Skeletons & Closets (closed for DarkEmpress)

April 11 – 1997

He looked down at her. She didn’t look good. Her tongue was hanging out of the side of her mouth. All he’d wanted was to have a good night out.

Have some fun.

Once he’d agreed on the terms for the new project, the partners and he had gone out for dinner and then they'd offered him a girl as part of the "celebrations". They’d found her and paid for her services and then delivered her to his hotel room. Of course they’d organised it themselves. He couldn’t afford to have anything on his transaction record that was traceable to him.

He had been pleased when she'd knocked on the door. She was young and shy, just the way he liked them. She was beautiful too, not used up and jaded like the girls he normally used.

Now she was lying on the floor, her long blond hair spread around her on the carpet in a halo of death. She was on her back and she wasn’t breathing. On the ends of her nostrils were dried flecks of blood. She was naked except for the long black boots she’d left on during their sex. The belt was still wrapped around her neck. He’d been behind her, pounding into her with the belt in his hand. Pulling, pounding, pulling, pounding. Tighter, harder, harder….and he’d forgotten….

Now she was flat on her back. Naked. Dead.

Fuck.

He didn’t feel good. His chest was tight. This was bad.

Real bad.

He looked at her again and he started to feel ill. He raised himself from the chair and rushed to the bathroom. He kneeled and vomited. All of the spoils of the day and night came out, into the toilet bowl, headed for the sewer.

Like his career.

Like his life.

He flushed the toilet and then mopped his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face and rinsed his mouth.

His face stared back at him from the mirror. He looked like shit. He was pale, fat and flabby. His hair was receding and what was left of it was grey. It didn’t used to worry him. He wasn’t paid to look good or be sexy. He was the most powerful man in this city and he could get anything that he wanted.

Well, almost anything.

He liked women. Fucking them, using them, but, most of all, he liked….

….hurting them.

The pain, the fear, the sweat, the tears, the shaking of their head….the screams….

Shit, even with a dead woman in his room he could feel the hardness growing between his legs.

He’d gone too far this time. The press would destroy him, his family would leave him and his life would be over. He’d be ruined and his enemies would be celebrating. Dancing on his grave, laughing over his still-warm carcass.

If he didn’t do something.

Quickly.

He had to think of something.

Anything.

Quickly.

Cameron Ward

Cameron Ward: 37, 6’0; short brown hair; brown eyes; angry, very angry

http://0.tqn.com/d/scifi/1/0/4/g/-/-/TyOlssen.jpg

NOW

He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his top pocket, took one out and lit it. The lighter blazed in the dim light of the warehouse, lighting up his face. He returned it, along with the cigarettes, back into his pocket and took a long drag on it, the blue smoke wafting from the tip, curling and rising slowly to the roof in the still air.

Cameron Ward didn’t smoke. In fact, he’d probably had ten in the same number of years, but over the course of his career, he’d found it had a useful effect. It appeared smoking a cigarette calmly, could have a distinctly un-calming effect on others.

Especially when they were laying on the ground at your feet.

And your foot was pressing on their neck.

Hard.

Career?

He smirked to himself in the darkness, blowing out another stream of blue smoke. He imagined himself at a job interview.

And exactly what skills could you bring to our organisation, Mr. Ward?

Oh, I can break an arm like a twig. Or a leg if required.

Really?

Yep. Sometimes, I’ll even take them off.

Oh. Sounds harsh.

Not as harsh as when I kill them.

Oh.

Ward liked playing these games, it took some of the banality out of these sorts of situations. It wasn’t like he just went around hurting and killing people.

Often.

Hey, what sort of a guy do you think I am?

He’d never had to go for a job interview before. Not many listings in The Times for an all-round, genuinely flexible bad ass willing to kick the shit out of anyone or anything.

For a price.

Bad ass with a heart. Don’t forget the heart.

He nearly laughed.

Jobs like that were scarce. At least he’d never found one. It’d be so much easier being corporate. Nine to five. Lunchbreaks. Insurance.

The raspy breathing of the man beneath his foot brought his mind back to the task at hand. He looked down to see the man’s hands wrapping around his ankle, trying to ease the pressure and let some air through his windpipe and into his lungs. He left the half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips and pulled back the slide on the automatic he had in his left hand. Now the chamber was loaded.

“Take it easy, mate,” he said. “It’s not my place and I’d hate to be wiping up your brain cells after we’re done.”

The man’s hands slowly slid back down off Ward’s ankle. He made sure to press down just a little harder with his foot and he heard the gurgling sound of air trying to pass through an impossibly small space. There wouldn’t be much to wipe up.

The man under his foot was a piece of shit and dumber than that, but he was dangerous.

If you were young.

And female.

And good looking.

He’d been charged with the murder of a young woman a few years ago, but it hadn’t stuck. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately. You’d get more for bank robbery or embezzlement these days rather than for sexual assault or crimes of violence.

Society’s priorities.

Then, instead of being thankful for his luck, the predator had done it again and again, the charge hadn’t stuck. He’d picked the wrong girl. For him. This time, the girl’s parents didn’t accept the court’s decision. They wanted him to pay. They knew someone, who knew someone, who knew someone, who knew Ward. Now he was here with his foot literally on the throat of a serpent.

The man didn’t pose a problem for Ward because he wasn’t young and he wasn’t female.

I am good looking though, he thought. One out of three ain’t bad. He would have chuckled, but the thought of what the man below him had done, was quickly turning his mood sour.

Not good news for the pervert.

No, Ward was safe. He hadn’t drunk a cocktail with temazapam spiked in it. That was the sick fucker’s drug of choice. Some predators charmed you, some lied to you, some even took you forcefully. This man just spiked your drink and used you.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Not anymore.

Ever.

“Do you remember Alice Flores?” Ward asked him.

He felt the man writhing under his foot, looking for air, trying to get even the smallest breath he could. He nodded, or rather, tried to nod, his eyes bulging with fear.

Ward was impassive now, all these thoughts had taken the fun out of it. He took the mobile out of the pocket in his jeans and pressed the call button, waiting a few seconds before raising it to his ear.

“Mr. Flores? It’s Ward here. Yes….yes, I got the money. Thank you, but listen….I got him….Yep, sure have….Oh, he’s just helping me get a load off my feet….Figure of speech, sir…. Just asking….What do you want me to do now?”

Ward listened to the phone and nodded his head a few times. He finished the cigarette and dropped it close to the man’s face, not bothering to grind it out. The smoke continued to rise slowly from it.

Not like he’s going to complain about passive smoking.

His attention returned to the phone.

“Are you sure, sir? I’d be happy to handle it for you,” he said. “For nothing.”

