*This is going to get saucy. Not safe for work. You have been warned, my friends.*

John walked into the gym and put down his bag. Anna was standing on one of the mats, crying. Michael Black had his arm around her and John knew by the look on his face what he was saying. He glanced around and saw Maggie Chen in the corner by the narrow window that had iron bars across it, like a prison. It opened a crack out on to the alleyway and she was standing as close to the open window as she could, drawing on a cigarette as though it would give her some kind of strength.
"Those things will kill you," John said, as he approached.
She looked at him wryly and took another drag.
"I should be so lucky," she answered.
"Who was it?" he said, nodding over at Anna.
"Girl called Kesha Washington, from the Baltimore Washingtons. Y'know her dad did the Yasugui job for Römermann?"
"Black girl, good at weapons?" John remembered.
"Yeah," Ms Chen said, stubbing out her cigarette. "Her father used to say, 'Michael Black can train my daughter but my daddy trained Michael Black.' Old family in the business. They won't be happy about this."
"What happened?"
"Routine thing. Security for the High Table meeting in Philadelphia, something got out of hand and she took a bullet meant for someone else. Stupid, really. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
John nodded.
"Anyway," Ms Chen said, "Michael's giving her The Talk. The we-live-by-the-sword,-we-die-by-the-sword routine. You know it," she said, inclining her head a little to look at him from under her fringe. "You've gotten it already, right?"
He nodded his head again.
"Be kind to her today," Ms Chen said. "Let her beat you up or something."

The first time John got The Talk was when Sunny got killed. Sunny wasn't his real name, of course, but John couldn't remember what his real name had been. Samuel? Simon? Something with 'S', but everyone called him Sunny because he was the type of person who woke up and fell asleep with a smile on his face. From Queens, he called every man 'guy' – even Mr Black, who ignored it when he was in a good mood and cut him down with a sharp, "Sunny!" when he wasn't. Even then, Sunny's smile only faltered for a couple of minutes before it returned to full wattage. He and John shared a room, and he viewed John as a particular curiosity. Already in fourth year when John started, he knew the ropes and knew how to get Maggie Chen to bend the curfew rules every few weeks to allow him to go to one of the parties at the nearby university dorms. It wasn't long before he made it his mission to take John along.

"Come on, guy," he wheedled. "Full of foreign exchange students. Like, the place is teeming with them. Spaniards, Swedes, Russians." He kissed his fingertips like a connoisseur. "And you know what the best thing about these foreign women is? Their foreign booze. Buckets of it, guy. These women come from countries where they don't know about the legal age limit for drinking, these women could drink you and me under the table."
The thought of it made John uneasy. He wasn't good with women. In a group, sure – at school, he and his friends would goof around, making the girls laugh at parties. But by the end of the night, everyone paired off and he was normally left over, feeling awkward. Too tall, too quiet, too loud, too intense. He'd had crushes and he'd endured them silently, watching the girls with other guys, watching them crying when they broke up. Other guys would've swooped in and offered them a shoulder to cry on but John stayed at a distance, unsure and uncertain of what to do.

"Come with," Sunny said, pulling at his collar in the mirror. "Seriously, come with and kick back. You might even like it..."
And he raised an eyebrow so comically that John had to laugh, sliding off the bed to get ready to go.
On the way to the dorms, Sunny schooled him in what to do: "You need a backstory, guy. Don't say you're a student 'cause they'll want to know what you study and you betcha there'll be someone there studying the same thing, no matter what crazy shit you think up. Ask me how I know," he said in a way that meant he didn't want to be asked. "Anyways, me, I always tell them I'm at St. Pat's seminary, studying to be a priest."
John laughed out loud and Sunny laughed with him. "Yeah, yeah, you have no idea what effect that has on the ladies. Man, some of them take it like a personal challenge to get me off the straight and narrow."
He chuckled and John rolled his eyes, grinning.
"So you gotta tell them you're my friend from the seminary. You even look like a priest, they'll so buy it."
"I'm not even Catholic," John said.
"Yeah, no biggie," Sunny said, pressing a bell beside the large glass door. "Just tell them you don't wanna talk shop."

