by Matt Rogers
Slater leant in, and neither of the pair flinched or shrank away. He took that as a positive sign. By now he was only half a foot from the taller woman, and he downed half his Macallan. Before continuing, he flashed a look into the woman’s eyes, and she met his gaze. Her eyes were stark green, piercing, vibrating with energy. She sensed something there.
So did he.
‘I mean, there’s no point skirting around it, is there?’ he said. ‘I can’t see anyone in this room who would give you a fun time. They might buy you nice things down the road, but where’s the fun in that? I’m young. I’m single. You could wait around here all night in the hope of striking up a shit conversation with one of these grumpy old bastards, or the three of us could stick together.’
‘Stick together?’ the redhead said, raising an eyebrow.
‘How about I buy you a drink? Let’s talk.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but—’
‘Why not?’ Slater said, fixing his attention on the taller model.
She returned the stare, in much the same way she had before. There was palpable chemistry there, two young beautiful souls free in Chicago for a night. That concept had electricity — it had potential. She could sense that. Slater certainly could.
The redhead wasn’t buying it.
‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ she muttered. ‘Florence…’
The taller woman — Florence, evidently — twisted around, a sly smile edging at the corners of her mouth. She gave her companion a quizzical glance.
‘Bathroom,’ the redhead repeated.
Slater knew what was happening. The redhead expected Florence to accompany her, at which point they would be free to gossip about the overly forward, well built African-American man in the bar who neither of them had any intention of taking home. If she went, Slater had lost her, and he might as well be on his way. In that brief moment in time he subtly applauded himself for having the courage to approach someone so stunning, so exquisite. Florence seemed to be captivated by it, too — maybe her beauty put men off cold approaching her.
He’d certainly taken a risk.
Florence nodded to her friend. ‘No problem. I’ll be here.’
Slater stifled a grin, keeping his expression deadpan.
The redhead silently huffed, trying to make a scene as best she could without drawing attention to it, and shifted off the bar stool. She disappeared into the corner of the cocktail lounge in search of the facilities.
Slater hunched forward another few inches.
Now they were overtly close.
Close enough for both their intentions to be placed on the table. Slater could smell her perfume.
‘I have to say,’ he muttered, taking another sip of the Macallan. ‘Your friend doesn’t seem very fun.’
Florence eyed the drink. Slater took the cue and handed it over — she drained the rest of the eighteen year old scotch in a single gulp.
‘Where to?’ she whispered.
Slater smiled.
2
Slater had stepped inside the cocktail lounge at just after nine in the evening.
It was past midnight when Florence rolled off him and sprawled across the other side of the king size bed, sweat glistening off her naked body, her chest rising and falling as she panted for breath. Slater considered himself in peak physical condition, but the preceding hours had tested his endurance all the same.
The lighting in the penthouse suite had been deliberately set to low, creating an almost romantic aura as the pair covered themselves with the crumpled bedsheet. Slater lifted an arm and Florence dropped her head to his chest, kissing his bare skin softly at random intervals. They lay there for some time, savouring the shared state of bliss, staring out over the Chicago River and the skyline running along the opposite bank.
The room had cost Slater two thousand for the night, but money had become the least of his worries six long months ago.
‘So…’ Florence muttered, tracing a bare finger across his chest, pressing down in random places, admiring his frame, ‘I don’t think we ever discussed who we are.’
‘That’s a pretty broad question,’ Slater said.
‘I mean, career-wise.’
‘Oh.’
‘You don’t want to talk about it?’
Slater paused. ‘I mean… I could lie. But I came here to get away from all that bullshit. I’d rather tell the truth, but I can’t. So I’ll just say nothing.’
‘You could have made up anything.’
‘I know. I’m a little tired, though.’
‘I can’t imagine why.’
‘You do this kind of thing often?’
‘You mean… for three hours?’
Slater masked a smirk. ‘No. Strangers. People you’ve never met before.’
‘Not usually.’
‘Then why me?’
‘There was something about you.’
‘Oh?’
‘The fact that you can’t tell me what you do. I like that. That whole aura. You had it when you walked into the bar tonight.’
‘Newfound confidence, I guess.’
‘From what?’
‘What life throws at me.’
‘Do you like what life throws at you?’
‘No.’
‘But you still do it.’
‘I do.’
‘Why?’
Slater swept a hand around the room. ‘You know… the usual. It buys things like this.’
Florence shook her head, planting another delicate kiss on his left pectoral. ‘No, no. You’re not that kind of guy.’
‘You’re a good judge of character…’
‘I know.’
Slater shrugged. ‘You don’t have to enjoy something to know it’s what you’re supposed to do.’
She visibly clenched her teeth. ‘You’re really not going to tell me, are you?’
‘I don’t change my mind often. I’m pretty stubborn.’
‘I could return… favours.’
‘I don’t think I’ve got the stamina for the kind of favours you have in mind.’
‘You’ve got plenty of stamina. I’m sure you’ll survive.’
