Two doors past the utility closet, I cut left, counting the number of security cameras and the interval on their sweeps. Viper was very useful with the schematics. I moved through their blind spots as a ghost, removing the fake beard from my jaw and fixing my trusty bandana on my face.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy service door led out into the night. I pushed through and let it slam shut behind me.
The air outside was cold, sharper than it had any right to be for LosAngeles in spring. It braced my lungs and scrubbed the chemical memory of the event from the inside out, specifically the scene with the target and client. The two had almost ruined my plans.
I shook it off as I moved.
Once the job was done, I didn't care to remember the specifics. I'd never need them again. I'd never see those people either.
I walked briskly, without looking back, past the smokers on break, past the chatting cooks, past the security guards.
The edge of the parking lot where I'd left my bike was mostly empty, save for a few Uber drivers and one woman in a red dress and stilettos, screaming at her phone with a heavy European accent. It was a perfect spot—security cameras didn't catch this angle. I skirted the yellow cone and walked straight to the Ducati that waited by the far curb, hidden by the darkness. I grabbed the helmet from the storage compartment, checked the foam for tampering—paranoid or cautious or whatever—and slid it over my head.
The world snapped to a tunnel.
As I pulled on my gloves, I took one last look over my shoulder. The Wildhaven's windows glittered like eyes, all of them blind now to what had occurred.
I mounted the bike and started the ignition. The engine's growl was a perfect sound. A welcome distraction from hours of playing someone else.
The helmet's foam pressed hard against my cheekbones as I peeled away from the curb. That was fine. I liked when my body remembered I was still in it.
Near the exit, I rolled the Ducati behind a row of SUVs and killed the lights. Then I thumbed the button on my jacket activating the mic and waited for the line to sync.
"Viper, do you copy?"
"Yes, I do, boss," he replied momentarily in a lively voice, followed by an obnoxious slurping sound. "Just enjoying my jumbo-sized slushy, don't mind me."
"Target one eliminated," I reported.
Viper answered on the first blip. "Great job, Seven. He'll rot. Big messy trial, minimum ten years. They're gonna eat him alive in there." He let out a hearty laugh. "I wonder if they serve Jell-O in prison these days. I sure do love me some Jell-O."
"Want me to send you in so you can scope things out firsthand?"
"Nah, I'd rather just hack their security system. Faster that way."
I said nothing.
"I'm watching the show on local feeds," Viper circled back to our current situation. "It's already gone viral. Hope the client is enjoying the fireworks. It cost her a pretty penny."
"I'm out," I said and turned off the mic.
In the silence, I tried not to replay the client's face in my mind. I didn't care to remember her. Period. I'd only seen her for five seconds in the corridor, a blip in my sightline, but the image stuck. She was small, shivering, like a deer in headlights. She didn't look like someone who had the guts to buy justice for herself. She looked like someone who got hit by it, point-blank.
I shook off the thought, twisted the throttle, and let the bike carry me around the block to avoid the police cars still lingering near the venue.
Operatives didn't engage with clients. We were only given their identities to avoid making a mess.
I didn't need to think about that woman or how she looked in that sky blue satin dress with her strawberry blonde hair down.
It was none of my business.
As I turned the corner, the road around me blew up with traffic and sounds. The main entrance of the Windhaven was to my right. The traffic light was a block away.
Up ahead at the intersection, a car with a neon Uber beacon shuddered to the curb by a ramen bar. The light flashed yellow. I hit the brakes and slowed, inspecting my surroundings.
I didn't clock the passenger who'd rushed to the Uber, at least not until I was closer. Then I realized it was her.
The client.
