Hit: A Thriller (The Codename: Chandler)

by J. A. Konrath

  I had perfected the art of crying on cue. A few thoughts about the death of my parents and desperation of my life in the years after, and the glare of the taillights of retreating traffic grew smeared by tears. “I can’t… I’m… oh jesus, I’m so scared.”

  “They will not find you.”

  “You can promise me that? I saw them at the restaurant. They saw me.”

  “If you’re careful…”

  “Take me with you.”

  He smiled, as if my request was some private joke. “You want to go to Las Vegas?”

  “It doesn’t matter where we go. Please. I don’t know who those men were, but all they’d have to do to find me is ask around at the restaurant. I go there all the time. Please.” I turned up the volume, both in tears and in trembles.

  “Very well, but before I take a beautiful woman like you to Sin City, you must make me a promise.”

  “Anything.”

  “Give me your word we will stay out of the wedding chapels. I fear you will bewitch me, and my heart will never again be my own.”

  I sniffled, laying it on thick, and for a moment I wondered who was playing whom.

  Heath

  Heath had to admit the woman had cojones. For her to come out and ask if she could come along to Vegas was not only audacious, it was inspired.

  How could he resist a woman like that?

  “Do you promise? No wedding chapels?”

  Simone smiled through crocodile tears. “I do.”

  “See why I have to be careful around you, querida? You’re dangerous.”

  She reached out to hug Heath. Normally he would have welcomed the contact, even though he knew it was outright manipulation, but this time he held out his palm.

  “Later, Simone. As lovely as you are, you are wearing much of Bratton’s supper. We should be able to find you a change of clothes on board.”

  The aircraft was waiting for them, an eight passenger Challenger 300, and it took little time to board. Heath led Simone into the back bedroom and showed her closet full of various outfits Bratton kept for his teenaged girls. Normally Heath felt a stab of pity whenever Bratton violated and humiliated a prostitute. Sex wasn’t enough for him. El chancho enjoyed the power trip. The debasement.

  But Heath did not believe Simone would be debased by any of the clothing she found. If she was an assassin, as Health believed, she would use her wardrobe to her advantage. To distract. To arouse. To control the situation. Had he not hopped into the driver’s seat when he did, Heath had no doubt Simone would have.

  Something special, this one.

  Heath reminded his boss to turn off his cell phone, a task Bratton never failed to complain about, even though it was his own security at stake. Then Heath chose a seat near the front of the plane, next to Bratton’s well-appointed wet bar, which boasted some of the best tequila Heath had ever had the opportunity to taste. Gran Patron Burdeos. He poured himself a hundred dollar shot into a brandy snifter and waited for Simone to get dressed.

  Bratton settled into a seat near the restroom, a plastic soda cup cradled in his hands. Simone came out wearing a seifuku—a Japanese schoolgirl outfit. It was basically a tight-fitting sailor suit featuring a white and blue mini skirt and a low cut, cropped white top with a blue tie.

  Heath let out a hiss of breath through his teeth. She’d chosen well.

  Simone smiled demurely at him, then leaned over Bratton, handing him a tissue to wipe his mouth. As she did, she gave Heath a long peek at her breasts, braless under the tight top.

  Muy bien.

  Bratton stared blankly into the bottom of the cup, ignoring Simone.

  Heath shook his head. If he ever got so sick that he didn’t notice a woman like Simone with perfect cleavage in front of him, then he might as well be dead.

  “Best to let him rest, bonita. Why don’t you come up here and sit next to me?”

  She settled into the almond leather seat facing him across a small table, and belted herself in. Minutes later, they were in the air without police making an unwelcome visit or the tower holding up plane.

  In sparing the limo driver’s life, Heath believed he had made the right call. He only hoped he’d feel the same way about Simone.

  It was a dangerous thing to do; bringing her to Vegas, and perhaps not so wise to be tempting the devil, as his mother used to say. But the lack of an invitation wouldn’t stop her from completing the job she was sent to do. This way, her desire to stay undercover would make her easier to control for as long as he needed.

