Up until the last few hours I'd been waiting patiently at the Marriott Suites in Bethesda, Maryland for my contact from Washington to arrive with my money. It wasn't like Gerald Barnes to be late. If anything, he was either early or right on time. My patience was slowly turning to worry as the hours ticked slowly by.
Gerald Barnes, a gentleman in his early fifties, had been my only contact with the Force Agency since I'd been recruited five years previous. Short and balding, he reminded me a lot of the cartoon character, Elmer Fudd but without the funny accent. He always looked tired, especially his pale blue eyes. Usually dressed in off-the-rack suits, his unkempt and frumpy appearance had become his trademark.
Hearing a few quick knocks at the door startled me out of my catnap. Grabbing my Smith and Wesson Forty-Five from underneath my pillow, I made my way cautiously towards the door. Resting my thumb on the safety, I peered through the security sightglass in the door. I was relieved to see Gerald Barnes standing on the other side, looking calm and collected as usual.
"Where the hell have you been?" I exclaimed, opening the door.
"Well, that's a fine how do you do." Gerald responded, entering my room. "I was hoping for a hug and a kiss."
"How about a kick in the butt instead?" I jested. "I've been waiting on you all day!"
"You know how the traffic is around D.C." Gerald responded, tossing his black briefcase onto the bed. "I no sooner got out of one traffic jam then I got into another."
"Is it all here?" I asked, opening the latches on the briefcase.
"You ask me the same question every time and I always give you the same answer." He replied. "Yes, it's all there. Fifty-thousand dollars, same as always."
"I oughta get a bonus." I asserted. "I had to take out Mancuso's chauffeur in order to get to him."
"It was a lucky shot." Gerald declared with a laugh. "The chauffeur must have stepped in front of Mancuso just as you squeezed off the shot. The bullet went through his neck, severing an artery, then hit Manny between the eyes."
"How'd you know I didn't plan it that way?" I jested, counting out the packets of one-hundred dollar bills.
"You! You never go for show!" Gerald replied. "With you it's always a quick, clean shot."
"What's this?" I asked, taking a manila folder out of the briefcase.
"You're next assignment." He replied. "It's a group thing. You and two other shooters."
"A group thing?" I questioned. "I don't think so! I work alone. You know that."
"There's too many guys for you to take out all by yourself." Gerald affirmed. "You'll need help."
"Then get yourself another shooter." I declared, transferring the money to my tan leather attaché. "I work alone or I don't work at all."
"Is that your final answer?" He asked, tossing the manila folder back into his briefcase.
"Yep. Call me if you get something else." I answered, grabbing up my purse and attaché."
Gerald escorted me out to my car, giving me a hug before I left. I had a six-hundred mile drive ahead of me but having fifty-thousand dollars for a traveling companion would make the trip enjoyable.
Working for the Force Agency, a top secret sector of the Federal Law Enforcement Authority, I traveled all over the country doing what I did best, snuffing the life out of people who evaded the legal system for one reason or another. More often than not it was some legal technicality that set the criminals free or a high-priced defense attorney duping the courts into setting their clients free. With the Force Agency getting involved, drug dealers, sexual predators and members of organized crime were gradually disappearing from the populace. It was vigilante justice but still justice all the same!
I wasn't proud of what I did but I wasn't ashamed either. Killing people, even though they were criminals, wasn't something I could brag about. Knowing I was taking out people who indulged in illegal activities off the street was a reward in itself. The fifty grand a hit was just icing on the cake. And I had a sweet tooth...a virtual sugar craving!
It was early morning when I arrived at my home on Lakeview Drive. As its name implied, my residence afforded me a great view of Lake Cumberland. Located in south central Kentucky, the deep water lake encompasses over sixty-three thousand acres with twelve-hundred miles of shoreline.
After putting on a fresh pot of coffee, I ran through the shower to rejuvenate myself. Slipping into a terrycloth robe, I sat out on the rear deck to await the sunrise. Off in the distance, perhaps a mile or so down the lake, I could make out the mooring lights of a houseboat tied to the shore.
It was around 7:00am when I finally went to bed. My sleeping habits were much like my private life, strange to say the least. I rarely slept for more than five or six hours at a time, sometimes settling for short naps to get me through the day. Sleeping alone was something I'd gotten used to but not something I wanted to continue living with. I didn't want another husband. Divorced at twenty-four, I'd given up on ever getting married again. A lover was what I really wanted, someone who didn't ask questions but was there for me when I needed a warm body to snuggle up to.
At thirty years of age, I still had a damn good figure. I could wear a skimpy bikini as well as any woman younger than me. Five-foot, eight, I considered myself average height. My short, blonde hair I kept cut in a short shag to make it easier to manage. My eyes are best described as cold steel blue, much like the handguns I often use. I never drank to excess but my smoking habit had grown a little out of control. Two packs a day were the norm but often I smoked more if I had to wait to make a hit on someone. I jogged and rode a bicycle once in awhile to keep myself in decent physical shape but I didn't consider it sufficient exercise.
Waking around noon, I headed for the bank to deposit my latest earnings. Somerset Community Bank was a small, privately-owned financial institution that never questioned my monetary transactions. Amanda Summers, granddaughter of the founder, who served as the bank's manager and I had grown to be good friends. We often went out to lunch or dinner since we enjoyed each other's company.
Amanda was a very attractive woman in her mid-thirties. Twice married and twice divorced, she'd given up on hopes for a third husband. Like me, she wanted to enjoy life without having to answer to someone or return home every evening to a dull routine. Tall, slender and curvaceous with dark brown, shoulder-length hair, Amanda added blonde streak highlights, which really set her off in a crowd.
We rarely asked each other questions, preferring to let the other person divulge whatever they wanted to about themselves. I rarely said much, preferring to listen while Amanda talked. She was a great talker and I was a good listener. I rarely gave her any advice unless she asked for my opinion. Maybe that's why the two of us got along so well.
It was late afternoon when I returned home. My cell phone rang just as I entered the house. Checking the caller I.D. before I answered, I realized it was Gerald Barnes phoning me from Washington.
"How about you and one other shooter?" Gerald inquired without so much as saying hello. "And I'll double your money."
"If I have to shoot more than one person, I'd get double anyway." I responded. "You'll have to sweeten the deal a helluva lot more than just a hundred grand."
