by Laurin Kelly
Rob woke a couple of minutes later. He sat up swiftly, nearly crying out at the pain in his head and the twisting in his gut. He forced himself to his feet, swinging around to look at the desk. The money and drugs were gone, along with his gun. You little fucker.
He turned to where Ryan's body lay on the floor, the knife nowhere in sight. Rob pressed the back of his hand against the nape of Ryan's neck, noting that there was still some residual heat there. It indicated that little time had passed, so he still had a chance to get the fuck out of Dodge. He didn't fool himself that his counterpart had done him any favors. There were many other men with a much less harder head and finely tuned instinct for survival that would have been awakened by the police the next morning after what he'd been through.
Rob changed his clothes before slipping out the door, making his way to the elevators as discreetly as possible and once again using his laser pen to blind the camera as he passed. A glance at his phone told him it was just after two am, putting time on his side. He took the stairs this time down to the parking garage, finding his car and sliding into the driver's seat. Shaking his head to clear his vision one last time, Rob put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking garage.
If he ever met that little bastard again, retribution would be the first order of business.
Two
Rob looked around the room where he currently waited for his latest potential client. It looked like many others just like it he'd been in over the years: a study decorated in dark, masculine colors with large and traditional pictures. Although the walls were lined in books and there were some expensive looking paintings on the walls, there wasn't much in the way of personal effects. No framed photos, sports memorabilia, or certificates of achievement. It was slightly unusual, so he took note and filed it away for possible future use. The door behind Rob opened, and he turned to watch a man enter the room briskly. He came over and sat behind the desk, not bothering to shake hands with Rob. This was not unusual; he was seen by most of his clients as hired help, with no greater importance than their housekeepers or landscapers. The only difference was that instead of cleaning up messes in their houses and yards, Rob cleaned up the messes in their lives. The man nodded at Rob. "John Dwyer."
"So I assumed. What can I do for you, Mr. Dwyer?"
"I understand through a mutual acquaintance that you're a man who finds things. Or people. And that you can... take care of things, when certain issues arise with what you find."
Rob resisted the urge to sigh. Wealthy upper-class clients like Dwyer tended to talk vaguely, especially at first. It irritated Rob, because it took a lot longer to find out the details of the job that way.
"What do you need me to find, and who am I going to need to kill to get it?" asked Rob. At Dwyer's surprised expression, he let the corner of his mouth curve up. "I think we both have a lot more important things to do than sit here beating around the bush. Give me all the details and then I'll let you know if I want to take the job. And if I do, how much it'll cost you."
Dwyer looked affronted that Rob would even consider not taking the job. He doubted it had even crossed Dwyer's mind, but Rob liked to make it plain up front that he, not the client, was in control. At first Dwyer held eye contact with Rob, but he finally looked away.
"Fine," Dwyer said, turning back to Rob. "My father was an extremely wealthy man. His specialty was securities; even when the market was down, he always found a way to make money. He had the touch of Midas when it came to the stock market." Dwyer snorted. "Everything else he touched turned to shit, though. He was a complete and utter bastard to everyone around him, including me. When he died last week, it should have been the happiest day of my life. But he found a way to fuck that up for me too, which is why I need someone like you."
Rob was glad Dwyer was finally getting to the point. For a minute there, he thought the man might have mistaken him for a therapist, or someone else who would be inclined to give a shit about his daddy issues.
"When he knew for sure he wasn't going to last much more than a day, he asked me to come to his room. He’d never asked for me since he became bedridden, and I sure as hell never went in there of my own accord. I could almost smell him rotting away from the cancer. He told me that he knew I was glad he was dying and I didn't correct him. He said I was a sanctimonious prick, a disappointment to him in everything, and that his biggest regret was that I was his only heir. Then he dropped the bomb on me. It was so like him, I'm shocked I didn't see it coming all along."
"And the bomb was...?" Rob was starting to lose his patience.
