3. A lead
THREE
A LEAD
KYLIE
S hifting in my seat so that I’m facing out instead of across the table, I lean out, sipping my drink, pretending like I’m searching the dance floor when, in reality, I’m doing everything I can to eavesdrop.
From my vantage-point, I can see the darker-skinned guy on the farther side of the booth. His hair is cut close to his scalp, his features hard, his eyes darting out into the crowd as he says in a low voice I can barely make out, “Shouldn’t he be going to see Harrison?”
“The mayor?” scoffs his companion. “I know you’re messing with me, but, shit, no. Everyone knows that Harrison is just a figurehead, Fade. He puts up the front while the vice mayor gets shit done.”
Fade snorts. “You mean Harrison fucks those aides of his while Collins runs Springfield.”
“Exactly. Harrison likes his twinks. Collins likes his palms greased. The SPD likes their bribes coming, too. As long as the wheels spin, the Sinners profit.”
“And we have Devil to thank for it.” Fade lifts his drink, leaning forward in his seat. I move my head, acting as though I might’ve seen who I was looking for off to my left just in time for Fade to clink his glass with the other man. “Cheers, Kill.”
“Damn right?—”
“Hey. This seat taken?”
Swallowing my annoyance at the interruption, I glance up.
The voice belongs to a guy my age, maybe a little older. He’s decent-looking enough. Dark brown hair cut in an expensive style, hazel eyes a little bit glassy. He’s not wearing a suit like the guys behind me, but his button-down shirt looks pricy. His top button is undone, giving me a peek at his chest.
He runs his fingers through his hair, lips quirked in a ‘I’m harmless’ grin. Like he doesn’t want to spook me before he gets a chance to actually hit on me.
Normally, I’d let him try. But this is my shot to at least get the closest to my target as I have since arriving in Springfield and, what the hell, why not take it?
And, you never know, maybe I can take him .
I’ve been so bored lately. A bored Kylie inevitably leads to a horny Kylie, and while I have no problem taking care of business myself, it’ll be so much easier to borrow a dick for a couple of minutes to get off.
I have some time, though after a second glance, I realize that I’d be wasting it. Considering I can smell the booze on his breath, and those glassy eyes are one of the tell-tale signs he’s on Breeze, it’s not worth it. The alcohol could leave him with a limp dick, and while Breeze makes you horny, it also turns guys into two-minute men. To satisfy my insatiable lusts, I need more than that.
But it never hurts to have an alibi—or have fun fucking with people.
So instead of telling him to get lost, I shake my head.
Without waiting for an express invitation, he slides into the seat opposite me. His ‘harmless’ grin becomes a little more predatory as I shift again, moving so that we’re facing each other. It gives him a chance to look down my sweater, and he takes it.
Men.
“Hey. Name’s Ronnie.”
“Beth,” I lie.
“I saw you looking around. Thought maybe you were looking for me.”
“Maybe I was,” I say, twirling the straw in my glass.
When his chest seems to puff up, I know I already have him hook, line, and sinker. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he says. “This your first time at the Playground?”
“Yup.” Another lie. “I’m from out of town and thought I’d check it out. You?”
“Me? Born and bred in Springfield. As for the Devil’s Playground…” Lifting his hand, he rubs the sleeve of his shirt, gesturing to his forearm without ever lifting the fabric up to reveal the flesh beneath. “You could say it’s my home away from home.”
I’d bet that those other two would be inked with Lincoln ‘Devil’ Crewes’s trademark devil tat. This guy? A Sinner? Not a chance.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t help me.
Squeezing my arms together, plumping up my cleavage as I lean toward him, I grin. “Really? I’d love to hear more…”
After leaving the Devil’s Playground, I make a quick stop back to my hotel to ditch my phone and change up my appearance.
Rule number one as a hitwoman? Never bring your phone with you. The way it pings off of the towers tracks you. If I ever got caught and I had my phone with me? They could prove I was nearby when the body went down.
I’ll update Winter when I’m done. Until then, I’m off the grid. Just so it’s not suspicious, though, I grab the fake ID I sourced for just this hit, plus a couple of bucks in case I need cash. Everything else is hidden in my ‘go’ bag, including my phone, locked in the hotel room’s safe. I left the hotel key behind ‘accidentally’, knowing I’ll just get the front desk to issue me a new one.
