The man welcomed himself on his bed, on which four people could fit easily. It was like that several times. Once he even managed to push six people into this bed. He took a slow breath, passing his hand over the dark, perfectly stylized beard. The mysterious girl was in his memory all the time. There was something wrong with her, something strange. And because John was particularly fond of this type of riddle, he decided to get involved in this one as well. It worked well on the mind. Thanks to this, his didn't fall into lethargy, always stayed sharp.

He turned his head to look at his watch. It was not so late, so he could invite somebody to accompany him. Not that any hour was bad. It happened that he would bring women to his house at three in the morning. He decided, however, to spend this particular night alone. He reached into his pants with his hand, pulling off the leather strap and unbuttoning them.

He was told to go fuck himself, after all.


The first hours were extremely nervous for her. Irina looked discreetly out of the window, looking for an unknown car, almost certainly from a higher shelf. She knew enough about Duncan, at least so far. A lawyer so effective that he probably sleeps in silk bedding, masturbating with banknotes. She wouldn't be surprised if towels, tissues and toilet paper were made of them, too.

Seven hours passed, the sun disappeared behind the skyline of skyscrapers. Nothing suspicious had happened, however. During the whole time young woman practically didn't part with a glass of her beloved drink. She was feeling dizzy now, and the heat spreading over her throat and belly began to scald awfully. Finally, she put the glass down, peeking through the window once more, then went into the small bedroom, pulling off her shirt and throwing herself on the bed. She didn't manage to pull her pants off - she fell asleep almost immediately, with one leg falling from the edge of the bed and storm of blond hair spread out on the sheets.

Less than forty minutes later a new message appeared in her mailbox.


John sat comfortably on his couch, with his laptop on his lap, his feet resting on the glass table top. Next to them was his phone, five hundred-dollar bills and a white powder curled in a tight line. The last dose of cocaine he had left. Replenishing stocks was particularly onerous. If someone openly caught him buying a drug, his reputation would definitely suffer. He didn't care that he was taking drugs with women, with whom he later spent the night. They couldn't do much to him. He could silence them. But some ordinary man on the street with whom he had never had to deal, or how to prove to him how dangerous a man John Duncan could be - that would be a hell of a problem.

The man opened the mailbox. The message he had been waiting for had reached him just over an hour earlier. He smiled involuntarily, with obvious satisfaction.

- Nice reaction time, Frank. - He murmured to himself, then opened the message. The large file contained in it was encrypted in several ways. But John didn't struck a deal with Frank for the first time, so he exactly knew the procedure for opening such a file. It took him no more than seven minutes at this point. Once he did open it, there were a few nice walls of text and lots of photos on the screen. Some nine or eight years old, when his target was still a teenager.

- You started early, hmm? Let's see...

The information collected about Carter was like a promise of a great fun to him. Although he had a piece of paper and a pen next to him, he didn't even reach for it, not even once.

Because John Duncan had an excellent memory.


When she woke up, she wanted to break her head into small pieces. She coughed, which only made the pain worse. Her eyes were open minimally, afraid of the morning light. She sat on the edge of her bed, from which she miraculously didn't fall during the night, rubbing her forehead with her hand. She swayed lightly, as if she could not decide whether she should get up and take something for this goddamn headache, or maybe going back to bed would be a better and more pleasant option. She chose the first one, although she did so with such reluctance and resignation, as if instead of going to the bathroom she was led to the scaffold for an execution. With a slightly numb hand, she opened the cabinet and pulled out one of the loosely scattered white tablets, putting it into her mouth and drinking greedily from the water tap like a thirsty cat. Although there was a glass next to the sink, which had been a constant element of the bathroom decor for nearly a year, the woman didn't want to reach for it.

She washed her face with water, then looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked at least five years older at that moment. The right ear on which the gold dragon was clinging was all red. She had to fall asleep on this side of the body. For now, her ear didn't hurt. Yet. She knew that the pain would decide to attack in several minutes. It wasn't the first time it happened to her.

She left the bathroom, staggering, then sprawled out on the couch. She rubbed her eyes, then looked more closely at the screen of her laptop, which she left on all night. At first, the text on the screen was just one smudged patch. Only after a few long moments did it begin to make sense. She saw her mailbox, the topics of old messages. One of them, at the very top, was written in bold. She had to strain her eyes even further to carefully analyze the meaning of the text.

