Author's Note:

This is a follow-up piece to Killing Strangers that grew beyond the original, single chapter I'd had in mind. As essentially an extended epilogue, it goes without saying that if you haven't read Killing Strangers, this one won't make very much sense.

I've also tried to integrate some of the larger events of Killing Strangers with the events of John Wick: Chapter Two by assuming a larger gap in time between the first and second film. Rather than a four day period, in this setting Chapter Two occurs several months later. Susan's meeting with Wick in Chapter 28 of Killing Strangers takes place right before Wick goes to recover his car in the opening of Chapter Two.

When things fall apart, they fall apart hard.

One

They got off the plane and somebody tried to kill them.

The private hangar sat away from the big commercial terminals while the whine and roar of jet engines from all the taxying planes served to cover noise. At least their assailants had the decency to wait until they'd moved away from the plane, although she suspected the emblem on the side of the vehicle played the largest part there.

Nobody smart wanted to open fire on a Continental asset.

Susan Rizzi and Elijah Wu had just gotten to the edge of the hangar when the pair of men in maintenance coveralls stepped around the corner, pushing a janitor's cart. The guy in the lead moved with a surety of purpose that had nothing to do with sweeping up the hangar floor. He swung the broom he carried towards her. Susan parried, grunting as the broomstick smacked off her forearms. The other man reached down into the garbage bin on the cart as Elijah lunged for him.

Susan stepped close, seizing the broom and twisting it up and aside as she swept a foot through the man's ankles. She heard Elijah wrestling with his attacker. Two short, sharp pops of suppressed pistol fire sounded. Susan took her own guy down to the ground, hooking her feet around his shoulder joint as she leveraged the broomstick to pin his arms. Another pop came from nearby, along with the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Elijah lunged over her in a crouch, pressed the muzzle of his pistol against her attacker's head, and ended the fight. Susan kicked the body away and rose to her feet. She glanced around, scanning their surroundings as Elijah did the same, their backs against each other. Nothing but the lights of the airport, planes taking off or landing, and the impassive pilot of the Continental plane standing at the foot of the short staircase by the plane door.

The pilot waited another second, looking around himself, before strolling over. "Is there a destination you'd like your luggage sent to?" he asked in a crisp British accent, ignoring the scuffle and bodies.

"The hotel for now, please," said Susan.

"Of course."

Elijah fished out a gold coin from his pocket. "And if it's not too much trouble, a dinner reservation for these two."

"Consider it done." The pilot took the coin as he drew a phone from his vest pocket. He gave them a smile. "I appreciate you not damaging the plane. Do try to limit the collateral damage in the days ahead, yes? Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks."

The pair of would-be former assassins hurried from the hangar, crossing the tarmac towards the terminals. They clutched the bags they'd carried on; Susan had one hand tucked inside a leather flap, clutching the grip of her carbine. "I understand it's a formality," she said, "but a quarter-mil for our heads feels awfully personal."

"It could be worse," Elijah said, his head panning around as he scanned with every step.

"Yeah, it could." She nodded as the chill of the night air set in. Susan wondered if the impact of the whirlwind changes in her life just hadn't set in yet; her employer had been dead for eighteen hours – at her hand, and now she was on the run with the man who should have been her last target.

Susan looked north, to where the lights of the city glittered.

Elijah noticed her gaze. "Welcome to San Francisco."

This branch of the Continental took the form of a narrow, needle-like tower, thin and angular like a spike thrusting into the sky. In contrast to the Manhattan branch Susan was more familiar with, the entrance and lobby here had panels of digital screens cycling through artworks and designs, gently glowing spiraling tubes, and lighting that faded between warm and cool tones in alternating rhythms, like breath misting on cold glass.

The front desk was a pedestal of dark glass polished to a mirror shine. The concierge behind it reminded her strongly of Charon; slim and with skin as dark as black coffee. He gave her a quick once-over, and then turned his gaze on Elijah. "Mister Wu. It has been a while."

"Yes it has," said Elijah.

"A joint room," said the concierge as he took the gold coin they passed over. "Not your usual, sir."

"Things change," Elijah replied.

"Indeed they do." The concierge arched an eyebrow at them. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you about the establishment's policies on crossing over?"

"No," said Susan. "We're just passing through."

He nodded. "Will there be anything else, then?"

"Is the Sommelier in?"

