I don't own anything!
Chapter 2
Meet
It was afternoon by the time Bella saw her first glimpse of the ocean, rising like a blue universe choosing to be separate from the rock and soil above the water line.
It could come up and take the land if it wanted to. She knew and respected the ocean's brutality.
Waves formed in the distance, tumbling down into white froth and rumbling onto the beaches. The sun was high, but the wind held a bitter cold, turning the small vegetation sideways.
She braced herself, even before she opened the door. The cold cut through her, chilling her soul as the smell of salt infiltrated her senses.
She breathed deeply, letting the smell, the wind and the atmosphere flow through her and wash away the life she'd left behind.
It had been so long since she'd been home, too long. The city had almost taken her this time.
The grass that surrounded her home, the small patch that existed mixed with sand, was mowed. An elderly man by the name of Demetri took care of that for her.
The two trees in the front lumbered too close to the power lines, and the shrubs looked more like tattered mongrels.
It wasn't Demetri's fault. He did well for an eighty-year-old man. Every month, she mailed him a hundred dollars. It wasn't much, but sometimes it was all that kept him from starving.
Her bare feet touched the first stone step that crept up from the driveway and to the tiny section of grass and her grey home. Slat wood covered the outside of her house, weathered from years of abuse.
A stormy sky made its outline invisible as it rose above the ocean. The steps were cold, making her shiver.
She began an awkward trot up the bank to where the wooden steps began. There were seventeen steps from the first section to the porch.
Despite the height from the water, the front section had been built on stilts.
So far, the little beach house had withstood half a dozen hurricane threats and countless tropicals. The locals claimed this area was blessed and storms turned away.
Bella suspected the geography had more to do with it. The hard reef to the south and the shape of barrier islands to the north reduced flooding by breaking waves before shore.
Some sections weren't as lucky, being rebuilt many times. The thought of being blessed made buying the property a little easier though. Something in her life should be blessed.
She nearly bought a place at Bodie, mistakenly thinking it was a hard O. The pronunciation was body, named so for the dead bodies that would wash onto the shores.
Not a place to get away from murder, even if the bodies had stopped their assault on dry land. The idea made the place haunted and she didn't need that.
All she knew for sure was her home offered peace. The ghosts didn't disturb her here. There was no sound of her father's voice calling out. There was no sound of gunfire and at last, there was no blood. Somehow, the ocean always washed her clean, if that were possible.
She had her keys out before her hand ever touched the door. The old screen screeched its welcome as she pushed it aside and clicked the rusty metal lock.
The wind helped open the front door. It had been too long. Darkness filled her vision as her eyes tried to adjust.
She turned on the overhead light by the door and felt the strength drain from her body.
Damn, she was tired. The hit had been a hard one and the trip harder. It was time to rest.
She closed the door and locked it behind her. The next stop was her bedroom, her bed. This was where she felt comfort.
She was home, lost in the beige flowers creeping across a white field that was her bedspread.
Somehow, the sheets still smelled fresh and her thoughts drifted. She was little again. The smell brought her back to the warm feeling of the clothes when she'd pull them from the dryer. Dad helped.
They'd gather up the dirties, throw them in the wash, and wait until they'd come out of the dryer. Dad would wrap one of his big shirts around her. It was warm and soft.
They'd sit together for hours, with her on his lap, and watch television on an old set that barely worked. Those were the happier times, the times before Dad bought new televisions, clothes, even a new car.
That's when the calls started. Another special project from their benefactor would be telephoned in.
That's when she started hating that damn cop uniform. It no longer gave her a sense of pride to see her father in blue. The shiny buttons lost their fascination.
He'd become a hypocrite, or so Vicky Strauss had said. It took her two days to find out what it meant then she beat the crap out of Vicky, even though she knew it was true.
Daddy stopped being proud of what he did. He traded it in for being proud of what he owned.
She reached beneath the covers and pulled the last of her clothes off. They landed in a crumpled wad by the door.
It was too late to help him and too much to think about. Still, he managed to slide into her sleepy thoughts, corrupting her sacred place.
As sleep drifted in, she was no longer feeling the cool sheets against bare skin.
She was twelve, in her favourite pair of jeans with the knees worn out of them, hiding behind the chair while the gunman slipped out the fire escape window.
She was crying, lost, alone as her dead father's open eyes stared at her.
"Are you sure?" The Italian man with a square jaw line and pronounced nose set the receiver down. His furrowed brow carried more than worries, it showed fear.
