Retribution
by Greta Stone
Retribution. Copyright 2010 by Greta Stone. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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“Short, snappy and the ending has punch. I liked it a lot.” – Dave Hunter
Retribution
Beth Paddock looked down at the small slip of paper she was carrying. It was wet with sweat, the black hand-written print beginning to smudge. It was an odd sort of resume, easily disposed of; one only appropriate for this particular job. The windowless hallway she stood in reeked of chlorine, the scent adding to the pristine surroundings, the lights casting a yellow glow. She looked to one side of her, then the other. No one was around, just a long corridor of random offices. The door before her held a nondescript plaque reading ‘Jack Harber,’ silver engraving against a slab of mahogany. She listened to determine how many people might be on the other side of the door. She hoped only one. It was quiet. She took a breath to calm her pounding heart, straightened her hair and pushed the door open to greet Jack Harber.
Pseudo-confidence rushed through her body. She reached across his massive desk and gripped his hand tightly in hers.
“Beth?” he asked. He plastered an artificial smile on his face, revealing the work of an experienced dentist.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you for seeing me, Sir.” Too many Sirs. She took a seat in the leather arm chair in front of his desk. The stiff fabric creaked. She clung to the armrests, crushing the paper to the palm of her hand.
He sat, leaning far back, hands tee-pee’d in front of him, chin lowered towards his chest like a king on his throne prepared to pass judgment. She sensed condescension in the tilt of his head, the curl of his lip and the stillness of his body. She unconsciously crossed her legs, looked around the room and fiddled with the crunched, damp paper in her hand, not quite sure how to begin.
“Ace Tangiers sent me,” she said for lack of anything more intelligent to say. She knew he had no idea who Ace was. She relied on it, in fact. Her fingers smoothed the paper that held a single name, the name of her last job, her first hit actually.
“Did he?” Jack Harber said. His tone indicated no familiarity with the name. Beth’s shoulders relaxed and her bobbing foot rested for a moment.
She refocused her attention on Harber. Anxiety surged through her. She thought about backing out, running for the door. She glanced nonchalantly towards her escape then looked down at the paper and soldiered on. She had done it once before. She could do it again.
“Yes, Sir,” she said. Her pale skin flushed a light pink as she lowered her head.
He stood up, eyes still on her, walked to the front of the desk and propped himself on the edge of it, arms folded across his chest. Musk scent wafted towards her, invading her senses and clouding her resolve.
“Go on,” he said impatiently with a gesture of his hand.
“Yes, right. Well, Ace Tangiers thought that you might have an opening for me seeing as your-“
“…situation has recently changed?” he said with too much emphasis on situation. She sensed a small change in his stature as he said it. She could tell he was peeved by the loss of his top hit man.
Images of Roger Nudden’s blood pouring out onto the dirty pavement in front of the Hotel Vita flushed Beth’s mind. The scent of gun powder still lingered in her nostrils, empowering her with memories.
“Yes,” she said, her confidence growing.
He unfolded his arms from across his chest and propped them on the desk on either side of him.
“And how is it that you would be of service to me?” he inquired, a smirk on his face.
“Sir?” she said, looking at him with doubt. “I should think that would be obvious.” To kill the person who killed your best, she thought with a raised brow and a restrained grin.
“Yes,” he said without moving.
His feet were close to hers, stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. His glare burned into the top of her head. One false move, one wince and this could be her last meeting ever. She was so close.
She ventured a glance up at him. His eyes had narrowed.
“And your experience in this… type of work? It’s sufficient?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir. Of course. Ace will testify to it,” she said, forcing a moment of insecurity down with a heavy swallow.
He appeared to think about it again then laughed as he made his way to the back of the desk, stopping at the polished mahogany valet. Breaking the silence, he dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and covered them with Scotch. His shoulders relaxed as he took his first swallow.
“Don’t get me wrong, Miss… What was your name again?” he said over his shoulder.
“Beth. Beth Paddock.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Miss Paddock, but you don’t seem the type.”
He stood behind his desk, placed the Scotch on the well-used coaster and casually slid some paperwork around. How dare he judge her?
“I am, Sir,” she said indignantly and stood up to convey more power.
He tilted his head at her swift gesture. He seemed to analyze her size, strength and psyche with one glance down, then up. She hoped he saw that she meant business.
She pressed her arm inconspicuously to her side and felt the metal press into her waist. Yes, it was still there.
“And your last job? I need a name,” he said, suspicion in his voice.
“Yes, Sir,” she said and leaned forward over the desk to hand him the sweaty slip of paper she’d been holding.
Relaxed, he took the note from her hand and brought it to his waist, his eyes still analyzing her.
“I don’t know who would ever hire a woman,” he said as he lowered his eyes to find out if, in fact, she had actually carried out a hit and on whom. His fingers twitched as he read the name of his very own top hit man:
Roger Nudden
With surprise in his eyes, he looked back up to find the barrel of a P18 aimed at his forehead.
“Ace Tangiers would,” she said and pulled the trigger.
*******
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About the author:
I have always had a love for all things art - writing, photography, drawing and dance. I wrote my first poem at age six. Throughout my teens and early twenties, I immersed myself in poetry - falling in love with free verse. I recently completed my first novel and started a fiction blog series where my readers decide what happens next. (Links below)
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