"My father's will left everything to me. I was his only child, and despite how worthless he thought I was, I'd been running the business quite successfully in his absence. There was a stipend in there for my bitch of a stepmother, but other than that it was all to come to me as expected. But he told me there was another will, one completely legal that invalidated that first one." Dwyer's face hardened even more. "It left everything to my stepmother. It didn't matter that she was a dirty whore he'd decided to save from a strip club; she was going to get everything. He'd given the will to someone with instructions to come forward with it at an agreed upon date in the future."
Rob sat up a little straighter. Now they were finally getting somewhere.
"He said I'd never know when it would come," Dwyer’s words became clipped and tense. "A month, a year, five years... I'd never know when the rug would be jerked out from under me. He'd be able to die knowing that I'd never know a single day where I didn't fear it would be the one where I lost everything. Knowing that, he'd be able to die happy."
"So you want me to track down the will." Rob didn't phrase it as a question.
"Yes, and whoever has it. Anyone who stands in your way, I want them dead. I want that fucking document destroyed no matter what it takes. When that's done, I can know that that piece of shit burning in Hell will be screaming in agony because I'll finally be happy."
"So let me make sure I have everything. I need to track down whoever has the will. You want an undetermined number of hits if needed. I'll also be responsible for destroying the will. Does that sound right?"
Dwyer nodded. "Exactly. Can you do it?"
"Of course I can do it. But," Rob added, holding up a finger, "that's a lot of work, and some of those tasks will be time consuming. It'll tie me up for a while, keep me from being able to take anything else." Rob paused, calculating mentally. "Five hundred thousand dollars."
"What?" yelped Dwyer. "Half a million dollars?"
"If you don't like the terms, you're free to look elsewhere. You could even try Craigslist, I suppose. But like everything else in life, you get what you pay for. For five hundred, it'll get done right, fast, and clean. I'll walk out of your life and you'll never have to worry I'll show up to blackmail you later. If you really want that happy day I would think a man of your means would be willing to pay for it."
"Can I think about it?"
"No." Rob stifled a grin at how Dwyer's eyes widened in surprise. "Once I walk out of here, you and your problems cease to exist for me. I don't wait around for clients, Mr. Dwyer. I'm far too busy for that sort of nonsense."
"Fine," said Dwyer tightly. "Consider yourself hired."
Rob reached into his pocket, pulling out a card. "I'll need the first half wired to this account immediately. I'll expect it in there no later than two p.m. If it's not there, I'll assume you changed your mind and move on to the next client."
Dwyer took the card from him. "That won't be a problem. How do I get in touch with you for updates on your progress?"
"You don't. I'll call you when everything is done, and I'll expect the balance to be wired to the same account within an hour. Don't get any ideas about stiffing me on the second two-fifty. Not unless you want to be too dead to enjoy your happy day." Dwyer blanched, and Rob stood. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Dwyer. I'll see myself out."
Three
Rob pulled into the packed dirt parking lot whe
re blinking neon lights reflected off of the shiny hood of his rental car. The building in front of him was a large house, possibly a duplex originally, which had been converted into a place of business. Muffled music emanated from the dingy, paint-peeled structure; the flashing signs for Girls! Girls! Girls!, Totally Nude, and ATM Inside were the only things of color or brightness about the place.
He had decided, as he so often did, to start at the beginning. So a trip to The Fox Hole, where Dennis Dwyer and his second wife had met, was definitely in order. The strip club was isolated as it was located quite a bit outside the city limits. Dressed in jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, two days of stubble decorating his strong jaw, Rob would be able to blend in easily with the primarily blue-collar clientele of the club. He exited the car and made his way into The Fox Hole. There was no bouncer or cover charge, so he grabbed a table near the stage and signaled the waitress over. He ordered a Budweiser, allowing his hand to wander over the waitresses' mini-skirted ass. She threw him a flirtatious smile before leaving to get his drink.