He listened.

“Ok then, if you’re sure. We’ll be waiting. Hurry, because I’d hate this to be a pain in the neck for you.”

He levered his foot a little more tightly onto the man’s throat, squeezing his windpipe even more. Again he tried to wrap his hands around Ward’s ankle as he struggled to breathe.

“Oh,” he said, looking down, “I didn’t mean you.”

Ward pocketed the phone and pulled out another cigarette.

Shit, chain smoking.

He lit it and looked down at the man on the ground, pointing the gun straight between his eyes.

“Be nice. It looks like we’re going to have company.”

There was something horribly wrong with this whole picture.

The cartel had been one step ahead of them the entire time and as the car in front of Rose exploded into a ball of flames, it confirmed her suspicions. She had been given the task of protecting 18 year old Kirsty Thompson, Senator Thompson’s only daughter, on the eve of the most significant elections this country has ever seen. The cartel wanted Kirsty as a trade piece for the country’s freedom, and Rose was not going to let that happen.

In the mayhem that ensued, Rose opened her door as bullets started streaking through the sky. The agents in the car behind hers and the driver in the one they were in, exited their vehicles and started returning fire, turning the normally quiet suburban neighbourhood into an instant warzone.

She couldn’t trust anyone.

Whoever had done this was working inside the department. For all she knew, the real enemy could be Agent Sheldon who was hunched up behind the burning car in front of her, or Agent Denver taking shelter behind the door on the driver’s side of the car she was in. How had they gotten to him, whoever the traitor was? Rose grimaced in answer. Money could buy anything, even a person’s loyalty, and when that didn’t work, extortion was a viable alternative.

Acting on pure instinct, Rose leaned over to Kirsty and whispered, “Honey, you need to run with me or we are not going to make it. Keep your head down and run as fast as you can,” she said, smoothing a hand across the frightened girl’s hair as Kirsty looked at her with big eyes. “Can you do that for me?” Rose asked, encouragingly.

“Y-yes,” Kirsty stuttered, jutting her chin out bravely.

Rose closed her eyes and counted the gunfire, waiting for a lull in it. She knew the risks. Either of them could get shot, or both, but staying here was inviting death. As soon as the gunfire quieted down slightly, Rose climbed out of the car very slowly and then pulled Kirsty out, keeping low, looking for an escape route, her hand resting on her firearm at her side. No one was paying attention to them.

Rose started running keeping low to the ground hidden from view by the burning wreck, almost dragging Kirsty behind her. They darted into an alleyway, taking the first available turn to get out of sight. Rose ran until she couldn’t run anymore with Kirsty in tow. The gunfire was disappearing in the background and it didn’t seem like they were being followed either.

They had been incredibly lucky.

Rose knew how to blend into the crowd and she made sure that both her and Kirsty dropped off the radar, completely. Rose had managed to get a secure message through to Kirsty’s father, letting him know that his daughter was in safe hands. There had been a few close calls, where Rose managed to outmanoeuvre the cartel, but for the most part they were safe, having changed both their hairstyles dramatically and always wearing caps, jackets. They both watched as history unfolded on glistening plasma screens that were connected in the department stores and she actually got to know Kirsty pretty well, almost feeling like a big sister to the girl.

Once everything settled down and there was no threat to Kirsty’s safety anymore, Rose emerged from the shadows and handed Senator Thompson’s daughter over to him. It was one of those magical moments where you witnessed a reunion that brought a tear of relief to your eye.

The consequences for Rose’s actions were a great deal less rosy.

She had undermined protocol and had broken a handful of agency procedures, her actions clearly stating that she did not trust the agency. Rose suspected who the possible internal culprit was, but she had no proof and therefore no justification for her actions. All she knew was that if Kirsty had stayed in protection of the unit, that 18 year old girl would be dead today.

Rose was relieved of her duty with immediate effect, which was a nice way of the agency saying: Fuck you. There were a few good souls left in the agency though and they knew Rose was right ... but they could - once again - not prove it.

That’s unfortunately how the cookie crumbles.

It took a great deal of courage for Rose to scrape up her bruised and battered ego, before she knocked on the door of the local police department to join their ranks...

Ward felt good. He’d found the pervert more easily than he’d expected and left him with the client. Mr. Flores had turned up with two of his brothers. Each one had a baseball bat and one of them had brought a butane torch.

Ward shook his head slightly at the thought as he walked down the main street. Some things were better left to the client.

It was getting cool as the darkness of night approached, so he zipped up his jacket. He had a bad taste in his mouth from the cigarettes and decided he had time for a quick drink before he went home and turned in. He was meeting another client tomorrow, early, before she went to work.

That’s real life work, Ward. Some people work real jobs.

He was thinking of taking a break soon, maybe even stopping altogether. Constantly seeing the grubby side of life had taken a toll on him and he was feeling a little jaded. Yes, there was always the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of seeing some slimy reptile get their comeuppance, but the climaxes were becoming less rewarding and a little grime always rubbed off, stayed with him.

Conscience?

He shook his head again. He couldn’t afford that in his job. Once he starting thinking too much about what he was doing, well….

There was a part of him that said he should leave these things to the police. In his experience, they did a good job in general with the resources they had. But there were always slimy creeps getting off their charges or being found innocent.

And he liked the money.

No, he’d speak to the client tomorrow morning and see what they had to say. It might be an easy one. No need to throw it back if it was easy. That was the good part about what he did, he didn’t have to take any job he didn’t want to.

One more job.

It was always one more job.

Ward found a bar that seemed to suit his purposes. He stopped on the street to look in the large glass windows. It wasn’t too busy and there were some good looking women in there. They were probably finance or legal professionals just finished working in their mundane jobs and looking for a drink before heading home, or they were part of the theatre set. It didn’t matter to Ward. He wasn’t much interested in women or anyone for that matter.

Not anymore.

Not since….

He pushed open the door and walked into the bar. It was warm and there was soft music playing. Some sort of jazz. His thoughts from the outside were confirmed once he moved towards the bartender. There were only a few men in ties, alone and scattered, drinking away their boring unfulfilled lives. The women were chatting more animatedly and seated on couches arranged into a U- shape. Women were always more positive, more communicative, more social, especially when they were together. It would drive him mad to be so chatty or to have to listen constantly to talk.

Any talk.

He preferred his thoughts and he preferred his own company.

Nowadays.

He could see the benefit of their support to each other, however. Men just tended to stew in their troubles, wallowing in their loneliness until something snapped. The snap could be either positive or negative, but men just let it come to them, waiting. Women got off their asses and did something about it. Talked about it. Helped each other.

Still not for me, though.

