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"Oh, ow!" Heather raises her head, smacking her hand against the roof and scowling at me. Shimmying out of her gown, she harrumphs as I inspect the sexy, expensive lingerie beneath. Damn, I really missed out tonight. My mouth waters as her tits jiggle, barely restrained by her lacy, black bra, before she pulls the sweater over them. “Don’t look like this isn’t entirely your fault, you awful man.”
“I’ve truly disgraced my gender,” I mutter more to myself, but we’re in such an enclosed space that Heather hears me clearly. She snorts, jutting out her chin as she rocks back to take off her slender heels. “We’ll just have to go on another date, then.”
“You’re damn right!” Heather groans before snatching the stretchy pants off my knee. “And that’s that. No more doubling up. If you’re gonna make me change in the backs of cars, I don’t wanna risk my nice clothes. This is really not that easy!”
“It looks it,” I duck sharply when she smacks me with the pants at my comment. Chuckling lightly, I shake my head while Heather wiggles with difficulty into them. “Anyway, this job shouldn’t take long. I think we’ll be waiting around for them more than anything. I don’t know the exact time. Once we get to the warehouse, Jimmy will coordinate the barricade. From what I understand, there are at least four people, probably more. We can’t risk one of them slipping through, so you and I will both be taking shots.”
Heather doesn't say anything as she shimmies her pants up over her ass with an audible snap of the waistline. Instead, she chuffs and huffs, grabbing the sneakers and shoving them onto her bare feet. She holds out her hand and looks at me expectantly and I dig around in the duffle bag for her wig. “You’re insisting on wearing this thing?”
“You’re the one that said blondes have more fun,” she says, snatching the wig from me before wrestling her own hair into a tight French braid. I roll my eyes but can’t deny her. I had actually said that.How cringy.“I— I’m not gonna have to chase people?”
“No, no, we don’t want you falling into a garbage bin again,” I grin when Heather stills, irritation rampaging across her expression. “Jimmy will take care of the stragglers if there are any. It’s not difficult to take consecutive shots. You should be fine.”
“The Italian Mafia, huh,” Heather ponders aloud as she braids her hair expertly, not even having to look. It’s a slow process but mesmerizing, and I can’t take my eyes off her. “That’s, like, the Godfather and stuff?”
"Well, they're incapable of adapting. They've been so sensationalized by movies and other media that it's become increasingly difficult for new generations to adjust to the realities of life," I point out to myself as Heather casts me a curious, sidelong glance. "For example, I'm a real estate agent. The Italians are behind the times, relying on legitimacy to cover their asses. Explaining away deals. Taxes. The IRS never messes up. Not to mention that federal agencies have wised up. It isn't nearly as easily corruptible as it once was."
“Yeah. That guy’s not gonna show up, is he?” Heather sounds nervous, and I shake my head. Reaching to palm her cheek, I smile encouragingly. “You’re sure? Because he wasn’t supposed to be there with Mayor Shaw, either.”
“He won’t show up, Heather. This isn’t the same as Mayor Shaw,” I reply confidently, and she eyeballs me skeptically but accepts my answer. “For one, the Italians don’t want to get caught, either. Shaw was working with the FBI against me, so while I wasn’t expecting him to actually find you, I did know he was lurking around. This time, there is no way he’ll know about this.”
Heather grumbles something I can’t catch as we pull over to a complete stop. She grabs the other duffle bag on her right while I climb out of the car. I check my watch; we still have nearly two hours until one in the morning, and I bite back an irritated sigh. But the Italians, for all their inability, are good enough to scout the area. Coming any later would’ve meant risking being spotted by a scout.
Ducking into the trunk, I pull out two sniper cases, and Heather frowns as she pats the wig on her head self-consciously. This time, she doesn’t have the safety of appliances to change her appearance, but she won’t need them. Ignoring her grumpy expression, I jut out my chin down the alleyway before starting off.
The walk to the warehouse is quiet, and Heather and I climb onto the scaffolding to reach the catwalk high above. From this point, we can easily see straight to the offloading ramp across the warehouse. Kneeling down on the narrow, metal catwalk, I open the sniper cases one by one to assemble the guns. She digs in the duffle bag, pulling out two small cases that hold earpieces.
“Here,” Holding out her short-barreled gun, I take the earpiece Heather returns and stick it in my ear. The line crackles lightly, and I clear my throat roughly. “Jimmy? You there?”
“Yeah, Boss,” Jimmy’s voice sounds in my ear smoothly, and I nod, satisfied, as I unpack my own sniper rifle. “Now’s the hard part; waiting.”
“We’ll take half-hour watch shifts,” I look over at Heather as questions blossom in her eyes. “I’ll go first. Close your eyes and rest, but be careful not to fall.”
Heather takes a look around as I inspect the scope on my rifle. I sit up, cross my legs, and listen for any sounds. The warehouse is vast and echoing, and my thoughts begin to wander.
Despite her complaints, Heather had accepted tonight with relative ease. She's not going to want to mix activities of any kind; in the future, when I ask her out, it has to be for a date. There will be no doubling.
When I ask her out?I purse my lips thinly. I fight a fond sigh as I look over at her as she rests her forehead on her arms. Heather is a wonderful woman. She does what I want with little fuss. She clearly doesn't mind murdering people if she's far enough away and can justify it; all she wants is for me to be considerate of her feelings.
And it’s surprisingly easy to do that. To accept what she wants, to take her into account.
Memories rise from somewhere deep within my mind, somewhere I had thought long, dark, and closed off. My mother's face, radiantly happy, when my father told her... something? Something she’d wanted for a long time. Something he did solely because she mentioned it, despite the fact that it was nearly impossible at the time for whatever reason. But he'd done it, and it'd made my parents fall even more in love.
The thought causes my heart to leap into my throat. Am I falling in love with Heather? I grind my molars hard as I look at her now, her ugly, yellow wig covering her face. I won’t give her up. I'm not going to let Heather slip through my fingers and run away into the night, trying to erase these memories from her mind.
If I have to dangle Heather to get to her brother... can I do it? Is this five-year goal of avenging my sister's murder worth it? My sister is dead. She has no emotions or desires. She doesn't laugh, sigh, or get excited.
“Jack,” I stiffen at the soft call, and Heather reaches to grab my hand and smile. Resting her cheek on her forearm, concern twists her squished expression. “You’re okay.” Long, nimble fingers wrap around mine, and I smile tenderly. Shaking my head, I lean over to flick her wig out of the way to see her eyes.
“I was just wondering which would be better for you,” I lie, and a pang of guilt strikes my chest. Is something so natural now becoming difficult in the face of her? She hoists herself onto her hands and knees quietly, her soft touch slipping along the back of my hand. “Do you want the Italians or the buyers?”
“Um, whoever’s not gonna shoot back,” she replies thoughtfully, and I nod. “Why?”
“I never found out who they were,” Jimmy admits over the earpiece, and I can picture him rubbing his head confusedly. “They’re all so secretive. So, there is a chance that we can’t kill them anyway. At least, not here or tonight. It could end up being a bigger problem than we can handle.”
“So, you’re not all-powerful after all.” Heather sighs, grinning when I nudge her arm with my knuckles playfully. Chuckling lightly, I shake my head.
“No, in Boston, I’m the top dog, but there areplentybigger fish in the sea than me. We’re aware of one another; we just know to stay out of each other’s ways,” I answer. “Large-scale conflict would risk too much. I’ve got my patch of dirt, and so do they.”
