I did not expect to kill two times within twenty four hours.
The evening before, I had just finished a job in Los Angeles. An easy one. The target was lured to a restaurant in Chinatown. I was the waitress.
When I took his order, he placed his hand on my butt. I took a deep breath and wrote down what he wanted. This was his last meal, so I made sure I did not make a mistake.
Our client sat next to him. After dinner, the client repeatedly poured more Tsingtao beer in his glass. Beer meant his bladder filled up quickly. When he went to the bathroom, I followed with a gun.
His fountain of urine bounced off the wall when the first bullet sliced through his neck. He turned around, the yellow stream continued to escape his body.
I squeezed the trigger again. The second bullet drilled through his chest. He toppled to the ground, his eyes bulging, not believing he had been ambushed by a woman. The ultimate insult.
I unscrewed the silencer and wiped clean the gun with my restaurant uniform. The blood flowed from both sides of his body, soaking the uneven bathroom floor. It would soon flow under the door and out to the restaurant. I hurried to the last stall, put down the lid of the toilet seat, and climbed out the tiny high window.
Don's car was on the other side. He drove as I stripped off my uniform in the backseat. The Toyota Corolla kept a steady pace on Interstate 10. I was ready to party, so I put on a halter dress, tying the straps at the back of my neck. The little black dress was backless, so it was impossible to wear a bra.
Don, my business partner of five years, was formally dressed in a three piece suit, complete with bow tie.
"You looked like a waiter." I crawled between the seats so I could ride shotgun.
"And you look drop dead gorgeous." He enjoyed teasing. I never did. I believe a professional distance was healthy. Besides, he was twenty years older, old enough to be my dad. In fact, he was dad's partner until dad passed away.
"I wish all jobs were that simple."
"If they are all like that, our clients won't pay us handsomely, right?"
Don had a point. Our jobs were mostly very risky types. Over the years, we had some really close calls. I had been shot twice. The scars on my stomach and thigh were constant reminders.
Interstate 10 quickly became Interstate 15. We pulled over to a gas station just outside Barstow. I dumped the blood-soaked uniform while Don shoved the gasoline gun into the small hole at the back of the Corolla, half the gun sticking out. Somehow, it felt right to deposit the bloody dress in California, before crossing the state line.
When we crossed into Nevada, we both screamed at the top of our lungs for having survived yet another job.
We drove on to the Las Vegas strip, but did not stop to gamble. The thrill of gambling with money could not excite us. After all, we had just gambled with our lives.
Instead, we went strip club hopping on Industrial Road. We were equal opportunity customers, checking out both male and female strippers.
"I'll bet $200 your whore does not dare to take the stage." A man, visibly drunk, shouted at Don.
Don played it cool. "You'll have to wager directly with her."
He repeated his dare, this time in my face.
"Show me the $1,000 and I'll consider." I pulled down my dress to show more cleavage.
"Here," he removed his wallet and counted out ten bills. Don used his cell phone to check that they were hundreds.
When the song ended, I climbed the two steps to the round stage. Holding the pole, I struck a pose. A dozen men or so moved closer.
"This man is betting a grand that she does not dare to strip." Don was loud enough so that the men around the stage could all hear. Nobody offered to raise the stakes.
The thumping music came on. I wowed the audience by inverting myself, gripping the pole by my ankles, my hands on the floor, the dress floating around my chest, my thong undies visible. When I stood upright again, stacks of twenties appeared. I sauntered around the stage, taking my time to let them slide it into my g-string.
For the second song, I untied the knot behind my neck, letting the dress drop to my waist. The catcalls were deafening, almost as loud as the music. More twenties, and even a hundred. Las Vegas was a rich town.
I let my dress drop completely to the floor on the third song. This was not a nude club, just topless. I pranced around in my thong, crawling on the stage, pretending to be a tigress.
By the time the song ended, the entire club was standing three deep around me. Don held my hand and helped me off the stage. We were up at least fifteen hundred.
We decided we had celebrated enough.
"Can we switch cars?" Don asked when we were almost at his house. "I have to meet a new client tomorrow." For some strange reason, new clients had a tendency to trust only assassins with luxury cars.
I hesitated for several seconds. "Sure," I said as we pulled into a gated community on a golf course in Boulder City, just outside Las Vegas.
"Thanks. I'll see you soon." He leaned over to kiss my cheek. He had never done that before, This was strange.
It's not a big deal, I thought to myself as I merged with the traffic on Interstate 40, heading east. The morning sun was suddenly in my eyes. I reached down to the glove compartment and pulled out a greasy pair of oversized sunglasses. Don really had bad taste.
When the traffic thinned, I spotted a silver Buick of some sort in my rear mirror. I sped up, and then slowed down, the Buick followed. God, who drove a Buick anymore? Didn't General Motors stop making them ugly cars? Or was that the Hummer?