He walked to the large wooden bar and decided to stand there since he would only be having a quick drink. He’d thought that many a time before and been wrong, but he was getting better. He could almost control the alcohol now, but he still had to be on guard.

“Scotch,” he said to the main behind the bar. “Lagavulin. Ice, no water.”

The young guy nodded and busied himself organising Ward’s drink.

He slapped a note down on the bar and casually surveyed the room, his back leaning slightly on the bartop. There were three groups of women and then four men. The men were sitting alone, drinking in a trance, the dim light hiding the futility of their lives. They’d been doing their job for years and would keep doing it for many years to come. Wife, kids, nice house. Maybe a mistress on the side.

Fucking humanoids.

He heard the bartender slap the drink on the bar behind him with a bowl of nuts.

“Help yourself, buddy,” he said and went back to wiping down the bar top that he’d no doubt already wiped down a hundred times tonight and would wipe another hundred times.

Life is fucking boring really, thought Ward, as he picked up his scotch. He always savoured that first taste of the smoky single malt, before the ice had melted too much and the drink became cold and a little more watery.

Boring. Probably why there were so many freakazoids and mean spirited people in the world. Not that it was bad for business….

For a man in his line of work, Ward was still constantly amazed at how people could be so inhumane to each other. How they treated each other poorly, stole, hurt each other, killed each other. It’s what had led him to the work, except, he hadn’t ever thought that it would be such a bumper field. He couldn’t keep up. He only dealt with the black and white cases, where there was no moral dilemma. Where there was no need to weigh up the justice he meted out. Ironically, for a man who had killed and beaten many people, Ward’s moral compass pointed directly north. He didn’t like ambiguities. There was right and there was wrong. There were more than enough wrongs for him to deal with.

And he dealt with them.

His way.

He took another sip of scotch.

“I’m in a philosophical mood,” he whispered to himself, looking at a woman across the room who was facing him. He caught her eye. She was attractive, but that’s all it was to him. Something attractive to look at while he had his drink and wrestled with his mind. She could have been a beautiful protea. A tree. A landscape. Just something pretty to dull the ugliness that he’d seen today.

The scotch was going down very well, its heat permeating the extremities of his body.

He caught the bartender’s eye and pointed to his drink as he turned back to the bar. He didn’t want to keep looking at the woman. She was pretty, but he didn’t want anything. He’d be out of here soon.

He had a client tomorrow. Early.

Just one more drink.

Just one more job.

Rose landed a fist squarely on the punching bag, nearly throwing her partner, Jonathan, off balance.

Some dub it the oldest profession in the world, but Rose has witnessed first-hand the destructive effect it has on the soul and the slow emaciation it has on a person’s self-worth. A lady of the night often landed herself in the situation due to a few wrong choices, sometimes she didn’t have a choice at all.

When Rose joined the police force, she was placed undercover to ‘work the streets’ in an attempt to get these girls off the streets and to hunt down the predators that preyed on these girls. She had to be relentless in her efforts as it took allot of patience and determination. The atrocities these girls had to suffer were shocking. Because of their profession, they had no recourse for action and literally took their lives in their own hands every time they climbed into a car.

Felicity Fieldman was one such girl. A beautiful blonde girl with baby blue eyes, that came from a good and wealthy family. A few wrong choices and bad influence from her circle of friends landed her with an expensive drug habit that her family did not support. Rose had Victoria Fieldman crying on her shoulder many a night over her daughter. They had tried everything: Sent Felicity to rehab, sent her for counselling, tried to get her to accept faith ... nothing worked. Felicity would just make her way back to the streets, back to her next client ... back to her next fix.

Rose’s fist sliced through the air again, slamming into the punching bag with exact and controlled rage.

The image of Felicity’s lifeless body, found in a dumpster, was screaming through her mind. It was another failure, another young life lost, another victim of a terrible predator. The death count on the streets were climbing at an alarming rate and no matter how hard Rose tried, she could not save them all, nor could she find the animals that brutalised and murdered these girls.

Two more punches slammed into the punching bag, making Jonathan take a step back.

“Rose,” he said in that knowing voice. They had been training together far too long. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Rose quipped, punching the bag even harder.

His steely eyes surveyed his partner. He knew that look all too well. Rose was angry, upset, but she would never admit it. In the past two years he had learnt a great deal of respect for Rosemary Hathaway. She was fearless, brave and dangerous. She had to work twice as hard just to receive recognition from her peers, which was always jaded because she found herself in a man’s world.

Rose had built a barricaded wall around herself that very few ever managed to scale. Jonathan had seen the softer side of her and he knew how devastated she was over Felicity’s death even though she didn’t show it. The only thing he could do was stand there and watch as Rose hammered her fists until they bled.

The worst part was that Rose knew who had done it. Albert Domingo was untouchable. He had his fingers in so many pies and had influence in the highest places. Every charge and every attempt to bring him down always went up in a glorious ball of flames. By now Rose was well-acquainted with his handy work and this time she found herself teetering close to edge, wanting to flush her oath and principles down the drain, walk into his office and lodge a bullet in his brain.

Rose punched the bag one more time, imagining his face on it.

Victoria Fieldman - on the other hand - had enough resources and just as much rage and loss in her mind to take this one step further.

I hope you do, Rose thought, as she slammed her fist into the punching bag one more time.

Ward’s tongue felt like someone had used it to clean the road. One more drink had turned into….

Shit, he couldn’t remember how many he’d had in the end, but at least he could remember getting home.

Alone.

I had some self-control.

He looked at his watch. Six am. Plenty of time for a shower and breakfast. No shave this morning. He couldn’t be bothered. He sat up in the bed and then hopped out and stood in his bedroom. There wasn’t much furniture. A bed, a bedside table, and an inbuilt wardrobe. That was enough. So was the view looking out of his window. The sea was electric blue this morning and the waves were rolling towards the shore in smooth sets.

No time for a swim.

Ward dropped to the floor and started to do push-ups. Thirty seven. He was no spring chicken, but he liked keeping in shape. He had to keep in shape. He’d always believed that letting yourself go was a sign of weakness.

Ward wasn’t weak.

Twenty five….

It was just the habit of doing it. Once it was a habit, you just did it. People who didn’t start at one, could never get to one hundred. Ever.

Fifty four….

He wondered about the potential client he was going to meet today. A woman. She’d rung him, so she must have obtained his number from a trusted source. Only a few had his number, and he changed it every few months. Never know how silly a former client was.

“I used this guy. He was good. Here’s his number….”

Good way to kill business.

Or yourself.

Eighty seven….

Now he was starting to strain. This was the part he found the most satisfying. His chest and his triceps were starting to burn and he deliberately slowed down to make it hurt just that little bit more.