I still have the strychnine. The knife. If this goes well, that’s all I’ll need; if it doesn’t end the way I hope it does, at least I should get a little more intel about my target.
Ronnie was no help there. Just like I expected, he didn’t know jack shit about the Sinners Syndicate or the politics of Springfield past what I’ve already figured out for myself. When I would steer the conversation in that direction, I could see right through his lies. Even I knew that Vice Mayor Collins usually meets with Royce ‘Rolls’ McIntyre—Devil’s second, and the manager of the Playground—in order to get his monthly pay-off, while Devil and Damien Libellula have monthly dinners with the actual mayor of Springfield, Hogan Harrison.
So for the Devil of Springfield to be having a quiet meet with the vice mayor? That’s unusual, but Ronnie didn’t even know that the city has a vice mayor.
But you know what he did know? Where to find the old video store on the West Side.
He laughed when I mentioned that I heard Springfield still had a place to rent videos around here. Maybe if I’d visited a good fifteen years earlier, the Blockbuster might have still been open, though the empty remains of the big store were still there on the edge of downtown Springfield where the hookers and the druggies and the homeless rule the abandoned, rundown quarter.
Dressed like this, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. With a few alterations, my club outfit might help me pass as a prostitute, but I’d rather not attract that kind of attention while tracking a target. Instead, I pull my hair back into a messy ponytail, trade my sweater for a pain black t-shirt, and stick with my boots, jeans, and leather jacket. I clean off the face full of evening make-up, going barefaced to sell my ‘college student who took a wrong turn’ in case the empty side of the city isn’t as empty as I expect it to be.
Close to an hour after getting my first lead in weeks, I’m hopping into the ride-share car that I ordered when I was on my way up to my hotel room.
Poor Ronnie. I left my nearly half-full drink on the table, asking him if he wouldn’t mind watching it for me while I, ahem, freshened up in the club’s bathroom. The way he smacked his lips made it obvious he expected the two of us to head on out somewhere more private after I came back. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still sitting there, waiting for ‘Beth’ to return.
Nope. The Hummingbird has taken flight, and if all goes well, I’ll be migrating out of Springfield by the end of the night.
For now, I book a ride from the hotel out to Mama Maria’s, an Italian restaurant in the nicer part of the downtown. They’re open until midnight, which would explain my ten o’clock ‘reservation’, and even better, it’s only a straight twelve-block walk away—plus one cross street over—from the area where Vice Mayor Collins is supposed to have his late-night meeting with Lincoln Crewes.
I pay my driver, giving just enough of a tip that he won’t remember me for being too cheap or too generous, then skip over to the front door of the restaurant. Once the black car disappears down the street, I take a turn and start heading further downtown.
Within the first six blocks of my walk, bitching into the winter wind as it slaps me in the face, I notice a difference. The traffic all seems to turn off to a street behind me. It’s quiet. None of the buildings I’m passing are open, and by the eighth block, they’re all obviously closed-down or abandoned.
I start to pass some of the unhoused population. Curled up in the empty nooks, buried under blankets to ward off the December chill, none of them peek their heads up to watch me walk by. A pair of sex workers glare at each other from opposite corners, waiting for a john to drive by that doesn’t come; at least, not while I’m here.
The redhead on my side loses her sneer as I head past, hands shoved into my jacket pockets.
“You look lost, sweetheart. Don’t think this part of Springfield is made for the likes of you.”
I give her a grin. “Taking a shortcut to a friend’s house,” I tell her.
“Shitty friend. They could’ve picked you up. Met you halfway.”
“I’ll make sure to tell him that.”
She tugs her faux fur jacket closer. Considering how short her black dress is, it’s probably the only warmth she has. “Him? Cut your losses there, babe. A real gentleman never would’ve let you walk through Skid Row at this hour. Stay safe, you hear me?”
I think of the knife in my boot, plus the poison in my pocket. “I will. And good luck tonight.”
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit out,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “At this point, I’ll suck a dick for ten bucks just to get into a warm car.”
I don’t blame her. It’s fucking freezing . Only the rush of adrenaline I get when I’m stalking a target has my blood pumping otherwise I’d be just as cold. For now, the hunt has me fired up, but I mimic her gesture, pulling my jacket closed, and continue on my way to see my ‘friend’.
Fingers crossed I find him.