  And it would give him a chance to learn who had hired her.

  He poured her Burdeos and refreshed his glass. The plane was cool, the air-conditioning on high, and Heath considered slipping off his jacket and offering it to her. But that would be like putting a sheet over a Degas.

  “You can remove the pig tails, if you desire.”

  “Don’t you think he’ll notice?”

  “I don’t think he’s noticing anything right now.”

  “So you don’t like my youthful look?” She pouted, and playfully batted her eyelashes. “May I sit on your lap, Papa?”

  “I told you, I like a strong woman.”

  “One with fire.”

  “One like you.”

  A smile crossed her lips, seeming genuine. “I don’t think you can afford me.”

  “I’m sure I cannot. But my employer isn’t in need of you right now, bonita, so you can’t blame me for wanting to enjoy a little of your company on his dime. Perhaps we start with you telling me where you’re from?”

  “Do you want the truth? Or what the johns want to hear?”

  “I want what you want to tell me. I find you fascinating.”

  “I’m from Chicago. Not so fascinating.”

  “I love Chicago. Did you grow up in the city?”

  Her eyebrow rose. “You don’t want to know about me.”

  “But, I do.”

  “You want to know what I’m after.”

  “So what are you after?”

  “Money.”

  “I can’t believe that’s all. You could have taken the money like the driver and saved yourself much time.”

  “I told you, I was scared.”

  “Why is it I have trouble believing fear would stop you from anything?”

  “I’m afraid of plenty of things.”

  “Name one.”

  “Drowning.”

  Heath thought of what he’d had to endure as part of his training. He had to wonder if Simone had gone through something similar. “That is a wise fear to have. Another?”

  “Heights.”

  “Being in high places? Or falling from high places?”

  “Falling. Actually the falling part is fine. It’s the landing part that’s scary.”

  “Did you know that is one of the few fears that even babies feel? They are born with it. It’s instinct.”

  “Are you afraid of falling?”

  “Only of falling hopelessly in love with you, querida.”

  “Does this Latin Lothario act work on many women?”

  He sipped more tequila. “It is not an act. It is who I am.”

  “You interchange compliments and questions. It is something a pimp does.”

  For a moment, Heath bridled. He had pity for whores. He had nothing but hatred for pimps. But then he realized she’d managed to steer the conversation back to him, to put him on the defensive, and again he wondered where she’d gotten her training.

  “Were you hurt?” he asked. “By a pimp?”

  “I’ve been hurt in ways you can’t imagine.”

  “Are you afraid of being hurt again? As you are of water and falling?”

  Her brow crinkled. “I used to be afraid of catching a baseball. Not a good fear to have when your stepfather is a rabid fan.”

  “Cubs or White Sox?”

  “Him? Sox.”

  “Let me guess, you like the Cubs.”

  “We didn’t see eye to eye very often.”


  The way her lips tensed intrigued him. As if talking about her stepfather was akin to poking at a scar that was healed over but still tender deep inside. Real? Or an act?

  “The fear, how did you overcome it?”

  “I taught myself to juggle. Got really good. Never missed another one of his throws.” She gave a light laugh and sipped her drink. “So what are you afraid of?”

  “Ah, that is an easy one. Poverty.”

  “A real mercenary, huh?”

  “I make sure I get what I need, just as you do. Unless you expect me to believe you are attracted to my employer for his good looks and charm.”

  She smiled. “Maybe I just wanted to get to know his bodyguard a little better.”

  He didn’t even have to close his eyes to recall the scene in the limo… only this time he imagined her lips were wrapped around him. “Now you are toying with me, mamacita. I can’t afford you, remember?”

  “We’re going to Vegas. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

  “I’m feeling lucky now.” He reached over to the bar and pulled out a deck of cards. Watching Simone, he slipped them from the box and started shuffling. “You play poker, no?”