One hundred.

He didn’t have much time, so the sit-ups would have to wait. Push-ups worked the core anyway, so he hadn’t lost out on much. Time for a shower….


****************************


He was in the food court of a large building. She’d said to look out for a pink skirt and white shoes. She also had blonde hair.

Ward scanned the tables in the centre of the large open area. He saw her. She’d forgotten to say she was pretty. She was girl-next-door pretty, not young enough to be called a girl, but she wasn’t old. If Ward had been forced to bet – and he didn’t bet – then he would have said she was slightly older than he was.

But she looked a lot better.

He walked over to her table. She was just sitting there demurely, looking at no one. She saw him approaching and smiled.

Shit, I must actually look like someone you’d phone to get a difficult issue resolved. Next time, shave.

She didn’t stand as he approached. He pulled out a chair on the other side of the small round table and sat down. She extended her hand and he took it. Soft. Nice manicure. Pink nail polish, nails cut short. Her blond hair was immaculately styled, a short bob and it glistened. Practical, prim and proper.

“Stella. Stella Clarkson,” she said smiling.

“Me,” he said.

She let out a chuckle.

“Secretive.”

Ward raised the palms of his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m told women like mysterious men.”

She nodded, her lip raised at the corner. She found him amusing. Main point was, she’d found him.

She needed something done.

What?

“Would you like a coffee?” she said.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “Espresso. Black. No sugar.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Hard drink.”

“For a hard man. Pun intended,” he said. “Maybe.”

She laughed this time. “You really are something else, Mr….”

“I didn’t say,” he said. “And I’m not a mister. Nobody calls me mister anything, except the police. And my bank manager.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Nice place to work,” he said, gesturing to the area they were in.

“I don’t work here. I own this building. I work from another building,” she said, “which I also own.”

“Oh.”

Now it was his turn to be impressed.

She raised her hand and a young girl scurried over quickly.

“A black espresso for the gentleman. No sugar. An orange juice for me, please.”

“Yes, Miss Clarkson,” said the girl, nodding. She scurried off again.

“I bet you get faster service than anyone else,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, pursing her lips and nodding her head. “I probably do, but it's an expensive way to get it.”

They sat for a few moments in silence. Ward was accustomed to this. Clients often had a problem with broaching the issue they wanted him to deal with. At least he had her to look at, she only had him.

Poor woman.

He watched her. She was making up her mind. She would talk. She’d gone to the trouble of arranging the meeting, she just had to work up the courage to open it.

She took a deep breath.

Here it comes.

“I had a sister,” she said. “She was my younger sister, by a year.”

Ward nodded. He was a good nodder. It wasn’t a deadly skill, but it did come in useful sometimes. When in doubt, nod.

“She used to be what you’d call the black sheep of the family. She was always in trouble and experimented with drugs and boys,” she said. She watched him, as if checking for signals.

He just nodded, so she took another breath and kept talking.

Fuck I’m good.

“At the age of seventeen, she was totally out of control. By that time, I was in university and not living at home, so my parents found it very difficult to control her. I was the….calming influence on her.”

Ward nodded and said, “Yes.”

Hitting her with all the ammo today. Multiskilled.

The young girl came with their drinks and placed them on the table. Stella paused until she’d left. She watched her go, picked up her glass of orange juice and then took a sip. It was a slow, dainty sip and she got no juice at all on her top lip. She liked to be in control and she liked things done her way.

He smirked to himself.

She’ll get used to me.

Eventually.

He picked up his cup and had a sip of his coffee and watched her. She had no rings on her fingers. Unusual for a woman who owned two buildings. Or maybe more. Maybe she wasn’t married?

Wow. That’s why I get paid the big bucks.

He put the cup back down on its saucer. He felt the coffee on his upper lid and wiped it with the back of his hand. He could have sworn he saw her wince, but he couldn’t be sure.

We can’t all be so perfect.

“So,” she continued, “when my sister turned eighteen, she just left home. No school, no job, no anything. Just left.”

Ward nodded again.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she said.

He shook his head.

Lucky I don’t charge by the word….

She smiled.

Her face returned to normal. Composed.

“So, I haven’t seen her or heard from her for nearly fifteen years,” she said.

“Parents?”

“My father is dead. My mother hasn’t been well. She hasn’t seen her either.”

He nodded.

“A name?”

“Ruby. Ruby Clarkson.”

“Did you bring a photo?”

Stella grabbed a small white bag that had been sitting at her feet. She opened it and pulled out two photos. Her sister was pretty, just like her. They were old, but seeing he had her spitting image sitting in front of him, he thought he’d be able to recognise her if he came across her.

Sober.

Ward placed the photos on the table.

“Fifteen years is a long time,” he said. “If a person wants to stay lost, it’s hard to find them. I can try, but you’ll need to give me some details. Friends. Work. School. Then I can look into it.”

Stella nodded.

Her turn.

“Also, I assume your sister has done nothing wrong. Either by you or the law?”

“No,” she said. “I just want to find her.”

“Well, if I find her and she doesn’t want to talk to you, then I won’t force her. I will let you know she’s ok, but I won’t tell you where she is if she doesn’t want to.”

Stella looked at him with a quizzical look on her face. “But I’m paying….”

Ward shook his head and raised his hand.

“You’re paying me, but you don’t own me or anything I find out. If your sister wants to lie low and she’s done nothing wrong, then that’s how it’ll stay. Understand?”

“But you’ll let me know if she’s ok?”

“Yes.”

“When do you start?” she said.

“Now. Already, I’ve been scanning this room, pretending to be interested in our conversation. I can tell you with great certainty, she’s not here.”

Stella smiled.

“Are you sure you’re the best?” she asked, but he knew she knew it was true.

Ward smiled back tilting his head and raising his hands. “That’s what they say.”

“Cost?”

“Twenty thousand to take it on. Then it’s two thousand a day plus all expenses.”

She raised her eyebrows. “That’s expensive. What if takes weeks or months?”

“Well,” he said, “we can only hope it will....”

She laughed. “You’re….not normal.”

“No.”

“So you know about lying low?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And doing nothing wrong, but feeling the need to disappear?”

Ward picked up the photos and dropped them in to the inside pocket of his jacket. He nodded.

“I’ve had the need to disappear before.”

“For doing nothing wrong?”

He smirked.

“Not exactly.”

Rose and Jonathan were slowly trying to create a noose with which Albert Domingo could hang himself. They knew he liked blondes with blue eyes, which unfortunately took Rose out of the equation. She would have gladly donned a blonde wig and blue contacts, but it didn’t look real. They needed their ‘prospective victim’ to look real, and be someone that works the streets and are known.