Frank Wilson: Someone called a lawyer? Yesterday, 21:18

She woke up almost immediately, opening her eyes wide. This involved another attack of pain, but she gritted her teeth and placed the laptop on her thighs, resting comfortably on the back of the couch. The file in the message was encrypted, but it wasn't a problem. Not for her. Kind-of friendship with Frank has often saved her skin. It took her no more than five minutes to open the encrypted file, mainly because the strongest security was broken by Frank already, leaving Irina only the basic, the simplest, not a big challenge for someone with experience and a basic skills package. She opened the file and saw huge amount of text and pictures.

Defining the information contained in the file as interesting would be a scandalous understatement.


It took her about five and a half hours to squeeze through dozens of layers of encrypted files. She didn't leave the laptop even once, even for a minute. She felt a terrible scratching in her throat that was demanding some drink that could quench her thirst. Irina, however, was too concerned about what she saw. When she finished, she made sure that the file had been properly secured before closing it and hiding it in the deepest depths of the disk. She turned off the device, straightening her aching legs and picking up a lot of pages from the sofa and the floor, on which she wrote out important information about Duncan. And there were a lot of them worth remembering.

She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was not much food in it, but it wasn't interesting for woman at this moment anyway, because she was once again torn between one of hers typical life choices - water or alcohol. Recalling, however, about the morning headache she chose the first, after a while enjoying the coolness of the crystal clear liquid.

And then she heard the buzzing of her phone. It wasn't anything particularly surprising, so she calmly put the glass on the kitchen counter and returned to the living room, almost automatically pressing the green receiver. And at that moment, she wanted to shoot herself in the head - her eyes caught the number displayed on the screen a fraction of a second before answering the call. A number that she had never seen before. She didn't receive calls from random, unknown people, so in her head the red light went off immediately.

- Aaaah, I was afraid that you wouldn't pick up. But that wouldn't be good for our deal, and you're a sensible girl, aren't you?

The red light had just evolved into a huge, blood red neon. The girl opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but she made only a short, single sound, reminiscent of the radio jam.

- What the hell... - She asked with her typical, sleepy and husky voice, wondering.

- Come on, you don't really think that getting your phone number was a problem? Especially since you gave me your name and address. By the way, they turned out to be true, for which I thank you very much. I value honesty in people, it's a rare feature. Now, tell me, are you busy at the moment?

John's voice was calm, pleasant to the ear, but at the same time extremely disturbing. As if there was something the man didn't talk about, but his hidden intentions were betrayed by vocal cords. Of course he had something in the back of his head, Irina was sure. The worst thing was that she had no idea what to expect. The file in which nearly all possible information about Duncan was contained didn't contain a way to read his mind.

- It depends on the point of view...

- So, you're not! That's great.

- W-Wait, I said that-

- You said that either you're busy or not depends on the point of view. From mine, you're not busy at all. So, let's get straight to the point. Go outside, I'm waiting for you there. Ah, and don't forget about the keys to your apartment. People sometimes forget about it and leave it open, and then they are extremely surprised that someone came to their home as if it was their own. And that they used their goods as such.

- God, do you even shut up...

- That's not my name, but I'm flattered anyway. Now please, do as you're told. Otherwise I will punish you for the sin of lateness. - She could hear his mocking smile and had an uncanny urge to hit him in the face and knock out his perfect white teeth. If she could do it over the phone, she would not hesitate. She hung up, grabbed the keys to the apartment and left it, closing it. In the meantime, she managed to renew her dictionary of curses. She quickly found herself outside, practically leaping down from the stairs and stopped, looking for a lawyer's familiar figure. She didn't have to - he spotted her first, leaning nonchalantly on black Ford Mustang. He greeted her with a wide smile, that sended a chill down her spine.

- Well, here you are. Although you should learn that hanging up without a word is extremely unkind.

- Yeah, same with a fucking blackmailing someone.

- Remember that in terms of pointing the guilty one, I have the high ground. Now come on, I'll take you for a ride. We have something to discuss. - He said and peeled off the car's bodywork, going to the other side and attempting to get inside.

- Couldn't we talk about it over the phone? Or even here and now?

- No. And I think you know why. You're quite smart, after all.

She sighed in resignation and slowly entered the car, clearly hesitating. She tried to slightly increase her sense of security and keep one leg out of the door, leaving it a bit ajar at the same time. Of course, it didn't work out.

