CHAPTER 7: THE DANCE
DANNY'S Story
I'm hiding at the bar because I don't know what to do. He's tall, maybe I can spot him. Or maybe he can spot me. Just as I set my glass on the bar my phone chirps. I put the caller on hold and rush to a quiet spot and take the call.
"Mando, this is Chuck."
Oh shit. He only uses my code name when he has a job for me."Oh, Chuck, no assignment tonight, PLEASE use someone else. PLEASE!"
"Sorry, but you are the only one qualified for this one because the client refuses to have a team protecting him. Anyway, you won't be on duty until I call you. Until then, have fun."
"OK, Chuck. Tell me what I'm dealing with."
"A possible mob or cartel hit. Expect a full team, not just one man. It's supposed to appear to be abduction, but it's a hit. The man has a high security suite, but the guards with those suites are not trained to deal with professional assassins. The high security features of those suites only keep out amateurs. These guys will breach it in a minute. Do you have your gear with you?"
"As always. It's in my hotel room. Who are the bad guys?"
"An assassin team from Columbia-"
"What? A Colombian hit team? The one who work for the cartels?"
That's the ones."
"The Machetes?"
"That's the intel I have, yes."
"Er, good luck finding someone stupid enough to go again those cut throat savages. Sorry, old boy, but I'm out. The Machetes! Fuck a truck, Chuck. You're out of your FBI mind! The machetes are sociopath killers. Genocide and homicide are the same to them. They kill everyone present. Everyone, Chuck No witnesses. Good luck with this one. Bye."
"Wait a minute!" You have the brains and skill set to take these guy out. I'll send blueprints and schematics of the hotel and detail schematics of the top three floors. There's a crawl space above their apartment and the hall. A skilled sniper will have the advantage."
"Maybe, but we'll never know, will we? Bye."
"WAIT! At least look at the layout. If you find the perimeters required to succeed, give it serious consideration. Oh, about fees, you can name your price.
"Dead people don't need money, Chuck. How much are the assassins
paid?"
"The cartel pays in some cash, some drugs, and military grade weapons. Example: A fifty million dollar street value of drugs cost the cartel ten to fifteen mil. Therefore, a hundred million payment cost them twenty-to-thirty K. Once they step on the drugs they'll net a hundred fifty mil minimum.. Therefore, they can afford being the highest bidder for gangs of mercinariess and assassins that push drugs."
The weapons cost them more, but they will be a minor part of the trade, if any. The cartel pays twenty-five cents on the dollar, but Your client will pays with 100% money. No bartering. Name your price."
"Considering the number and identity of the shooters, the risk, and that I'll have to disappear after this...twenty-five mil and five mil a head, plus five mil for expenses, and one mil for material, equipment, supplies, etc. Lodge a letter of credit for fifty mil with my attorney for escrow, and I'll give instructions for distributing the six mil for expenses and material. Done?"
Since ten percent of my fee goes to the black ops fund to keep the boys away from budget requests, and remain invisible. The six mil for expenses is for them. Therefore, high numbers from me makes them happy. He'll agree.
"Done."
"Good. Who's the client.
"You'll receive that info if and when we call. I am sending the layout of the hotel now."
"OK, Chuck. What's my authority?"
"Lethal force if necessary."
"OK. But try to find someone else in the meantime βplease?"
"Yes, Mando, but you are the only person that can handle a situation like this solo. Stay alive. That's an order."
Disappointed, I end the call and return to the bar. A body guard is always on call. But I am a high dollar and low profile specialist that works alone. My code name, Commando, fits my style like skin. Unpredictable and lethal.
I'm sipping my drink and cursing Chuck when I have the eerie feeling someone is watching me. I turn around and WHAM! There he is, even more handsome than ever, still has the body of an athlete, and... and.... And... I'm in love all over again. My heart flutters. I feel faint and light headed. All that anxiety and worry is over. He's here! I found him! My skin tingles just like the first time I saw him. My breaths are shallow. I'm struggling to keep him in focus. I try not to love him. I try.
I throw caution under the freight train and rush into his arms hugging and crying and feeling stupid about worrying about my makeup running from my tears. I feel foolish and deliriously happy at the same time. I'm supposed to be the woman with nerves of steel. That steel just turned to play dough. After all these years, he is standing in front of me. A hunk who was all man and muscle, and still is sporting that bulge. When I notice it I I'm giddy.
He kisses me first. He is hungry and passionate. I melt and I become an ex-dike the moment I feel his touch. At the moment I'm not a man with a pussy. I'm not a man at all. I am a woman with a stud. Tonight he is MY stud and I am HIS woman.
We still haven't spoken. He smothers me with kisses, and I love every one of them and hunger for more.