1
Mario
The contract on my head was worth seven million dollars as of two minutes ago. Like any Vegas odds sheet, that number went up with each unsuccessful hit. I’d eluded at least two in the last twenty-four hours. My need for an ally, or a dozen of them, lured me to the City of Sin, home to various organized crime figures, and my last resort to evade my executioners.
On the tarmac of McCarran International, a private jet was being prepped. It was one of the family’s seven business fleet aircraft ranging from the luxurious to the ridiculous. A certain internet celebrity bought our biggest one four years ago. We’d replaced it with an even larger one.
How else were we supposed to keep up with the global demands of organized crime?
I sipped my cognac and pondered the logistics. That’s what I did best. Logistics. From meetings to murder, I was the most glorified administrative assistant to the oldest of monied mobsters in Europe and beyond. They relied upon me. So, it was absurd I’d be fingered for a hit, right?
I sighed and took another sip of my drink. Even paper pushers had their enemies. The devil was always in the details often overlooked by the incautious.
“You’re hiding in plain sight.”
Speaking of his royal darkness … “Ringo. I’d ask what you’re doing here, but ... I take it you’re working?” Ringo Devlin was one of the best hitmen in the business. I should know; I helped arrange almost every one of his kills. They went flawlessly thanks to his ruthless cunning and my expert planning.
“I’ve got five minutes before I start.” My best friend since boarding school signaled to the bartender for a drink. The Macallan 18 bottle looked dusty despite the glittering lights and neon distractions surrounding us.
“You took the contract, didn’t you?”
Ringo snorted into his drink. “Of course.”
“If you need money?—”
He held a finger up. “I’d’ve asked. But I’m not doing it for the money. Although, seven million…”
It would finally pay off his debt on a folly. And with me gone, he’d have that post-modern Italian ocean-view monstrosity to himself. But knowing him, that would last all of one day before he found a woman to splash naked in the little atrium fountain located in the foyer leading to the terrace overlook.
His roving eye trailed a prospective conquest in a practically see-through gown as she rushed through the lobby. The bottom hem of the flesh-pink gauze trailed along the carpet like a cloud.
“… the money would be enough of an incentive for most.” He continued on, still tracking the woman.
“How are you going to do it?”
He snapped his attention to me. “Who do you think I am? If I tell you that, you’ll figure out ten different ways to stop me.”
“It would make the job far more interesting.” I dangled my words like bait.
He sipped his drink, pondering my statement. “I think it would.”
“It’s not like you’re going to really kill me.”
“Oh, now there’s where you are wrong, my friend. I can and will kill you. The way I figure it, it better be me rather than some idiot trying to make a name for themselves.”
True. “Make it quick.” I glanced up at the security camera embedded into the mirrored surface of the ceiling. Ringo wouldn’t do it here. He’d had to have spotted it.
He scoffed. “I’m not an amateur.”
That he wasn’t.
He turned back to crowd watching. “You know, you’re lucky.”
I was? He ignored my scowl and kept talking.
“Anyone else would have made this messy.”
“Like it’s not?”