"Come in, come in!" The Sommelier smiled as she set a bottle of wine back into its rack. She turned to greet Susan and Elijah, a tablet held in one hand. The Sommelier here was a statuesque Latina woman, wearing a trim, black business suit and skirt combination. She tapped at the tablet and the rack of wine retracted into the ceiling with a smooth whir of motors, revealing a wall of backlit weapons. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm looking for a replacement carry gun," Susan said, stepping forward.

"Let me see what I can do." The Sommelier browsed her tablet for several moments. "Miss Rizzi," she said, half to herself. "Not a Glock girl, I see. Ergonomics? Trigger? Aesthetics?"

"Call it all of the above," Susan said, grinning.

"You were carrying a VP9. Lose it somewhere?"

"I… had an incident, yes."

"That appears to be underselling it. Alright. It looks like you're also fond of CZ's products. And B&T… my, my, you enjoy the finer things, don't you?" The Sommelier stepped over to a counter and hit a button underneath; the counter split open to reveal rows of handguns. "A nine-millimeter woman… I suggest you give this a try," she said, lifting one of them out. "I'm afraid I can't do much on the aesthetic front, but…"

Susan took the offered firearm, checked its chamber to verify empty.

"The latest striker-fired offering from CZ," said the Sommelier. "The quality and reliability one should demand from a quality tool. Of course, it offers many of the standard features. Cold hammer forged barrel, reinforced polymer frame, interchangeable backstraps. Fifteen plus one magazine capacity."

"The trigger?" asked Susan.

"Factory average of four pounds pull." She smiled at Susan's glance. "Give it a try."

Susan did, dry-firing the weapon and paying attention to the trigger. Crisp, clean, and smooth. She racked the slide to reset the internals and eased the tension on the trigger until it reset. Short and sweet. She smiled. "Fantastic."

"Isn't it?" The Sommelier's smile grew. "It's a remarkably smooth shooter, too. A gentle recoil impulse, very little muzzle flip. Highly recommended."

Susan stared down at the gun in her hand, felt the weight of it in her grip. It felt so natural to her; even when they were trying to get out of this world. Well, first they had to survive a week of open contracts on their heads. So be it. She looked up. "I'll take it."

"Have you a preference for muzzle devices? Compensators? Suppressors?"

"Suppressors, please."

"Will standard half by twenty-eight threading do?"

"That's fine."

"Excellent. And will you be needing to accessorize?"

"Afraid so."

"A woman should never be ashamed of accessorizing," the Sommelier said. "Along with the items, I'll have the Cooper sent up to your room. I think you'll find we have the finest leather in the city."

Susan frowned quizzically. "What-"

"Don't ask," Elijah said while the Sommelier merely continued smiling, catlike.

"Forget I said anything then," said Susan. "I appreciate it."

"Anything else?" the Sommelier asked. "Rifles? Carbine conversions? Shotguns?"

"Don't get her started on shotguns," Elijah said from where he leaned up against the wall several steps back.

"I don't hate them," Susan said. "But remember we're trying to get out, not look for even more firefights."

"Are you?" The Sommelier looked between them both with a wistful smile. "How interesting. I wish you luck."

"Thanks," said Susan. "I have a feeling we'll need it."

The elevator going up to their room was a smooth, tubular cylinder of chrome surfaces and touchscreen controls. It rose with a quiet hum. "We can't stay here for long," Susan said. "The rules-"

"I know," said Elijah. "We just need to get situated, find our bearings, and move on. I've got a line on an Exodus safe house in the south bay." He looked over at her for a moment. "You're not comfortable with this plan."

"I just don't know about trusting Exodus. I haven't worked with them before; we've just stayed out of each other's ways."

Elijah nodded. "I understand that."

"And it's the Exodus Railroad," she said. "If we're relying on them, how out are we, really?"

"Don't know," he admitted. "Maybe not entirely out – but maybe that's enough. Not being at the beck and call of crime bosses? Not murdering people for money?"

"Maybe it is." Susan smiled at him, then reached out and took his hand. "You're going to miss it, aren't you? The action. The adrenaline."

Elijah looked away. "Yes. I'm pretty damn screwed up."

"Well you're not alone there." She stepped closer, bringing their bodies together. "I'll miss it too."

"Second thoughts?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"Not while I'm with you. Look, I may not know about trusting Exodus, but I trust you."

