I sat in my plush office. Yes, sometimes, you could get a nice office in the business district of Russia. It isn't all wild landscape dominated by snow and wilderness. The metropolitan districts bustle with nightlife. High class take me homes are on every corner and clubs blast music to the dim skies. But that is not relevant.

I sat in my office, at a well known firm that you don't know of, in the chair my master left behind when he retired. I waited for my next client. They were a magnate that if I mentioned you wouldn't know. Underground meets daylight here, in the perpetual twilight.

"Mr. Ivanov" I saw my client in the door way. He had a suit that I thought would be nice, excepting the residual blood splatter on his elbow. My attention was drawn away from that by the tall blonde on his arm. She was different one from the blonde he had last time. If I recalled this was his new interest. Last month he liked American girls. That was difficult to clean up, I was sure.

"Mr. Smirnoff." Not a real name. I grinned. The sharks grin that I plastered on every time. It reminded them of who I was. I wasn't the deejay at an Armenian's acquittal party. I was the one tearing it up with untraceable gunfire.

"This is Celeste." He gestured to the blonde in the fetching pink dress. A regular runway model. She stood a full head taller than him. Make that head and shoulders. Smirnoff was a short man with a Napoleonic complex. I shook hand with him and then turned to Celeste. She took my hand and sighed.

"Archie," probably his most recent identity, "his aura is strong. Can I?"

I looked at Smirnoff. What the hell was she asking?

"Celeste is a psychic." And, I'm a prostitute with runway legs.

"She loves reading people's auras and fortunes." This just showcased Smirnoff's tastes, I don't even need to mention the boa constrictors. Oh, wait, I just did. But, against my better judgment, I nodded letting them take seats on the other side of the desk. Ebony imported from Africa. I'm quite proud that I can see my reflection in it. It makes reading expressions easier when I look the other way. She didn't let go. I decided to humor her.

"Read." She set about gladly. Her eyes fixed on my face and drifted out of focus.

"You are very strong. The reading is blurry but I will try. I see a fish in your future, a big red fish. There is a cloud of colorful dots. Then I see a flying house and a cheetah sleeping on a bed." I wounded if she was a nut. Smirnoff just looked at her kindly.

"In your past, I see an island. A tropical place." That just about described every vacation I had.

"There is a girl in a red dress and James Bond. I see a palace of diamond and pearl." Okay, she was strange. I'm sure I would remember James Bond and a palace of shiny stuff.

"I'm picking up on the girl again. I see red. Lots of it and it binds you to her." I thought of all the people I killed. Women specifically, it was a short list. They were just casualties in the cross fire typically. Faces without names.

"And it is gone." She dropped her hands and blinked at me. Her eyes went back into focus. I was left wondering if she was alright in the head.

"Thank you, Celeste." I patted her hands. "Mr. Smirnoff. You wanted to discuss a job?" The pudgy man smiled. My father said sharks were born swimming.

I was perched on top of a building. The target was getting off work and would be at the cinema with his son. It would be a pity to scar him but his father needed to get a mind blowing spa package. I was situated exactly across the street. It would be a clear shot and a quick getaway. His guards would not expect him to be attacked from above in a crowd. I could pick him off like shooting bottles on a fence. I never missed, even then. I trained the gun on the man, someone you don't know. And in the instant he stepped into range, an expanding bullet slammed into his head.

It made a quick job of his brains. His kid screamed dropping the soda in his hand. I noticed he had a red shirt. At least he would avoid stains. I looked up from my kill to the slick posters on the wall of the theater. It was the picture of a house raised by thousands of colorful balloons. Who knew? Celeste was right about one thing.

By the time the guards discovered the position of the sniper, I was driving to my city apartment. I would have a nice dinner then off to bed. Who knew, I might have a pick me up. There was a sexy redhead on the corner. I opened my passenger door. She was about to state her prices when I muttered, "Money's not an issue." She smiled revealing a slightly stained smile and got in. Forget dinner. I was going straight to dessert.

In the bedroom, she struggled off her coat and tossed in the floor. I didn't know her name, I didn't need to. She crossed her legs, which were shapely, were covered in leopard print tights. I grabbed a pack of condoms, you could never be too careful.

After wards, I sent her on her way with her money. She walked off in a staggered lope. She was new at the profession. I grabbed the remaining half of Chardonnay and went to the restroom. How about a long soak in the tub? As I passed my bedroom, I noticed something the entertainment left behind. A pair of tights. I just realized they were cheetah print.

A cheetah on the bed. Great. She wasn't crazy. I took a swig from the bottle. Red wine was always good for a head ache. In my book, anyway.

I took a look at the bottle. Herring winery. An unknown, cheap winery.

Red.

Herring.

Damned fish.

Damned blonde.

Okay. I apologize for the profanities and references. That is why it is for teens.