‘Afraid I can’t talk. Lips are sealed.’
‘That’s a shame.’
Slater looped his hand around the small of her back and ran a finger down the base of her spine, bringing a soft flutter to her lips.
‘And what about you?’ he said.
‘What about me?’
‘What do you do?’
‘This and that.’
‘I think I know what that means.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Careful. I’m not a hooker, for God’s sakes.’
‘I never said you were.’
‘But?’
‘But there’s something there. In your eyes. Some kind of spark. You do things your own way. You make money from that, don’t you?’
She shrugged and offered a flirtatious smirk. ‘There’s always opportunities out there.’
‘Big businessmen who need a companion? That sort of thing?’
‘I’ve only ever done it twice.’
Slater believed her. Not that he would have cared either way. He wouldn’t be back in Chicago for a long time. ‘Only twice?’
‘You seem to think I’m a slut.’
‘Not at all. But if I were in your shoes -- if I had your looks — I’d use them.’
Florence trailed a hand down his abdomen, and it came to rest in a sensitive area. She pressed her lips to the side of his neck, then came away and whispered, ‘You could probably use them now.’
‘Twice,’ he muttered. ‘Why’d you stop?’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘None of your business.’
‘You don’t want to talk about it. So it’s important. Whatever it is.’
‘Your secrets seem important, too.’
Slater sensed something there, a piece of information he was desperate to know. He relented. ‘Let’s compromise. A fair trade.’
‘A trade?’
‘You tell me what you’re hiding. And I’ll tell you what I do.’
‘Do you do awful things?’
‘Define that.’
‘Do I want to know?’
‘You won’t hate me.’
‘I can live with that.’
‘You first, then,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘I… saw something. And I’m the only person who knows about it.’
‘To do with the businessman?’
She nodded. ‘The second guy. He’s the CEO of a property law firm. I won’t name him.’
‘He’s got dark secrets?’
‘Yes... well, I assume. But it’s not what you might think.’
‘Oh?’
‘I was sleeping with him. About a month ago. It helped that he was attractive, and somewhere around thirty. I like a guy with ambition. But he had a wife, and a kid. So I was already uncomfortable off the bat.’
‘And?’
‘And they disappeared.’
‘What?’
‘The wife and kid. For a full week. They vanished.’
‘How did you know?’
‘He kept avoiding my calls — and, look, I don’t know, I thought we had something. I was dumb. I thought it might have been more than just a fling. So I kept trying to contact him. And trying. And trying. And finally he picks up the phone and he’s in a mad panic, and he tells me his family’s been kidnapped. He just unloads it, like it had been on his mind for days and he finally had to release it. Then he realises he’s made a mistake and hangs up. And I never hear from him again. The next week I pass him in downtown Chicago, and his wife and kid are right there. Like nothing happened at all. No press about it. Nothing.’
Slater took a moment to process the information. ‘That is odd.’
‘Now can you tell me what you do?’ Florence said. ‘Look — I probably shouldn’t have just told you that. You need to keep quiet about it. Please. Oh, God, I hardly know you…’
He could sense the panic starting to set in. That information must have been weighing on her mind for some time, and Slater kissed her on the forehead to calm her down.
Despite his ability to keep up the facade of a hardened exterior, inwardly something stewed. He didn’t like the story one bit, not for any obvious reason — six months into a black operations career, he had seen things up close that would ensure he never squirmed at gory details ever again — but because its mere presence hit him like a gut punch.
There was a reason it had ended up on his doorstep.
Florence had clammed up, sealing her lips before sharing any other sensitive details, but Slater had a grimy feeling he wasn’t done with it. The circumstances were too odd, the coincidence too great…
Then the phone on the bedside table buzzed once, indicating an incoming call.
Only one man had access to that number.
Slater grimaced as he realised his vacation in Chicago might not involve as much recuperation as he might have thought.
‘You want my secret?’ he muttered in Florence’s ear.
She nodded.
‘I kill people for the government,’ he said, and got straight to his feet. He shouldn’t have told her, but he figured she deserved to know.
But the simple act of sharing that information meant he now had to vanish.
He slid into the same jeans and long-sleeved cotton shirt, both still brand new, and snatched the smartphone off the bedside table. Without a second glance back at the bed, he quickly checked the room for any stray possessions and, finding none, hurried straight out into the hotel corridor before Florence could utter a word of protest.
Never to return.
3
He didn’t bother checking the caller ID, because he knew the number would be blocked. He stepped into the plush hotel hallway with nothing but the clothes on his back, his phone, and his wallet — the only possessions he’d ventured to Chicago with. When his clothes got dirty he would buy new ones, and then after a week or so of aimless wandering he would return to active service, where all his material needs would be met. He had never been a man of materialistic tendencies, and he didn’t think he ever would be. He preferred the raw, sensual experiences.
He guessed that made him a hedonist.
Judging by his actions over the past few hours, he wasn’t ready to protest the label.
He answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear as he called for the elevator. ‘Lars.’
