Partners

by D B Steward

  To Angela, my partner and my ride or die.

  Chapter One

  Ugh. She did not want to have to fight this guy; he was six foot three and probably two hundred and ninety pounds if he was an ounce. Meanwhile, she was a five foot six woman who was just one hundred and thirty-six pounds this morning before three pancakes and three strips of bacon. She was not worried about kicking this fat schlub’s ass though—she was angry enough to do it because she had a wicked hangover and just wanted to crawl in bed and pull the covers over her head for about a hundred years or so. She calculated that her frustration would give her fists the strength enough to take him down. But a job is a job, and bringing this guy in was going to pay off five grand, and Mama’s gotta pay the rent, she thought in resignation.

  Five thousand dollars seemed like a lot of money for a guy who looked like an out-of-work contractor with a hard-on for twelve-packs and cheeseburgers, so he must have pissed off someone in the Salvador family really bad. That was not really her concern though; whatever he had done to earn the contract on his head, the money was already in her bank account and his carcass was due for delivery by midnight. She looked at her phone and saw that it was already quarter after eleven. This was going to be cutting it close. She figured a drive to Winnetka to Don Salvador’s place at this time of night would take about thirty minutes from there to the drop-off if she was lucky, forty-five minutes if she was not. Who knows how long it will take to put this guy in the van though, she mused. With a load like that, she would have to remember to lift with her legs.

  The window in the bathroom was way too small to try and get him out that way, but she had to thank God for ‘dod’ legislators for passing the no-smoking law in public places. The big man was a smoker so now she just had to wait until he got the craving and went outside to light up. As if on cue, he got up and was making his way to the front entrance while pulling out his pack of cigarettes. “About damn time,” she muttered under her breath.

  She waited ten seconds and followed him outside. He was blowing out his first drag by the time she stepped out, pulling out a pack of her own. He thinks he’s being slick as he checks out my ass. She was about to ask him for a light when he jumps the gun on her. Slow down, buckaroo! Ha! This guy really thinks he has a chance with me. She had to hold in her laughter at the fact that he was barking up the wrong tree.

  “Need a light, sweetheart?”

  Sweetheart? What a charmer this guy was, she thought. She put on her best ‘buzzed white girl’ smile and chuckled drunkenly.

  “Yasss, I think I left mine inside!” She slurred her words and wobbled so he would think that she was really hammered. He handed her the lighter and she fumbled it during the exchange from his meaty fingers on purpose. “Oops!” She chuckled again as it tumbled toward her old panel van a few cars down. It didn’t tumble far enough though and she bent over, acting as though she was attempting to pick it up, and shifted her ass into his field of vision as a distraction. She knew she had a nice ass; add to that the short red dress she was wearing that showed off her athletic legs and the big idiot didn’t stand a chance. The lugnut isn’t even trying to help me, she thought as she gave her buttocks a little wiggle. Chivalry is dead. While he admired the view, she pretended to accidentally kick the lighter with her red pumps and slide it down the sidewalk closer to her van.

  “I must be drunker than I thought!” she said about two notches too loud and stumbled over to her van like it was the first time she had ever worn high heels. He followed her like a good puppy and she picked up the lighter with one hand while sneaking out her baton from the inside of her little black leather jacket. As she stood with the lighter in one hand and a stupid grin on her face, she extended the steel baton with a flick of her wrist. In the split second it took for him to look down at the baton, she punched him in his Adam’s apple with her hand that still held his lighter. Not enough to crush the throat, but just hard enough to make it the center of his attention for a few minutes. Now that he was gasping for air, she could wind up and give him a hard enough whack on the side of his kneecap with the baton to make it relocate to the other side of his leg.

  He went down with a choked yelp, not a loud one though, and she was grateful for that. She did not need him making any unnecessary noises out there on the street; witnesses complicated these type of jobs. He exposed the base of his skull for her like a good boy and she gave him a hard love tap with her baton on the soft flesh of his neck. That was it for the big guy and he went down hard, unconscious. She looked up and down the street, scanning for anyone who had happened to get an eyeful of the action. She had gotten lucky and saw that the area was clear of any nosy people. She then unlocked her van and moved the handcuffs and duct tape that were on the interior floor to the side. She looked down, blew out a sigh at the sight of the big slab of chubby loser lying on the ground, and kicked off her heels.

  “Now here comes the fun part.” She grunted as she pulled him closer to the van by his ankles.

  He woke up with about ten minutes left into the ride. His grunting and trying to talk through the duct tape didn’t annoy her—she just turned up the radio to drown him out—but when his fat ass started rocking the van at every red light, she warned him once to knock it off. The second time he did it, she reached down between the seats and grabbed her cattle prod. After a dose of fifty-thousand volts, he settled down real fast. The rest of the drive to the suburbs went smoothly and silently.

  The outer gate to the estate was being manned by a guy she did not know. That wasn’t overly concerning to her, although she knew or could recognize the face of most of the men that worked for Don Salvador; there were always new thugs coming up through the ranks. The Don only had one guard at the gate most of the time—this was the suburbs of Chicago, not Bogota, Colombia after all. He did not need an army of men patrolling the grounds with uzis strapped over their shoulders. She stopped the van in front of him and rolled down her window. The new guard put on his tough guy face and made a point of leaning over and showing her the nine-millimeter pistol in his shoulder holster.

