Mr. Bates squinted against the light, watching the police officers and the crime scene investigators taping the scene. He turned to the man next to him, "It's a shame really."

"About Thomas?"

"No," Mr. Bates waved a hand at the police. "They'll think it's a horrible murder, dig up all his best qualities, find someone convenient to accuse for it, bring out all their terrible works before buying them in a cell somewhere, and paint this all as a public tragedy."

"What'd you want it paint as John?"

"A dangerous gangster met his timely end." John shook his head, "No one'll see it as cleaning so much as a tragedy when it's not. It's a shame Tom, just a shame."

"I'd just say it's a shame we didn't pop him sooner." Tom made the sign of the cross before spitting. "Good riddance to bad rubbish and all that."

"And all that." John motioned for Tom to follow him. "But, as far as anyone else knows-"

"Albanians," Tom nodded, "You don't have to worry about me. I've got my story down."

"Good." John sighed, "I just wish we could go back to the days where we'd stab one another in the back in the middle of the street and walk away with everyone accepting it was done well and therefore in no need of retribution. You know, the days where we acted like civilized people."

"We're not civilized John."

"No?"

"No." Tom snorted, "The word 'civilized' belongs to those who are good people. We're not good people John."

John stopped, "Someone else said that to me recently."

"They were right." Tom opened the door to the car, "Who'd get, in the end, for this? What'd the Dark Net spit up for you?"

"A rather good find obviously." John waved a hand back at the police tape. "They'll think it's the Albanians with as perfect as it looks."

"Because they're idiots."

"Because she was good." John climbed into the passenger side of the car, buckling in as Tom joined him. "She was very good."

"Which she? I can name at least three good killers in Greater London alone."

John laughed, "How well do you know them Tom?"

"In the days before Sybil? Really well. Saw the inside of a few hotels rooms with them and ordered expensive room service." Tom smiled to himself, "Oh the days when we dated volatile women and swapped stories over how they tried to kill us when it didn't work out."

"Are you talking about the time one of your ex-paramours tried to run you over with a double-decker bus?"

"It was a lorry, actually, and yes I was." Tom pulled his car into the stream of traffic. "You sleep with the woman you hired?"

"No."

"Did you try?"

"She's a consummate professional."

"And therefore no consummation until after the profession?" Tom pulled to a stop by a light. "Smart woman. Too many jobs go south when someone put their mouth or dick where it didn't belong before the work was done."

"I do hope you're not referring to the time you almost skunked a whole arms deal because you decided you needed to sleep with the stripper running drugs for the Turkish?"

"It was one time."

"We were in shit for weeks because it meant Kemal Pamuk died in Mary's bed instead of a heart attack at the dinner table."

"How was I to know he'd try it with her?" Tom snorted, "His mistake."

"I tend to think he thought so when she broke his larynx and then crushed his windpipe." John sighed, "She had you in her sights for a long time but it could've been a lot worse."

"Didn't you see when she shot me?

"It was the shoulder and you had a vest on." John waved a hand, "Don't be a girl's blouse about it. You made a mistake, she repaid it, but no one got hurt and you're still in one piece."

"Say that to the bruise over my rib cage for two weeks."

"I'm sure Sybil was more than happy to kiss it all better for you."

Tom reddened, "Well, maybe she was."

John laughed himself to silence in the passenger seat for a few moments. "Drop me at the cathedral will you?"

"Feeling overly religious?"

"Only on Holy Days." John unbuckled his seat belt as Tom brought him to the curb. "I'll get the Tube to the Abbey."

"You know he'll want to see us."

"I know. But," John jerked his head, "I've got to light a candle for the dead."

"Liar."

"Just tell Robert I'll be back in time to get the daily review." John shut the door and walked into the cathedral.

The stained glass painted the whole room with colors not seen outside on the gray day. John nodded to an older couple on their way out, holding the door for them, and waited a moment for another young woman to hurry in. She vanished into the rectory as John walked up the aisle to sit behind a blonde woman occupying one of the front benches.

"I thought I told you where to send the money."

"You did." He slipped his hand into his jacket, crunching his fingers around the packet there. "But we felt a cash deposit, in person, would be more acceptable."

"This is highly irregular Mr. Bates." She hissed over her shoulder, barely turning to register his presence. "I have a procedure for this kind of thing for a reason and you're flagrantly disregarding my policy."

John leaned forward, whispering for her, "And yet you showed up anyway, Ms. Smith. Care to say why?"

Ms. Smith kept her silence a moment before finally speaking, "I was intrigued by your desire to meet me again."

"I thought I made my desire clear last time."

She snorted, "You might be flattering yourself."

"I'd much rather flatter you since I was very intrigued as well." He passed the envelope over the top of the bench, "Five thousand, as requested. It's all smaller bills so no one at a bank or machine'll think it anything suspicious."

"How very thoughtful." She tucked the money out of sight. "But no one thought anything when I rigged the system to make it look like direct deposit for an actual job."

"Given the piece of art you gave us this morning I think you deserve more."

"That's generous but no thank you." She stood, taking her bag, and walked to the front.

"Why not?" John followed her to where she lit and candle, praying over it a moment.

"I offer flat rates so no one can compete with my business and so I don't get cocky." She turned away from him and John quickly lit his own candle, managing a hurried cross before retracing her steps.

