Don't ask me how it went wrong. I have no idea. I actually have every idea, but I'm not going to give you the pleasure of knowing, now am I? The problem is, that last sentence could end this little story quite nicely, but I was never one for niceties. This quaint meeting by the pool side was to show him that I wasn't messing around anymore. No more sneaking around in the dark, sending my little messengers to clue him in on what I was doing. This was the serious part. The part where we're both balancing on a razor's edge, just watching each other.
"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."
Warning given, now the fun part can begin.
"Catch..You...Later."
Do you know what that is yet? The fun part?
"No you won't!"
This is when it went wrong. Right here. The embarrassment. Even as the foremost criminal mastermind on the planet, as my lovely mother called me once. It was sarcastic. Every word of it, pure and unadulterated sarcasam. Let me stop dumping my issues on you, and get back to the story, eh? Right, the wrong part. Long story short, I took the wrong door. See, there's so many metaphorical sayings for doors. Always opening and closing and slamming in faces. Boring, if you ask me. But literally, I took the wrong door.
I put my hand on the smooth handle, pushed the door open, and instead of the hallway leading out to the car, I was was met with the sight of brooms, mops and a couple cans with those annoying little scrubbing things. Actually, I take that back. I admire those blue brushes for having the guts to clean some random toliet, or the shower of some morbidly obese person. That took more will than I will ever have. Luckily, there was another door to this janitorial closet, around ten feet from me.
"Moran. Back in position."
Immediately, and without question I heard the click of the laser scope on his rifle turn back on. That's mostly why I kept Moran on. Anyone else would have left him on the street with all the questions he asks, no matter how good a shot. But in the heat of the moment, on the razor's edge, now, he didn't. Now matter how outlandish the order, he would do it without hesitation, ask him to shoot his own gran on the job and he would do it. His gran was a bit of a bother, but that's beside the point. Moran was loyal. He was the poster sniper for obey first, ask second.
"What happened?"
"...Scrubbing bubbles."
I took the other door and exited the other room with a smile. Smiles are fun. Especially when someone thinks they're about to die. It'll confuse them to no end. I picked that little tidbit up from a particularly nasty senator in Texas. Don't ask how he knows, all I can tell you is that he's close friends with some former Russian interrogators.
"Sorry, boys! I'm so changeable!"
It'll run a little long, but that's alright. Bulgaria can wait. Did you finally get it? Figure it out? The fun part that rewards all of this? After observing, after working and prepping and pretending to be Jim from IT, you see who can push the other off of the razor first. And I have this strange feeling,
.
.
Sherlock Holmes is in for a fall.