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Jerome sweated in the black Ford SUV. His tongue darted between his cracked lips and he flicked his gaze restlessly up and down the dim alley. Soon, he thought, soon.
A rattling noise from the cupholder made him jump. He picked up the vibrating cell phone and opened it, checking the caller ID. "Yeah," he grunted. He rocked back and forth in the driver's seat, occasionally responding in short, clipped tones. "Uh-huh... Already done... No problem." He clicked the phone shut and set it back in its place.
Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back for a minute, two minutes, three. Then his eyelids snapped open and he leaned forward to turn the key in the ignition.
Ahead of him in the alley, a bare bulb cast a flickering yellow light over a battered metal door. That door opened to expel a figure in heels, wearing a beige raincoat and clutching a black purse. A dark scarf protected her hair from the weather and also covered much of her face. She trod cautiously but quickly down the cracked concrete steps as the Ford rolled forward to meet her. Opening the door, she held the purse to her midsection and slid into the passenger side.
"Seat belt," Jerome reminded her. The metal tongue slid into its receptacle with a loud snap, and the vehicle moved forward to the end of the alley and out into the damp city streets.
The woman opened her purse and lifted a cigarette to her lips, only to be brought up short by his quietly firm response, "Not in *my* car." He put particular emphasis on the possessive. Pouting slightly, she carefully pushed the cigarette back into its pack and closed her purse. After several blocks, she spoke up. "He won't find out...?"
Her voice carried an undertone of pleading, and the tension on her elegantly made-up face was highlighted by the alternating illumination and shadow of passing streetlights. She grabbed the door handle for balance as he negotiated a particularly sharp turn on the slick pavement.
"Nobody's going to know. That's what you paid me for, and I'm very good at what I do."
There was irritation in his voice; she kept her thoughts to herself after that, drumming her fingers on her leg and looking out the window. The vehicle passed through business and residential areas in no meaningful order, and they were quickly distant from the parts of town she would recognize. Jerome didn't spare his passenger more than an occasional glance; his eyes moved with minimal effort between the road ahead and the rear-view mirror.
They arrived amidst darkness and mist in a neighborhood that was run down but not past all hope. He reached up for the garage opener, waited as little as possible then pulled the vehicle in, shutting the engine as the wooden panels came down to hide them from the outside world. He unlocked and opened the anonymous house door and they passed through a utility hallway, breakfast nook and kitchen until they came to the living room. The predominant colors here were brown and dark blue, and the room gave a general impression of dimness despite the functioning overhead light. Frowning, the woman went to find the bathroom.
When she returned and stood by the couch, he was standing at the wet bar putting ice into two glasses, a dutiful if not particularly gracious host. He looked up at her and inquired, "Drink?"
She took off her scarf and shook out her hair, an auburn mop falling artlessly to her shoulders, and thought for a minute. "Seven and seven, please." He uncapped a bottle of Scotch and mixed her drink, taking a plain soda for himself. He brought both to the middle of the room and handed her glass over before taking his seat. They sipped from their glasses, the social ritual doing nothing to dispel the surrounding air of tension.
"So." She broke the fragile silence. "What happens now?"
Jerome placed his drink on the coffee table. His eyes surveyed her professionally. "Now you take off all of your clothes."
His words lingered in the air around her, coolly matter-of-fact and all the more menacing because of that. She jerked her head and stared at him as if not comprehending. Her lips parted, but nothing came from them.
"Don't make me wait." There was a sharp undertone of steel in his voice. The nervous mannerisms he had shown on the road were gone now, replaced by a clear, implacable resolve.
For the first time she really looked at him, his size and build, the competent strength in his hands. She shrank from the force of his gaze. "You don't really mean," she started, but her protest died there. He obviously did mean it as he rose to approach her, stopping a mere handbreadth from her body.
"I'm always serious. You knew that when you hired me."
She pulled herself to her feet and snapped back at him, anger giving her worn features a new life.
"I hired you to get me away from that cold fish of a husband without his trained goons finding me and dragging me back. I hired you because you have the contacts to get me into the underground to start a new life. I hired you," she emphasized, "to do a job. Period."
Jerome slapped her across the face. The outline of his hand was briefly visible on her cheek, white against pink. Her eyes flared, but his expression never changed.
