I was never really given time to think about it. You weren’t with these types of things. There were a few minor alarm bells going off in my head – the high price for someone minor, the greenness in the man’s voice – but the price won out in the end. That amount of money could get me away from this business for a long time again. I saw a lengthy hiatus on my horizon, one that didn’t include fucking drunk chicks on spring break just because I was horny, a hiatus that didn’t include bouncing my way from hotel room to hotel room across Mexico, waiting for the next call.
I told the man I agreed to his terms and worked out the payment plan. I wouldn’t get the other half until she made the news. Considering how rare shootings were in Puerto Vallarta, I had no doubt it would happen. And I would be long gone.
I hung up the phone, feeling almost elated. The promise of a new life buried that worm of uneasiness. One more job and then I’d be freer than ever.
I came out of the bathroom to see the chick sitting up in bed and looking extremely nauseous. Once she saw me though, her eyes managed to light up.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re fucking hot.”
I tried to smile, hoping she didn’t find me enticing enough to stay. “Thank you.”
“Did we have sex last night?”
I stood beside the bed and folded my arms across my chest. Her mouth opened a bit at my muscles. I still had the same physique I had back in the military and it still got the same reactions from the women. They never knew the real me – knew Derek Conway – but at least, with the way I looked, they thought they did. Just another built, tough American boy, a modern G.I. Joe.
They had no idea what I did.
They had no idea who I was.
“No,” I told her, “we didn’t have sex. You stripped and then you passed out.”
She looked surprised. “We still didn’t…”
I gave her a dry look. “Sex is only fun when you’re awake, babe.” I stretched my arms above my head and she stared openly at my stomach, from my boxer waistband to my chest. Okay, now it was time for her to go.
I told her I had stuff to do in the morning and needed her to move along. I could tell she wanted to at least take a shower, but I wasn’t about to budge.
I had a plane to catch.
Alana Bernal was extremely easy to find.
At least, for me. She had a Facebook page under Alana B. Her privacy settings were high but I was still able to see her profile picture, one of her in her Aeromexico uniform. She had a sweet yet beautiful face. Her eyes were light hazel, almost amber, both stunning and familiar at the same time. They glowed against her golden skin, as did her pearly white teeth. She looked like a lot of fun and I could imagine all the unwanted attention she’d get from unruly passengers in the air. She looked like she could handle them with a lot of sass.
Once again I found myself wondering what she had done.
And once again I realized I couldn’t care.
That wasn’t my business.
Killing her was my business.
I drove to the airport and for the next two days, began to stalk the employee parking lot, using a different rental car each day. Most of the flight crew I saw looked a bit like her but lacked that certain vitality that she had. So I waited in mounting frustration, just wanting this job to be over with.
On day three, just as I was driving past for the forty-second time that morning, I spotted her getting out of a silver Honda and wrestling with her overnight bag. I quickly pulled the car around again and parked at the side of the road, plumes of dust rising up around me. There was nothing but a chain-link fence between us as she began the long walk toward the waiting airport shuttle. Her modest high heels echoed across the lot and she tugged at the hem of her skirt with every other step. Not only was she beautiful, but there was something adorably awkward about her.
What had she done?
No, I couldn’t care.
I looked down at the bag in the passenger seat and took out the silencer, quickly screwing it on the gun I was holding between my legs.
She only had a few seconds of life left before I put the bullet in her heart.
Karina Halle, The Pact
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