The air was stifling and reeked so much of alcohol that it made me sick. If I had my way, I would never have found myself here. Immature, drunken perverts and slutty whores. But a job was a job, so I finished my drink and casually strolled into the restroom. It was time.
My honey brown hair, curled ever so slighty, fell elegantly upon my shoulders. In the mirror, I looked flawless. Simple black dress, check. Laced stockings, check. The kind of red lipstick that makes men go wild, check. I adjusted my makeup, adding some blush and deep black eyeliner, and brushed my hands against my thigh. Gun secured, check. All systems ready. I gave myself one last glance before contacting the target.
I had in fact been observing him for the past hour. He was a skinny, pathetic looking thing who seriously needed some improvements in the hair department. I frowned as he removed his cheesy shades, revealing two small, beady eyes. No, scratch that, he was beyond hope. I sighed. Could this creep really be the person I was looking for?
The girls surrounding him gave me dirty looks as I sauntered over to their couch. Dirty whores. You're just jealous. Unlike you, money is not what I'm looking for. He turned his head and I saw his expression become hungry as he eyed me. I had to retrain a sudden urge to kick that pervert face of his, and instead displayed the most seductive smile I could muster. It wasn't hard after that to reduce him to a horny, drooling mess. We left the bar to head to a hotel room.
"So Jack, is it?" I asked, reapplying my lipstick during the car ride. "What is it you do for a living?"
He wasn't even trying to hide the growing (and highly disturbing) bulge between his pants. "Uh…I'm a salesman. I sell things."
"Ooooh," I cooed, raising my eyebrows. "And what is it you sell, exactly, Mr. Jack?"
He laughed. What an awful noise. "Oh, you know, tools and such. Simple stuff."
I resisted the urge to burst out laughing. This guy was perhaps the most horrible excuse for a liar I have ever seen.
"Tools?" I asked, playing dumb. "Like…hammers and stuff? That's so cool!" I leaned towards him, licking my lips ever so slightly. "I like tools."
He smiled slyly in my direction. "I can show you the biggest tool later, if you know what I mean," he winked. Oh my fucking god. Someone just kill me now. This guy. Uh, how should I respond? Be a stupid, dirty whore. What would those bitches at the bar do? I giggled childishly, puckering my lips. "Ooooh, yes, please, Mister! I would enjoy that very much." I winked back.
The hotel room was, I have to admit, pretty nice. We had a sprawling view the Hollywood hills, not bad for a low ranking Mafia member. I guess that comes with being rich, no matter how unfortunate one's styling choices may be. I placed my purse on the table and sat provocatively on the bed, crossing my legs.
He took off his jacket, which no doubt held a concealed firearm. I scanned his body. Tight-fitting clothes with no visible deformities. And given his raging erection, it was unlikely that he had a gun hidden down there. Well, maybe. Low probability. He sat next to me and slid a hand unsubtedly around my shoulder and pulling me close to him.
"So let's get down to business, shall we," he chuckled. "What is it that you, pretty lady, do for a profession?"
"Oh, Jack, you're so funny! Fine, I'll play along." I flipped my hair. "I'm a policewoman. I bust bad, bad men like you," I teased.
He was amused, and began to kiss my neck. "Well then, I'm a policeman, and I must say you've been a naughty, naughty girl." I giggled, pressing my lips to his. "But seriously," he said, "I'm not interested in talking business. Even the rates for a drop dead gorgeous woman as yourself is not an issue for me. I'm quite successful with my…sales."
So am I, I thought, frowning slightly. I wasn't sure if I should be proud or insulted that I had passed the 'convince him you're a prostitute' test with flying colors. Doesn't matter though, because everything was going according to plan. I drew him close to me, inserting my tongue into his mouth. Part of my mind was sad that this was almost normal for me. I no longer felt the disgust and shame that overwhelmed me when I first entered this trade. The ends justifies the means, I guess. I made sure to feel around his upper body to rule out all possibilities of him concealing a weapon. I even gave him a quick squeeze down there. No gun, that's for sure.
