"Why? Why did you ask me to meet here in the middle of my vacation?" A frustrated Stephanie sat on a metal patio chair in the empty garden of the café where she had killed someone two years prior. Across the metal mesh table was [Redacted]. Sipping overpriced espresso while the owner—who clearly recognized her—watched through the bay window was slightly awkward, but [Redacted] had called her here for a good reason. He never engaged in frivolity. Still, she permitted herself to be upset.
"The factory, the Federales sniffed it out," [Redacted] said. "We're officially out of a job. And it's going to get even worse."
Stephanie had to digest what he said. She almost took it as a joke, which almost set her off into a flurry of expletives. She looked down at their espressos to think. Plain white four-ounce cups on tiny saucers. An AM radio and chirping birds drowned out the serene silence. Then she pulled out her flip phone from her pocket and placed it in the middle of the metal mesh table. "Where was my phone call?" She pointed to the phone. "If what you say is true, why would I be hearing it from you rather than Wilson?"
[Redacted] put a cigarrillo in his mouth and used a silver zippo with a hawk engraving to light it. "Well, that has something to do with the getting worse bit. What makes you think they'd tell you?"
Stephanie felt like her intelligence was being insulted, but he knew something she didn't. She crossed her legs and turned her head to the building's facade. "Because,' she responded, "it would be in everyone's best interest—you dolt—to be fully aware of the situation so we can all prepare for the aftermath."
"Everyone's best interest… You are certain?"
Her chest grew a little hot, like the summer air around her. "I never knew you to be so theatrical. Please, say what you mean."
"You'll have to excuse me. My aversion to the heart of the matter is uncharacteristic of me. But these are strange times." He took a puff, then a slow sip of his espresso. "I have reason to believe we were not made aware because we were not invited to the after-party."
"Aft—?" She felt a sinking feeling cut her off. She tried reading his dark brown eyes, but they only reinforced the conclusion. "I think I misunderstood you just now."
"Actually, I don't think you did."
The birds had ceased chirping. It was just the am radio calling out to her.
"Don't turn that dial. It's nine oh seven in the morning, and it's about that time to seize the day. Next up on our hits count down, number two, "The World Is Yours" by Carlos Rodriguez. And don't forget, they're coming for you. You are fucked, Stephanie."
She took a heavy breath. And then another. Then a few more. She began holding herself up by the table with her fingers on her temples. She did a three-sixty sweep with her head checking all around herself before standing up and walking to the low wooden patio gate sandwiched by overgrown stone walls. She leaned over the gate fence and looked in either direction. Wide cobblestone streets with three to four pedestrians on either side.
Stephanie heard [Redacted] put his cup down after another sip. "Try your hardest to calm down and not make a scene at this poor bastard's café. It's only just now starting to recover from the hit after two long years. I still feel bad about that."
Stephanie turned to return to her seat but was stopped when her favorite summer blazer got caught in a splinter on the fence. She felt trapped; so trapped that she almost ripped the pinstripe jacket off of the gate if only to feel marginally less restrained. But she took one last deep breath, came to a realization, smiled, and carefully untangled the fabric from the gate.
She sat down with confidence and leaned back. "Okay, [Redacted]. I thought it through. I think we'll be fine."
[Redacted] tilted his head and pursed his lips. "When I said calm down, I didn't mean lose all sense of self-preservation. Did you forget who we worked for?"
Stephanie blew a raspberry. "We did all the dirty work! Us! Who are they going to send before we scoot to the States? We're breathing right now. If we were on our own case, we'd have been space dust already."
He took a puff then took the cigarillo out his mouth. "Not quite yet. If the order was out already, Jacob would have been the first to go at that farm of his, and we would've heard. But, something's holding the high command up. I have my suspicions on what that is, and I'd guess we have two days before things run red."
Stephanie furrowed her brows. "Jacob? He's out already, with permission. What you're saying makes no sense."
"I have reason to believe upper management isn't letting anyone off—including some of our retired colleagues." He brushed his collar off.
She reached across the table and nabbed the cigarrillo out of [Redacted]'s mouth to take a puff, then carefully placed it back in his lips. "Why is this happening? This isn't a simple clean-up."
"Does the reason matter to you that much? All I have is speculation anyway."
She gritted her teeth. "No, I guess it doesn't." She thought with her chin resting on her palm. "But like I said, who would they send to kill us?"
[Redacted] made a heavy frown that took Stephanie aback. It was a look she had never seen on him before. "Are they that much of a badass?" She asked.
He extinguished the cigarrillo on the plain white ashtray that matched the cups and after a delay looked at her dead in the eyes. "No, the scary part of the messages I intercepted is," he closed his eyes, "I didn't recognize the recipient."
Projecting mocked fear, Stephanie raised her hands to head level. "So?"
"So, that's bad news. Either they're a new hire, which they're not, or—as you said— they are that much of a "badass".
"Mmm." Stephanie regained some nervousness and tried to flush it down with more espresso until the cup was empty. She raised a finger at the owner for another. "Okay, you called me here to tell me this. Let's say all this is true. You have a plan."
"Correct."