"I need to know where Bella is hiding." A younger man sat on the corner of the desk with a grin on his face.
"I told you it sounded like her work." He laughed, exposing large white teeth. "Charlie, don't be so upset. It's not like she's family."
"Shut up, Felix." Charlie looked at the much younger man.
How could two brothers be so different? Lifetimes separated them. He had children older than this twit.
If only Father had kept his pants on. Momma's children never acted like this.
Bella wasn't family. She was Irish for goodness sake, but sometimes, blood didn't make family. He'd watched that little girl grow up and develop acute brutality under his direction.
He could still see her as a little girl, standing in the doorway pointing a thirty-eight calibre at Father. Her hair hadn't been combed, her clothes torn and dirty.
Even pointing a pistol at the most powerful man in the city, she wasn't afraid. She'd had nothing to lose.
He'd come up behind her, but couldn't bring himself to take out the little girl. Her vengeance was justified.
Look what they'd done to her father. Oh sure, in the meeting it hadn't sounded so terrible, just another dirty cop whose time had come.
Committing the act changed everything. It was the last time he'd personally choreographed a hit.
A guy named Laurent had pulled the trigger. They'd gone up the fire escape like common street thugs. Inside, they'd watched while Bella's father read her a story.
He'd gotten up to put her to bed when they snuck inside. He'd come back and died on the living room floor.
It was worse than a single life ending. Bella had no mother. He saw the little girl come out of her bedroom while he held the curtain back for Laurent.
She'd crept behind the chair and looked at her father on the floor. They had destroyed a little girl's world. It seemed someone needed to pay for it.
His dad saved himself from being shot by talking her out of it. It was the wild thing about their organization. Most politicians weren't bought with money.
It was Dad's silver tongue that created allies, even in a little girl who knew why her father had died.
"I'm just saying that she doesn't leave us any choice. She's asking for it. It's not like she's your brother." He smiled. "We have to put family, then business. Crazy females have no place."
"Leave me now. Your attitude isn't helping." Charlie looked at the chunky gold bracelet on his wrist instead of his brother.
Things would be easier if Felix had fucked up. A hit would be called and everyone would've seen him as a strong leader.
Felix could die in the street like a mongrel. For a moment, he smiled, imagining Felix in the fetal position left in a ditch along a dirt road.
He always imagined Bella handling the hit. She might even pop him on the toilet. His naked smelly ass exposed for all to see.
"I didn't mean anything." Felix's gaze fell to the floor as he left. "A hit." He didn't want Bella to fall.
"I have some calls to make." Charlie spoke to the closing door.
Bella wouldn't have done an unauthorized hit. She was unemotional about business. It was amazing she was a woman.
Twenty years ago, a woman would never have been used on delicate assignments. She hadn't missed yet.
"Charlotte," Charlie hit the intercom button, "where's Peter?"
"I'll find out. Sir, there was a question about rescheduling your luncheon tomorrow. Not all the members you requested could attend. Paul from The Rustic Corporation is having legal troubles and cannot make it until later in the week."
"Fine. Contact everyone and put something together. First, find Peter for me." Business was hard these days.
Back in his grandfather's day, business consisted of protection, gambling and women. These weren't always profitable ventures. It was his father that started dealing drugs. It wasn't the street crap like coke.
Their dealings were in pharmaceuticals and price fixing. It was great. Science would come up with some new crap. Their marketing group would start an ad campaign and before you knew it, every whiney ass hypochondriac was seeing their doctor for the goods.
Muscle was rarely needed, unless a test had to go in a certain direction or people tried to prosecute over unforeseeable problems.
Bella's latest assignment had been a Japanese company who had undercut the price agreement. Competition was bad with drugs. A pill that cost ten cents to make and sold at ten dollars apiece left a lot of room for all to make money.
When some punk group appeared selling these things at five dollars apiece, something had to give.
"Sir," Charlotte's voice came over the speaker, "Peter went out of town for a few days. Nobody knows what city."
"Thank you." Bella had been humping this guy for several months. It was a secret; mostly due to the fact Peter was Felix's only son.
Felix hated Bella. Felix hated anyone who was smarter. He was a hateful man.
Charlie dialled Bella's house. Only two people had the number to her beach getaway. He let it ring five times then a sleepy sounding Bella picked up the phone. At first, she sounded like that little girl they'd watched through the window.