His rough hands, greedy for flesh, began to grope my body, snaking into my cleavage to envelop my petite breasts. I kissed him again, this time pushing him back against the headboard and pressing my hands on his shoulders so that I was on top of him. I could tell that he was slightly surprised by my aggression. I guess he pinned me down for the shy, submissive type.
"Very naughty indeed," he whispered, exploring my abdomen, groaning in anticipatory pleasure. His bony fingers stroked my skin, sending concealed shivers down my spine. "Come on, take if off," he panted. He wanted it so bad, the horny bastard.
I turned towards him, eyes locked onto his, and smirked. "Now now, let's not get to too hasty here. Good things come to those who wait…Mr. Neylon." His expression fell immediately, and panic set in. But before he could respond or react, I gave him a swift knee to the jaw. He yelled out in pain as I launched my body off the bed, planted my feet on the ground, and cocked my gun at his head. He was frozen with shock, mouth gaping wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but I rose a finger and he shut up.
"I prefer if I do the talking from now on, Mr. Neylon." I loaded the gun with an audible click. He gulped, cowering as I took a step towards him. I laughed. "Not so tough now are you, Mister Amazing Salesman? But don't worry," I smiled. "I'm not here to arrest you. I'm not even part of law enforcement. Even if I were, I probably wouldn't have enough evidence to throw you behind bars. Four times convicted, four times released, isn't that right?"
"W-What..? How…S-so what do you—," he started.
"Shut up, Mr. Neylon. What part of 'I prefer to do the talking' do you not understand?" I took a step towards him, and he whimpered in fear. Fucking pathetic.
"As I was saying, I am not a police officer. Though that would be pretty funny, given our previous interaction." I narrowed my eyes. "No, I'm merely searching for somebody. My sources say you work with him. He goes by the name of Mello."
His brow furrowed, and he began to stutter. "M-Mello? Wha—"
"Mr. Neylon, for the last time, you are not to do any of the talking in this conversation. Just nod or shake your head. I know that you work for the Mafia. Do you and Mello work together?"
He nodded furiously, eyes focused on gun pointed at his head.
"I can't just take your word for it. Describe him to me. With details."
He looked at me, like a dog regards its master. I smirked. "Permission to speak granted, Mr. Neylon!"
"H-He's..a skinny k-kid, blonde hair…addicted t-to chocolate…" Well, I thought. That's all I needed to know. Addicted to chocolate.
"I want you to lead me to your hideout. You are to introduce me as an anonymous source that is willing to trade information regarding Kira for illegal drugs. Nod if you understand," I commanded. Of course he nodded.
"If you are not compliant I will not hesitate to blow your head off. We will depart now." I dug one hand into his jacket, fishing out a small handgun. I stuck it into the holster on my thigh.
I was satisfied that Jack Neylon was clearly horrified of me. He scrambled onto his feet, and we left for the car. I sat diagonally from him in the back, watching his every move, always with my gun fixed at his head. But despite my focused attention on keeping Neylon in his place, it was my turn to be afraid now. I had no idea how this meeting would play out; I hadn't planned that far ahead. All I was focused on right now was to find Mello.
Mello. How easily the name rolls off the tongue. Too easily, given that the person it described was nothing but rough edges and a short fuse. I sighed. I was fully aware of the fact that there was a good chance that I wouldn't make it out of the meeting alive. But it was the end of the line, the last leg in a journey that started four years ago; it was way too late to turn back.
After all, I had a score to settle. And as much as I despised him for doing what he did back then, I couldn't help but care about him. Mello might be an angry, selfish, cocoa addicted criminal, but I wasn't going to just let him fall so deep into shit that he gets himself killed.
Jack turned off the highway and into a secluded area, eventually veering off the road and onto a bumpy, dirt terrain. It was another five to ten minutes before a dilapidated building came into view. He parked the car and awaited my instructions.
I took a deep breath, ordered him to hand me his keys, and got out of the car. The air was chilly and the grounds deserted. He better not be pulling some last minute bullshit on me. I signaled for him to get out, and we made our way for the entrance.
Let's get this family reunion over with.