Ross and Lee glanced out of the corner of their eyes discreetly, noted the tall, confident man that strolled towards them, parting the crowd as Moses parted the Red Sea. He greeted everyone with smiles, clapped the men on the back, offered the women kisses on the hands and cheeks. Eventually, he was beside the table, the beaming smile a façade as he glanced into the stern faces of Christmas and Ross.
"Barney Ross?" he asked no one in particular.
Ross nodded his head, stood up to look the man in the eye. Bald and clean-shaven, face smooth and marred only with a few wrinkles, the client, so Erin had assumed, reminded the Expendable of Mr. Church, the CIA agent who had sent him and his team on a suicidal mission to the island of Vilena in the Gulf. The man clapped Ross on the shoulder amiably, however, and extended his hand. Giving Ross a firm squeeze, he glanced down at Erin, smile stretching wider.
"And what is your name?" he asked.
Erin extended her arm to him, letting the man take her hand delicately and plant a soft kiss on her skin. "Jamie Ludolf," she answered, her voice smooth.
"Are you with these men?"
"Indeed, I am." Erin gestured to Ross. "This is my date for the night, and this man" – she inclined her head at Christmas – "is our chauffeur. I invited him along, seeing that he is grievously underpaid and resentful."
Christmas glared at Erin, eyes narrowing into accusing slits.
"I see." The client nodded his head, tore his gaze away from Erin. "Would you like to talk elsewhere?" he asked Ross quietly. "I am incredibly sorry for the inconvenience. I leave for Washington, D.C. tomorrow on business at three in the morning. I had no choice but arrange the meeting here."
Ross shrugged, glanced around. "It's very public…"
"Ah, yes, well…I'm a very important man," the client explained, cleared his throat awkwardly. "There are connections I must constantly renew in order to retain my status as a high-class gentleman."
Erin flicked a glance at Christmas. The Brit met her gaze, glared at her as he noted the I-told-you-so look that had entered Erin's eyes. She smirked, her cockiness and smugness etched back into her face for a brief moment before she yanked her façade back into place, once again transforming into the elegant, high-class woman that she wasn't – or, perhaps, the high-class woman she could (should) have been.
"Elsewhere, then," the man said, clapping his hands together. "This way."
Ross, Erin, and Christmas followed the man, each squirming beneath the gazes of a thousand pairs of eyes. The client muttered something to the 'bouncer' at the door, squeezed the man shoulder as he smiled, and headed off down one of the long, carpeted hallways. Erin offered the doorman a smile, smiled wider as she received a silly grin in return. Ross paled at the exchange between the two, unsettled by the flirting. A pleasant sort of triumphant feeling expanded in his chest, however, as Erin turned away from the doorman and immediately frowned, rolling her eyes. She caught Ross looking at her, smirked in response, eyes glittering as brightly as her dress.
"In here, please," the client said, gesturing towards the door he had opened at the end of the hall.
The Expendables trio stepped into the room, plush carpet sinking beneath their feet. A small room, it was nevertheless spacious and welcoming. Erin ran her fingers over the polished mahogany table in the middle of the room, fingertips barely brushing the lacquered wood. Christmas glanced around the room, noted that there were no windows. He watched Ross take in the room's features at a glance, no doubt searching for telltale signs of a bugged conversation. The door clicked shut, drew the trio's attention away from their room inspection. The client smiled, gestured at the chairs seated at the table. Not one of them, the client included, took a seat.
"So," Erin began, sauntering her way over to the man, "I've got two questions for you. What's a former Secret Service man calling for a hit and what do you want us to do, Senator?"
Ross and Christmas shared the same glance, one of mild surprise. Erin's smile no longer graced her face; her poise, graceful before, now stood rigid, threatening. This wasn't the way The Expendables conducted business. Ross stepped forward, grabbed Erin's wrist, almost stopped by the feel of her soft skin brushing his calloused fingers. She looked at him briefly, nostrils flaring in anger. Reading the look in his eyes, however, she nodded her head and backed away, perching herself on the edge of the table in a relaxed manner.
