This time though, she set her glass down, and I saw in her eyes the woman who'd become a reasonably proficient shooter and fighter in the few months of training she'd had. "Who could it be?"
"The men look like they could be Russian, but they could also be German," I said slowly, keeping my voice low. "If that's the case, then they most likely would be former Spetznatz. It's one of those open secrets in that part of Europe. The Russian government can't pay their commandos much, so a lot of them once they get their training and a tough reputation, they shop out their skills to those who can afford it. Most go to work for the Russian mob, although some go to the Germans, the Iranians, and the Chinese. About the only group they won't work directly for is ISIS or the various Muslim groups. They're fanatic Russian Orthodox Christians and hate Muslims."
Sophie blanched and looked at me. "Are they....?"
I nodded. "No restraints. They don't follow the rules everyone else plays by. It's how they're so effective. You know the rules I operated by? Well, they're nothing like that."
I didn't need to tell Sophie that in addition to their total lack of following the rules, they were truly some of the best-trained killers in the world. I'd had years of training under various teachers who, while strict, were at least willing to care about my wellbeing. These guys trained under a Darwinian system. Those who weren't strong enough to keep up were either dropped or got themselves killed. It encouraged a certain kind of crazy in those who survived, and a total disregard for human life, including their own.
Tabby gulped and took a drink of her ice water. "What are you going to do?"
I thought about it for a second, then took a drink of my own water. "I need to draw them out. The one advantage I have over them is that they don't know the city the way I do. They're probably studying it as fast as they can, but there's still things that I know that they don't. I need to draw them to a place where I control the terrain advantage. The question is how to do it."
Sophie and Tabby fell silent as the three of us thought. I finished my lasagna and waited for our waiter to bring dessert, a panna cotta with olive oil ice cream. Finally, Sophie looked up at me. "What about a baited trap?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, curious. Sophie's eyes had taken on the look not only of the woman I'd trained, but the natural hunter I'd sensed in her even before she knew who I was. There is a deep well of protective strength in Sophie, a heightened sense of the natural maternal protective instinct that, when she tuned into it, made her not just a capable protector, but a dangerous stalker and hunter. During some of the training exercises I'd had her do in Croatia, she'd done better than I had the first time I went through them, that's how natural she is.
"Well, we know who they work for. What if we give their boss a reason to come to us?"
I thought about it for a second. "You mean give him a reason to think we're not who we say we are."
"Exactly. Maybe the Snowman or Miss White need to come back for a single performance."
I thought about it for a second. It was risky, but it was bold. "But how? The surgeries were done for a reason."
Sophie chuckled and puffed out her cheeks and tightened her neck, pulling her shoulders up. It was startling in that it obliterated almost all of the change in her facial structure the surgeons had done. Instead of the slightly narrower jawline and long, swan like neck of Sophie Warbird, the more compact and in some ways cuter profile of Sophie White sat before me. The nose was still different, though. I blinked, and Sophie relaxed her features with a laugh. "I noticed it a few days after the bandages came off. I can't exactly hold it for a long time, but a still shot with a wig should handle things, don't you think?"
I nodded. "Tabby, you think you can find a t-shirt from the Shamrock?"
"I have one already," Tabby replied, "it's at my place. Sophie left it there one time after an early shift when I convinced her to come out partying with me."
"Then we can work a plan."
After the dinner was over, Sophie and I drove back to Mount Zion. Workers had been there most of the day, and the improvement was noticeable. At least our bedroom area was complete, as well as our kitchen. The bathrooms needed work still, so we couldn't take a shower until they were finished. Since we had both conspicuously joined a gym nearby, a total waste of money since Mount Zion's main sanctuary was being refitted for that exact purpose, we could at least use that, and the chemical toilet for another day or two.
"I'm going to get changed for bed," Sophie said quietly as we came in. She started towards the closet area, but I reached out to take her arm.
"Sophie, wait," I said, turning her around. She turned to look at me, and I took a deep breath as I considered what I was going to say. I just hoped that I wasn't making a mistake. I'd just have to try to wrap all this up as fast as possible, something easier said than done. Watching her over the past twenty-four hours had been the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life, and seeing the reanimation in her face as she applied her mind to the problems with the new players in town made up my mind. I was never going to let her feel that way again. "I've come to a decision."
"And?" she asked, her voice still not hopeful. When she saw me smile, her eyes lifted and the look of Sophie, my Sophie, came back into her face.
"Let's have a baby, but on two conditions," I said, pulling her in close and kissing her. "We wait until we've taken out these two men. You stay on your pills until then, and then we start trying. Second, if and when you get pregnant, all of this going after criminals stuff stops. You go straight to the day to day business of Smiley Consolidated. Okay?"
She nodded, and kissed me again. "I can do that. By the way, we have to actually make a Smiley Consolidated."
"Of course," I replied, our kiss growing deeper. "In fact, I was thinking we could do some consolidating right now."