That person was Ruby Clarkson. She was known as a lady of the night, but she was also willing to help bring the bastard down. Felicity Fieldman was a close friend of hers and she had a score to settle. It had been a week, during which Rose had made damn sure that all blonde call girls with blue eyes were removed from the streets, to keep them safe. The only carrot they left dangling, was Ruby.

It was early in the morning, around 2 am, and the surveillance team had just packed up after another unsuccessful night. “Keep your phone handy Ruby,” Rose urged her. “If there is anything remotely suspicious, call me,” she said, trying to stifle the need to sleep at the foot of Ruby’s bed to make sure that nothing happens to her.

“I will,” she said, her eyes shining with determination as she looked into Rose’s hazel eyes. She had a great deal of respect for the girl, who was devoting her life to keeping girls like her safe. “We will catch him,” Ruby said, knowing full well the risk she took in making that vow.

“Okay,” Rose said, bidding her a good night and finally getting into the car with her partner, Jonathan. “I don’t know, something is wrong,” Rose said. She had learnt a long time ago to trust her instincts and her instincts were telling her that Ruby was in danger, tonight, specifically.

“Nothing has happened yet,” Jonathan assured her, “and she has all our contact numbers. We will get Domingo, Rose, we just need to be a little patient.”
“I know, but I will not rest easy until we have him locked in a metal box,” she said frustratedly, her eyes following Ruby’s car as it disappeared down the street.
“We’ll get him,” Jonathan repeated, starting the car and driving them to the police precinct. Rose bid him a good night and got into her own civilian car, driving home.

She paced the lounge for half an hour before she called Ruby to make sure she was fine. A sleepy voice reached her, and Rose immediately felt guilty. “I’m okay, Rose. Thank you for worrying,” she said.

Rose rang off and finally succumbed to sleep.

4am Rose jolted to wakefulness … her phone ringing. “Ruby?” she answered, recognising the number. Ruby didn’t answer, instead, Rose could hear a shuffle, a scream, things breaking.

Oh god

Rose was out of bed and in her car within seconds, tyres screaming around the corner as she raced to get to Ruby’s apartment. It was a race against time, a race that would determine whether Ruby lived or died.

She called it in on the radio and cautiously raced through every red light as the siren on the car roof howled, reflecting her anxiety. She pulled up to Ruby’s apartment just off an alleyway. It was much too quiet, eerily so. Was she too late?

Rose slid her gun from her holster and held it up before her. The nearest squad car was probably ten minutes away. The front door was slightly ajar. Rose had no choice, she had to go in alone. She kicked it open, kneeling down to avoid any possible attack.

What greeted her, made Rose reel. What had just happened?

As soon as Stella Clarkson had said her sister had disappeared at eighteen, Ward had thought “street runaway”. She’d have gotten in with the wrong crowd and would probably be working the streets. Actually, had been working the streets would be more appropriate. Stella had not seen her for fifteen years, so that would make Ruby thirty three – a bit long in the tooth for a hooker in a town where youth was used up and spat out like a paper napkin at a pork rib barbeque.

She might have retired, but he knew that she might still be working. Once a hooker, always a hooker. Finding her wouldn’t be hard unless she’d left town and if there was one thing Ward knew, it was that runaways never truly ran away.

They just ran.

Away.

But not….away.

He’d found her. He knew someone, who knew someone, who might know someone, who did know someone that knew Ruby Clarkson. She was still working the streets, less than a couple of miles from where he’d met her sister for coffee. He’d watched her one evening for a while. She was different from the other women. She seemed intelligent and she looked like a leader among those on the street. He’d started to regularly drop into the avenue she worked, to become familiar with her routine.

One night, he’d watched her blowing a client in the front of a sedan, a brute of a man with a belly that hung over his belt and wobbled when he changed seats in the car to give her better “access.” He’d shook his head. How could someone so smart and so attractive reduce themselves to this – a twenty dollar blowjob in a car not worth much more? He wanted to take Ruby away from this, in fact, he had to fight every fibre in his body to not save her. That wasn’t his job, it wasn’t what Stella paid for and it wasn’t what he did. People were like wild animals, sometimes it was just better to leave them in their natural habitat. Stella just wanted to know whether her sister was alright.

Well, she was.

Getting a cock shoved down your throat in exchange for money is alright when you’re a hooker. Just like typing for a secretary. Or answering the phone for a receptionist….

Now that he’d found Ruby, he knew that he should just contact Stella and let her know that her sister was fine. Well, at least as fine as you could be living as a prostitute. Then he might approach Ruby and ask her if she wanted to speak to her older sister. If she didn’t, then it was no skin off his nose. He’d collect the money and be closer to retiring.

I’ll just do the job….

Yeah right.

He didn’t call Stella. Not yet. For some reason, he’d felt compelled to watch Ruby for a few days. He was glad he did. She knew cops. Or cops knew her. Detectives. She met with them every day over a few days and Ward wondered what was going down.

Besides her, that was….

He didn’t want to really be talking to Ruby when the cops were all over her like a bad rash. Ward had done a good job of keeping his profile low for the past few years and he wanted it to stay that way.

But cops.

Why?

Of course, even against his better judgement, he had to find out. He’d started shadowing her at night. He’d started doing it during the day, but she mainly slept then, so he didn’t think it was worth the effort. It had been eight days and he knew Stella would be wanting an answer soon. He’d stopped the clock at three days – when he’d found her.

I’m a stand up kind of guy, he thought, smirking to himself. I don’t take money from desperate people, even those as rich as Stella Clarkson.

The cops were everywhere. She was part of a sting, but for what? Surely, not to pick up horny johns looking for a quick lip, sip and suck from the best looking whore on the street. No, this was much larger than that. They wouldn’t have a van monitoring the street if it was just to pick up johns.

No.

They were up to something.

Or they were on to something.

And Ruby was helping them with it. He almost thought for a moment that maybe Ruby was a cop, but he shook his head. No cop acting like a hooker would actually blow a fat, smelly guy in a beat up car. They’d stop once the solicitation had been made and they’d call in their buddies.

She wasn’t a cop.

Then what the fuck is she doing walking around on her own when they are supposed to looking after her….

Bait!

He knew. He’d done it before himself. No better way to catch a fish, especially a big one, than with fresh live bait. That’s what Ruby was. She was bait. He knew he should finish up and then tell Stella all was fine and that the job was over….but….he couldn’t.

He had to know what was going on. It was one of reasons he was good at what he did, but it also got him into a lot of unnecessary trouble. That was another of his compulsions.

Trouble.

