Finbar McTeague (a.k.a. "The Surgeon") noticed he had gotten to the Jazz bar around the middle of the crew. The Crew being the other Assassins in America. The assassins he had grown up with, fought against and won with. He had heard there would be a few legends showing up tonight, but didn't count on it, the price was only a mediocre amount.
Lazlo Soot was already there, once again wearing the face of another man, he guessed one of the agents sent to protect the target by the way he kept touching his ear and speaking without moving his lips. He was sitting at a small table in the middle of the room, an odd choice Teague thought, but respected the man too much just to shoot him straight out. Maybe, he thought, he could just let Soot lead him straight to the three-million, kill him then.
Smiling at the idea he looked around for more. Teague was also surprised the Tremors weren't here yet, but knew they liked to make an explosive entry. The deadline for the assassination was at three o'clock AM, if they did turn up today, it would be with only seconds to spare.
The defense for the target didn't seem too troublesome; he had seen the snipers on the rooftop opposite of the jazz club, but to them Teague was just a suit looking for a few whiskies before bed. Also he was able to discern guns on the thighs, ankles and backs of every waiter and waitress. Sighing he sipped his drink, enjoying the music. It was going to come down to who had more bullets.
A woman was suddenly on the barstool beside him. Goddammit, how the hell had she snuck up on him? When he used his peripheral vision and saw the small red dress she was wearing he felt his heart speed up in a way a warm gun never had. Her South American accent as she flirted with the bartender had his cock twitching.
"What can I get you?" The bartender asked smoothly.
"Depends on what you're offering..." the woman began but before Teague even knew what he was doing he stood up and spoke straight to the bartender, without giving the woman a glance.
"Excuse me, Dwight Gooding." He pulled out an old alias and introduced himself to the bartender handing over his card, "With White Records, I just listened to that set and thought it was amazing."
"Alright, my man!" the bartender began, "Would you like to meet the band?" McTeague agreed and left the bar with the owner leaving the woman alone. He could feel the air of surprise and upset out of her when he returned after the bar owner had started the next song. His two guns were a comfort to him as he snuck a glance at the woman as her lips wrapped around the rim of a martini glass and suddenly he was feeling very uncomfortable. He wanted to see that mouth wrapping around his cock. He decided to switch tactics.
"Too much oil." He muttered as he settled into his seat.
"Excuse me?" the woman turned to him, her smoky gaze burning over him as he tried not to breath in too much more of her scent, it was making him dizzy.
"You use too much oil," he elaborated, turning his head towards her for only a moment, but in that moment his eyes grazed over her chest and he felt as if his sight could be another set of hands, adoringly clasping and setting on the two perfect globes of her breasts. "You're wearing Carlo Quoé, which is a good fragrance for you, but it's being ruined by the oil." he left the ball in her court.
"Bravo. You're very good about the perfume, but I don't use oil on my skin."
Finally he turned on her, leaning an elbow on the bar for balance, if he had been standing he would have staggered backwards; he had not been prepared for the full on woman he was affronted with now. Her dress left nothing to the imagination, yet didn't do the body he knew was underneath the justice it deserved. Her legs went on forever and his mouth went dry thinking about where he could wrap them. He wished he had been talking about her skin though, the rough olive colouring shone just perfectly in the neon lights from behind the bar, he could see himself kissing it for hours. "I didn't mention anything about your skin." When she looked overly startled he smiled, thinking 'Ah good, another assassin'. "I think it must be on the gun you're wearing." Her startled look then turned to one of smoldering coyness, a look he hoped to see far more in the future. "I don't think tonight is going to end well for us."
"I am Ariella Martinez." she said in almost a whisper, holding her hand out to him, "And you must be The Surgeon."
"At your command," he murmured when he touched his lips to her fingertips, her taste was just as good as she looked. "McTeague is fine though."
"I'd prefer to call you Fin." Ariella spoke warmly letting her hand linger in his. Goddammit she knew how to play a guy. Teague couldn't help but play along, it was only 2am, he still had time before it was all business and she turned out to be his competitor, or even his enemy.
He knew the Martinez signature of poisoning, using natural ingredients as to not be traced, very impressive. But if she called him Fin then she must know him too, his obsession with the human brain and the psychological nature of his assassinations. Okay, so they're on the same playing field then.
He heard a shot outside. Ariella twinged too. So arrived the Tremors.
"All these gentlemen callers competing for your attention?" Teague asked with a little smile, leaning back on the bar.
"No, I like the single life." Teague knew she was lying, in the way her voice stayed monotone and how she automatically picked up her drink, he decided to let it alone.
"About this situation... you know what they say; two heads are better than one."
She cleared her throat and cut him off. "You know Surgeon, I don't need your help."
He paused and leaned in towards her, playing with a lock of her hair, "Then why haven't you killed me already?"
She leaned in too and Teague thought he might lose it, drop the fucking three-mil and take this beauty for as long as she would let him. "The night is still young." She whispered, her small hand running up his arm before playing with the collar of his suit.
The main lights began to flicker before going out completely, leaving only a few neon signs blazing. Ariella grabbed Teagues shoulder as his arm automatically wrapped around her waist. Neither of them said anything, but looked around the bar and watched everyone's reactions. The bartender automatically started trying to calm everyone down and walked behind the bar, where Teague knew there was probably more than one firearm stashed.
