounts of cash that he was paid for his contracts. It was not even the thrill of pulling the trigger and watching the targets crumple once the bullet shattered their flesh and the life left their eyes.
It was this, more than anything, that had pulled him away from everything in his life. He was not, and would never consider himself to be, a book-smart individual. That had not mattered in his previous life where he sold insurance for a major insurance company. He had loved that job. The pay was good—nothing compared to what he was paid now, but he got to help people, and got to help them protect their families.
It was something he wondered about often, when he took a contract. He hoped that the family of that the person he was taking out had their finances in order. That they worked with a capable financial adviser. He also tried to send money back to the family. It was the one thing that could very well get him caught down the road. It was a good thing that cash had so many prints on it. It was rare that the cops would ever be able to pull his print off the money.
It was the whole process leading up to the kill that he loved. It was the initial phone call. It was the initial research into the subject. It was the deeper research that eventually led to an intimate understanding of the person he was after. It was analyzing and scouting a place that would give him every advantage, and give the target none. It was the challenge—in short, of boiling all the variables of an almost impossible situation down to three or four manageable ones—wind speed and weather that were the only uncontrollable ones. He loved the control, the process.
The contractor closed his eyes, a faint smile playing across his lips, scenes of past successes running through his mind. A personal playlist to get him ready and focused on the contract at hand.
With a jolt, the contractor was awake and he realized the plane had landed. Even though the air conditioning was on, he could tell he was in the deep south. The humidity was so thick it felt like he was wearing a thick, wet, woolen wrap around his body. Bags were collected, along with a checked set of golf clubs. They were fake, of course. One of the shafts, on a nine iron club, was actually the barrel of a high-powered rifle. The bottom of the bag was a round piece of carved wood. What used to be a single piece of oak is now the stock and firing mechanism of the high-powered rifle that matched the barrel. The rangefinder in the bag opened out to a high-powered scope. The contractor smiled. He enjoyed finishing a project, especially when the target was as elusive as any big game he’d ever hunted. He loved to hunt as well. It was not the same as a contract, but it was enjoyable for him.
Chapter Six
“How’re things at home?” Mike asked the group as they sat in the duck blind, waiting for the next flight of birds.
There was a communion, a peace, a settling of the soul that Mike experienced in one, maybe two places. Chasing steelhead up and down the west coast when they started coming into their freshwater spawning beds. The other place was here, in this blind. The sky above him beginning to lighten from the horizon. He could see where the sun was beginning to come up, a lighter, orange band stretching the length of the shoreline ahead of him, fading away into the blackness of the night that had just passed. There was a peace here that he could not find, no matter how hard he looked at home. The bigness of the sky called to him; the air was clean and cold and sharp and it bit through every one of his layers.
The decoys bobbed lightly on their lines, the weights sunk to the bottom of the backwater slough and the first rays of the sun breaking through the night, striking the iridescent paint on the heads of the decoys, making them glimmer lightly.
“Good,” Jason answered.
“Good as can be,” said Zach.
“Goin’ pretty well,” Jack replied.
“That’s good,” Mike told the group thoughtfully. “What do you think they do, when we all come out duck hunting?”
“Probably sit around and drink wine,” Jack said humorously.
“No kidding,” Jason told him.
“The other weekend when we all left town,” Jack said, “I got the feeling that something… happened. I came back and all of a sudden Clare has this insatiable appetite. It’s like we can’t spend enough time in the bedroom.”
“I know what you mean,” Jason agreed. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s been non-stop. And… well… she’s uh… tried some new… things,” he finished lamely.
“You guys shouldn’t complain at all,” Mike said. “I haven’t gotten laid in God-only-knows how long.”
They continued to sit quietly, anticipating the next flock of ducks. When was the last time I got laid? It really has been forever. I should really make an effort when I get back, and as he finished his thought, a pair of ducks dropped out of the sky, straight for their decoy spread.
Chapter Seven
New Orleans was everything my client told me it would be.
Especially with Mardi Gras around the corner. Preparations for the event were in full swing as well. Purple and gold decorations hung everywhere. The anticipation was killing me. I take care of myself—I had to for what I do. Women love abs—and I’d had King Cake everywhere I went. There were samples everywhere. Every restaurant, every coffee shop, every food vendor had a sample. And they were all delicious. There were a lot of people in the city; the beginnings of the exodus of people from mundane lives and places to the city for the celebrations, debauchery and to lose themselves in the mindless, mind-numbing ecstasy of an entire city drowning itself in alcohol and food.
Then there was the food. It was all as delicious as it had smelled when I landed. I’d made a point of eating at several local establishments, one serving a strange crepe with a cream sauce and crawfish—it was one of the best things I’d ever eaten.
One of the afternoons, I found myself strolling all around the French Quarter, looking for a really unique souvenir; something that screamed New Orleans that I could hang on my wall when I got home.
“Can I help you find something?” There was an attractive… blonde was not the right word for her hair color. But it wasn’t red, and it wasn’t brown, either. There was an attractive woman looking at me, and I instantly knew that she wasn’t referring to anything that was for sale in the store.
“You know what,” I replied, “I think I might have found it.”
She flushed red, but it didn’t stop her from asking, “Oh really, and what is it that you’ve found?”
“A date for dinner this evening? Drinks and maybe something light to eat?” I asked. I realized how long it had been since I’d hit on someone, taken them home, and not worried about the consequences. My line of work, I don’t spend time on women that I want to pursue. Part of that, I think, is what makes me so good in bed. Because I have no emotional connection to them, because I have no personal investment in working for where the evening ends, and because I know that no matter what, the evening will end in the bedroom. That’s when I noticed the wedding ring. I specialized in women who were marri
ed. Discretion was the key to my game. Women, for some reason, trusted me more than they should. Nothing ever got back to their husbands. I mean, where would I be if it did?
“I think I could do that,” she replied.
“I’ll meet you here, say eight o’clock?” I asked.
“Make it seven-thirty,” she replied and turned away from me. Her face was bright red as she walked away, but I knew that she was going to show up, and probably early. The eagerness was clear in her posture. The carefree walk, the way her hips sashayed as she walked away, everything told me that tonight was a night where she would cut loose. It was in her eyes, when she turned and looked back, once, as if to reassure herself that I truly was where she left me.
Chapter Eight
If I had to spend the entire Mardi Gras week following this ass around the city, I was going to kill my own damn self.
How the hell could he have picked up a girl within a few hours of landing here? He must be some sort of ‘cock on crack.’ I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fucking serious. It was my one rule, man. My one rule. I did not harm civilians in the course of the job. My hits were clean... always have been, always will be. How the hell was I going to get this done and get the fuck out of this smelly seaside hell if he strapped himself to a woman for his entire stay?
I had to focus and get this done though. That woman who wanted this dude dead didn’t seem to be hanging on by all the hinges. I didn’t know what the dude did to her, but it couldn’t have been good. He probably picked her up, fucked her and dumped her though... that would be the most likely case scenario. Dumb bitch. Stupid, dumb bitch.
But you see, that was exactly it. She wasn’t just some dumb, hateful broad who was out to get another horny, but innocent, dude. She said the strangest thing when we met for the exchange. I doubt that I’ve ever heard such a weird comment... and I know I’ll never forget it. She sounded like one of those televangelistic, apocalyptic preachers who were getting ready to lead people out into the desert to drink from a big bucket of Kool-Aid.