He leant with his butt against the bonnet of the car. The cops had all gone. They thought they were so inconspicuous, but they were obvious to many, usually the wrong people. If Ward had picked them out so easily, then whoever they were targeting Ruby would surely have done so too.

He shook his head.

That’s why I don’t play by the rules.

Or play at all.

No time for play.

It was getting late, or early, depending on your perspective. At around half past three, someone walked up the street. They looked like they didn’t want to be noticed. Ward watched him.

You’d stand a better chance if you weren’t around six foot five and built like a tractor.

He paused two doors down from Ruby’s apartment and he looked around.

Ward shook his head and mentally rolled his eyes.

How inconspicuous.

The man then walked across the street and looked around again. He wasn’t looking for anything. He was trying to act conspicuous, seeing if anyone would challenge him, come out of hiding and accost him. He hadn’t done anything but look suspicious. They’d have nothing on him, but at least he would have flushed them out.

Figured him wrong.

Smart.

He couldn’t see Ward. The car was parked on a side street, with Ward sitting on its bonnet, looking up the street and at an angle. The side street was in total darkness. The lamp above Ward’s car didn’t work.

Ward smiled to himself and looked down at the street at what remained of the shattered globe.

What a coincidence.

Big boy was making a move. He crossed back over to the side of the street where Ruby’s apartment was. This time he approached the door, but still he didn’t open it.

Patient goon.

The man waited for a few minutes, his hands in the pockets of his coat. He looked up and down the street.

Too careful. Just go for it. Dickhead doesn’t realise the cops in this town work public service hours.

Ward’s gut knew that Big Boy was looking for Ruby Clarkson and he didn’t think he was a client looking for a happy ending.

No.

This goon was part of the reason why the cops were here. Ward had no doubt.

Finally, the man the man came to a decision. He was going in. He walked purposefully up to the door, punched some numbers into the security keypad, pulled open the door and walked into the building.

So much for security.

Ward hesitated for a moment.

Fuck it.

He got off the car and jogged towards the entrance to Ruby's building, a couple of hundred metres. He got to the door. It had already locked. He patted his coat pocket. The gun was there and it had a silencer on it. He pulled it out, stood back a couple of metres and just shot the lock out.

Fuck it.

He ignored the elevator and ran up the stairs. The killer had a couple of minutes on him so he bounded up three steps at a time till he got to her floor. He knew her apartment number.

437.

He got the right level and opened the stairwell door slowly. Nothing. He stepped out into the corridor and made his way towards Ruby’s apartment. The odd numbers were on the left.

433.

435.

437….

The door was open and he could hear struggling inside. He took a moment to compose himself and to hold his gun up in front of him.

One, two, three….

He kicked the door with full force, making sure to get his shoulder down so that it hit him there when it bounced back off the inner wall.

Ward rushed into the room and saw the killer straddling Ruby Clarkson on the floor, his hands around her neck. Her legs and arms were flailing harmlessly as the killer pressed down on her with his full weight, leaning forward to increase the pressure on her neck.

Keep him or take him out?

Fuck it.

The killer had turned around, not releasing the grip on Ruby’s throat. His eyes opened wide and Ward aimed and put a bullet perfectly between them. The eyes stared at him, wide open and he stopped choking Ruby. Then he fell forward on to her. Ruby tried to scream, but her throat was still too constricted.

Ward looked at the floor and saw a mobile phone blinking. He knew Ruby must have called someone, probably the cops.

Fuck it.

Ward looked back at her, the killer’s body pressing her down on to the floor, the back of his head missing and the grey matter inside it exposed to the air. He walked over and dragged him off her. She was paralysed with fear, her eyes and mouth open, her neck turning red, the outline of the brute’s fingers clear.

Once he’d pulled the man off her, he left him face down in the floor. He wouldn’t be caring what position he was in.

Ward squatted down on his haunches next to Ruby. She was dressed only in a nightie and would be feeling vulnerable. She was starting to breath, but she still couldn’t talk. Her mouth was forming words, but nothing came out. She reminded him of an asthmatic, but at least she wasn’t dead. She kept looking into his eyes and then back to his hand.

The gun.

He shook his head.

“I’ve come from your sister, Stella,” he said. “Did you call the cops?”

She nodded, a hoarse whisper escaping her lips.

“Yesss.”

He frowned.

“Ok.”

Fuck it.

He started to get back up and she said something.

“What....do we do....now?”

He offered her his hand to help her up and she took it.

“We wait,” he said.

Fuck it.

He looked down at her.

"I really need to start broadening my vocabulary."

She looked at him with a quizzical look on her face as he helped her up. Her sense of puzzlement was helped by the blond hair sticking out everywhere and reddened eyes.

He smirked.

Fuck it.

The scene that greeted Rose was chilling. Albert Domingo lay crumpled on the floor, the back of his head blown away. Ruby’s apartment was covered with blood spray. Ruby herself looked a little disheveled, dressed in a white nightie that was smeared with blood, her eyes bloodshot and her hand gingerly rubbing a pretty nasty bruise that was developing around her neck.

What was more puzzling was a complete stranger standing next to Ruby, holding a gun in his hand. He towered over Ruby, had short brown hair and had the look of a man you did not want to mess with. The look in his dark eyes was intense. He looked angry, as if he was having one hell of an argument with himself, and he was also examining Rose, which unnerved her a little.

“Ruby, are you okay?” Rose asked, keeping her firearm aimed at the mystery man. There were no illusions that he had played a big role in the demise of Albert Domingo, which Rose was actually quite relieved about.

“Yes,” she croaked, pointing at the man with the gun. “He … saved me,” she said with disbelief plastered on her face. Rose was sure Ruby was still in shock

Rose’s eyes had never left him. He was still holding a weapon in his hand, which made him a possible threat. “Place your weapon on the floor,” Rose ordered as she slowly circled around the room to position herself closer to Ruby, in case she needed to protect her.

At first, Rose thought he was not going to comply, but he did, begrudgingly.

“Step back,” Rose said again, her eyes piercing. She had no qualms in pulling the trigger if she needed to.

He once again gave her an almost challenging look, but complied.

Now Rose found herself at a crossroad. There was no question that the mystery man had committed a murder and that by law she had to arrest him. But Rose’s sense of right was warring with the idea. He had saved Ruby. If he had not stepped in, Rose may have arrived to a completely different scene.

They could both argue that it was self-defense, but Rose’s quick assessment of the environment proved that there was no warning shot fired. He had simply acted, from the looks of things.

God damnit

Rose walked forward and picked the gun up, holstering her own. She fired the gun, a deafening shot echoing through Ruby’s small apartment. The bullet embedded itself in the wall, harmlessly. Now she had gun residue on her hands and she had the weapon that had killed Domingo.

