Tee'd Off

Chapter Three

The honeymoon suite was simply amazing, and I thanked my lucky stars that my girlfriend had been a total and utter bitch to the receptionist to pull this off. It was interesting, because I'd never really seen this side of Bailey before; in fact, it was the first time we'd actually worked a job together in the field. Well it wasn't technically a job, but it was a rare sight to see her playing a role to get close to someone, to gain their trust and gather intel. She was going to do just fine this weekend, despite her reluctance to get involved.

Bailey had a very different way of working to any other woman I'd known. If I'd have taken say Stephanie or Jean Ellen with me this weekend then both women would have just been themselves. Bailey on the other hand, morphed into this snooty bitch from hell. She screamed class and money; just the sort of woman I'd be expected to be engaged to.

I bit back a smile as I recalled her reaction to the diamond ring; just as I'd suspected, she'd not been impressed. Her love certainly didn't come with a ring, just a box of condoms. And my love for her? It also came with a box of condoms; flavored ones if she was lucky. And a god damn expensive ring that didn't really mean anything other than I wanted to buy her something that wasn't military hardware. I was beginning to suspect that she'd have been more than happy with a new Ducati. Shit, I think she was more than happy just to spend time with me without either of our jobs encroaching on our personal life. Yeah, there really was no price for the love that we shared; freely given and received.

Bailey wandered out of the bathroom clad in the hotel's robe and with hot pink rollers in her hair. "How long until dinner?"

I glanced at my Rolex. "Half an hour."

She wandered over to the closet and began to flip through her collection of evening dresses. Eventually she pulled out two and held them up. "The red or the grey?"

"The grey; the red is a little too…"

"Slutty?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but the grey one is beautiful."

Bailey put the red dress away, and hung the grey one on the closet door. "I agree. You seen my makeup case?"

I glanced around the huge bedroom, but didn't spot it. "Try the sitting room."

She sashayed off and returned carrying a huge bag. "Could you help me?"

I snorted. "Babe, I honestly don't think that makeup is my specialty."

Bailey stepped up to me and gently traced the pad of her index finger over my eyelids. "I bet you'd look damn hot in eyeliner."

"I don't think so."

A wicked smile curled at her lips. "No, I do, I really do. Maybe a pair of leathers, fishnet top, and your hair down. We should go to a rock club; I know of a great one in Limerick. Then again, if you wore what I have in mind for hitting a rock night, then I honestly don't think we'd leave the hotel room."

"Or I could wear it anyway and we could stay home," I suggested.

"Now that sounds like a plan, but a plan that will have to wait for another day; I need to finish getting ready and I'm going to need your help."

"Still don't know squat about makeup, babe," I teased.

She shook her head and unzipped the bag. "Here, take this."

I accepted a small tub of gunk warily. "I know that you trust me with your life, but I'm still not sure about this; makeup artist is not part of a mercenary badass' job description."

"Yeah, I can tell that you were never in the SAS," Bailey replied.

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"Exactly what I said, that you weren't in the SAS. Most of the mercenary guys I know from the U.K have a huge variety of skills, 'cos you just never know what you'll need and when."

I snorted. "Right, so remind me to book those flower arranging classes when we get back."

"Tosser. This," she growled, poking at the item in my hands with her finger, "is theatrical concealer; it's for my effing tattoos and scars, you twit. I mean I could go to dinner in a very expensive Vivienne Westwood one off with all my ink and battle scars on show, or you could help me cover them up."

"Ahhh, I see. Okay, I can do this, I think; does it come with a manual?"

"Yeah, it comes with instructions, Ric. One, open the jar-"

"Twist or pull?"

"I'll stick it up your arse in a minute, soldier. Two, scoop out stuff with a finger, and three, rub evenly over tattoos and other blemishes."

I studied the pot and then looked back to her. "Could you repeat those last two for me?"

Bailey unbelted the robe and let it drop to the floor in a heap. "I could, but I think that you'll learn faster through practice."

I looked her naked body up and down a couple of times. "Yeah… I see what you mean."

We were ten minutes late by the time we finally got to the resort's award winning restaurant, and I was not impressed by our tardiness. It did not give a good impression to my prospective client, and I hoped that it didn't reflect too badly on me or my company. Bailey discreetly scanned the room as we waited to be seen by the maitre de. No doubt she was checking over the exits and room layout; once a mercenary, always a mercenary.

The maitre de showed us over to the table and I was surprised to see that it was set for six, with another couple there also. Not part of the plan, but I guess that we were just going to have to work with that. The woman on Philip's left – next to an empty seat was, I assumed, his very young wife, Jessica. I suspected that she'd married him for his money, and he'd married her for her superficially enhanced looks. The other male was in his fifties, like Philip, overweight and wearing an ill fitting suit; his dinner companion looked to be about the same age as Jessica - early thirties, and possibly used the same plastic surgeon.

Bailey cast me a concerned glance, and I shook my head fractionally. "Not a clue who they are, babe."

Philip looked up as we approached and smiled. "Glad you could make it, Carlos."

"Thank you for inviting us here this weekend, Mr. Anderson."

"It's always nice to talk business on the green, rather than in some stuffy office, don't you think?" he replied as he reached across the table to shake my hand.

Anderson remained seated and didn't offer to introduce any of his dinner companions; did his mother not bother to teach him any manners?