Chapter 23
Sophie
Ironically, it was at the exact same nail salon that Tabby had showed us last night that we decided to do the first purchase for Smiley Consolidated. The owner, a pretty Southeast Asian lady named Ms. Wen, was ecstatic when we met. "Thank you so much, Mr. Smiley, Miss Warbird," she said in lightly accented English. "With your investment, I can make the expansion that we've needed for so long."
"We're glad to become your partners, Ms. Wen," I replied, offering my hand. We shook, and I leaned in, "Of course, the biggest mark in your favor is your reputation. I hear you do wonderful work with gel nails?"
"Best in the city," Ms. Wen said, taking a look at my hand. "Hmmm, maybe something to compliment that hair of yours? I must say, it's beautiful. So few Americans would have the courage to try something so out of the ordinary."
"Why thank you," I replied. "Let's talk about maybe next week. But I think if we do that now, my fiancée will be bored out of his mind."
Mark rolled his eyes melodramatically in good humor, as Tabby, who served as the facilitating agent, brought forth the paperwork. "It'll take about a week for this all to clear the county courthouse," she said as first Mark and then Ms. Wen signed. Tabby, who was required to get her notary public license by her new firm, stamped and signed in her spot as well. "But, once that is done, I'd say we can transfer the funds and get things rolling."
"That's perfect," Mark said, playing his role of business mogul to the limit. "Ms. Wen, if you could have the estimates and all the paperwork you have gathered for your expansion to my office soon, maybe you and I can sit down and figure out where best to start, and if there is a way to make our money go further. To be honest, I was surprised when Miss Tabby brought your company to my attention, you requested so little."
"We've been understaffed and working hard so long, we just need that little push. Once that is in, then the profits we can make can fuel the rest of the expansion by themselves."
Mark nodded, and smiled. "Well, we'll talk. In the mean time Ms. Wen, Sophie and I have another business meeting. If you're going to come by my office, I need to have an office for you to come to."
We left Zen Nail Salon and climbed into our rental car. Tabby slid into the rear passenger seat, all smiles. "Well, that was easy. I like spending your money, Marcus."
"After we sign the lease on the office space, I want you to bring in more businesses like that one," Mark replied. "I'm going to put pressure on Owen Lynch and the Confederation by investing in businesses that they've been keeping down. Zen Nails, Guliano's, places like that. By the way, where are we leasing office space?"
Tabby and I both laughed. "You know love, for someone who's made a whole lotta money, you sure don't know a lot about how to do business," I said as we drove. "Not that I'm much better."
"Well, you know how I made a lot of my money. The rest I made using false identities and online companies. I never had to sign leases or paper agreements. Digital signatures and money transfers was all I needed. I made a million dollars sitting around in my underwear."
"With the way you're built, that could happen in about a dozen clubs around town," Tabby quipped, and I lost it, exploding in giggles as Mark tried his best to keep us on the road. "But seriously, face to face business isn't all that different, it just requires more paperwork. Didn't you tell me you had lawyers and stuff to handle this before?"
"None of them were local. They're in Bermuda I think. I need a local legal team, and you happen to represent what we need. That and I personally still want to keep tabs on you. I'd hire you directly, but that might create too much suspicion and keep you away from what you've done best, which is gather information for us. I never wanted you to do that, but it sure has helped. Anyway, I can keep you safe easier this way."
I could see Tabby blink back a few tears as Mark's words sunk in, and I turned to look out my passenger side window. "So, Tabby," I said after a few minutes. "Where exactly are you taking us for looking at office rentals?"
"In order to fit your profile, I had three options," Tabby said, and I could hear the relief as she could refocus on business instead of the danger she was most likely still in, even as diminished as it was.
"I wanted to run them by you. The first is downtown, in a high rise that also has three trading houses, a law firm, and some other similar things. Rent is reasonably high, visibility is good too. The second is in the North Valley, among the technology startups that are populating the area. You'll have less total visibility, but you'll be higher profile in the area, and your rent's going to be a lot less. The final one was the one that I had to do a double-take on when you asked me to look into it, but I found a commercial building close to the docks and the airport. It's been empty for the past three years, and while the neighborhood isn't exactly the DMZ, it's not great either. Three floors, but five stories tall, with the bottom two stories being a giant warehouse.
“Previously it was used by an assortment of shipping companies, the last one with ties to La Cosa Nostra. The owner got put in jail, and the property went into tax receivership six months ago. The advantage is you can buy it for a song. Outright you could have it tomorrow for just over two hundred thousand dollars. I've seen pictures of the inside, it's going to need more renovations than Mount Zion if you want to do the entire building."
"Let's check out the warehouse," Mark said. I glanced over, as all three of us were dressed for business, with Mark in a handmade suit we had picked up from a tailor in Hong Kong, while I was wearing a Donna Karan skirt and top. "I know, I know. But it fits better with my idea of how to stand out, and how to put our enemies off guard. Besides, that warehouse will give us the flexibility to use it as a potential base of operations. We can't do that in either of the other two locations, the neighbors will be too close and too nosy."
I couldn't deny his points, and sat back. "Babe, I don't want to sound too nosy, but just how much money are we going to use to set up this facade?"
