The Many Faces of Rhea

CHAPTER TWO

I pulled my gloves out of my purse, which I had dropped at the foot of the couch, and put them on. There was no time for me to be anything but professional about this. It’s what I am. I knew that my face was blank, my eyes clear.

Then I searched the kitchen for some bleach. It was under the sink- bingo.

I wiped down the places on the couch where I had touched, but didn’t really bother with his blood. The police would still find trace of it, even if I did.

I strapped my gun back onto my leg and made my way out of the suit before I pulled the gloves off and stuffed them into my purse again. I’d burn them when I got home. I always wonder why criminals never do that on TV. I mean, they leave all the evidence in a dumpster three blocks down, as if that will somehow distance them from the crime- or getting caught. The first rule I learned doing this: leave no evidence behind, anywhere. It should never be found after the event. Ever.

Then I made my way to the lobby and into the women’s bathroom, smiling at the staff and guests all the while.

I locked the door and removed a panel from beneath the sinks, extracting my duffle bag. Be prepared. That was another lesson I learn a long time ago. If you’re not prepared for any and all situation, including plans B through F, then you’ll get caught. It’s just that simple.

Once I got that out, I took my wig off, and pulled out all the clips that were restraining my long brown hair. It flowed till the small of my back. My hair is so impractical, but it’s the one thing I’m vain about. 

Next, I removed the brown contact lenses, replace them in their container and put both the wig and the lenses back into the duffle bag.

I took off the dress and slipped on a pair of skinny jeans, a plain white t-shirt and some converse. Making sure that nothing was left lying around (and wiping down the surfaces I’d touched, of course), I unlocked the door and walked all the way out of the hotel.

Then I pulled out my cell and hit the speed-dial button.

“Done?” was the way he answered.

“You know it. Pick me up at the Starbucks.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

When I got to the Starbucks- which took about two minutes- I ordered two caramel lattes to go.

I’d just picked the cup off the counter when a black Mercedes ML pulled up.

I smiled. Always on time.

“Hey, Gray.” I said, hopping in.

“Hey, yourself. Are one of those for me? You shouldn’t have!” he mocked, already reaching for his one.

“You know me- always the Good Samaritan.”

He laughed at that, but then sobered up pretty quickly. “So how did it go? Give me the breakdown.” He has that “professional” tone, now.  He took a sip of the latte and pulled out onto the road simultaneously.

I clear my throat. This is always the last part of my mission. I take the recording device out of the glove compartment, and click the red button. “Okay, then. Target: Reid Gastello, 27. Occupation: Club Owner. Extra-curricular Activities: Deals in drugs, human trafficking and is a known murderer. Target arrived at La Viva at  approximately nine forty-five. Left La Viva at 10:06. Arrived at The Crown, suite 708 at 10:32. Died at 10:39. One bullet to the head. Shot was muffled with a silencer, at close range. Minimum blood spatter, and all prints – my prints, that is- were removed.” I hit the red button again.

Grayson nodded, waiting until I put the recording device back into the compartment. “And in between all that?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. I got the job done.”

He nodded again, but I noticed a slight frown on his brow. “oh, well. It’s not like you can’t handle yourself. I can’t believe it took you, like, twenty-one minutes to get him to leave with you.”

I laughed. “One: he’s a guy. Was a guy.  Two: he’s a guy. And three: I make a pretty hot blonde.

He grimaced at me and I stuck my tongue out and punched him in the arm.

“You’re such an ass. And twenty-one minutes includes getting to the bar, ordering a drink, waiting for said drink, pretending to leave and then deciding to stay.”I punched him again.

“Okay, jeez!” he laughed. “No need to get abusive.”

“I wasn’t getting abusive!”

“Yes, you were. But I forgive you.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness. I want you to admit that I make a hot blonde. Even better than you, Mister All Natural.”

“Hey! Don’t mock the hair- you’re just jealous.  And I’m totally not comfortable with calling you hot.  But I will say this: you don’t make a completely hideous blonde.”

I smiled. That was good enough for me.

***

We arrived at our hotel forty-five minutes later. An hour getting home was about the only lie I hadn’t told Reid Gastello. Gray shook me awake and climbed out, grabbing my duffle bag and heading up to the hotel lobby. We rode the elevator in silence- me with my head on Gray’s shoulder…well, as close to his shoulder as it could get.  I was too tired to even think straight, never mind construct whole sentences.

When we got to our room, I headed straight to the bathroom and got into a hot shower. There were about a million compressed thought screaming and running around inside my head, and a pounding headache was the obvious result. Talk about aftermath. I guess there’s only so much shoving-to-the-back-of-your-head one person can do before the back of your head becomes everywhere.  I massaged my aching muscles and tried to ease the tension out of my body.

It sort of worked.

When I got out, I brushed my teeth (several times, remembering that creeps lips on mine) and removed whatever traces of make-up were still on my face, immediately feeling less dirty. I stared at my face in the mirror for a long while, trying to find something, but not even knowing what I was looking for. I sighed and turned away. I wonder if I’ll ever find it.

Back in my room, I pulled on some underwear and an oversized t-shirt- one of Gray’s that he’s probably forgotten about- and went to the kitchen to get some water, an aspirin and a sleeping pill before bed.

Gray was sitting on the couch, watching some action film on the flat screen. It was one of those unintentionally hilarious Chinese ones that have ridiculous karate moves and obvious voice-overs. I shook my head in disgust, and sat on the arm of the couch.

“So, when are we leaving here?”

“I don’t know. Soon, probably. When do you want to leave?” he asked, turning slightly to face me, and muting the TV.

I thought for a moment. “Let’s leave on Tuesday.”

He smiled. “Tuesday? That seems rather specific. Any particular reason?”

“Nope. I just think three more days here is enough.”

“Okay, then. I’ll make the arrangements. Do you wanna do something tomorrow?”

“Nah. Sunday, maybe. I’m dead beat. I’ll just chill for tomorrow. I was thinking of taking a run on the beach- you up for it?”

“What time?”

“Six-ish.”

“Hell no. you’re on your own.” He laughed.

I ruffled his hair. “You suck, Grayson.” I got of the sofa and kissed his cheek. Then I pinched it. “You’re gonna get fat and lazy real quick if you keep this up.”

“Pssht. This? Get fat?” he pointed towards his (chiseled) torso. “Never.”

I laughed. “Love you , bro.”

‘You too, Rhea. Sleep tight.”

And then I went off to bed. I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.