The target was here. Tall, well-built and charming. At least that was how the client had described him.
Sipping on her soft drink, Johanna scanned the crowd of dancers moving to the dancehall riddim to find him. She checked the picture on her phone one more time before she went for a tour of the club. This was probably not the best location for the job, but she was running out of time. It had to be tonight.
Her white bustier and black short shorts got her a few dance invitations she had to turn down. Standing by the dancefloor, she spotted a group of people leaving the VIP section. There he was, laughing with a blonde woman holding his hand and leading him out. By the time Johana was outside of the club, a black sedan was leaving the parking lot.
"Damn it," she muttered. Her cell phone to her ear, she rushed to her car. "Pick up, pick up. Hey, Danny!"
"I'm still mad at you for going to Sint-Maarten without me, you know that, right?"
"I need you to— HEY!"
A man had twisted her arm behind her back and covered her mouth with his hand while trying to drag her away. With her free hand, she reached over her shoulder to grab him and send him flying a few feet away. "You're lucky I'm in a hurry," she said as the man groaned in pain. She picked up her phone off the ground. "Danny?"
"Nothing. I need you to track down Brown."
"Without his cell phone, I—"
"I'm texting you the number plate of a car. Connect me through."
Easy said, easy done. A red dot appeared on her laptop screen. Five minutes later, Johanna was behind the black sedan at a red light. The street was empty at three in the morning. If he had been alone, she would have crashed into his car and kidnap him. The girlfriend as a witness was too much of a risk.
Green light. Yet, the sedan didn't move. The driver window burst out into pieces and the target rolled out of the sedan with a gun in his hand. His head was bleeding, but there was no sign of fear or hesitation as he shot the woman still in the car. Twice.
"What the..." Johana didn't get to finish her sentence as he pointed the gun at her while walking up to her, slightly limping.
"Sors," he coldly said in French, but his free hand motioning her to get out of her car was enough of an indication of what he was asking of her.
"Doesn't look like you can drive," she said, once he opened the door she had unlocked.
Blood was flowing out of a stab wound on his thigh. He seemed to hesitate but got on the backseat.
"I won't hurt you," he said, pressing the gun against her neck. "As long as you do what I say. Got it?"
Being hostage was definitely not a part of her plan. In the rearview mirror, Johana saw him taking off his polo shirt to stop the blood loss. They didn't exchange a word until they reached a villa.
"We're going inside. You'll take the two bags out of my closet and bring them back to my car and then, I'll leave you're here", he said, a bit out of breath.
"You should go to the hospital."
"Did you hear what I say?"
Clenching her shoulder for support, he limped his way up the stairs to the master bedroom. The gun still pointed at her, he sat on the bed and took a cellphone out of the night stand table drawer. The phone call he had was intense but short. He had spoken in French and fast, but Johana still had managed to understand the words "kill" and "help". She couldn't let him get away.
"Change of plan," he said as soon as he hung up. "A friend is coming to pick me up. Go to the bathroom and I will lock you in. The police will come and get you in a few hours."
"You're just going to leave me there?"
Wrong reaction. His gaze turned suspicious as he walked up to her. As soon as he was close enough, she kicked the gun out of his hand. The surprise advantage she had only lasted as long as the blow she gave to his cheek. He blocked her next attack and started fighting back. She kicked his thigh, right on his wound and he kneeled down with a shout of pain, giving her enough time to pick up the gun.
"So, maybe we can talk now," she said as he slowly raised his hands.
"They sent you to kill me too?"
"Two female assassins in one night. They really want me dead, don't they?"
"Who are they?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm the one asking the questions here. What the hell happened with that girl earlier?"
"You're not with her?"
"No! And by the way, I'm not here to kill you!"
"Then why are you here?"
YOU ARE READING
Caribbean BluesMystery / Thriller
Oneshots taking place in the Caribbean. These are not complicated stories. They're just for fun. There's no particular order. If I do end up writing sequel to a specific oneshot, I will say so in the segment title.