Licensed Murder

[ 19 ] .---- ----.

Muscles bulging, Jones brought the suitcase out of the Jag and dumped it in the trunk with an almighty thud.

"Careful!" I shouted, turning to face him over the roaring music I was DJ-ing at the front of the Kombi van.

"Of what? This old junk?  At least I won't fear for my life when we get the new one!" he roared back, eyebrows raised.

"Nah mate, can't beat the New York original!" I screamed.

The slim figure of Henderson emerged through the front of the deli we were parked at, looking as 'fun- hating' as ever. "Turn that racket that sounds as if it came out of a rat's ass down"

"Yes, ma'am! Did you bring the drinks?" I yelled as I increased the volume a notch or two, simultaneously head banging.

Slamming the door after getting in, Henderson pushed the radio's off button. "Yes"

"Oh thank god, Hendy, I think I nearly burst an ear drum"

"Shut up and sit down Jones"

"Yes, ma'am!" he mimicked as I revved the old beauty's engine into motion. "TO SAN FRAN!"

I smiled, changing the gear. "To Sara Parker"

~

A plane ride, new van and a few hours on the road later...

We were lost in the middle of nowhere.

"Okay, stop the van Ms Bodyguard who doesn't work even 2 days out of 7."

"He said he's capable of taking care of himself, besides, why would I hang around that idiot longer than I need to? Huh, idiot number two Jones?"

Jones doesn't reply for a while, instead I see him frowning at his phone through the mirror.

"Stop the van, Iris." I hit the brake with my foot. When you hear that tone out of a playboy like James' mouth, you know shit's gonna go down.

"What wrong?"

Henderson added her valuable opinion. "I'll tell you what's wrong, Row, we've been down this street three times."

"I'm sure the GPS just wants to take us on the scenic route." I say half-heartedly.

Looking through the mirror again, I see the pointed hand of Jones. "Pull over"

Signalling out, I stop Kombi #2 in front of a small family-run diner. Sliding the door open and stepping out of the van, Jones eyes the shops along the semi-deserted street and motions towards the diner.

He shakes his head. "This is pointless. So we know she made a call somewhere in a 1 mile radius from here, last week. Let's just grab some food, and go home."

"Yeah, no. We need to find her. I need to see her. Something's wrong, I can feel it." I reply in a deep tone, matching his. I turn towards Henderson who glances at her phone before meeting eyes with Jones who just drops his head. "What was she saying to her friend in the call that you intercepted?"

She replies looking nowhere in particular. "Stuff not worth remembering"

"What did she say?"

"I don't remember"

"Don't give me that bull!" I look towards Jones for support, but he too is looking at a point somewhere in the distance with a glazed expression to match.

"Let's just go to the motel, sleep, then fly home tomorrow" Jones says.

Okay, this was it. What happened to these people? I swear just four hours ago we were making jokes, psyched up and ready to find Sara.

"What's wrong with you two? Seriously? Fine, let's go to the motel, but I'm not giving up. We're spending the whole day searching for her tomorrow, got it?"

They both sigh, and Jones resumes his seat in the van. It's a sigh unsettles me a bit.

I change the location on the GPS, pretending to look busy. I see Jones and Henderson make eye contact again before turning away.

*

I don't know whether it's because I've been in this business for so long, or whether being alone my whole life has taught me to be cautious of people, but I know when people are hiding something.

I sit up on my tacky floral print covers, checking whether the other two were asleep. After confirming that they were indeed in the land of the subconscious, I rise onto my feet. The floorboards washed with moonlight creak, but not too much.

I see small light of Jones' charging phone near the power point on the floor and start towards it.

If I was banking on getting through someone's passcode, it would be Jones', not Henderson's. I wouldn't be surprised if even the brightest spark at MIT couldn't hack into her Nokia brick phone.

I squat before turning to face the two beds. When I see no signs of movement, I resume my task of hacking into his phone.

I almost trip over my dropped jaw and roll onto my side.

"Who in their right mind wouldn't have a lock on their phone? In this fucking business?" I mouth.

Regaining my composure, I tap on the messages icon.

*

I'm heading south, along a dark street lined with flickering lamps, keeping an eye out for number 322.

The night is hazy. Shadows lurk about, stooping figures hiding in the alleys of the secluded town. I feel the chill of the outside air drifting through the vents, making the hair on my neck stand.

I think of betrayal. Of what made a close friend of mine turn their back on me. I was caught in a web of lies, in a web of false hope. Trust was never my strong point, but at least on the most basic of levels I trusted the company I worked for, and Jones.

Realisation washed over me, as darkness consumed the life of the streets. I had been betrayed.

The message stated that I was to enter 322 Longview Ct alone, and that I was to be killed by Nina Henderson in silence, with my body to be disposed of by Jonathan Lee. Sara Parker would witness the 'suicide', before returning back to New York City with Henderson and Jones to resume assassination business.

The message was sent by a small, independent agency by the name of Double A.

Arsenic Agency.

My agency.