"That's the last thing I'd think about you." John joined her, kneeling at the altar there and giving his own sign of the cross. "I didn't think you were religious."

"I'm Anglican but I find that God dwells in many a holy place." She stood. "I've been to many places where He dwelt as easily amongst those we'd call 'godless' as He did among those we recognize for their piety."

"And I," John groaned slightly as he stood, taking a moment to bend out his leg. "Have found the opposite to be true as well."

"The world's a fascinating place." Ms. Smith smiled at him, nodding at his knee. "How'd you get that?"

"Serving God and Country in the desert."

"Which desert?"

"The same sand pit the world's been fighting over for thousands of years, though I've no idea why."

"Read a Bible. Or any of the other sacred texts they call 'The Desert Quartet'. I'm sure you'll understand… or leave more confused."

John snorted his laugh, cringing at the hiss for silence from someone in the corner. "I guess that only leaves my final question."

"Which is?

"What do you plan on doing with the money?"

"Living, Mr. Bates."

"How about when you have enough?"

She stopped, "After taxes there's not much left."

"You know what I mean."

Folding her arms over her chest she struggled to suppress her smile. "Why?"

"Just curious."

"Then I pose the same question to you." They lingered in the entry of the cathedral, "Once you've tired of this life-"

"We're assuming, in this fiction, that I survive this life?"

"Yes." She took control back, "What would you do with your ill-gotten gains?"

"Buy an enormous house with fifty more bedrooms than I need and rent it out to partyers until I become the next Hugh Hefner." They both laughed a moment until John cleared his throat, "But, honestly, I'll probably go back to Ireland and run a pub. Little place where I'll encourage people to drink too much, laugh too loudly, and bother the neighbors. You?"

"Very similar."

"How so?"

She frowned a moment, "Like you I crave the simple things in life. Things like taking some fresh sourdough bred to a shallow dipping bowl filled with an olive oil and balsamic herb mixture while I stare out at the moonlit Mediterranean from my perch on the roof of some sod-all hostel in Greece."

"You really put the boat out don't you?"

"I forgot the best part Mr. Bates," She leaned forward slightly, "I'll enjoy it in private as I wash myself in the sea air, surrounding by various duffel bags filled with the money I saved from completing jobs of a dubious nature and questionable morality."

John grinned, "I guess you're not asking for much, all things considered."

Ms. Smith clicked her tongue against her teeth, "That's where you're wrong, Mr. Bates. I don't ask for anything. What I want I earn or I take. It's really that simple."

"Is it?"

"Always." Ms. Smith scowled at the sky and brought up her umbrella, opening it to the tune of thunder in the distance. "And, despite my misgivings, I'm rather glad I agreed to conclude our business in person. It's been very enlightening."

"Has it?" John offered her his arm, escorting her down the few stairs toward the taxi queue already bogged down in the rush. "I'm honored I could be of any interest to you at all."

"I thought you were interesting when I first met you Mr. Bates."

"John."

She stopped, "I'm sorry?"

"Please," He cleared his throat, "Call me 'John'. 'Mr. Bates' sounds so formal and since our business is concluded I'd say we're past the formal stage."

"Oh," She winced, "But if I call you something else you might think we're something else and that would be dangerous."

"Because at any moment I might fall to a sniper's bullet?"

"Exactly so. The difficulty, in my position as a freelancer in a rather needful market, is that I tend to be paid to kill those I've had dealings with in the past."

"All business, of course."

"Of course. Killing for personal reasons isn't really my style."

"I wouldn't have dared assume."

She wagged a finger at him, "You just can't help being charming can you?"

"My ex-wife would disagree."

"So there's a former Mrs. Bates out there?" Ms. Smith sucked air through her teeth, "What if she pays me to make sure you stop breathing?"

"She'd do it herself for the pleasure. That's the kind of person she is. Paying someone else to ruin me would be beyond her capabilities."

"Shame," Ms. Smith risked a finger to trace John's jaw, "I could bear the heartache of viewing this gorgeous profile through my scope someday."

"Right before you ruin it?"

"That's part of the art of what I do, Mr. Bates." He raised an eyebrow, "I'm the last person to really appreciate, in some cases the first, the beauty of the face." Ms. Smith dropped her shoulders with the sigh, "Too many people ignore the simple wonder of a nose or the magic of the eyes in their rush to go about their lives.'

"But not you?"

"It's hard to ignore what you're about to destroy." A taxi came and John opened the door for her, feeling the first fat drops hit his shoulders. "But, since I'm already willing to bend procedure for you, my name's 'Anna'. Though I'd be much obliged if you'd keep that detail to yourself."

"I'm as mum on that as I am on our arrangement." It was her turn to be confused, "You said you'd give me an afternoon to prove you wrong about pleasure."

"Even with the proverbial axe over your head?"

"I'll risk it to prove your experience wrong."

"I don't often get a chance to be wrong." She pulled a card from her bag and handed it to him. "You get one chance, Mr. Bates, to impress me."

"And then what?"

"If you fail I'll be less inclined to appreciate your profile from a distance."

John leaned toward her, ignoring the honking of the cab, "And if I succeed?"

"I'll shed a tear when I inevitably have to ruin it." She winked at him, "I'll leave it in your hands John."

"You won't be disappointed."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." She warned as he shut the door.

Watching the taxi drive away, holding the card protectively in his palm from the rain, John beamed. "I never do."