Susan leaned in, brought their lips together, and let the kiss eclipse the moment, washing away the worries and fears and concerns and-

"Susan?"

They leapt apart at the sudden voice. Belatedly Susan realized the elevator had arrived and the door had opened. A woman with red-brown hair stood on the other side, her arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her pale face. Her gaze flicked between the couple, like tracking a target. "And you must be Elijah Wu."

"And you are?"

Susan sighed as they stepped off the elevator. "Elijah, this is Lisa Marx."

"The sharpshooter?" he said. "You're the one who closed the contract on that Seattle mogul."

"I don't like to brag," the red-haired woman said.

"Yes you do," said Susan.

Marx snorted and grinned. "That's probably true."

"You know each other?" Elijah said.

Susan found herself grinning at that. "Yeah, I'm afraid we do."

"I'm hurt." Marx's grin faded. "And you have contracts on you." She glanced around and lowered her voice. "We should talk. Meet me in the lounge."

Entering the lounge felt like entering a space that managed to be open and spacious yet private and intimate. In contrast to the crowded, retro speakeasy feel of Manhattan's Continental, the lounge here opted for matte, frosted panels of dark glass and carefully selected lighting to partition the floor space up. Dark leather couches and seats formed islands of habitation. The whole thing made Susan feel like she'd entered a chiaroscuro painting. A string quartet, illuminated in one corner, filled the air with quiet classical music.

"You get drinks," she murmured to Elijah. "I'll find Marx."

"What do you want?" Elijah said. "I don't know if the mixologist here has quite the breadth Addy does."

"Yeah," Susan said, sighing. "I'm gonna miss her. She was a… friend."

"And Marx?"

"I thought so," she said. "But we'll see now, won't we?"

"I guess we will." Elijah glanced over towards the bar. "I think I'll get something really light. Pretty sure hangovers aren't a good idea right now."

"Good point," Susan said, and headed off into the lounge.

She found Lisa Marx on a low couch by a little table. The other assassin had a rocks glass before her and a leather-bound book in one hand. She glanced up at Susan's approach and nodded to the opposite couch.

Susan sank down into the seat. "I'd say it's good to see you again, Lisa, but…"

"Circumstances, yeah?" Lisa closed the book and set it down on the table. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, Susan?"

"It's not about getting into things," she said.

"Uh huh. Does it have anything to do with your boy-toy?"

"My- Lisa!"

"What? You make out with any old assassin in the elevator now? I'm jealous."

"It's not like that-"

Lisa waved a hand and chuckled. "Relax. I'm not your type. I got that a while ago." She looked up as Elijah approached and sat down next to Susan, holding two Collins glasses.

"It's mostly tonic," he said to Susan.

Well, she'd agreed with something 'light.' She took it and had a sip while Lisa leaned back and crossed her legs, still looking between the two of them like she was reading a book or something.

"So," Lisa said, "what the hell's going on with you two? Why did Silver Mountain put out a contract for one its own hitters?"

Susan and Elijah glanced at each other. "That would be because of me," Susan said.

"Oh this ought to be good. I'm assuming part of it has to do with the way you were trying to reach his tonsils with your tongue? Spill. From the beginning."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Elijah asked.

Lisa spread her hands and gestured around them. "In this world? You probably can't. But if it makes you feel any better, Eli, I once turned down a contract for you from Vargas."

"You what?"

"Yeah. Remember that little fracas in San Diego? You got the Exodus Railroad involved. Vargas didn't take kindly to it."

"How do you know about that?" Elijah said.

"I was in town when things went down," Lisa said. "They wanted me to hit you at the airport when you were leaving."

"And why didn't you?"

"Maybe they didn't offer me enough." Lisa shrugged. "Or maybe I don't like killing guys who risk their necks to shut down sex slavers."

Elijah sat back against the couch and crossed his arms.

"By the way, I think they didn't push the point because that mad dog of theirs wants a piece of you. So, yeah. You got that to look forward to."

"Cuhuillo's dead," said Susan.

"He is? Great! Never liked that asshole." Lisa smiled. "So. From the beginning."

"It started," Susan said, "with that contract on John Wick."

"What, this new one? I've heard the High Table's involved. I'm staying the hell out of it."

"No, the one from Viggo Tarasov."