"Great, But before that, why aren't Jacob and Aaron here? They were our best. And what about the others, too?"
"You're the only one I'm certain isn't being watched. I could barely find you, and that's historically been my job. The others, easy game, undoubtedly in the crosshairs of some patient headhunter. However, we can pull them off the grid, build an offensive, and get ourselves to the States."
She squinted her eyes. Surely this wasn't the best he had in mind. "The United States of America… that's an obvious out, so I can assume your plan is more complex than 'haul ass'?"
He stood up and grabbed his blazer hanging on the chair. "You assume well. Now, just to be sure, you do still have a key to the accounting branch office, correct?"
She leaned back in a stretch. "Yeah? Haven't been there in ages though. They might've changed the lock. What's that dump got for us?"
"Your key will probably still do. That dump has a treasure trove of supplies, but more importantly: an instrument of chaos."
***
Stephanie turned the key, and the click of admittance resounded. She pushed open the door to a view of fabric cubical partitions and CRT monitors. Mechanical clacking gave way to silence and two curious heads peeking from cubicles. Huge red flag. Under ordinary circumstances, people knew to mind their own business here. They were ready for something. [Redacted] had told her before he left yesterday that his two-day grace period estimate was strictly that: an estimate. He let her know that if anything felt funny at the accounting office, she had to get the hell out. Stephanie hesitated. Fuck it, I can get myself out of a problem. We need this.
She walked along the side of the cubicle pangea to the corner office where the Head Accountant would be. Not only was that his title but, for all intents and purposes, it was his name. The office was constructed with a glass partition covered in blinds, and Stephanie walked right to the wooden door. She knocked.
"Come in."
She entered and saw behind the mahogany desk a portly man in an oversized white formal shirt with the top two buttons undone, exposing a modest amount of chest hair. His cheek twitched as if his neat mutton chops were waving hello at her. He was looking at a stack of papers beside a wide-brimmed hat that laid on his desk. "Close the door, would you?"
She did, then approached the desk. "Hey A. Head."
He looked up with tired eyes. "Never was a fan of that nickname. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Ah, he's playing coy. Makes sense. I'm not supposed to know what's really happening. If only his subordinates were nearly as good at it as he was.
"Stephanie?" He raised a brow. "What're you here for?"
She chuckled softly and extended her hands in either direction. "I can't have stopped by just to say hello?"
"Your jokes are as unassuming as ever."
"Well then don't ask stupid questions, silly. I'm here for supplies." Stephanie grinned and lowered her head as if peering past invisible glasses. "What else would I be here for?"
Head scrunched his mouth as if in disappointment before looking back down at his papers. "Sure." He picked up the landline on his desk, dialed one number, and spoke into it. "Ed, a manager needs supplies, would you show her to the locked room?"
Red flag two. "Well gee, A, aren't you going to ask me what I need? I even need an access key; I lost mine. Don't you have to sign that off?"
A cleared his throat and put the phone down on the receiver. "Policy changed a while ago. Things aren't so rigid anymore. You haven't stopped by for a minute."
"That makes sense." A knock came from the door behind her.
"Come in!" said A.
Stephanie looked over her shoulder, and in the doorway stood a man in a polyester dress shirt, blue tie, black slacks, and a large belt buckle that just gave the fool away. Red flag three: an idiot. Stephanie did her best to not look at it and let them know that she knew "Ed" was a goddamn sicario. This was difficult because it was a really big buckle. She looked back at a slightly pale A. Yeah, your hired killer is a dumbass.
"What the matter, A?" Stephanie asked. She knew she could pull off pretending all was well. After all, unless [Redacted] hadn't told her the situation yesterday, she would've had no reason to have noticed anything wrong.
A did a great job of immediately repurposing the surprise. "Is there a reason you're asking me that?" he responded dryly.
"No, you just look stressed from all that paperwork." Stephanie turned to Ed. "So, you'll be showing me to the supply room then?"
"Yes, of course," the boy said. He looked nervous and young. He was a greenhorn. Then Stephanie understood: they hadn't expected her to come here but haphazardly prepared for it. Wow. Incredible.
Stephanie smiled wide. "Great, lead the way."
She followed Ed out of the office along the wall around a corner of the cubicle mass and down to a conspicuous metal door that was locked alongside a panel with two key-sized depressions. Here, Ed pulled out a silver key. "You have yours, right?"
Stephanie nodded. "Same as the entrance key, if I remember correctly." She saw Ed's throat move like he took a silent gulp.
"Yes. Now, if you wouldn't mind."
"Of course."
They placed their keys and turned them. The door made a click. Ed pulled the heavy door open and extended a palm out to the inside. It had an unperceivable shake to it. "After you."
Stephanie couldn't help it. "What?" she questioned out of instinct.
Ed glanced into the room, then back at her. "Well, I mean, the supply room. The supplies are in there."
She recollected herself. Neon red flag.Two days my fucking ass. I die in that room. And this kid. What the fuck? 'The supply room, the supplies are in there.' Is he stupid? She coughed. "Ed, I have to be honest with you. I am so parched right now. Could we stop by the break room quickly?"
Ed looked puzzled. "But we just unlocked the room."
