This job is going to be easy, I thought as I appraised my charge from across the bar. 'Bar' was a bit of an overstatement, this was a place where business people came with clients to act snooty, drink overpriced wines, and seem cultured. The object of my professional attention looked extremely uncomfortable here, though she probably would've been uncomfortable in a real bar, too. I didn't care. I always met new clients here, it was a public, well lit place that would make you think twice before trying anything messy.
Karen Shaunessy was a small woman, about 5'4". Everything about her, from the dark glasses and trench coat to the severe bun she had her deep red hair tied up in was calculated to scream 'Don't look at me'. Unfortunately, she looked more like a female Sam Spade wannabe from a late night noir movie than someone trying to avoid a death sentence. Like I said, this was going to be easy. I found myself uncharacteristically wondering what this young girl, barely out of her teens, could possibly have done or seen to warrant the contract that had been placed on her head. Then I shook my head and started to get down to business. I never ask my clients 'why' or 'what', only 'who' and 'how much'. Better to be the hired bodyguard than someone who actually knows something.
She finally notices the blue carnation in my lapel, our prearranged identifier. I've been here five minutes; if I wanted to I could have killed her twenty times over by now. This one definitely needs protection.
"Mr. Blades?" she asks hesitantly.
"Jack", I reply.
"Interesting name for a man in your line of work" she smiles.
I don't tell her the name is a fake. I never give my real name, and I like to have a little fun with my pseudonyms- my fatal flaw, if you will. Probably get me killed someday, but I don't exactly have a pension in this job, anyway.
I offer her my arm, and we walk out into the night. My car is right outside, thanks to my handicapped plates, courtesy of a grateful client at the DMV. To the untrained eye, it's just another Lincoln Town Car, like any of the cars for hire in this city, but I've added quite a few enhancements. It would take something like a tank to keep us from reaching our destination intact, and since there were no tanks in sight, we do.
The safe house I take her to isn't really a house at all, more like a bunker. Think Bat cave with better accommodations. We are under a fairly prominent building on our fair city's skyline, but nobody working there would ever know we were here. I built the place myself, taking over an old unused subway tunnel. It's fortified, soundproof, and very, very private.
As soon as we are safely inside, I offer Karen a drink as she removes her ridiculous trench coat to reveal a surprisingly elegant tailored suit and silk blouse. She accepts the brandy with one hand she releases her hair with the other. With a few shakes of her head, her mane cascades – corny, but no other word for it – down her back. She's stunning, and she knows it.
"It's nice to be myself again. That get up was killing me."
