by B. B. Hamel
The girl was gorgeous. I knew she was pretty, I mean, I’d seen plenty of pictures of her. But the pictures didn’t do her justice.
“You’re, uh, Tanner, right?” She smiled at me and pulled at her hair, straightening it then letting it loose.
She was nervous. It was adorable.
“Yeah,” I said. “And you’re Elise.”
“Right.” She laughed and dropped her hands from her hair. “Right, yeah, sorry. I’ve never, you know, done this before.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Gone out with a handsome man before?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, yeah. I mean, I’ve never gone on an internet date before.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I don’t bite.” Which was a lie, of course. I definitely bite.
“Unless I ask you to, right?” She grinned at me and for half a second, I saw the confident little tiger locked inside her.
“Ask nicely, and I’ll do just about anything you want.” I offered her my arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall.” She slipped her hand through my arm and I walked her down the steps. She had a small black purse slung over her right shoulder and her hair bounced as we walked to my car.
I drove a black vintage Lexus from the eighties. It was my pride and joy and even though the thing broke down more than half the time I drove it, I still loved her anyway.
I was old-fashioned like that.
Elise climbed in the passenger side and I got behind the wheel.
“So, Tanner,” she said. “Where are we going?”
“Little Italian place,” I said. “Hope you’re into that.”
“Love it,” she said. “I’m Italian, you know.”
“I figured,” I said. “With a last name like that.”
“My parents raised me on a diet of pasta, homemade sauce, and wine.”
“Started you from a young age. I like it.”
She laughed as I rolled the Lexus out into traffic. The place wasn’t far but I figured it would be rude to make the girl walk when she was wearing heels that high.
“My Dad’s really into being Italian,” she said. “It’s, like, his thing.”
I laughed. “I get it. I know some serious Italian dads.”
She laughed, easy and dazzling. I tilted my head and smiled at her as I made a right and headed down a few blocks.
“Are you close, you and your dad?”
I shook my head. “He passed when I was young. Weren’t too close before that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, it happens. How about you? Close with your family?”
I knew the answer to that question, of course. Elise’s family was more than a little famous, especially in my circle. They were the reason for this date and the reason I was going to have to put a bullet in her head later that night.
But I had to stop thinking about that. It was a nice evening so far, and I didn’t need to ruin it by thinking about killing the poor girl.
“Not at all,” she said. “I left home the second I turned eighteen.”
“That wasn’t so long ago,” I said. “You’re, what, twenty-two? I forget what your profile said.”
“Yeah, twenty-two.”
“Did you go to school?”
“I did a couple years of community college,” she said. “But then I got a job and never looked back.”
“Advertising, right?”
“That’s right.”
“How’d you end up in that?”
“I was working at a coffee shop and one of my regulars was this woman who owns a little ad agency here in the city. I was closing up one day and I got to talking to her and we sort of hit it off… and like a week later, she invited me to apply for a job. So I went in, and here I am.”
“Look at that. Kismet.”
“Right? I just got lucky. Right place, right time.”
I drove down a narrow one-way street and found a gap in the cars parked along the sidewalk. I did a quick parallel park job and hopped out. I helped her climb out and offered her my arm again.
“What a gentleman,” she said.
“That’s me. Real gentle.”
She flashed me that easy and dazzling smile again. “Something tells me you’re not always so gentle, though.”
“Yeah? What makes you say that?”
She chewed on her lip and looked away. “Never mind. I shouldn’t say.”
I barked a laugh and nudged her. “Come on. Say it. Can’t turn back now.”
“It’s, just, the tattoos,” she said, nodding at my neck and my hands.
“Tattoos,” I echoed. “That’s right. I forgot about those.”
She gave me a look and I grinned back at her.
“They make you look hard,” she said. “And you’ve got a hard look in your eyes.”
“You mean handsome.”
She blushed a little. “That too.”
“I like when you blush. It’s cute.”
“Okay, calm down now,” she said.
I laughed and steered her toward a small restaurant at the end of a row of brick front Philly homes. The front was all glass with heavy velvet curtains covering the windows and the word ANGELINO’S stenciled in fancy cursive letters across their length.
I opened the door for her and she stepped inside. The carpet was plush and wine red. The closed curtains gave the place a hushed feel though the tables were all packed. A long wood bar, lots of intimate candlelit tables, and waiters and waitresses in all black.
“Nice,” Elise said.
“Can I help you?” the hostess asked.
“Table for Tanner,” I said.
She checked her little iPad then grabbed menus. “Right this way,” she said.
I let the girl lead, mostly because I wanted to get a good look at her ass.
The hostess took us through the main dining area. Balding guys and their loud wives shoveled huge portions of pasta into their faces. Regulars sat belly-up at the bar with glasses of beer ringed with condensation in front of them. I thought I heard Frank Sinatra piping in through the overhead speakers.
