ketchup packets, and hamburger wrappers.
Neil looked over his newspaper and glared at me with yellow eyes. He bent an ear back. "People expect an assassin to be messy. Our profession doesn't exactly favor velvet cushions, red carpets, and oak desks."
I bent my ears back. "Don't call it 'our' profession. After this, I'm done."
Neil grinned, showing all his sharp teeth. "That's what I said two years ago."
I pointed to the cat scratches on the chair. "Do you own a cat?"
Neil eyed me. "Very funny, Trecheon."
I widened my eyes in mock horror. "You mean those are your cat scratches? What, a scratching post was too expensive?"
He waved his hand in the air like some Shakespearean method actor. "I was worried it'd ruin the feng shui that I worked so hard to achieve." He scratched hard on one of the chair's arms. "We all have our quirks. I'm sure you've owned a salt lick at some point in your life."
I crossed my arms. "I'm not a goat, Neil."
"Could've fooled me."
I rolled my eyes. "Quilar are unusual. We're like, part hedgehog and part porcupine or something."
"So you're saying I should paint you blue and throw you in a world with checkerboard grass and birds stuck in robots trying to kill you."
"Har har." I pulled up a rusted metal chair. "So what's the story on this one?"
Neil slid a picture across the splintery desk. A blue-eyed, brown-haired human smiled up at me with perfectly white teeth. "Dr. Brett Laskey. CEO of Heartstring Medical Group and owner of a dozen hospitals in the area. He has a reputation for compassion and kindness. It seems he's quite the philanthropist."
My blue eyes met Neil's yellow ones. "And we're taking him out why?"
"Because he's a monster."
I turned. A tiny, thin blonde woman walked in wearing a plain pair of black pants and a gray baby doll T-shirt. She pressed her lips together and turned her head when I looked at her eyes.
I raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am?"
"Sorry." The lady pulled her shirt down and straightened the silver chain on her neck. "My name is Laurel Laskey. Dr. Laskey is my husband."
I nodded. "And, apparently, he's a monster."
Laurel slunk into the other rusty seat, nodding. "Only behind the scenes." She coughed into a napkin. "Sorry. Just getting over a cold." She sniffled. "He beats me. He beats the children. He cheats on me, too. I can't take it anymore." She lifted a sleeve, revealing a large black bruise on her upper arm. "This was just this morning. . ."
Lightning ran up my spine and I made a tight fist.
But something ate at me. It was the typical story. Man beats wife and kids. Man hides vices with virtues. Lady utterly broken. I'd heard that story so many times.
But how many times did you hear of the Lady ordering a hit on the Man?
"Dr. Laskey is a busy man," Neil said. "His main job is visiting the hospitals he owns, but his visits are sporadic and he doesn't keep a schedule. The only window we know for sure for this job is on Friday. He's the keynote speaker at a medical conference." Neil shot me a look. "One window. One chance. If he catches wind, it'll be a long time before we get another shot."
Laurel lowered her gaze. "I thought you were handling this on your own."
Neil shrugged. "I'm busy that day, so I called someone in." He pointed to me. "Red's good. He can handle it." He winked at me.
I bent my ears back. Red? Really?
Laurel narrowed her eyes. "I wanted you."
Neil shrugged. "What you see is what you get. Take Red or find someone else. If you can in three days."
Oh, so that's how it was. Trap the girl and force her to do what he wants.
Laurel crossed her arms. "Fine. Just get it done."
Neil grinned. "You won't regret it, Ma'am."
Right. No one ever regrets ordering someone else's death.
Laurel pulled out an old, grubby looking purse. "Half up front, yes?" She dropped the purse on Neil's desk.
Neil opened the purse, withdrew a wad of cash, and ran it under his nose like he was smelling a fine wine. "Pleasure doing business with you, ma'am."
"I'm sure." She walked out.
Neil quickly counted the funds and let out a low whistle. "Wow. I agreed on a level three, but I guess she bumped it up to a level five. She really wants this done."
I lifted an eyebrow and perked an ear. "Levels?"
"In our circles, payments are on levels from one, the lowest, to ten, the highest," Neil explained. "Your first hit was a level one. This was supposed to be a level three, but damn. She ain't messing around."
"And you're sure she just wants to get rid of a scummy husband?"
Neil looked up at me. "What do you mean?"