"You didn't-" Lisa paused, rolled her eyes. "You did. Damn it, Susan, I told you not to. It's John Wick. The fucking boogeyman himself."

"Well, things turned out a little differently," said Susan. And with that, she and Elijah shared about the chaos Wick's actions had plunged New York into, how they'd ended up working for opposing factions in a struggle for shadow influence in the city, and how their rooms in the Continental had thrown them into proximity, then intimacy. Of how they'd been assigned to kill each other. About how they'd decided to get out of the shadow world together. And how the whole mess had ended with the discovery of their double lives by their employers, of how Susan had killed Marco Fabbro and the Silver Mountain had put a week-long contract on the both of them.

"Yeah, that sounds like Xiao Ma," Lisa said, shaking her head. "Twisted bitch. Don't get me wrong, she's a real firecracker in bed, but… woo, a little too much crazy there."

Susan stared blankly at her for a second. "You slept with- No, wait, I do not want to know."

Lisa smirked again. "So, here you are. Looking to cross over, huh? And you weren't even going to tell me."

"It was kind of a rushed decision," Susan said. "We didn't exactly have time to arrange things."

"I'm not mad. But yeah, you two need to watch your backs."

"Does that include you?" Elijah asked, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees.

"I had you in my sights once before," Lisa said. She shook her head. "I've got no interest in killing either of you. And yes, I know that doesn't mean much given the demesne we reside in. If that doesn't reassure you, then…" She looked over at Susan. "Ask your girlfriend."

Susan frowned at her in confusion, then felt her eyes widen. "You don't mean- It's not official. You know that."

"What is she talking about?" Elijah said.

"A Marker," said Lisa, staring at Susan.

"A Marker?!" Elijah looked back and forth between Lisa and Susan. He glanced around at the lounge. "You hold a Marker from her?" he said to Susan. "How did- What happened?"

"It's a long story," said Susan.

"She took out a Camorra hit team that was on my tail, then removed the jackass who'd double-crossed me in their ranks," said Lisa.

"Okay, maybe not that long." Susan shook her head. "I never asked that of you, Lisa. The Marker isn't official. It was never entered into the Continental's records. You're under no obligation."

"Bullshit." Lisa sat forward, her ponytail falling forward around her shoulder. "Just because it's not in that tome doesn't mean there isn't a debt. You hold my Marker."

"As far as the Laws are concerned-"

"So I never heard what became of the Marker. I didn't know you never entered it. And once you cross over it doesn't matter anyways. Done and done."

Warmth blossomed in Susan's chest. "Thank you, Lisa."

"No need to get sappy on me. We just need to stay out of each other's ways."

"We won't be here long," Elijah said.

"Yeah?" Lisa glanced around them, then lowered her voice. "While you're here, you may want to know: there's already somebody in the area looking for you two. You in particular, sword guy," she said, nodding at Elijah. "Yakuza guy, I think. Goes by Hiro or Hiwa or something. I'm not certain; I don't operate in Japan."

"Hirawa Tokayushi?" said Susan. She sighed. "And here after we'd shown him mercy. Ungrateful bastard."

"Pretty sure it's personal with him," Lisa said. "So you either disappear real good, or you're gonna have to deal with him."

"I think we can avoid him for a few days," Elijah said.

Lisa shrugged. "Your call."

"Thanks for the warning." Susan picked up her glass. "I am glad to see you again."

"Likewise." Lisa took up her own drink and clinked it gently against Susan's. "Let's see if you can stay out of trouble this time."

The buzz of a phone jolted Susan awake. Morning light streamed in from the tall windows lining the wall of their room. Rain drizzled against the glass in slow droplets, the epitome of California winter. She sat up in the bed she shared with Elijah to see him reaching over to grab the device from the nightstand. He tapped at it for a moment.

"Oh, no. No no no."

"What is it?" Susan shifted over to look over his shoulder. The screen displayed pictures of a young Asian woman, taken from a little ways off. She seemed unaware of having her photograph taken. Some of them showed her with several people carrying backpacks and notebooks. "Who is that?"

"My cousin," Elijah said.

"The one at Peking University?"

"Yes." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Oh, damn it. I forgot."

"About?"

"She's not in Beijing right now. She's doing an exchange program with Berkeley for a year."

Susan's eyes widened. "So she's here now. Who sent the pictures?"

"Hirawa."