‘How’d you know it was me?’ the man said.
‘Who the hell else would be calling me?’
Lars Crawford handled Black Force operatives. He was the only member of the shadowy organisation that Slater had met in the flesh — the equivalent of a human relations manager for an army of solo warriors. Slater hadn’t been acquainted with any of the other Black Force operatives — Lars tirelessly drilled home the concept of the division, highlighting the fact that operatives and officials interacting with each other would ruin the deniability of the organisation.
Slater didn’t care either way.
He was content with being paid millions to put his life on the line for his country.
And even though he’d knocked on death’s door several times over his short career, he didn’t see any signs of slowing down in the immediate future.
Hence the lack of possessions, and the spontaneous trip to Chicago, and the three-hour romp with a model he’d just met.
He was a man of impulse, and he embraced it with open arms.
‘How’s the vacation?’ Lars said.
‘It’s okay. I’ve got my feet up.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Lars said, with all the scorn of a man who knew Slater’s personality inside and out.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t think you’ve put your feet up in three years, apart from when you need sleep. And you don’t need sleep often.’
‘You know me too well.’
‘I do. Which is why I’m calling.’
Slater stepped into an empty cable car and rode it down to the hotel lobby, praying the call didn’t cut out in the metal box. Thankfully, the hotel had employed counter-measures to prevent that, and the reception held.
He breathed a sigh of frustration. ‘You need me?’
‘I do.’
‘Is it urgent?’
‘It’s unique.’
‘Everything I do for you is unique.’
‘Which is why you’re necessary. You’ll be paid.’
‘It’s not about the money.’
‘It should be. Our organisation’s breaking records with our payouts.’
‘That’s because everything is off the books, Lars,’ Slater said, as if scolding a child. ‘You can afford to throw millions at us. Besides, when we die you can just take it straight back.’
‘You’re awfully cynical tonight.’
Slater thought of what Florence had told him. ‘Just got a bad vibe about Chicago.’
‘Hate to break it to you, but that vibe’s about to get a whole lot worse.’
Slater sighed. ‘Thought you might say that.’
‘How long will you need to get ready?’
As if on cue, the elevator doors slid silently open and Slater strode straight across the lobby. He didn’t stop at the reception desk, manned even at this hour by the receptionist working the night shift. He’d prepaid upon booking the penthouse suite, in case he needed to make a hasty departure for any number of reasons. He’d made sure that no check-out was required.
He despised lingering in one place any longer than necessary.
The grand entranceway led out onto the esplanade, running parallel to the Chicago River. From there, a world of opportunity awaited. Slater could head in any direction he wanted, young and healthy and rich.
In his prime.
Except he was tethered by binding contract to whatever Lars Crawford instructed him to do.
He would probably be indebted to the U.S. government for the rest of hi
s life, considering his recklessness and lack of ability to read the fine print. He’d signed the contracts without scrutinising them — in truth, Black Force could have swindled him.
But he never thought anything through.
He simply bounced from one bout of madness to the next, in whichever form that took. Somehow, it had led him here, building him into one of the pioneers of a division breaking new ground in the realm of reflexes and reaction time.
At least, that’s what he was told.
So as he stepped out into a chilly Chicago night and swept his gaze over the river, he took a deep breath and responded with, ‘Ready now.’
‘Good,’ Lars said.
Without hesitation.
As if he’d expected nothing less.
‘Where do you need me?’
‘I need you to get yourself arrested,’ Lars said.
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
4
‘Head west,’ Lars said. ‘Away from the coast.’
Slater spun in a tight circle, flashing dark looks at every civilian in the immediate vicinity. Finding nothing suspicious, he turned back to face the river and hissed into the phone, ‘Do you have eyes on me?’
‘No. But I can track that phone.’
‘Black Force doesn’t watch me on my time off, do they?’ Slater said. ‘Because I wouldn’t like that one bit.’
‘You’re a twenty-three year old kid,’ Lars said, turning stern. ‘You don’t get to tell us what you do and don’t like. You signed your life away, in case you forgot.’
‘I didn’t sign it away. You’re paying me millions. And in your own words, I’m “one of the rawest talents you’ve ever seen?”’
‘Don’t get cocky, kid.’
‘All I’m saying is that you need me.’
‘No,’ Lars said. ‘We don’t watch you. But you seem awfully sensitive about it. I’m guessing you had a female companion.’
‘I can do what I want in my downtime.’
‘I never said you couldn’t. But this isn’t downtime anymore. You’re officially back on active duty.’
‘There’s nothing official about this,’ Slater muttered, lowering his voice.
‘West,’ Lars said. ‘Walk.’
Slater set off at a measured pace, struggling to soak in the beauty of Chicago’s nightlife. The stroll along the esplanade offered stunning views of the skyline, with the skyscraper lights making the still water shimmer in the gloom. It was cold, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Slater loosened up as he quickened his pace, heading fast in a streamlined direction. The whole time, he kept the phone pressed to his ear.