Christmas stared at the curve of her back, thought, My hands have been all over that. He balked, tore his gaze away from Erin. The panting, the moans, the cries of ecstasy rushed back into his head, echoed in his ears. He flanked Ross's side so that he would have to look over his shoulder to see Erin, hoping that the action would keep him from being tempted. He turned his attention to the client, who shifted around on his feet, one hand fisted tight in his pocket, the other blotting his palm on his grey pant leg. He glanced over his shoulder, double-checked the door to make sure it was locked.
"Listen, I need something done," the senator said, forced himself to lace his fingers behind his back and keep still.
"Obviously," Erin retorted. "Why else did you call Tool?"
The man cleared his throat, tugged at his collar with two sausage fingers. "Ah, yes, well…I have a bit of a conflict with Mexico."
"Don't we all," Erin muttered, hardly flinched as Christmas cast a glare her way.
"A conflict?" Ross asked.
The senator nodded his head. "Yes, indeed, I'm afraid. You see, I have a bit of a…problem."
"You're a user," Christmas stated, arms folded across his chest. "Why Mexico? Why not Columbia or Nicaragua?"
"Mexico's closer," the man admitted. "It's a bad habit that I've been trying to kick. Unfortunately, I keep coming back for more."
"What's the problem, then?" Erin crossed her legs at the knees, leaned back against the table. "The cartels out there have decided to kick you out?"
"Something like that," the senator answered. "The drug lord has doubled his price. He says that I need to pay the money if I want to get the good stuff, and I really like the good stuff. It's better than the cheap-ass shit they sell here."
"So you don't want to pay," Ross muttered. "Is that it?"
"No." The man shook his head, chubby cheeks wiggling with the movement. "He wants the money on Monday, and I can't give it to him. He threatened to have his people here tell the whole damn world I use cocaine."
"Ah," Erin spoke up from behind Ross and Christmas, body stretched out on the long table. "You want us to take him out to keep him from letting everyone know about your sin." She pursed her lips, chuckled. "How much you offering?"
"Name a price," the senator said. "I'll pay whatever I have to."
"Five mil," Ross said, thinking back on the price Mr. Church had offered for their mission in Vilena.
"Five million dollars?" the man asked, jaw dropping. He shook his head in disbelief. "You guys must be professionals."
"It's our job, and five mil's the price," Christmas snapped. "Take it or leave it."
The man nodded his head, ran a hand over his shiny, sweaty bald head. "Five mil it is, then."
"Half upfront," Ross said, "the other half to an offshore account."
"Done."
"Wait a minute!" Erin sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the table. "You said you couldn't pay the drug lord what he wanted. How the hell are you gonna pay us?"
Ross and Christmas turned back to the man, whose skin had suddenly gone white. He moistened his lips, sweat glistening on his upper lip. Erin stood to her feet, brushed by between Ross and Lee, the bare skin of her arms brushing their shoulders. She stopped less than a foot away from the man, eyes flashing. The man winced and cringed beneath her gaze.
"I can come up with the money for you guys," the man stuttered. "I've made too many payments to the drug lord in the past few months, however. I don't want the IRS sniffing around. But I can pay you guys."
Ross nodded his head. "Where in Mexico?"
Erin stepped away from the senator, slipped between Christmas and Ross. Christmas shifted away, intense fire broiling in his stomach, threatening to extend to his abdomen. Ross, acutely aware of the tantalizing heat Erin's body exuded, forced himself to focus on the senator.
"He, um, sometimes works in Chihuahua and, um, Guerrero, I believe," the man replied. "But, uh, he's in Baja California, mostly…at least, he is right now."
"Baja California?"
Ross and Christmas turned to look at Erin. She stood rigid, muscles tensed, coiled so tight that she seemed ready to spring across the room with no effort whatsoever. She passed a hand over her face, turned away, placed her hands on her hips. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Her breathing was slow and controlled; she took large breaths, huge gulps of air, trying to control herself. Ross noticed the tear that slipped over her lashes, a single, clear droplet that trickled down her face as Erin grew frustrated.
