I slowly exhale the breath I’ve been holding and reach to open the door. It’s show time.
The humming of hundreds of people making polite small talk fills my ears as I skim the room, making sure to keep a friendly, disinterested look on my face. The stupider I look, the more information the target will accidentally let slip. His guard will be down because he assumes I’m just a dumb blonde bimbo looking for someone rich and powerful to worship until he discards me like a used Kleenex. Even as I make my eyes vacant, complementing the look with a vapid smile and a dress that shows too much cleavage to really be appropriate for this charity banquet, I am slowly calculating the perfect way to make contact with the target.
My cover identity is the niece of a big donor who has the power to invite anyone he wants because of his large donations. They say money can’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell can buy power. Rick, his name was. Right, I need to remember that in case anyone asks. Basically, this guy owes my client a favor from years ago, and my client felt that this was an important enough mission to cash in. The target, Alex Hammond, is some big shot lawyer who pissed off a few too many criminals by putting them behind bars. Word on the street is he’s been participating in some unsavory deals, a little tax evasion, just enough to put him in prison. Once he’s there, I don’t give him much time, considering how many friends he doesn’t have there. Maybe he’s a bit greedy, but he does more good than bad by locking away all of those bastards.
That brings me to a little bit of unpleasant news. The life of a spy, as the general public would call my job (I prefer “information operative,” but my preferences are generally overlooked) is always glorified, an eternal war between the good guys and the bad guys. Everyone has faith that the good guys will prevail and all will be well with the world. Well, that’s a load of shit. Real life isn’t black and white, bad vs. good. Everything is a big fat shade of grey. Basically, everyone in this business is a varying degree of bad or worse. When I got into this business two years ago, at the fresh age of eighteen, I was so determined to use my abilities only for the power of good. I was going to make the world a better place, throwing one bad guy into the slammer at a time. I joined an agency and was partnered with the other new recruit, Luke. We set out into the field with excitement, ready to change the world. The first few cases went great: evil drug lord, creepy accountant with a fetish for young girls, murdering big shot who paid off the cops—all apprehended and jailed, no longer plaguing society.
Then everything changed and my ideal little world came crashing down. Elsie, a scared housewife who had proof that an old boyfriend, Ted, was harassing and blackmailing her from a distance. She hired Luke and me to find out where he was so she could talk some sense into him. We did the necessary tracking, although it was harder than expected—ol’ Ted had changed his name, moved to a new state, and had an entirely new life. We delivered the information to Elsie, proud to have finished another job and were on to the next assignment. A few days later, though, I was walking by a newsstand and stopped in my tracks, completely shocked. There, on the front page, was a picture of Ted, with the headline “Prime Witness Against Mob Boss Murdered Days Before Trial.” Yeah. The “ex-boyfriend” was actually in witness protection, and the housewife was part of the mob, and all of her supposed evidence was completely falsified.
That was when I realized I was just a pawn in a huge game of lies and deceit that I would never fully comprehend. I could try to pick good cases, but what was the point? Chances are I’d be working for the bad guy anyways. I hardened myself, stopped thinking about what I was doing, and just became a machine. After all, if I didn’t do this stuff, someone else would. Lucrative was an understatement for the type of money I can get for some of the high profile stuff. So just a few more years of this shit, and I can make enough money to retire and disappear into the world. That day was the dream I was working toward—freedom to do what I wanted, get out of the business entirely. So yeah, I’m not a good guy. But I’m not a bad guy, either. Luke, on the other hand, still has these ridiculous dreams of being some sort of hero. I haven’t seen him since I broke the news about what had happened in our case, which was the same day I quit the agency. But I kept tabs on him—after all, I might need his help for a job someday. Every contact is essential in this business, because without connections I can’t score the best jobs.
My reverie is broken as the buzzing dies down, everyone’s attention centers on the stage as the president of the charity says a few short words welcoming everyone to the banquet, outlining the schedule of events (mingle, dinner, speeches, opportunity for public donations, the end—typical for this kind of stuff) before gesturing for everyone to return to their conversations until the announcement for dinner. I use the distraction to situate myself closer to the target without being noticed. This would be the trickiest part of the night—I need to start a conversation without making it look intentional, which is a real art, especially when the target is as popular as Alex seems to be with women. It’s not his attention that I’m worried about—with a dress this small, revealing as much as it is, and my platinum blonde wig framing my features in an attractive way, he’s bound to notice. Problem is, so are the other girls, and they’ll prevent me from getting over there in any way they can. Gold diggers thrive on competition and the battle for male attention, so this is a real tenuous situation.
Luck is on my side, however. One of the groupies tripped over another’s dress, ripping the it and sending her own wine glass flying through the air, spattering a half-dozen groupies in its flight path. After the shrieking subsides, they all retreat to the bathroom to try to repair whatever damage was sustained to their appearances. I snatch the opportunity amongst the chaos to situate myself directly next to Alex.
As the girls retreat, I give a little giggle and breathily say “Oh my, who knew tonight would be so eventful!”, adding a second giggle for effect, making my voice an octave higher than normal. Bam, got his attention.
“I know what you mean. These things always seem to drag on; it’s nice to have some entertainment for a change,” he says smoothly, giving me his full attention. Neither of us pretend to have any sympathy for those girls—I’m sure they were as annoying to him as they were to me, although obviously for different reasons. He looks me up and down, his mouth slowly forming what I’m sure he considers a charming grin.
Not so subtle, are ya? I think to myself. Although as a wealthy, moderately attractive lawyer in his mid-thirties, I’m sure he’s used to getting both attention and exactly what he wants.
“Totally, I just can’t pay attention during those boring speeches. Like anyone even understands what they’re saying! All those statistics and big reports, like, I’m going to donate without all of that stuff, you know?” I batted my eyes and leaned in towards him as if in earnestness, when really I was just giving a better view of my cleavage. Distraction successful.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced, sweetheart. I’m Alex.”
“Nice to meet you Alex,” giggle, “I’m Candice.” Hook, line and sinker. I continue the dumb comments, vapid look, and over the top flirtation for another fifteen minutes, until he gets called away by a colleague to meet someone else. Perfect, I think. I played him like a harp—when this gala ends, he’ll seek me out and take me back to his place. There, I’ll slip some ground up sleeping pill powder into his drink. After he passes out, I’ll hack into his computer, download the incriminating evidence to a USB, Candice will disappear like she never existed, and that’s a wrap. Piece of cake.
I grin smugly to myself, briefly allowing myself to break character in order to celebrate my success, when I feel someone close behind me. Instinctively I freeze, assessing the situation. Male, about 6’ 3”, athletic build, and only a scant three inches behind me is all I can figure out from my periphery before he leans in to whisper in my ear.
“Hey Anya, fancy seeing you here,” he whispers.
Oh, shit. Even if I didn’t instantly recognize his voice, I can count the number of people who know my real name on one hand.
Luke.
Well, Alex is going to have to wait, because this night just got interesting.
