8 December 2012
She was sat in her office, patiently waiting for something - anything - interesting to arrive. Her short skirt was riding up her legs as she fidgeted, showing her slim figure and her pale skin. She ran her fingers through her lush fiery hair and plaited it absentmindedly, the plaits were curled around her fingers and brushed out several times before the thing she had been waiting for happened.
Her phone bleeped twice. Someone had texted her, and this phone wasn't used for legal business. She reached out for it, feeling the silk of her top slide over her skin. She was sensitive to small things and silk was one of her many luxuries to accommodate that. The cold metal of the phone that she held in her hand buzzed again. That was odd, usually she'd only get one a day.
She flipped the switch on her computer and it hummed into life, she glanced down at her phone and saw a six figure number followed by two words. 'Travis Barclay'. Not a name she recognised.
Her delicate fingers danced over the keys to her shiny new computer as she searched several sites she was not meant to have access to for the name. Nothing came up. That was odd, her interest was piqued. She turned to good old trusty google. The first result showed her man. Someone had been killed during one of Mr Barclay's drunk speed races, a small boy actually. Six or seven from the photo. She scanned the article, nothing about it brought her interest. Honestly, it just seemed like a waste of time.
She picked up her other phone, the boring one, and dialled a number.
"Jackson, sweetie." She smiled, her perfectly rouged lips curling around his name. "I have a job for you. Simple enough, six figures if you want it." The voice at the other end asked a question, she shook her head and laughed. "It's always 50/50 Jacky." The voice said something else. "Good, I'll send the information to you now."
She pressed the red button and placed her phone neatly beside her computer. She typed up a short briefing of what she wanted from Jackson and sent it to him. Her bank account would be fuller tonight, but her interest in the case had suddenly plummeted. She was bored now.
The boring phone buzzed, a small tune playing for a second. She reached for it and read the message. 'Got a job, I'm getting bored.' The ID of the sender was unknown but she instantly knew who this was. One of her personal favourites. Her heart raced for a second before she remembered, there were no other jobs. They'd been distributed to the lesser workers.
She was about to type a sorry reply when her brain kicked into gear. The other phone had buzzed twice, there was another job. She paused, wondering if he would take a shitty job like the others. Then shrugged to herself.
She took the other phone in hand and searched the messages folder. Second to last text received. Withheld number. 'Eliminate The Widow. Blank check.' Oh, she grinned. She loved those words, blank check.
She dialled the number on the other phone. It rang for a second before it clicked and he answered. There was a fuzz of country music in the background. He probably was sat in some small town bar with his feet up on the table he was sat at, a shot or three of Jack down his neck and a girl or six fawning over him.
"Hey doll." He drawled, his southern American accent sending shivers of excitement up her spine. Jesus, she chided herself, get a goddamn grip.
"I have a job." She said slowly, rolling the words over her tongue. "Blank check."
There was a moment of silence and the background music cut off. She heard him barking something at someone, who slammed a door in their hurry to get out. He sighed and she could hear the weariness in him.
"Family trouble?" She asked, settling into her seat. This could be a long one.
He grunted. "I guess. We took a new kid on. Scrawny little rat's always underfoot. Can't get laid without him watching."
She winced, "Poor you. I suppose you want to get out of the house for a few weeks?"
"Weeks?"
"Task, eliminate The Widow."
He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. Shivers ran down her body again, she couldn't stop it. He cleared his throat and said, "She's London based, yeah?"
"Yes."
"So, why me? I think they'd notice a 6'3 American wandering around."
She sighed and bit her lip. "You're the best."
"Was."
"Still are." She shook her head. She tapped on her keyboard and pulled up his file. His latest mugshot stared up at her, his wild hair was slicked back and he was smiling confidently. She read through his previous mission statements. He'd stuck to small fry recently, but there was a locked file before these. One labeled 'Goodbye Cap'. Written by him, his mission statement of what had gone wrong. She'd read it and nearly cried, his pain was obvious. Still blamed himself. Even now, five years on. "Runt, we need you on this one."
"You know that's not my name." He growled.
"No, but it was... Sam."
"Fucking... You're not gonna let me say no are you?"
She smiled sweetly and laughed, "No sweetie, I won't."
"Fuck you princess." Sam growled, a smile on his lips.
She kissed her teeth and shook her head, "Not now honey, maybe when you finish the job."
Office Work - 1 - Working It Out • Opuss № I