  “What do you want?” His voice dripped with contempt as if he was an essential member of the Salvador family and she was below his prestigious position. Charming fellow. If he was half as important as he thinks he is, he wouldn’t be watching the gate at stupid o’clock.

  “Delivery for Don Salvador,” she said in an exaggeratedly pleasant voice. Kill him with kindness.

  “Nobody by that name lives here.”

  Or just kill him. He was an idiot too. She exhaled in exasperation. “Just tell your boss

  that I have the fat load of ham he wanted.” He smirked at her like he was much smarter than she was and she found that it was possible to like this guy even less than she had before. Not that she really liked many of the Don’s men, but she was going to find out this particular guy’s name for sure. He talked into his walkie-talkie and then looked a little deflated as he ended the call and walked back to her van.

  “Alright, you can go in.” He opened the gate and stepped back, looking slightly irritated.

  “Thank you so much, sunshine,” she said sarcastically and peeled out, tires squealing and smoking, to try and irritate the douchebag of a guard as much as she could. She drove up the winding road to the large brick house with arched windows and doors that made it look like some place in Los Angeles where a movie producer from the fifties would live. It had to be worth a couple million dollars, she figured. It was close to the golf course, and all the other houses around it were the kind of estates she imagined that they had on Dynasty. Was the Don a golfer? Tony Soprano golfed. Seeing the Don in her mind in one of those old-time golf outfits with the hat that had the white puffball on top and the pants that ended at the knees with the socks pulled up made h
er chuckle. She drove past the main door of the estate and continued going around the back to where she always dropped off her deliveries. She saw Tony by the doors waiting for her and he gave her a nod in greeting. She returned the nod and swung the van around so that the back doors were facing him.

  Despite herself, she liked Tony. He was one of the few men who didn’t treat her like she was inferior just because she was a woman. He was an older man in his sixties and had probably seen a lot of shit in his long career. Tony was a little on the short side, but he was thickly built like a tree stump with gray hair, and he had a toughness that he probably earned decades ago.

  “Evening, Kelly,” he said as she came around to the back of the van, glancing at his watch. “Cutting it a little close tonight.”

  She shrugged. “Guy’s a big drinker but not a big smoker.” She opened the doors and stepped back while Tony stuck his head in and looked at the man who looked back at him with eyes as big as saucers.

  “Anything I should know about?” Tony asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

  “He’ll walk with a limp from now on, but that’s about it.” Tony nodded and walked to the

  back doors of the house and knocked. Two big bruisers came out and grabbed the man out of the van and dragged him, not to gently, to the house while he whined through the duct tape.

  Kelly closed the doors of the van. She was about to say goodbye when Tony stopped her. “He wants to see you.” She was a little surprised but kept her face calm.

  “What for?” Her dark red eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. The Don usually communicated with her through Tony. She could count on one hand how many times she had actually talked to the Don face to face.

  “I’m not supposed to say.” But then he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s a contract on someone. A special someone.” He winked at her, and although it was late and she was tired, she was curious enough to find out what the Don had to say.

  “Alright, let’s go see the wizard.” He turned, opened the door, and walked through; he did not hold it for her and she appreciated that. She didn’t need some gangster holding the door for her like she was some stripper going into the champagne room. That was why she liked Tony. He treated her like an equal. He led her through the deserted kitchen that looked like it belonged in a gourmet restaurant. Kelly sniffed and pulled a face. “Smells like fish in here.”

  “We had salmon tonight.” Kelly threw a disbelieving look at Tony who just shrugged in response. “Doctor told the boss to lower his cholesterol, so now we’re eating more fish.” They continued through the darkened dining room that led down the hall to the Don’s study. “You don’t like fish, Kels?”

  “Anything that comes out of the ocean is nasty. It’s just a big toilet for whales; that’s why I stay away from beaches.”

  Tony chuckled and knocked twice then opened the thick wooden door leading inside the study. The Don was on the phone behind his desk and ended the call after Tony entered the room with Kelly. He did not get up but he motioned with his hand for her to sit down across from him. The Don was around the same age as Tony and they both wore the same kind of toughness on their faces. He was going bald and kept the gray hair on the sides cut short. He was clean shaven and had a massive jawline. He was a heavier man but not fat, just beefy. Most likely from being well built in his youth, the muscle turning into fat as he got older.

  “Ms. King,” he said evenly.

  “Don Salvador. What’s up?” Kelly did not need to show any respect to him, and she was not about to kiss the ring. She was ex-FBI and he was still a mob boss after all; she may do some jobs for him but she was not a part of his family. She was not his employee and did not want to be either. She thought of herself as an independent contractor and she liked it that way.

  The Don grimaced at the disrespect from the younger woman but let it pass. “I have a contract for you.”

  She smirked. “You usually do, Don Salvador.”