“Get out of here,” Rose said, looking at the mystery man. He looked like he was going to say something, the surprise on his features almost comical. “Not a word,” Rose said sternly, “I don’t want to know anything about you,” Rose said.

He did not deserve to take the blame for something that he had done in defense of someone else.

Rose raised her radio to her lips, talking swiftly. “Suspect is down, I need an ambulance,” she said. By now she had hoped her plan had sunk in. “Ruby, there was no-one else here tonight, I came in and shot Domingo after wrestling his gun from him,” she added, making her plan crystal clear.
Ruby mutely nodded and looked at the mystery man as if he was a hero dressed in shining armour.

Rose could hear sirens fast approaching in the distance.

“Go!” Rose urged the mystery man.

Ward knew he’d done the wrong thing if he was to stay under the radar, just the way he’d always been. Then again, sometimes doing the right thing meant you had to do the wrong thing. Life was fucked like that. He blamed his parents for being catholic.

Catholics.

Guilty

Always.

He was making sure Ruby was fine when the cop came in through the door. It wasn’t any cop. She had long dark hair and brown eyes. He resisted the urge to whistle. Just. Instead, he pressed his tongue to the top his mouth, frowned and slightly shook his head. He figured he should look a little contrite seeing she had a gun pointed at him.

Fuck me.

Hero.

Dickhead.

She asked Ruby if she was ok and she replied, “He … saved me.”

The cop looked back to him.

“Place your weapon on the floor,” she said.

The gun. He still had it in his hand. What else would a cop say?

He slowly bent down and placed the gun gently on the floor. He watched her, letting her know he did it because he wanted to. She didn’t know about the gun shoved down the rear band of his pants, nestled in the small of his back. She didn’t need to know.

Yet.

Play it smart.

Play it right.

Get out of here….

Even though he could think the words and knew that it was the right thing to do, his fingers were itchy. He wanted to go for the gun.

“Step back,” said the cop, ending his internal debate.

Again, his mind kept repeating that he had to do the right things. His left hand so wanted to reach behind him and….

….end it.

Except killing a cop would end nothing except life as he knew it. It would start something. If there was something Ward didn’t need, it was to start something.

He stepped back.

Slowly.

She might have been a cop, but he’d seen dirty ones before.

Wait and see.

That was something he didn’t do often, but he needed to do it now. The cop moved forward towards his gun and quickly scooped it up while keeping her gun trained on him. She started to raise his gun and her finger was squeezing on the trigger….

I’ve seen dirty cops before….

She pointed his gun at the wall and fired. Ward looked at her.

What the fuck? written all over his face.

“Get out of here,” she said. “Not a word. I don’t want to know anything about you.”

She spoke into her radio. “Suspect is down, I need an ambulance.”

Then she turned to Ruby.

“Ruby, there was no-one else here tonight, I came in and shot Domingo after wrestling his gun from him.”

Ruby nodded.

Ward clenched his jaw. She was going to take the flak for him. His mind kept ticking over, but he could hear the sirens blaring and they were getting closer.

“Go,” said the cop with some urgency now.

He looked at her and then down at Ruby.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Ruby, taking a rasping breath. “But you have to go.”

He nodded to her and looked at the cop. Her brown eyes looked back at him. He’s chosen this, to save the girl. He knew it hadn’t been the smartest thing to do, but it had been the right thing to do.

Right didn’t mean safe.

The cop was giving him safe. A get out of jail free card.

He nodded to the cop and started to walk towards the door. The sirens were getting really loud now. As he passed the cop, he smirked.

“He was a piece of shit,” he said and kept walking.

The sirens were so loud now, the cars were surely only a block away. Ward was almost at the door when he heard Ruby call out, her voice still hoarse from being choked. He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Mister,” she said, “thank you.”

He thought about saying something. Like a real hero would. He wasn’t a real hero. He just sometimes did what was right.

Sometimes.

Fuck it.

He raised his hand without turning around.

De nada.

Then Ward walked out of the room.

Their problem now.

He hoped.

Frank Domingo

“What!?” he thundered in an incredulous voice. “Albert is dead?”

Make no mistake, Frank knew his brother was no angel but to be gunned down by a cop, a halfwit snip of a girl at that, was a slap in the face. He had watched the scene explode all over the media, the little bitch making a statement on national news about having finally closed the case of the ‘red light killer’.

As far as Frank was concerned, Albert was doing the world a favour. No-one cares about the little skanks that work the streets anyway. It’s a convenience, to fuck when you want without any strings attached, and if things get a bit out of hand, well … there’s no repercussions. Who exactly are they going to tell?

Frank smirked, trying to imagine his mother’s face when she hears the news. The old bat still believed she had saints for sons. He was however majorly ticked off over being cheated out of his own plans to dispose of his brother … by a woman.

He had put a tail on the bitch and within days he had her schedule pinned, where she lives, where she shops, her route to work. She was methodical as hell, probably one of those goody two shoes perfectionists who pruned her roses every week.

A week later she deviated from her schedule and by then Frank had his man looking for an opportunity to snatch the bitch. He had something ‘special’ planned for her. He didn’t care if they nailed her to a cross, as long as they got her to him, alive.

Rose

Rose had a truckload of reports to complete after the untimely demise of Albert Domingo. By day three she could not stand the coffee in the office anymore. The case was closed, which was a huge relief to her, she was however very curious about the mystery man. The plan had worked so far. No questions were asked and Ruby had backed her story all the way.

In some way Rose felt guilty about foiling the system, but her sense of right had won the war. She had done the right thing, hadn’t she?

That afternoon Rose had stopped by Ruby’s apartment. She had promised to clean up her act and Rose was hoping for her sake that her intentions were sincere. The entire episode with Albert Domingo had been a rude awakening for Ruby. The realisation had finally hit home that she simply was not safe on the streets, doing what she was doing.

When Rose questioned her about the mystery man, all she could tell her was that he claimed that her sister, Stella, had sent him. Ruby had a haunted look in her eyes. Rose was willing to bet that she had not seen her sister in years, a classic case of a girl getting estranged from her family due to her choices in life, writing them off, only to realise that they had not forgotten about her.

“Why don’t you go and see her?” Rose asked.
“I’m scared to … what if she hates me?” Ruby asked uncertainly, a war raging in her eyes.
“You’ll never know, unless you try,” Rose assured her. “Stella wouldn’t be looking for you if she didn’t care?” she dangled a carrot. The wheels were turning in Ruby’s mind. Rose could see her consider the possibility.

