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“Yeah, I know. But if he gets all gropey and feels the wire—”
“It’s extremely sensitive. You can hide it in your bra. All you need to do is grab his interest and get him to invite you to his house. If he gets handsy once there just back him down and take him out. With the .22. In fact, you should back him down and take him out the second you get there. No need to fuck around with it.”
From there, Rigger walks me through a few possible scenarios so I can practice how to react. I know he’s right, that this is a special job. One I haven’t done before so I need to be on my toes. I’m not really nervous, but the thought of this man who killed his wife and kids putting his hands on me makes me want to retch. Even more so than Snowden did.
“Change of subject. Are you keeping tabs on Ben?”
Rigger’s face twitches. “Baby snatcher guy? Yeah. I’m on it.”
“Where’s he hanging out?”
Tossing his hands up in the air, Rigger seems perturbed. “Don’t have his exact 10-20 at the moment but everything is getting recorded. Why do you need to know?”
“I just don’t want to forget my whole purpose of this trip. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy to help. I want to. But I came here to keep an eye on my target too.”
He slowly taps his fingers on the chair, bobbing his leg back and forth as he watches me. “I know he’s your top priority, Tove. But please, I need you to trust me and focus on tonight. It’s critical, for your own safety. And ultimately mine too.”
I sit on the bed across from him and cross my legs. He keeps his gaze fixed on me. “I do trust you, Rig. And you have my word I’ll stay focused tonight. I want this guy dead as much as you.”
Rigger does have a way of making me feel like what he’s doing is more important than what I’m doing. I know he doesn’t mean it to be that way but it’s a little quirk of his I have to overlook from time to time. Because at the end of the day, no matter what, he is the only person I trust outside of blood.
His phone hums just then and he says it’s time to get moving, that Chris’s car is headed for the Sea Gypsy. He hands me a tiny microphone which I clip on a piece of satin inside my bra before we head out.
We go over plans again on the way and he drops me off at the entrance to the pier. The air tonight is humid so I fan my face a few times hoping the freckles don’t fade with sweat.
“I’ll be in the parking lot over here. Keep your phone on vibrate. If I lose audio, I’ll text you. And don’t forget the laptop. I’ll get on the phone with you and help you find it once he’s out.”
“Okay.” I look his way for one little boost of moral support but what I see catches me off guard. His eyes are flickering the tiniest bit of fear. But then he winks at me and flashes a smile.
“Knock ‘em dead, boo.”
I laugh and push the door shut, watching as he does a U-turn and pulls into the lot across the street. I grip my purse tightly and head into the bar, pulling some hair over my shoulder.
The bar itself is outdoor but covered, and with the ocean mist and fans running it’s fairly cool. Also, given the early hour, it’s not too crowded yet.
I spot Chris sitting near a corner, mindlessly dropping nuts in his mouth as a mug of amber beer sweats in front of him. I pull in a deep breath and sit two stools away, giving him a subtle smile.
He looks better in person. A scar above his right eyebrow drags all the way to his hairline and gives him that badass angle that a lot of girls go for.
The bartender asks me what I want and I tap my chin, asking what he recommends for an all-day hangover.
Chris laughs. “Make her one of your Bitch Kickers, Ronny.”
Oh wonderful. He’s got a personal, jocular relationship with the bartender. “What’s a Bitch Kicker?”
Ronny leans forward and peers at me. Instantly, I’m grateful for these blue contacts I put in. “It’s got a bunch of things in it. Carrot juice, ginger, lemon, Mountain Dew, Coke, and just a splash of rum, hair of the dog. It lives up to its name for sure. Because hangovers are a bitch.”
“We used to call them suicides when I was little,” Chris says, eyeing me while thumbing the water sliding down his mug. “Mix a bunch of shit together till it tastes nasty as hell, then drink it down. But the Bitch Kicker is actually quite delicious. And it’s cured a few of my hangovers.”
I reach inside my purse and pull out my wallet. “What the hell. I’ll give it a try.”
Ronny turns his back to me, reaching up for a long glass. “Put it on my tab, Ronny. Just in case she doesn’t like it.”
“You got it, bub.”
That sure didn’t take long.
“Thank you,” I tell him, trying my best, fakest sincere smile.
