Then Hunting Snakes
THEN: HUNTING SNAKES
My bruises are mostly healed. What’s left are just the yellowed remains of any story I want to tell. Right now, that story involves a rough bar patron who was threatening a middle-aged woman eerily similar to the one I’m flirting with now. She’s melting on every detail as she sips her third drink in an hour, making herself an easy mark. Probably good for my first job. It also helps that my “victims” are snakes in their own right.
Marla Crestwood.
Married to infamous construction mogul Philip Crestwood III, who made his fortune by bribing his way into padded government contracts. I’m supposed to use any means necessary to find out who’s taking the payoff.
She crooks her finger in my direction as I finish a pour for another guest. A quick glance at her half-full glass indicates she’s interested in more than a refill. I’ve been working her since Ben got her to my bar by comping her drinks for the night.
“What time do you get off?” she asks when I make my way back to her.
I flash a half-smile she really seems to like and lean on the bar. “Midnight. Why?”
Her grin is a lazy mix of enamored and excessive vodka. “Maybe I was hoping to get to know you better.” The glint in her eyes finishes the thought as her hungry gaze roves over me. I drop my own to the mound of rocks on her finger.
“Yeah?”
She follows my focus and offers a mischievous smile. “Phil won’t be back for hours, if at all. Just a drink or two over some polite conversation?”
Her stare has no interest in polite conversation. I swallow the knot in my stomach and force a conspiratorial smirk. “Phil is your husband?”
She nods.
“He leave you alone a lot on your vacations?”
“We’re not here on vacation, sweetie.” She laughs at some private joke. “Well, maybe I am, but not him. It’s all business for Phil. Some stupid meeting about a highway or something. I’m just an accessory for the show.” She rolls her eyes and takes another long sip of her drink.
“A highway, huh?”
She waves her hand. “Boring stuff. You don’t want to know.”
Except I do. That’s the only thing I want to know. “I’d love to hear about it. It sounds like maybe you could use a friend to vent to.”
Her lips curve around the straw as she stalks her prey and constructs a narrative I’ve spent all night feeding her line by line. I feel Ben’s stare from a table on my left. Two others I don’t know look on from each exit point. They have extra surveillance on me tonight. Of course they do. It’s my first job.
Or so they think.
Four hours later, I send a text to Merrick from the Empire Suite on the eighth floor.
Curtis Dombrowski.