Rob turned his attention to the stage. A young woman with shoulder length light brown hair walked teasingly around the silver pole, naked except for a tiny black thong. As the chorus to Garbage's #1 Crush played, she lifted a leg and wound it around the pole, then bent backwards so the ends of her hair brushed the floor. Rob reached for his wallet, folding a few dollar bills and tossing them on stage. She immediately straightened up, sank to the floor, and began to crawl on her hands and knees over to the money and Rob. Stopping in front of him, she rose to her knees, legs spread, and began to toy with the strings holding her thong together. Her movements were sensual and playful, but her eyes were blank; even if Rob had been into women, he supposed it might have dampened his enthusiasm somewhat. He pasted a wide grin on his face, reaching into his wallet for more bills. He held them out to her, just out of reach. Rob nodded at the hands near her hips, and she quickly tugged at the ties. The thong fell away, revealing a neatly shaved triangle of pubic hair. Rob motioned her closer, and when she obliged he handed over the three fives he was holding. The stripper drew them down her body, caressing her breasts with them, nipples hardening. Rob made as if to reach for them, but she pulled back and shook her head slightly, shifting her gaze behind his head. He turned around to see a pink neon sign with the words "VIP Room" at the back of the club. Turning back, he saw the woman had returned to the pole. She slid up and down it a few times as the music began to fade. She threw Rob one last sultry look, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top lip and letting it linger there before walking off the stage.
Rob's waitress returned, setting his beer down with a thunk. He paid her, adding on a decent but not extravagant tip. When she started to walk away, though, he grabbed her hip lightly. She looked back, the smile on her face this time less flirty and more nervous. "Something else you need, honey?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Rob, with a douchey leer. "That girl, the one who was just dancing?"
"Candy?"
"Yeah, Candy. Any chance I can get a little one-on-one time with her?"
"Up to her." The waitress looked relieved. "But she doesn't exactly play hard to get if you know what I mean. I can let her know you're asking."
"Appreciate it." While Rob sipped his beer the waitress slipped away, but she was back quickly.
"She'll see you in the back." She nodded toward the back of the room.
Rob took another drink of his beer and set it back on the table. He wound his way between the half-filled tables, where the patrons ranged from a table full of rowdy college-aged students to older men who seemed as jaded and apathetic to their surroundings as the employees. When he got to the VIP room, it was exactly as expected. There was a dingy looking couch in a small alcove, and to the left of it a short hallway with four closed doors marked Private. Deep moans and high-pitched, entirely fake sounding cries came from behind one of them. On one wall was a vending machine with assorted condoms, lubricants, and herbal supplements. The Fox Hole definitely was living up to its less than classy reputation, which was fine with Rob. He was hardly here for sex, and he didn't like surprises.
Candy walked into the room, and Rob immediately wiped the cold, detached look from his face. He smirked, blatantly ogling her as she stood in front of him. She was wearing a tiny purple pleather mini-skirt, a black mesh top that showed the hot pink bra worn beneath it, and ridiculously high silver platform heels. Rob licked his lips, letting his eyes heat up with feigned desire. As he reached for Candy, she stepped back.
"It's twenty if I keep everything on," she said, in the mechanical voice of someone who'd recited the same spiel hundreds of times. "Thirty if I lose just the top or the panties. Fifty, and it all comes off." Her smile was hard and brittle.
Rob shifted, as if he suddenly found sitting to be slightly uncomfortable. "You offering anything else?" he asked, low and rough.
Candy looked him over carefully at first. Seemingly satisfied, she laughed and walked forward. "I'll blow you for eighty. For a hundred, I'll let you fuck my sweet, tight pussy." She paused. "Whatcha want tonight, cowboy?"
Rob reached for his wallet and opened it, frowning slightly to give the impression he was worried he might not have the money. He thumbed through the bills and smiled, pulling out four twenties, a ten and two fives. He held them out with one hand, reaching under Candy's skirt with the other. Rob caressed the silky crotch of her panties. "This." He pushed upwards with his fingers, pressing hard on Candy's clit.