The party was being held in the communal living area. The music thumped so loudly that the speakers vibrated with the bass. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and perfume.
"Hola, Sunny," said a girl and kissed him on either cheek. She held both a cigarette and a wine glass in one hand, the other one on her hip.
"Isabel from Madrid, John from somewhere around here," Sunny said.
"Nice to meet you," she said, eyeing him up and down, then turning abruptly back to her friend. "Sunny, come, come, I want you to meet my friend Rocio."
And she dragged him away, leaving John alone in the middle of the room. He went over to the table with the drinks and looked in the punchbowl. The liquid inside was a murky brown.
"What's in there?" he asked the girl next to him.
"Everything," she answered. "Everyone who brings a bottle pours it in there. If I think correctly, the last bottle has been whiskey."
She was nearly as tall as John himself, her hair was long and dark and her eyes were green. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose. John felt his heart start to pound.
"I like your accent," he said casually. "Where are you from?"
"Wien," she said. "Vienna, you say in English. In Austria. That's not where the koala bears and kangaroos live, before you ask."
He grinned. "Austria – land of strudels, Mozart and ..."
He struggled to think of a third.
"The birthplace of Hitler?" she offered. She looked at him teasingly. "I know you want to say it. Everyone does. Either this or some old film called The Sound of Music." She shrugged. "I have never seen it."
"No way!" John said and she laughed, tossing back her hair. Some brave soul tried to pour himself a drink from the punchbowl, so she tugged his sleeve and pulled him aside. He followed her to a sagging sofa and they sat down. Franziska – that was her name, (everyone called her Franzi, she said, but John couldn't bring himself to shorten it. It was the most beautiful name he'd ever heard) – was easy to talk to. She laughed frequently, tossing her long hair about, touching John's arm. He mightn't have been very experienced, but he understood that signal. He waited till she put her drink down then quickly set his down on the floor and reached out to touch her face. It was almost as though he'd touched a switch. She seemed to glide into his arms and he began kissing her, oblivious to the other couple on the couch, the loud music and the people pushing past their feet to get into the kitchen. She moved beneath him and dipped a hand in under his jacket. He shed it quickly – his adrenalin was pumping, his heart racing, he felt like his blood was on fire – and returned to kissing her, tasting the alcohol off her lips and in her mouth. Through the cotton of his t-shirt her thumb stroked his nipple and he actually saw stars. He pulled away, shaking hard.
God, he though. Good God.

"You want to have some more privacy with me?" Franziska asked, standing up. She held out her hand and he took it eagerly, almost forgetting to grab his jacket as she pulled him away. They walked through the crowd, passing Sunny, who had Isabel's arms draped around his shoulders.
"Guy," he said with an appreciative whistle. "Have fun, you two."
Franziska laughed, tossing her hair again, and waved at Isabel.
She led John to her room, on the floor below. The noise of the party came through the ceiling dully, so she flicked on her CD player turned the volume up. John didn't recognise the band; they were singing in German.
"My roommate went home for the weekend," she said. She kicked off her shoes and socks. "She goes home when there is here a party. Much better for everyone, I am thinking."
She grinned at John and opened her jeans, letting them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them neatly and kicked them aside, then pulled off her top. John gulped.
"Do you have a condom?" she asked.
Speechless, John shook his head.
"Never mind, I have some," she replied. "So – what is deal? Are we having a fuck or not?"

John didn't need to be asked twice. He shed clothes faster than he had ever done so before and squeezed in beside her in her single bed. He could feel every skin cell her body was touching; his own was hypersensitive to every touch. He kissed her more roughly than he intended, trying to cup a breast, run a hand down her back and over her ass.
"Stop," she gasped. "Slow down, John."
She drew back as far as she could in the narrow bed to look at him.
"What is wrong?" she said. "Have you never had sex before, or?"
He felt the colour rise from his chest, up his neck.
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Nineteen," he mumbled. And then added, "How old are you?"
"Twenty-three," she said. "I like younger men."
And she laughed her peeling laugh, which made him feel a little better.
"I must better be extra good then," she said solemnly, and pushed him onto his back. She sat astride him, took a condom out of the bedside table and ripped the foil packet open with her teeth. She rolled it down over his cock and then slowly lowered herself down on to him in a self-explanatory way. She put his hands on her breasts, then raised her arms over her head, moving up and down on him sinuously, her eyes closed, her lower lip caught between her teeth. John looked at her above him and tried to stop himself, but she moved a little faster and he couldn't help it. He thrust into her rapidly and he came.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as she lay on his chest.
"It's fine," she said. "Now you won't be in such a hurry when we do it again."
John's heart sang at the thought that they would do it again; Franziska cupped his smooth cheek and pulled him down for a kiss.
"A little rest, then we go again, ok?" she said. John lay back on the pillow, a smile on his face. He could go again immediately.