- Close the door. Please.

She did it. Nearly. She pretended to close the door, but in reality she still left them slightly open - so slightly he had really small chances to notice. But, of course, he noticed. Without a problem.

- Don't try to trick me, girl.

She closed the door, this time for real and swore under her breath.

- If you try to touch me in any way...

- Are you warning me because you already have some experience with being with a kind-of-stranger in the car, or have you just seen too many movies?

She didn't answer, just gave him an icy look.

- Aaaah, if the eyes could kill. Calm down, I was just asking. Now, let's go.

John started the engine. The Mustang reacted quickly, roaring like a wild lion, then moved forward. Duncan left the parking lot, throwing an intrigued look at the nearby pearl-white McLaren P1. Carter was observing the man so of course, noticed it, but she didn't give the car a moment's attention. John looked at her briefly.

- I said that I can appreciate art in any form. Cars also fall into this category.

- I do not judge. I fully understand that.

- Still, you haven't been interested in this particular one.

- I see it every day. Inside also.

He, of course, knew it. The file containing information about the woman was also about her car. Of course, also about registration, although it was not very needed. There were not many McLarens in Atlanta. Not to mention this particular model, in this particular color. He knew where she had the car from, from when she had it and what was special about it, which the cars of ordinary, gray civilians didn't have. And he knew why.

- I see. So, let's start our discussion with basic acquaintance. Where were you born?

- And why would you be interested in THAT?

- Pure curiosity. Answer, please.

She didn't want to answer him, but something in his voice suggested that resist was not a good idea. She knew that she was dealing with a dangerous man. So she decided not to take such a risk, especially since he really had an advantage over her. In every aspect.

- Ivanovo. In Russia.

Liar, liar, liar. John smiled almost imperceptibly, but said nothing. He decided to let her wander into lies.

- Who your parents are, or were?

- Mother was Russian painter, father worked in British SAS.

- Which regiment?

- 22nd.

Well, that was actually true, John thought. He wondered why she had decided to lie about her place of birth, but she talked about her parents without any kind hesitation, and was speaking pure truth. What was the point?

- And how old are you?

- You've managed to get my phone number, and it's not that easy. So I suspect you've also got to my age.

- Why would I waste my time on something that I can hear from you?

- I'm twenty four. Are you happy now?

- I'm happy all the time. - He chuckled - Alright, it will do. For now. Let's get to the most important matter. Which is your new job.

- Yeah, the one I never wanted in the first place.

- I give you the opportunity to earn a good income. Very good. Which means no more pulling out other people's wallets.

- And what you could have possibly from it?

- That's what I'm getting to. I want you to get some valuable packages for me from time to time. Quietly. And then brought it to me without any delay.

- You want me to be your private courier? - She asked in disbelief. Why the hell would he do such a thing? This guy had so much money that he probably had pillows made of them, so he could take care of getting these packages in a much simpler and safer way than giving such a task to a random woman met on the street. Not to mention the circumstances of that meeting.

- Would you mind?

- Hmm, quite so, yes.

- Tell me why.

- Because it doesn't made fucking sense.

- Not everything has to.

- What is going on in your head, lawyer? What do you REALLY want?

- Those packages have a great value to me. So don't ask any more questions. Understand?

- No, not really.

- That isn't a problem, you will. Here you have details about what, where, when and how. - He said, giving her a white, sealed envelope. The woman took it in her fingers, also accidentaly brushing John's counterparts. It seemed, however, that he didn't notice it or didn't pay attention.

- So be it. But I'm not going to do it for the rest of my life. Since you've called it a deal before, so be it. Deal with time limit. I will work for you for two months and then you leave me the fuck alone.

She was walking on the thin ice and she knew it. But she didn't intend to bow to him. She wanted him to know that he could threaten her, but she would never be his little cat. John stopped the car at traffic lights, that were illuminating his face with a light red and looked at Irina. She felt his blue irises pierce through her, but she could stand it. Carter didn't look away.

- Careful now, girl. - He said in a quiet, vibrating voice. - You are not the one dictating the conditions.

- Two months.

He didn't take his eyes off her. He waited. He gave her the opportunity to retreat, but she didn't take it. Duncan smiled almost imperceptibly, as if in apprecation, but after a moment the smile disappeared.

- Deal.