  “Once or twice. Is that the one where I try to get a good pair?”

  She leaned forward, giving Heath another glimpse of her breasts.

  “Ah, you joke, but you are a shark. I can see it your eyes.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “Sí, yes. We are made for each other.”

  Chandler

  “Patience is crucial,” The Instructor said. “Doors might close in front of you, but remember if a window doesn’t open, you can always kick out the glass.”

  I smiled at Heath. With extensive training in reading the emotions of others, poker was my game, and I had to admit, the thought of matching wits with him gave me a little thrill. It also worried me.

  Despite my training, I still wasn’t sure how to read him. Half the time, I thought he might suspect me. The other half, I was certain he just wanted to get into my pants. Either way, the odds of completing my op were better if I went along, bided my time, and played him best I could until I got my shot at Bratton.

  Heath smiled. “Name your game.”

  “It depends. What are we playing for?”

  “We play one hand,” Heath said. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”

  “And if I win?”

  “You get to kiss me.”

  “Nice try. How about a hundred bucks?” After all, that’s what call girls were after.

  Heath frowned. “A hundred dollars a kiss? In Guadalajara, a hundred dollars would get me three women for the night, plus breakfast the next morning. And a tank of gas. And the car.”

  “But you aren’t in Guadalajara. And I’m not one of those women.”

  Heath sighed, as if deeply pained.

  “I can understand if you can’t afford it,” I said. “That fear of poverty and all.”

  He winked. “A hundred dollars it is. What game?”

  For pure strategy, poker was the game. Over time the better player would win, even if the cards didn’t favor them. I could play poker like a bitch in heat. But playing with Heath, one on one, would be tricky. If he was as good as I suspected, we’d be so into each other’s heads I’d lose sight of my main goal—killing Bratton and getting the package.

  No, with Heath a game of straight odds would be better.

  “Blackjack,” I said.

  His frown deepened. “Blackjack? That’s a game for old maids.”

  “No, that would be old maid.”

  “Que?”

  “Old maid is a card game.”

  “I would rather play that.”

  “With blackjack, the house has the better odds.”

  Under Heath’s breath I heard him mutter, “Ventiuna con Rinconete y Cortadillo.”

  It was a reference to Cervantes, the author of Don Quixote. In the particular story Heath mentioned, two cheaters play twenty-one, which was one of the first historical mentions of the card game.

  That a Mexican bodyguard knew this intrigued me. But a Chicago hooker wouldn’t know it, so I didn’t say anything.

  “In or out?” I asked.

  Part of me was hoping he’d balk.

  Another part of me was hoping he’d go for it.

  “Sí, yes, we play blackjack. But if I win, that better be one heck of a kiss, bonita.”

  He let me cut the cards, then dealt. Two cards each. Both of mine face up, only one of his face up.

  I had an eight and a king. Eighteen. The goal was to beat the dealer, by getting as close to twenty-one as possible without going over. The trick was trying to guess what the dealer had, since the player could only see one of his cards. If the player thought the dealer had a better hand, she could ask for another card.

  Although the dealer had a slight odds advantage, he also didn’t have any choices to make. He had to keep hitting until he totaled at least seventeen. Since face cards were worth ten points, and there were sixteen tens in a deck of fifty-two, it wasn’t too hard to guess what the dealer was holding in a single deck game.

  Especially since I knew how to count cards.

  Heath had a six showing. I stayed with my hand. He flipped over a jack, for a total of sixteen, and had to take a hit according to the rules. He gave himself a seven. Twenty-three. Bust.

  A hundred bucks for the mamacita.

  He dealt again. I got a king and an ace. Instant blackjack. He had two tens, and busted with a five.

  Two hundred dollars.

  “I do not like this game.”

  “Would you prefer I deal?”

  Heath demurred, dealing again. This time he gave me a six and an eight, and he had a queen showing.