He woke at dawn, when Sunny banged the door. He crawled over Franziska, kissing her sleeping face, her hair as he did so. She grunted and swatted him away, the way you would a fly. He pulled his clothes on and told Sunny – who gave the door another sharp rap – to cool it, he'd be there in a minute. He knelt by the bed and shook her gently.
"Franziska," he whispered. "Franziska."
She opened an eye. "You going?" she said.
He bent to kiss her again but she turned her head away, stifling a yawn.
"When will I see you again?" he said.
She stretched. "We'll see each other around before I go back to Austria," she said.
An icy stone dropped into the pit of John's stomach.
"When are you leaving?"
She laughed, her green eyes dancing. "End of the month."
John thought rapidly. "Next week is the end of the month," he said.
Sunny rapped the door again. "John," he said impatiently. "We gotta get back for breakfast, guy."
She patted his cheek again. "Yes," she said. She pointed at the door. "Your friend is waiting for you."
John didn't know what to say. He grabbed his jacket off the chair, slipped his feet in his shoes without bothering to tie the laces. He paused at the door, not knowing what to say.
"Goodbye, Franziska," he said finally. "Eh... thank you?"
"Welcome," came the muffled reply from under her comforter.

John let himself out. Sunny was standing in the corridor and his face broke into a wide grin when he saw him. "Have fun?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"How many funs?"
John paused. "Three," he said. Each time better than the last. Each time he learned something new. By the third time he could make her writhe underneath him. He thought he made her orgasm; she was certainly very appreciative.
"Way to go!" Sunny said and held up a hand for a high five. "Ah, come on," he said, when John hesitated. "I think that deserves a little bit of skin."
John returned the salute.
"She kind of..." he searched for the words. "She kind of ... you know, like, said goodbye. I guess it was a one-night stand?"
Even as he said it, he thought his heart would break.
"Sure it was," Sunny replied confidently. "She's got a boyfriend back in Austria and she was with a French guy over here till he went back to Gay Paree a coupla weeks ago. She and the boyfriend are on a break till she goes back, apparently. Doesn't count as cheating on another continent."
John's broken heart sank.
"Okay," he mumbled. "Yeah."

Sunny put an arm around his shoulders.
"Come on, John," he said. "You gotta learn the difference between a fun night and a long-term relationship, man. You just enjoy it for what it is and if something comes out of it, so be it. Amiright?"
John nodded.
"Trouble with you, man, is that you're the type that will fall hard. You gotta toughen up a little, see? But dontcha worry, your ol' pal Sunny will keep an eye on you. I'm going to bring you to a whole buncha parties and you're gonna screw your brains out. Okay?"
John forced a smile. "Okay," he replied.
"I'm gonna have the women lined up for you, guy," he said. "I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

And two weeks later, on a training run with his new senior partner, he was killed when the car he was driving spun out of control on a wet street. He'd been driving fast, as they'd been taught, and misjudged the traction on the road. His partner had managed to squeeze out the window, wiping down the dash and the door with his sleeve, left the young man in the mangled car. The emergency services that cut him out didn't know they'd been practising evasive tactics on near-empty streets at 4 a.m., they just presumed it was another young guy who'd been driving too fast, looking for thrills. Michael Black, named his next of kin, was informed and sent Maggie Chen to gather Sunny's personal effects for his family and break the news to John, who took it in stony silence.

Later that day, Michael Black took him aside, placing a hand on his shoulder so he could turn him to look straight into his eyes. He gave John something his protégé later came to recognise as The Talk – they had all chosen this profession, they knew the inherent dangers. Sunny was a good agent, a professional with great potential, but his death would teach others lessons that might save their lives in the future. It was not in vain.
John nodded, too numb to really speak.
"It gets easier," Mr Black said. "You will become quite philosophical about it, Jonathan."

xxx

Had he become philosophical? John wondered, as he watched Maggie Chen go up to Anna and give her a hug and a Kleenex. Anna wiped her eyes, rubbing that thick eye makeup she wore into a smeared mess. She walked towards John, on the way to the toilets.
"I'm sorry, Anna," he said.
She looked up at him. "Thank you," she replied quietly, humbly. It was the first time he'd every seen her anything but brash. Spontaneously he reached out and pulled her in, squeezing her in a hug. For a moment, she rested her head against his chest and he felt a small movement as she inhaled. He kissed her hair and let her go. She gave him a watery, snotty smile and pointed at the toilet door.
"I'm a mess," she said.
He watched her walk off and something inside him shifted, moved. For the first time he couldn't see the fast-talking, brazen Boston girl, with her grating voice and the simmering aggression, always just below the surface. She was suddenly small, vulnerable and far more ... human. She came out of the restroom with her eye makeup removed and she looked younger. Actually, she looked her age, as her makeup tended to make her look older and jaded. Passing John, she smiled up at him, shades of her old form returning.
"You ready, Wick?" she said. "You better not let me win out of pity."
"Never," he replied solemnly to cover the fact that it was a lie.