Mark grinned and looked over at me. "Who says it's all a facade? If we do this right, we'll end up with more money than ever. But up front, I was thinking in the fifteen to twenty area."
"Fifteen to twenty thousand?" Tabby asked. "Your repairs to Mount Zion are going to be more than that."
I shook my head and turned around to look at her. "He means fifteen to twenty million."
I'd never seen Tabby's jaw drop the way it did when the numbers rolled over her, and she grasped just how much Mark was worth. Finally, she just shook her head and looked down at her tablet. "Go upstairs with him, I said. Go have some fun. Good luck, I hope he's a nice guy, I said. Sheesh, and I ended up being dry humped by a thirty-year-old loser with a mortgage," she muttered to herself, and I had to chuckle.
"You give good advice, Tabs."
"Yeah, yeah. Think someday I could get an advisor's fee out of it?"
"You keep bringing us targets like you have, and you're going to be a very well to do business advisor within four years," Mark replied. "What you decide to do with that money, well, that'll be the kicker, won't it?"
The warehouse was bigger than I'd expected, but wasn't the largest on the block. The bottom floor had just over five thousand square feet of empty space with thirty foot high ceilings. The second and third floors could be reached either by stairs or a freight elevator near the back of the huge space.
"We're going to have to take the stairs, the power's off right now," Tabby said, leading us over. We climbed up the steel grating steps, our footsteps echoing in the empty air. "I haven't been here yet personally, so I don't know what the space is like."
"So far so good though," Mark replied, looking around. When we reached the second floor, Tabby produced a key which she used to unlock the door. With the stairwell, the second floor was smaller, but still spacious, and had obviously been a shipping office as well as what looked like a break room and cafeteria for the workers at one point. There were even some tables still sitting around unused. "I like it. Third floor?"
The third floor was almost totally empty, with only a single folding chair off in one corner. We walked the entire floor, our feet crunching on the dust and dirt that covered the concrete floor, and I looked around. "Well, it could become an office if we wanted," I said. "A few coats of paint, one of those potted plants in the corner, and we'd be good to go."
"I agree," Mark said. "All right Tabby, get the documents drawn up. Once we have the building title, I want workers here within two weeks. Until then, we'll use Mount Zion as our office, and gather up some more businesses. In the mean time, it's time to draw out Owen Lynch's friends."
"And how are we going to do that?" I asked, happy that Mark was taking my idea of a baited trap to heart.
"Two things. First, I'm going to crash a party. Next, you're going to take a photo, and then, we're placing an Amazon order."
Chapter 24
Mark
The night was perfect as I walked up the flagstone walkway to the Mayor's official residence. It hadn't taken much to wrangle an invitation to the Fall Benefit for the city's youth. It was the Mayor's current pet project, and with Marcus Smiley already making headlines for the past two weeks, I could easily go. I only wished Sophie was with me, but according to our plan I needed to attend by myself. It would be vital for the timing of everything.
I checked my tuxedo, and chuckled to myself. Before meeting Sophie, I'd worn a tux less than ten times in my life. Sure I'd worn suits, some of the best money could buy, but a tuxedo sends a different message. When you wear a tux, you want to stand out, and as a hitman, that's not something you want to do.
Now though, as Marcus Smiley, I had to play a role on top of being my normal self. In some ways it was great. I could invest money cleanly, and make a difference in public. I felt like in that way I was helping to take down the criminal empire that had infested the city. Maybe I was buying some atonement for my sins, but then again, I've never been a churchgoing man.
"Marcus Smiley," I said to the assistant at the door, who was checking off names against a master list on the iPad she had in her hands. She looked like your standard intern, probably a college student who was majoring in political sc
ience and getting some kudos along with most likely a job recommendation when she graduated. She was cute in that innocent college co-ed kind of way.
"Marcus..... Smiley?" she asked, recognizing the name. She looked up at me, and I had to give credit to the newspaper reporter who Sophie was doing most of the dealing with. She had that star struck look in her eyes, I hoped from the good press and not from my looks. "Ah, yes, you're right here. Donation box is there on the right, and enjoy the party."
It was a masterful move on the Mayor's part, I thought. By making the pledge box sealed but transparent, there was technically no reason for someone to even donate. However, if they did, there was the tightrope that everyone walked. For a minute at least once your slip fluttered through the slot, it could land face up on the pile. If you donated freely and generously, it would be noticed and you'd get commendations socially. If you were a tight-ass, that'd get noted as well. It encouraged donations that would get the sort of quiet kudos that these sorts of events were famous for.
Striding up to the box, I took a quick glance at what was inside, and saw that most of the donations were in the five thousand dollar range. Not bad, considering the party was over two hundred people, with three corporations that were controlled by Owen Lynch already publicly stating they would absorb the cost of the event itself, but I wanted to really make a splash.
Taking the pledge slip from the pile, I smirked as I wrote my name in very bold, very dark letters across the top. In the donation slot I wrote smaller, but still clearly, twenty five thousand dollars. Owen Lynch might have been a criminal, but the mayor was actually trying to do something good. And the number was just high enough that it would get the attention I was looking for.
In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel Page 33