  Fourteen wasn’t the best hand. But there were thirty-eight cards left in the deck, and only nine or ten of those were tens. Chances were pretty good that I’d draw a low card.

  I hit. Got a six. Heath flipped a jack. Tie.

  “What do we do for draws?” he said. “I can kiss your neck for fifty dollars?”

  I shuddered, hoping I concealed it. The right guy kissing my neck made me weak-kneed.

  “It’s a wash, you deal again.”

  This time he dealt me an ace and a five. Aces could equal either one or eleven, meaning I had a six or a sixteen. Sixteen wasn’t a good hand, but with an ace the odds said I should take a hit.

  Heath, however, also had a six showing.

  I stayed. He turned over a queen, had to hit, and busted with a seven.

  Three hundred dollars.

  “I think it is time for a shuffle, no?” Heath said.

  I shrugged as if I didn’t care. But I watched his hands closely and caught the son of a bitch dealing from the bottom of the deck.

  He was good. Magician-level good. But I knew the same trick and spotted it instantly.

  This guy wants to kiss me so badly he’d cheat?

  I thought about calling him on it and played out the scenario in my mind. He could admit it, or claim innocence. No harm in either. But if he got angry, that could compromise my mission.

  I let it go.

  Heath dealt me a twenty and gave himself twenty-one.

  “I am out a lot of money, Simone. Make this good.”

  “How about I give you a hundred dollars back instead?”

  I held out one of the hundreds he’d passed to me. His move was snake-quick, so fast he startled me.

  In one fluid motion he snatched my wrist and pulled me around the small airplane table and into his lap. I had my hand on my inner thigh, where I’d replaced the AmEx knife while dressing in the schoolgirl outfit, and I was ready to use it, but Heath’s eyes weren’t angry or threatening.

  Jesus. He looks like a lovesick Pepe le Pew.

  “You have earned your money, bonita. I will not take that from you. But I will take this.”

  He brought his lips to mine, barely brushing them, close enough for me to feel his breath. One arm had
found its way around my waist, and the other lightly brushed my knee. I could smell the tequila on him, a lingering bit of aftershave, and that male smell that I knew was juiced with pheromones.

  Heath took my lower lip in both of his, gently, then worked over to the corner of my mouth. I turned my head to meet his, but then his lips were on my ear, and his tongue made the faintest trail down along my neck.

  Uh-oh.

  His lips brushed my chin, and his mouth opened, as did mine. My tongue rose to meet his, but didn’t find it—he’d pulled back. I watched his eyes twinkle in a smile, and then the sneaky little Latino somehow got one of his hands between my legs and began to gently caress me on the outside of my panties just as his tongue met mine with a palpable shock.

  My first instinct was to swat his hand away, but I stopped myself. Chandler might be uncomfortable with a move this forward, but Simone would be used to it. And I had to admit the more he caressed and kissed, the more I was beginning to enjoy being Simone.

  I couldn’t tell if he was better with his tongue or his fingers. The sensations of being explored in both places at once using the exact same motions were as powerful as they were confusing.

  I might have moaned a little.

  I might have pressed against him.

  I don’t know if it was the best first kiss of all time, but I would have nominated it for the semi-finals.

  And then I gave him a firm but harmless nip on his lower lip, causing him to pull back enough for me to say, “Okay, done.”

  He smiled, then did something outrageously erotic to me with his thumb. “Done? Your body does not seem to be done, Chiquita. It seems like a car just warming up.”

  I exercised a degree of self-control never before attained in all of female history and said, “The kiss is over, Heath. If you want more, you have to win.”

  “But I do want more.” He moved to kiss my neck again.

  I pinched his chest, hard. “Then play the game.”

  He went from Pepe le Pew eyes to Droopy Dog eyes, and then he had me twirled back to my feet like I was his tango partner. After holding my hand longer than needed, he picked up the cards.

  “My turn to deal,” I said, sitting down.

  “But lady luck was finally smiling upon me.”