Finally, I offered my hand to the other man. "Carlos Manoso."

"Hank Green," he answered as he took my hand in his pudgy one and shook enthusiastically. "Phil here's told me some super things about you, Carlos. It is Carlos, right? Or can I call you Carl?"

I retracted my hand and tried to look friendly. "It's Carlos, thank you. And this is my fiancée, Amanda Dawson."

Philip, sorry, Phil, looked her up and down and smiled; his wife seemed content to ogle me. Hank leered at Bailey, and his companion shot her a bored look, before returning her attention to my groin. I was thankful that the only gun I was carrying was in an ankle holster, and therefore not within easy reach. This was not looking like a fun weekend for either Bailey or myself.

"Good evening, gentlemen, ladies," Bailey said politely, as I pulled her chair out for her. "I'd like to reiterate Carlos' thanks for the gracious invitation to vacation with you this weekend."

"Darlin' you can vacation with me anytime," Hank drawled.

Bailey stiffened slightly, and shot him her blank look. I waited for her snide comeback to his comment, but she remained unusually silent. I hadn't checked her for weapons when we left, maybe I should have done.

"So," I said lightly, "What do you recommend from the menu?"

I was ready to stick a fork in my eye, or maybe Hank's instead, as that would have given me immense satisfaction. Dinner had gone downhill from the outset and I was surprised that Bailey was still seated at the table. The two gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, were under the impression that the female company seated at our table served only one purpose: eye candy. I, on the other hand actually appreciated a woman who could hold an intelligent conversation and had an opinion of her own. My girlfriend was seething with rage at being treated like an idiot by the two men, and also at being excluded from the majority of the conversations, that were, truth be told, not exactly scintillating in topic anyway. I was going to have to make this up to her later; she had mentioned covert operations in a hot tub before we left, and that concept was growing more appealing by the second.

I tuned back in to the current thread, a discussion that concerned ill advised business moves.

"And that Korean deal, Phil," Hank guffawed, "The shit's gonna hit the fan with that one, buddy."

Phil shot him a tight lipped smile. "I'm sure that it will be just fine."

Interesting. Maybe I needed to do some extra digging on the financial viability of my prospective client; I didn't recall any dealings with Korea in his Rangeman file. Bailey nudged me discreetly with her foot; looked like she'd picked up on his comments too.

"North or South Korea?" she asked.

Phil glanced over at her, clearly not happy to still be talking about this. "South."

She nodded. "Strong labor market, competitive prices; South Korea is a wise choice given the current economic climate. What did you invest in?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Little bit of this, little bit of that, you know what I mean?"

Bailey frowned. "No, I'm not sure that I do."

Phil looked very flustered and caught his wine glass with his arm. The red liquid spread across the white linen table cloth like blood splatter from a gunshot, and managed to catch Jessica's dress in the crossfire. She shrieked and scooted backwards, knocked into a passing waiter in her haste to save her gown, and ended up with half a tray of desserts down the back of her neck.

"You stupid fuck!" she yelled at the waiter, who was flapping around her and apologizing profusely. "Do you know how much this God damn dress cost?"

"Not as much as it should have done, but it's not a bad fake," Bailey whispered discreetly in my ear as we sat back and watched the show. This was by far the most enjoyable portion of dinner so far.

Jessica was causing such a scene that the restaurant manager had come running over and, along with the waiter, was now fussing over the irate woman.

"I feel another one of my migraines coming on, Carlos," Bailey stated dramatically, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead. "Maybe we should ask for the bill"

I patted her arm gently. "You did have the seafood; this always happens when you have seafood, babe."

She frowned, "I should make another appointment with Dr. Vesey when we return."

"Good idea," I replied as I signaled another waiter over. "Could you add our meal to our room bill please?"

The young man nodded, and swiftly removed himself from the chaos at our table.

I nodded to our dinner companions. "I'm afraid that my fiancé is suffering from another one of her headaches. Thank you for your company this evening everyone; I'll see you on the green in the morning, Philip?"

Phil smiled tightly. "Yes, I hope that this little display hasn't-"

I cut him off. "Think nothing of it, Philip. I'm sure Amanda would be just as enraged if that had happened to her Vivien Westwood haute couture."

Bailey rolled her eyes as she stood. "Possibly, darling, but you know Viv, I'm sure that she'd just run me up another one when she had a spare minute."

Hank's date's eyes widened at her statement as she studied Bailey's gown. She looked me up and down, then turned her gaze to Hank, and it was apparent to me that she was seriously considering a change in dining companions. Maybe the next guy she snared would be attractive as well as rich.

"Have a good evening," I said as I put my hand at the small of Bailey's back and escorted her away from the chaos.

We hit the lobby and Bailey stopped suddenly and burst out laughing.

"Babe?"

She waved off my concern. "Oh man, the four of them are fucking classic."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I think Anthony has more loose change in his back pocket than all of them have in the bank."

I nodded as we set off walking again. "Yes, I think I need to call my brother and get him to do a bit of research for me. This is not a contract that I want Rangeman to enter into without some serious number crunching."

Bailey slid her arm around my waist. "I certainly agree with you there, Carols. Anyway, you still up for investigating that secluded hot tub?"

"I think I can handle that, babe."