We got a corner booth, best spot in the house. Elise slid in and I sat across from her. The hostess left without a word.
“Good table,” Elise said.
“I called in a favor.”
She gave me a look. “What did you say you do again?”
“Construction,” I said, looking at my fingernails. “Buying and selling, you know.”
“Buying and selling what?”
“Stuff,” I said. “Objects of value.” I opened the menu. “Should we get a bottle of wine?”
She eyed me for a tense moment. I met her gaze and flashed her a smile. I wanted her to wonder about me, wanted her to question what the hell she was doing with me. I wanted her on edge.
That made things more fun.
“Can I ask you something?” She put her menu down.
“Sure,” I said. “Although I thought you already were.”
“Why do you use LoveRocks.com?”
I snorted. “Isn’t it in the name?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously.”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“But you didn’t.” She tilted her chin just a bit. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that would be into online dating.”
She was right about that.
“You want the truth?”
“No, I think I want you to lie to me.”
My turn to give her a look. She grinned back at me.
“I’ve been through a lot of women in my day,” I said. “I won’t pretend like I’m some virgin saint.”
“So you’re a man-whore,” she said.
“You could say that.” I spread my hands. “What can I say, women love me.”
“Ah, a man-whore and very modest.”
“Look, you wanted the truth.”
“Okay, so you’re experienced. So, what? You’re jaded now?”
“Pretty much.” I ran my
finger down the menu. It was covered in fake leather and textured. “I’ve had a taste of the wares. I’ve sampled what’s available. And now I want something more stable and permanent.”
“Can’t find that where you frequent?”
“No,” I said, smiling a little. If she only knew. “No, I can’t, not at all.”
“All right then,” she said and picked up the menu like she was satisfied by my answer.
“So same question to you,” I said. “Why are you on the site?”
She glanced at me. “Same answer. Men love me. Big slut. Ready to settle. That sort of thing.”
I grinned at her, she grinned back.
When the waitress came, I ordered a bottle of wine.
We talked for a while. She told me about her job, about learning how to be in the business. I told her about my work, or at least one aspect of it.
I couldn’t just outright tell her that I murder people for the mafia.
Instead, I fudged the details a bit. I pretended that I was an independent contractor and did whatever handy jobs people needed doing. She didn’t really press for details, and I didn’t offer any.
The meal came and went. Mussels in a thin white wine sauce heavy on the garlic. Chicken parm with crispy breading, tart red sauce, and browned cheese on top.
The bottle of wine disappeared.
“Another?” I asked as she finished her glass.
“I don’t think so.” Her eyes gleamed at me as she leaned over the table. I let my gaze drop down to her breasts. She seemed pleased by that. “You’re just trying to get me drunk.”
“I don’t think I need to do that,” I said, looking her in the eye again.
She smiled. “And why not?”
“Because you’ve been looking at me like that all night.”
She raised her eyebrows and sat back. “What do you mean, like that?”
“Like that,” I said, nodding. “Like you can’t wait to see the rest of my tattoos.”
She opened her mouth then shut it again and laughed. I grinned at her and spun my knife in a circle on the cloth-covered tabletop.
As the waitress cleared our plates and Elise talked about some of her favorite TV shows (early Game of Thrones, Vampire Diaries, The Office), I realized that I hadn’t thought about killing her in almost two hours.
Not a single time. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
All during dinner, we just talked like two people, and I enjoyed myself. I couldn’t remember the last time that happened.
I’m not sure ever, actually.
The realization hit me like a train.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. My whole life was based around killing people, mostly men, but every once in a while the family sent me after a woman. It’d been harder, killing the women, maybe I’m old-fashioned like that.
But I’d never actually wanted to be around my mark before.
“Tanner?” Elise frowned at me and leaned forward again. “Are you okay? I just asked, what are you watching right now?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said and picked up my wine glass. I polished it off to cover. “I was thinking about something.”
“What were you thinking about?” That look again. A sultry gleam in her eyes.
“You,” I said.
“Yeah? What about me?”
Before I could answer, the waitress came back to see if we wanted dessert. I said no, Elise said no, and so the waitress set down the check and left again.
I slipped my credit card inside and figured the least I could do was pay for dinner before I murdered her.
“You haven’t answered my question yet,” she said.
“You don’t want to know.” My eyes lingered on her chest, moved up to her lips. I wanted to push her away now.
I knew what was coming next.
But she didn’t seem deterred. “Yeah?” she asked. “Tell me more.”
I met her eyes then and thought, yeah, okay, let’s see how far this can go.
I leaned toward her. “I was thinking about what that dress would look like as I slowly peeled it off your body,” I said.
There was that blush in her cheeks again. But she didn’t pull away or act insulted. Instead, her lips parted slightly and her pink tongue licked at her white teeth.