Sometimes, he felt like they had committed two murders that night. Her childhood had died on the floor with her father.
"What?" Bella felt the remnants of her dream fade into oblivion. If this was Peter cancelling, she'd cut off his dick.
"It's me." He cleared his throat. "What do you know about a hit that went down around one this morning?" It wasn't like Charlie to call.
That blowhard usually left hits to written notes. Fear of the Feds wiretapping kept calls to a minimal.
"The Foi hit went fine, but if you must know, it happened closer to nine." She sounded arrogant, hell, she felt arrogant.
This was her space and he was violating it with nonsense. She was the best they had. It was time for a little respect. In her sleepy state of mind, she almost hung up the phone.
It would've been her death. Luckily, Charlie's Italian booming voice cut through the sleepy clutter and brought her abruptly into the real world.
"Not Foi, Vedenin. He was killed last night around one o'clock. A redheaded woman was seen leaving his apartment. A single bullet was fired into his head while he slept. Does any of this sound familiar?"
"Wait just a damn minute." Bella sat up and tried to process the information. Vedenin was an associate. "First of all, I didn't do any other hits last night. Secondly, if you'd think about the logistics, I mean Foi is two states away from Vedenin. It would be impossible for me to do both hits so close together. What's this all about?"
"Bella," he paused and it was an unsettling sound. There had been few secrets between the two and never a lie, until now. "It's nothing." He started to say something, stopped, then changed the subject.
"I just wanted to check with you. Enjoy your vacation." His breath turned heavy over the phone. "Your next job is in three weeks. I'll send you the information." The line went dead.
Doing an unauthorized hit was the equivalent of mutiny. What was worse, the hit sounded like her. Her trademark was a bullet between the eyes. It was always the same calibre and usually at that time of night.
The only saving grace was she'd already been on a hit. Whoever was setting her up wasn't high enough to know the agenda.
She slumped back into bed, giving the clock a cursory glance. No amount of fatigue would quiet her mind.
Foi had been in Florida. The last thing she'd heard was that Vedenin and his crowd hung out in Alabama, hitting the drug trade. He'd been talking over plans to go legit with Charlie.
"Shit." There was an unsettling feeling in her gut. She flung the covers back and felt the cold floor and chilly air.
She'd forgotten to turn up the thermostat. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she went to the hall and turned up the dial. Outside, the wind whipped against the house.
She opened the curtains in the kitchen and found dark skies with angry water churning below. A storm was coming. She shivered again and went to the bathroom. A hot shower would help.
The faucets were old with a milky film covering the chrome. Everything was plain. A large bevelled mirror hung above the sink.
It was the newest addition and one she'd made only when the old one had cracked in several sections. The floor was a brown tile. The shower and bath were separate.
Her shower was a small stall in the corner with a glass door, also covered with the same milky film. She changed as little as possible; fearing any influence she made would destroy the tranquillity.
Her touch was poison after all. She reached into the stall and turned on the hot water, letting the steam rise in puffs before getting inside.
The water was salty, but safe to drink thanks to a rusty system in the hall closet.
As the water beat against her skin, she felt the tension melt away and she imagined this was her way of life. She was a beach girl. There was no city.
She would get a job, maybe a waitress or secretary. She would join one of those local churches she drove by every day and find herself a decent man.
He would be a fisherman and during the slow times, he would take her out in his boat and whisper soft romantic sentiment.
She was pushing twenty five. Settling down had to be a possibility. There was the idea of having a family.
She couldn't send the kids off to day-care while driving to the next kill. What would she tell them? Mommy's traveling salesmen just don't ask what she sells.
Her body stiffened. Something wasn't right. A sound made her turn off the shower and grab a towel. Someone was outside.
Her gun was in the car. She stepped out and checked the room. There it was. A creaking. It wasn't the wind.
The noise was too slow for that. Someone was sneaking around on her porch. She ran to the bedroom and dressed.
The noise changed as she slipped on fresh clothes. She stopped when a shadow passed in front of her window.
Immediately, she grabbed a dagger from the nightstand. This was it. Charlie had sent hitters to get her. She peered out the window.
A blond man crouched near the corner. He was holding something metal in his hand. She went down the hall and out the back.
It was a sliding glass door making the softest sound when pushed open. She stepped out five feet behind her intruder and clutched the dagger. It would only take a second to send it into her assassin.
She was ready to strike when a voice from behind stopped her.