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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2186366
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Contest Entry · #2186366
A professional finally slips up... Winner, Writer's Cramp, 3/27
My memory was bathed in shadow.

I tried, but it was hard to focus past the pain in my head.

It wouldn't be wise to let on I was awake just yet, so I stayed still. Last night began to come back to me.

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I met Alan at the hotel. I had studied the dossier for a week, but he felt the need to debrief me on the details again.

"Remember, if he's not dead as a doornail there will be a HUGE shit show."

"Not to mention heinous torture for yours truly... but whatever." I gathered my coat and handbag/arsenal.

His voice softened. "You're the best, Camilla, I know you'll get this done like a pro. I'll see you in the morning... unless you want me tonight."

"Thanks!" I called over my shoulder. "But no thanks." I muttered as I locked the door behind me.

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The bar was full of ancient money and lonely retirees, I spotted the target immediately.

I slid onto the bar stool, establishing eye contact with the target, then coyly gestured for the bartender.

Just as I was getting focused, this guy sidles up next to me out of nowhere and asks if I want to see a magic trick.

That was a first.

"You know what's sexy about magic?" I leaned into his space.

"What?" He moved his face closer to mine.

"Not a damn thing." I turned back to the bar and motioned to the bartender for another drink.

"Ouch." He took his drink and his deck of cards and slunk away.

It was time to get the show on the road. I had a set window of time to get this guy back to his boat, kill the shit out of him, and dispose of his body. All discreetly, professionally, and efficiently.

Locking eyes with the target, I sucked seductively on an olive from my martini. His startled expression was priceless. Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward to adjust my stocking, showing some upper thigh and giving him a front row seat to my magnificent cleavage.

Done and done.

Sliding from his stool (not without a considerable amount of effort) he started toward me, all limping swagger and double chins.

"How is such a stunning woman sitting here alone?"

"I was waiting for you to ask." I looked down into my drink vulnerably.

He reminded me of a gargoyle. "Are you also waiting for me to ask you back to my yacht?"

Bingo.

"Absolutely." I brushed my backside against him, moving for the door as he hastily paid for my countless martinis.

His yacht was insanely swanky. I noticed what was probably tens of thousands of dollars in jewelry arranged on a crystal tray in the master bath. A sexy satin bathrobe hung on the door.

"I'm assuming those aren't your mother's?" I giggled.

"No my dear, I am in fact married." He stopped in the middle of pouring champagne to make eye contact. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Of course not." As we clinked glasses, I distinctly remembered thinking, "Holy shit that's some good champagne."

"Well good. She's dying anyway, breast cancer."

"I'm so sorry!" I feigned shock.

He laughed. Not a chuckle, but a bona fide full on laugh. "I'm not! She's been a weight around my neck for thirty years!"

I was gonna enjoy killing this fucker.

"Do you need to get ready for me?" I gestured toward the bathroom.

"Don't you move!" He planted a sloppy kiss square on my mouth. It was repulsive.

As soon as he shut the door, I rummaged through my bag for the cyanide capsules. I had to dump the contents of my purse onto the bed, including my '45 and a taser, before I found them. I broke two into his glass and swirled until they dissolved.

Now this is the point when things started to get fuzzy. I remember slipping to the floor, the target standing over me. Right before I lost consciousness completely I remember hearing banging and shouting.

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The echoing of a very heavy door slamming shut jerks me out of my fog.

Standing before me is the damn magician from last night.

Turns out he's a narc. Last night was the sting where he would finally nail my target who happened to be the boss over the entire east coast's cocaine and heroin trafficking syndicate. I knew this, of course, this is why I was sent by a rival boss to eliminate him. I hadn't expected to be thwarted by the magician.

"I guess I got two birds with one stone." He sat down on the bunk opposite me. "I already had the evidence to take him into custody, but then you showed up. Didn't want to take him in the bar, so I tailed you to the boat."

"I saw you dump your arsenal after you sent him out of the room, but all I really needed to see was you poison his drink, which by the way I have to say I'm shocked you didn't notice the roofies he slipped into yours first".

That explained the blackout. Bastard.

The detective clicked his tongue.

"Anyway, we nabbed him and dragged your unconscious ass back here. I did a little research while you were passed out. Dumb luck I should get me a drug lord anda killer-for-hire in one night, right?"

He looked down into his manila folder, then at me. His face lit up, and a huge grin spread across his five o clock shadow.

"Hey! You know what's sexy about orange jumpsuits?"

-TPB

-930 Words-














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