"Abusive relationships happen all the time, Neil," I said. "But most of them don't end in midlevel assassination hits."
Neil shrugged. "Does that really matter?"
"It does to me."
Neil rolled his eyes. "You'll never get anywhere if you actually care about the people you're taking out."
I bared a fang. "I'm not trying to get anywhere. I've already told you, this is my last hit. And I'd rather not have this last hit haunt me for the rest of my life."
"Bit too late for that," Neil said. "She paid us. We have to get it done now."
"No, she paid you. You have to get it done. And really, neither of us have to get it done. What's she gonna do, tell the police? 'Oh, officer, I paid these two zyfaunos to kill my husband and they didn't do it! Call the Better Business Bureau!'"
"There's an honor code in this business, Trech."
"And who's going to enforce it? Are there assassin police? Some grim reaper whose sole job is to remove less-than-honorable assassins? Come on, Neil. That only happens in video games." I huffed through my nose. "And don't call me Trech. That's even worse than Trachea."
Neil waved a finger at me, bending both ears back. "Like it or not, I do have a reputation to uphold. And yes, there is street cred in this profession. It's really hard to move up and really easy to fall. So don't screw this up for me."
"You're the one who dragged me into this."
"And you're the one who keeps agreeing to do it," Neil said. "So shut the hell up and get ready for this job. If you really don't want to, I won't drag you into anymore, but you've already said you'll do this one, so you're stuck."
I glared. Sometimes Neil had more bite than he let on. "Fine."
"Fine. Come back and see me when you're finished and I'll give you your cut."
I perked both ears. "My cut? Oh, hell no, you'll give me the whole thing. I'm not some employee you can screw around with."
Neil spoke in hissed words. "We'll discuss this later. Get the hell out."
I left without another word.
Three
Friday came way too quickly.
In the three days I had, I did what any good freelance assassin would do. I learned about my target. To say Dr. Laskey was a philanthropist was an understatement. Not only did he donate money to dozens of charities, he was known for spontaneously paying off or forgiving huge hospital bills for those who struggled financially. His hospitals had programs in place to help anyone who had problems with money. He brought fancy meals for his patients regularly. In the public eye, the man was a saint.
I stood back stage at the medical conference where Dr. Laskey was supposed to speak. I adjusted my black bow tie and straightened the far-too-tight black jacket. The room felt too hot. Either that or I just felt way too wrong about this.
Something didn't add up. Yes, many abusive celebrities hid their bad habits behind a stream of kind deeds, but this was excessive. And he didn't even flaunt it. Most would have worn their supposed goodness like a badge of honor, speaking about it every chance they got. Dr. Laskey kept completely quiet about it. The general public only knew a fraction of what he actually did.
How could this guy really be the person his wife claimed him to be?
"Nervous,
Captain Omnir?"
I turned my head and faced my target. Dr. Laskey gave me one of those winning smiles that all celebrities knew how to pull off. But something about his felt too real, too genuine to be the same kind of smile.
And he called me Captain. No one had called me that since the war.
I fiddled with the pill in my pocket, the concentrated aconite poison, designed to dissolve in his drink. It would seize up his respiratory system. An easy enough cover, considering Dr. Laskey's well-known problems with asthma, and his well-known disregard for his personal health. I returned his smile.
"A little, yeah."
The doctor patted my shoulder. "Don't be. All you have to do is stand next to me and smile. The rest will take care of itself."
"Ha ha. Yeah."
"Honestly, it was pure luck that led me to you," Dr. Laskey said, taking a sip from his water bottle. I licked my lips, eyeing the water. My mind wandered back to my first meeting with the doctor.
The day after Neil charged me with this job, I had visited one of the doctor's hospitals, hoping to learn anything I could about it. As luck would have it, Dr. Laskey happened to be visiting that very hospital. And he had noticed me. Worse yet, he knew me. I still can't decide if that was a good thing or not.
He had approached me with a confident smile.
"Pardon me. Are you Trecheon Omnir?"
I forced my ears to stay perked up. "Um. Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"
The doctor held out his hand. "Dr. Laskey. It's a pleasure to meet you."
I blinked, genuinely interested, taking his hand. "It is?"
"Very much so," Dr. Laskey said. "A wonder of the War of Eons, right here in person."
I couldn't stop an ear falling back, recognizing a familiar discussion. I tried dodging the inevitable. "I