Locked: Chapter 1
This is the final boarding call for flight number CB-sixty three... This is the final boarding call for flight number CB-sixty three...
She wished her contractor could have spared the expense for a private jet. It was two twenty-two in the morning and her ticket stub was stamped with a departure time for two thirty. She was unarmed and aggravated. Her underboss planned the day before for her to meet up with a trusted firearms provider once she landed and this was how it went most of the time for her.
Bobbi Malone under the false identity, "Isabelle Ryan" was standing in line for a customs check. Beneath her jacket was a small tin flask tucked into her waistband. She popped two Bonine tablets and reached for her drink, reminding herself to fill up the next chance she could.
"Next!" yelled the attendant, gesturing for her to step up to the metal detector.
She crudely handed her flask to him while she slipped out of her heels. She had no luggage to check and carried a small duffle bag with her. She placed the only piece of luggage she had on her onto the conveyor belt along with her shoes and stepped through the metal detector.
Bobbi hated flying with a passion but it was required in her line of work. Vertigo always stuck with her long after the flight, though taking medication helped somewhat. Neither could she drive due to being shit faced more than half the time.
The man scanned her with the handheld for extra precautions and glowered at her, eyes fixated on her mangy hairdo.
"There's nothin' livin' in it, let's move on." She spat. More often than not, people would comment on her hair. It was a matted mess and she wouldn't do anything about it. While it wasn't something uncommon for her she still bit back at whoever had the gall to speak up.
Slowly her duffle bag appeared, creeping along the belt travel. The attendant handed Bobbi her flask back, his scowl a seemingly permanent feature. She swiped her duffle bag and shoes off the conveyor and ambled towards her terminal despite the loudspeakers calling for the last of the passengers. Downing the last drop of her drink she tucked it away with finality and squinted up at the numbers on a nearby screen. The edges of the images were starting to fuzz. A middle aged man with an unfortunate bald spot strolled by, rolling a black suitcase behind him. Bobbi reached out and grasped his checkered sleeve.
"You. Where's gate C?"
He seemed wary of the woman with a strong grip and added in the title not out of respect or politeness. "You're standing in front of it, miss."
Sure enough a white block with a bold GATE C had been above her head.
She didn't bother with any form of gratitude and instead, shoved him aside lightly and made her way to the ticket desk. It was incredulous that she even made it in time for boarding. Most of the time she didn't even know what was going on in the world in front of her. Handing over her fake passport and stub to the ticket lady she was met with a feverish grimace.
"You have to hurry, Ms. Ryan. Didn't you hear any of the final announcements? I'll have one of the flight crew escort you through the jet bridge."
This ticket lady had been one of the nicer ones Bobbi had encountered. She then was rushed along by a stout woman dressed in the standard uniform.
Stumbling along the tunnel as the attendant repeatedly told her to move faster, Bobbi thought back to the previous day.
"You do something different to your hair today, Malone?" The bodyguard stood at the front of the door leading to her boss was fairly new but not inexperienced. The former one leaked to a girlfriend solely thinking of showing off and not of the consequences. He was cut and his girlfriend joined him as they were disposed of immediately.
"Yah, it's parted differently, wiseguy." She'd flipped him the bird.
The office was darkened and rank from the overlaying cigar fumes. The smell was in the walls, the furniture and the carpeting, even when the man wasn't smoking you would still be hit with the overpowering scent the minute you cracked open the door. Stepping in and shutting the door, Bobbi took the lone seat at the front of the desk. The underboss was a man of few words which suited her fine but didn't sit well with a few others in the organization. He leaned back into his chair and blew a stream of smoke upwards before stubbing his cigar and focusing on his employee.
"... Word is Primo Sparazza is offering a thousand grand in cash."
"Christ all mighty."
The manila folder was pushed across the desk. A million dollars. Bobbi would be well off for a while with even a quarter of that.
"This time won't be easy. You weren't my first choice for this assignment and I don't think you're suitable but big boss specified for you. You'll have competition, can you handle that?"
It wasn't pride talking when she'd accepted the assignment- Figments of little dollar signs swirled around her eyes.
Her target: Lake Tahoe, California.
"Legless" Bobbi Malone
Deadliness: 88
Weapons: 52
Cunning: 34
Sadism: 11
Sex Appeal: 67