“Yeah?” she asked. “I’m not sure you’d care much about the dress anymore at that point.”
“True,” I said. “I’d be too busy thinking about how I could tease you.”
The waitress returned, seemed to read the mood of the table, and took my card without a word. She hurried off to run it.
I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms, head tilted, studying my future victim.
Elise looked away, eyes cast down. “Is this how you became such a man-whore?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I said.
“You’ve used these lines before then.”
“No,” I said, and meant it. “These are all for you.”
She met my gaze again. “Come over,” she said. “For some coffee, I mean.”
“Coffee,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. “I can do… coffee at your place.”
“Good.”
The waitress returned. The tension was as thick as a leather belt. She dropped off the check, thanked us both, and ran off to her next table. I got up and Elise followed me back through the restaurant, the hush of conversation floating through the air, and back out into the crisp evening. Her shoes clattered on the sidewalk as we made our way back to my car.
She didn’t talk on the drive back. I thought she might be nervous, and I couldn’t blame her. I had a Glock tucked in my waistband, right in the small of my back, and a suppressor tucked in the pocket of my jacket. I planned on excusing myself, going into the bathroom, putting on the suppressor then killing her in her apartment. I’d clean up and make sure I left no evidence behind then disappear into the night, one more victim down, another job finished for the family.
Except when I parked in front of her building and she got out, I stared at her round ass and a strange thought flipped through my mind.
What if I didn’t kill her?
I shook my head and got out after her. I couldn’t go soft, not right now, not after years of getting my hands dirty for absurd amounts of money. I could do this job and finish it like I’d always done.
I was the best in the city and I earned that title through blood and suffering.
“Are you okay?” she asked as I joined her on the stoop.
She leaned back against the black metal railing. Her hair shone in the streetlight. She tilted her chin up toward me and parted her lips again. I felt a stab of something in my gut and realized it was desire, plain and simple.
I wasn’t going soft. It wasn’t soft to want a taste of this girl.
I could always kill her after.
She sucked in a breath as I stepped closer to her. I could feel the warmth of her body. I reached up and touched her cheek with my right hand, fingers brushing against her skin. I bent down and kissed her, nice and soft, just a gentle probing, trying to get to know her taste.
She returned that kiss with a depth that I hadn’t been expecting.
I held her there, pushing her back against the railing. I felt my heart pound in my chest and my cock responded to her soft warm body. I broke off the kiss, but kept her pinned.
“Coffee,” I said.
“Yeah.” Her voice was a whisper. “Coffee.”
I released her. She turned to the door, unlocked it, and let us both inside.
Her building had a ratty green carpet and stained beige walls. The doors were brown wood with gold numbers on the front. We took a dark, wobbly staircase to the second floor and she took me into the front apartment labeled 2A.
“Nice place,” I said as she flipped on a light.
She hurried to straighten up some magazines and put a few dirty mugs in the sink. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect
to have someone over for, uh, coffee tonight.”
“That’s okay.” I put my hands in my pockets. “Where’d you get this furniture?”
“Thrift stores mostly,” she said. “Craigslist and eBay, too.”
“It’s really decent.” I walked over to the coffee table and ran my hands over the wood. “Mid-century modern. Really nice. Consistent, too.”
She blushed again and I could tell she was proud of her decor.
I couldn’t blame her. The place was immaculate. Each piece had distinctive long, slender legs and faux-wood grain. The prints on the walls were all fifties modernist style in bright colors. I could see her wearing a headscarf, an apron, a pair of black high heels, and nothing else.
It was a damn good image.
“So, uh.” She lingered in the kitchen. “I guess I should make decaf.”
I shrugged. “Sure. Mind if I use your bathroom first?”
“Go ahead. Down the hall, right at the end.”
I nodded, walked past the kitchen, and into the hallway. I saw her bedroom, the hardwood floor covered in a smattering of clothes, and went into the bathroom. A teal shower curtain and a white porcelain sink.
I took the Glock from my waistband and stared at it.
The suppressor felt heavy in my jacket pocket. I took it out and twisted it onto the end of the pistol’s barrel.
But instead of walking out there and putting two bullets in her chest, one in her brain, I knelt down, opened the sink’s lower cabinet door, and shoved the gun back behind the pipes. I stood up, adjusted my collar, unbuttoned a second button, and turned to the door.
I didn’t have to kill her tonight. I could always kill her later.
Or maybe tomorrow.
Fuck Dante and the family. I worked for them but I wasn’t a made man and they didn’t own me.
I walked back out and smiled at her. She lingered next to the coffee machine but it wasn’t running.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t have decaf.”
“Good.” I walked to her. “Fuck the coffee.”
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said, but didn’t move as I stopped inches from her.
“Probably not,” I said and leaned down to kiss her.
She returned that kiss again with the same hunger.