  He seemed to fight back a grin and then settled back into his chair. The girl was definitely one of a kind, he thought. She had a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas. “This one is a very special one. The person you’re looking for is very important to a lot of people, and you are the only person who can get this done.”

  “Oh yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. The Don was not one to flatter people and she could not recall the last time, if ever, he had talked of her skills that way. “Why’s that?”

  “You know how to take care of yourself, and how to be discreet.” He tented his fingers. “The woman you’re going after is very dangerous.”

  “Woman?” Kelly only ever got contracts for men so this genuinely piqued her curiosity. Men that tried to run away from a gambling debt or had stolen something were the kind of jobs she got. Nothing really serious, just guys that were going to get roughed up for getting on the wrong side of the Salvador family patriarch. Women never fit that particular bill. “How dangerous is she?”

  “She’s a problem solver. The best in the business.” A contract killer? This was really getting interesting now. “She has made some trouble for some people who we put in contact with her. Some Russian people.”

  Kelly nodded. “And can I assume that these Russians are going to be looking for her too?”

  “Yes, but I want you to find her first.”

  Kelly was about to ask why, but stopped herself. She did not like to know too much about this part of the contract. Knowing too much could get you into trouble, so she just nodded, but she had one last question for the Don. “How much?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand.” Kelly’s eyes nearly popped out of her head but she caught herself from revealing her shock. Inside, however, her heart was beating like a jackhammer. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? She had never even sniffed that kind of money doing what she was doing. With all that cash, she could pay her bills and not have to eat macaroni and cheese every other night. Either the Don wanted this woman really bad or she was really dangerous. Most likely both, she thought.

  “Done,” she said and the Don stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. He extended his hand over the desk and she shook the rough meaty paw that practically swallowed her own.

  “Tony will give you her information.” He then turned his attention back to some papers on his desk, busying himself with a new task while Tony led her out of the office.

  Once they were out of the office with the door closed, Kelly whirled on Tony with her mouth agape. “Holy shit, Tony! Two hundred and fifty?! Who the hell is this woman?”

  He started walking her back the way they came in, through the dining room and the kitchen. “Kels.” She only let a few people in the world call her that and Tony was one of them. “This woman is dangerous. And I mean dangerous with a capital D.” They arrived outside and stopped by the driver side door of her van. “Add on that fact that those other people are looking for her too and that raises the risk sky high.”

  Kelly thought for a moment. “Why doesn’t he just let them do it? Let them find her?”

  Tony looked like he had eaten something sour as he answered her. “Because those people don’t treat you right on good days. And they got a real hard-on for her, so they’re not going to be respectful.”

  “Wait?” She had her hand on the handle of the door. “Is the Don going to…?”

  He stopped her. “Kels, when you first started doing this for me, do you remember what you said to me?”

  She remembered and sighed. “That I don’t want to know what happens to the package after I deliver it.”

  He nodded with a slight grin on his lips. “Don’t ask questions that you don’t want to know the answers to.” She sighed and climbed into her van. “The stuff will be there when you get home.” She nodded and started the vehicle.

  “Hey, Kels.” He put his hand on her forearm, and Tony was not a touchy-feely kind of guy. Everything about this contract and the way they were acting was weird, and her alarms were going off in her head
. If she was not dead broke, she would turn this job down. Aw, who am I kidding! With that kind of money, I would kick a cute little puppy from the fifty-yard line at Soldier Field. “She’s really dangerous, so be careful, kid.” Then he turned and walked back into the house. She watched the door close behind him and then drove off.

  Chapter Two

  Earlier that day

  Stupid.

  It was stupid to come back and she knew that. It was a trap, but she was going in there anyway. She was there because of her own forgetfulness and carelessness and she berated herself for it internally. Who knew how many of them there were sitting inside waiting for her, she thought. It was suicide to go in there, but she was going in there.

  It was her own fault that they even knew where to look for her. Usually, she was much more meticulous with her own security. But she had been out of the country when the request had been forwarded to her from the Salvador contact man. She had given the address of her apartment building to the contact, entrusting their discretion with the information. They were supposed to leave the envelope with the information on the mailbox with the fake name of Joyce Foster on the front. The mailman, who knew the name, would then leave it in the appropriate box. It wasn’t the safest way to receive the contract, but she had been busy with the other job when they requested the drop off. She had worked for the Salvador family in the past and had trusted them, as much as she trusted anyone, with her approximate location. But somehow, probably someone with loose lips in the family, had leaked the building’s address to the Russians. It was only a matter of time before they went through all the tenants who lived there and found the one woman who matched her description. Stupid.

  Her apartment was across the street and on the second floor. There were two men dressed in sportswear with a definite Eastern European flair waiting in a car near the front door that she could see from the coffee shop she currently sat in. The two of them, one in a black Adidas tracksuit and the other wearing a football jersey with the gold two-headed eagle of the Russian National team, were watching the sidewalks closely. They were killers, she could see it in their faces; the hardened look of men that were intimately acquainted with death. They weren’t shooting the shit or nodding off. These men were serious, but then again, she knew that all of the men that they will send after her would be serious men.