"Oh, yeah baby," she gasped.
Rob snorted mentally as Candy snatched the cash out of his hand and stuffed it into her bra. She took his hand, tugging him off the couch. Rob's hand fell from under her skirt as he rose. "Let's get some privacy. Candy's gonna give you just what you want."
You certainly will, thought Rob. Not the way you think, but I'll definitely get what I came for. He allowed himself to be led inside one of the closed doors.
The room was about as large as a good-sized department store dressing room. There was a rather dirty looking cot against one wall, and on the other a small stand with two drawers and a CD player on top. Candy pushed him lightly, signaling him to sit on the cot. "Get comfortable, baby," she said, moving towards the stand. "We'll have so much fun. You're gonna love it." She fiddled with the CD player as Rob shifted back onto the cot, settling his back against the wall. Rihanna's Rude Boy began to play tinnily out of the speakers, and Candy opened one of the drawers to pull out a square packet. Rob saw her take the cash out of her top and stash it in the drawer before turning around to face him.
"C'mere," said Rob, motioning with his head. "I'm lonely over here all by myself."
Candy walked slowly over to him, with what obviously passed for a wanton look for her. She stopped in front of him. "Can't have that," she said. She stroked his stubble with a delicate hand, and Rob turned his head to briefly mouth the palm. Candy took her hand away, bringing it and the other to the hem of her mesh top. She peeled it off, tossed it over her shoulder, and climbed up onto Rob's lap to straddle him. "This better?" she rolled her hips while stroking her hands over his powerful biceps.
"Fuck, yeah." Rob channeled his inner Neanderthal. He thrust upwards with his own hips, and when Candy predictably closed her eyes and threw her head back he made his move. Reaching into the back of his waistband, he pulled out his gun and pushed the barrel into her sternum. The pressure of cold metal instantly got Candy's attention. She snapped her head back up and looked down, eyes going wide and frightened. Before she could even open her mouth to scream, Rob slapped the hand not holding the gun over the lower half of her face, halting any possible noise.
"Shut the fuck up," ordered Rob. "We don't have to do this the hard way, but if you give me any trouble I'll take you out so fast you'll be dead before you hit the floor. Do you understand me?"
Candy nodded, her eyes growing damp.
"I'm going to take my hand away. You make a single fucking noise before I give you the okay it'll be the
last thing you ever do." He removed his hand, pleased to see she stayed silent. "That's it, good girl. Tell me what you know about a woman named Nina, who worked here a couple of years ago."
Candy swallowed. "I just started working here last year."
"So you've never even heard the name? Haven't heard a single thing about her?" He gave a little push with the gun against Candy's breastbone, staring coldly into her eyes. "I thought you didn't want to do this the hard way, but if I'm wrong about that-"
Candy shook her head. "No."
"Then tell me what you've heard or know before I lose my patience."
"She used to work here but married some old rich dude, I guess. I've heard talk, sure. S'not the sort of thing that happens much. About three weeks ago, this chick comes running into the dressing room looking for Tay. They start hugging and crying and shit, then leave. We haven't seen Taylor since. But I heard her call the chick 'Nina'."
Rob stared at Candy; he could tell she was telling the truth, but could equally sense she was holding something back. "There's something else you're not telling me."
Candy's eyes widened, and she looked down at the gun still held to her chest. "We're... we're not supposed to talk about it."
"Oh, I think you can tell me," said Rob. "Let's just say it would be in your best interest." He adjusted his grip on the gun slightly.
"Okay, okay! The old guy, the one she married? He still came in here, like, once a month or so."
"Really." That was some very interesting information.
"Yeah, I was with him a couple of times myself. He'd spend a while in Rick's office, then come out and pick a girl or two to come back here with. He could get rough, and he must have been hitting the blue pills pretty hard, 'cause he could go forever. But he tipped really good, so whatever. Then he just stopped coming around four months ago."