"I know I know, but I can't concentrate. Pretty please? We'll be one second."
"I mean I don't know—" He was eyeing his shoes.
"Sorry, you're an accountant here, right?"
Ed held his head still but looked up at Stephanie. "Y–Yes."
Stephanie smiled. "Then on whose authority are you arguing with me?"
Ed blinked a couple of times. Meanwhile, Stephanie heard the accountant at the single cubicle in earshot stop typing.
Ed nodded his head lightly. "You're right. Let's stop by the break room then."
They arrived in the tiny vacant break room that was a glorified closet with a sink, fridge, microwave, and a couple of cabinets.
Stephanie felt free to let her eyes travel from cabinet to cabinet, aware of where the actual kill room was, likely lined in plastic film for easy cleanup. She could still feel Ed's glare on her. "Ed?"
"Y–yes, Stephanie."
Jesus, they told him my name? And he just said it? She was done counting red flags. "I've been looking at all these cabinets, and now I realize I don't know where the cups are. Could you grab one for me?"
Maybe he felt like he'd break his cover if he refused. Maybe his nerves got the better of him. Stephanie didn't care. What mattered was that he stepped past her, and reached for the cabinet. She pulled out her 1911 pistol tucked in the small of her back and pressed it on Ed's. He flinched before facing his palms in front of him and exhaling.
"Ed?"
He didn't respond.
"Ed, I'm talking to you."
He was borderline hyperventilating.
"Ed, calm yourself before I do."
He took deep breaths.
"Good, now, tell me, out of the two of us, who do you think is the gullible one?"
He tried to turn his head to look at Stephanie. She jabbed the barrel into his back. "No, you can look forward and answer me; and in a low voice."
"I—I a–am."
"Am what?"
"T–the gullible one."
"Okay," Stephanie was nodding, but no one saw it. "I know what's waiting behind that door. What model of gun does he have?"
"I don't know."
She cocked the pistol. "Now, Ed," she said with disappointment.
"I don't know! I swear!" His whisper was almost too loud.
"Keep it down. Alright, you don't know, but it's a boom stick of some sort, right?"
"B—boom stick?"
"Shotgun, Ed. Shotgun."
He gave one slow nod.
"Pump-action?"
He gave two nods.
"That's perfect. Here's what we'll do. We're going to walk back there, unlock that door, and you are going to say that stupid shit you said earlier again. The 'After you.' line. I will respond with 'of course.' Then, you will walk into the room, okay?"
He began breathing heavily again and shaking his head.
"No no no, calm down, calm down." She put her hand on his shoulder, but he wouldn't stop. "Ed!" She gripped hard and reminded him of the gun. "Look, here's how I see it. You all are professionals. You'll walk in, and your buddy, with his infinite trigger discipline—as a professional— won't eviscerate you. Then I will follow and kill him while he's confused. But, I promise you that you'll live. And if you don't do this—instead of relying on your buddy who may or may not shoot you—you will, with one hundred percent certainty, die by my hand. With this gun as my witness. Can you understand that, Ed?"
His head was pointed to his feet. "Y–Yes."
"Great! Off we go then."
"What? Now?!"
"No time like the present, Ed. Walk or I kill you and take my chances."
They walked out of the break room with Ed in front. Stephanie hid the gun under her jacket, ready to use it at a moment's notice. They reached the metal door, and Ed put his key in and twisted before looking at Stephanie with pure fear. Stephanie grinned and without breaking eye contact used her free hand to insert and twist her own key. She nodded.
Ed went and pulled the door open and stood still. Stephanie ushered him with a roll of her free hand. Ed blinked heavily and inhaled. "Okay, Stephanie, after you."
My name again. An idiot until the end. "Of course." She grabbed Ed's shoulder and lightly pushed him in.
***
Clement was uncomfortable in the passenger seat of Pavord's retro muscle car. Pavord was driving him down some obscure, underdeveloped road into the main city. He watched cactuses and sand zip by. We're going a bit fast, aren't we?
"You're probably pretty uncomfortable in this antique beauty, aren't you, Clement? I'm not going too fast, am I?"
What the hell? How…
She slowed down before he could answer. "Well loosen up buddy. We're partners now. I go by Pav by the way. Pavord is sort of intimidating in my opinion, the antithesis of the emotion I want in this cordial team-up of ours."
Clement looked at his twitching feet, surrounded by a clean and pristine foot space. "What's the point of even talking? Things are bad enough as they are."
"Hey, that's not how a good team is built. You have—"
An 8-bit digital ringtone cut her off. "Sorry, this must be important. I keep her on silent otherwise. One moment." She reached down into her pocket and pulled out a flip phone, flicked her wrist to open it, then answered. She let out sounds of affirmation, spaced by pauses and more understanding hums. "Uh huh, okay, on the way now." The phone snapped shut, and she shoved it back in the same pocket.
"Okay, Clemy, first lead, an office party got too wild. Funny because accountants always seemed rather 'straight-edgish' if you ask me. Anyway, it's closer than where we were heading." She switched gears and slowed down even more, preparing to exit the main road. "Time for you to see why your salary went up. With risk comes the reward."