"His name wouldn't be Enrique Carrillo, would it?" she asked, back facing the senator and two Expendables.
"Um, yeah. How did you know?"
Erin shrugged, brushed the tear from her face. Expression settling into a stony mask, she faced the client, eyes glinting. "You expect us to kill that man, right?"
"Yes, that would be ideal."
"What if I told you he was already dead?"
The senator's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"
"Enrique Carrillo was killed in 2006," Erin explained. "A team of mercs was hired to take him out in May of that year. The authorities found the drug lord July fourth. He was shot to death, and viciously, at that. It was a bloody mess, I'll tell you that. Coroners said he died only a few days before. He was positively IDed as Enrique Carrillo by authorities, cartel members, and family."
"Then who the hell is trying to con me of my money?" the senator cried, threw his hands up in the air, angry.
"That would be the man who hired the team to kill him." Erin's eyes darkened. "His name is Alejandro Morales. Over here, though, he's known as Alexander Montoya."
"Hold on." Christmas stepped forward, frowning. "Alexander Montoya? You mean that fucking millionaire who sells those stupid CDs about becoming a millionaire?"
"You're shitting me," the senator said, shook his head. "You're fucking shitting me."
"Unfortunately, I'm not." Erin rolled her wrists, the bone cracking ominously. "I wish I were. It would make things so much easier. We can still take him down, but it'll cost us a little more."
Christmas spun to face Ross, just about ready to throttle Erin for taking control of the deal. Ross shook his head, almost in a stupefied daze. Erin rolled her shoulders after she finished with her wrists, her gaze fixed hard on the senator.
"Seven mil," she said. "Take it or leave it."
"Seven million!" The man shook his head. "That's fucking outrageous!"
"What you're trying to get us to do is fucking outrageous," Erin snapped. "Alexander Montoya, aka Alejandro Morales, is now one of the biggest drug lords in all of Mexico, and nobody even knows it's him! He's in the states, in case you haven't noticed. That complicates our job. And because he's a millionaire, his death would be all over the fucking news. Documents would be traced back to you, and later on to us. Naturally, you want us to burn the evidence, right? Well, that's more fucking work! So if you want this done right, you better pay up good, else you'll have to find somebody else to do it – and they're liable to fuck it up so bad you'll be screaming 'cause you were screwed so fucking hard up the ass, capeesh?"
The senator nodded, eyes widened in fright. "Alright, alright, seven million. That's doable, I swear!"
"We want the first half by next Saturday. That gives you a full week to come up with the money and write it off as some business expense so the fucking IRS doesn't get suspicious," Erin growled. "Now, go back to your party before your guests start wondering where you went. I'm sure they'll find it odd that you went off with two fierce looking men and a girl with wolves on her fucking shoulder."
The man nodded again, hurried from the room. Erin sighed, shook her head, kicked the door shut with her foot, locked it deftly. She stared at the grain of the wood, glanced over her shoulder at Christmas and Ross's stares. Passing a hand over her face, she approached to the two Expendables.
"I'm sorry," she began. "This was a job The Ravenous didn't finish. You boys don't have to do it. You'll still get your fair share of the money. In fact, you can keep it all, for all I fucking care. I just want Alexander Montoya six feet under."
"I don't understand," Ross said.
"It's a story for another day," Erin muttered. "I think it's time we left. I've got to give the bouncer my number before we leave, and I have a feeling that we're gonna be kicked out soon enough."
Ross cringed. "You're not taking the job alone, Erin. You'll get yourself killed."
"Are you kidding me?" Erin laughed, voice harsh and bitter. "This'll be easy as hell. It'll be a fucking walk in the park, and I haven't had one of those in awhile."
"You're not going by yourself."
"Besides," Christmas growled, "Ross said you couldn't get in the way of the first job."
"Yeah, well, in case you didn't notice, Lee," Erin snapped, "it really isn't The Expendables job, is it? It's my unfinished business." She passed a hand over her face, unlocked the door, yanked it open. "Let's go before I'm tempted to bring out my knife."