“Think about it,” Rose had said as she left a few minutes later. If Stella could throw Ruby a lifeline, that could help keep her on the straight and narrow. She had left Ruby’s apartment with the intention of tracking Stella Clarkson down. Rose hoped she could shed some light on the mystery man.

A few days later Rose had a meeting set up with Stella Clarkson. Stella was almost a carbon copy of Ruby. It was as clear as daylight that they were related. Stella was very well off and Rose hoped that she would be willing to help her sister. The meeting had been short and very sweet. She had told Stella what had happened with Ruby and how the mystery man had stepped in to save the day. Stella was quite clearly impressed. The information that she had of him, was however shady to say the least, which only fuelled Rose’s curiosity. All could give her was a phone number, no name, no details. He was probably a mercenary of some kind, a gun for hire, which puzzled Rose. She normally had good instincts when it came to people, but she had not seen that coming.

Absentmindedly Rose crossed the road, walking back to her car two blocks down. If she was paying attention she would have heard the ominous click of a glock being armed. She would have noticed the shady figure hiding in the shrubbery. She would have listened to her sixth sense and she would have realised that the little hairs raising on the back of her neck was not in sympathy of an impending family reunion, but the tell-tale signs of danger looming.

A muffled shot rang out.

Rose went cold as she felt pain scream through her arm…

Oh god.

Ward walked out of the apartment building and into the night even as the cops were pulling up out in front. Cars were riding the kerb and skidding to a halt from both directions. He knew they wouldn’t give him as second glance if they’d been talking to the female cop on the radio. They wouldn’t expect anyone else on the scene but her.

As he walked, the gun pressed into the small of his back and it felt larger and more conspicuous with every step as the cops ran past him, yelling into radios and drawing their weapons. If they knew he had an automatic there then….

But they didn’t know.

All’s well that ends well.

Ends well for whom?

Ward shook his head as he walked slowly and nonchalantly down the street and back to his car. He’d shot some thug between the eyes. No, maybe not just some thug. The cop wouldn’t have been so sanguine if it had been just any thug. The guy must have been bad, real bad. Not that Ward cared. In his life there was only black and white. Good and bad. There were no degrees of bad.

Just good.

Or bad.

Or dead bad.

It might end well, but not now, not soon. The ending would come later.

The end.

Ward got into the car and did a slow u-turn in the side street, leaving the blue lights and sirens behind….

***************

Ward sat in his kitchen eating his breakfast the next morning. If there was something he didn’t do, it was get involved with cops. If there was another thing he did even less, it was leave loose ends.

The cop knew Ruby. Ruby had a sister, Stella. Stella had hired Ward. She didn’t know his name and the prepaid mobile phone and its number had long disappeared in the river.

But….

Loose ends.

He hated them. They were bad for business. He wouldn’t be able to just let it go, giving the loose end a chance to fray and spread….

He had to know what she knew.

The cop.

She’d let him go and that meant she took things on board, took them personally. He’d seen her type before, though never as good looking.

He sighed as he chewed on a piece of bacon.

Wise up and stay on track.

His self-admonishment refocussed him.

She looked….diligent. Smart. Capable. A good combination.

He grinned.

I could fuck her….

Stop it!

So she would be a good cop. Good cops were good to work with, but they weren’t so good if they were looking for you. He knew for sure she’d be looking for him. She would want to know.

Of course.

She was a good cop.

Good.

Fuck.

She would go to Stella.

So, Ward had a loose end that wasn’t quite loose, but he was a careful man. Very careful. That’s why he’d been able to do what he did for as long as he had.

Careful.

He didn’t like loose ends.

She would be curious. Curiosity could kill.

Luckily for her, Ward liked cats.

He smirked to himself as he finished his last bit of bacon. He suddenly felt the urge to drink milk.

Meow.

You’re so funny, Ward.

So funny.

*****

He sat in his car outside of one of Stella Clarkson’s buildings. He’d been following the cop for three days. She had a name now: Rosemary Hathaway.

Rose.

A floral name.

Poison ivy was floral too. Or a Venus flytrap….

Ward smirked. He hadn’t realised he had so much knowledge of things….botanical.

Rose.

Well he’d certainly dealt with more pricks than a rosebush.

She’d been with the Agency for many years and had been well regarded. Then, something had gone wrong, but it depended on your perspective. To the Agency, it had gone wrong.

Or right.

But wrong.

She’d been in charge of protecting a Senator’s daughter. The Senator was drug reformer so there were a lot of people interested in hurting him or his family. Things had gone wrong, but she’d saved the girl’s life by breaking away and staying undercover for the duration of the elections. As with most things done for the public, she’d saved the girl’s life, become a hero and been thanked by the Senator.

And then she’d been fucked over and dumped by the Agency.

Protocol.

Ward took a sip of his coffee as he kept his eye on the building’s entrance.

Protocol.

Ward could never do protocol. Once he’d punched a general.

Against protocol.

He’d ended up peeling potatoes in the Solomon Islands for six months.

Well, if you’re going to peel potatoes, then the Solomons aren’t bad….

He smirked again.

Rose….

She’d swallowed her pride and after a period of time she’d gone back into uniform. The assholes probably didn’t realise what they had in her. It would have been a lot of pride to swallow for someone like her and he was surprised she hadn’t choked.

Then she’d been handed the Red Light Killer case and it was always going to be bad luck for whoever was the perp. She wasn’t a cop. She was more than that.

Now she was looking for him.

A good cop with a loose end.

Teasing.

Pulling.

He couldn’t have that.

Three days of following her and now she was finally here and talking to Stella Clarkson. What she didn’t know was that she’d been followed most of the time by Domingo’s goons. Not Albert Domingo, he was in hell with a bullet lodged in his forehead.

The brother, Frank Domingo.

He wanted revenge.

It was peverse, the idea of avenging a sick fuck like Albert. Criminals had their code and Ward knew that, but it didn’t mean he understood it. A sick fuck was a sick fuck, no matter what line of business you’re in and the less sick fucks there were in the world, the better it would be.

Had to be a song in that….

Ward was just starting to formulate a song in his head when he saw the cop leave the building.

Rose.

She walked out of the revolving entrance and away from where he was sitting in the car. No one would notice Ward. The problem with most tough guys, or guys who thought they were tough, was that they had “look at me” written all over them. Ward didn’t need anyone to look at him.

He was tough.

Looking at him usually ended badly.

For the looker.

The problem for Rose was that she was walking across the street and down towards an open area that contained shrubs and trees. The only wildlife in the shrubs were “lowlifes”. Domingo’s men. Ward had seen them setup in position and though they seemed low on brains, they were higher on numbers. There were three of them. Three hitters for one female cop seemed like overkill, but he guessed that was what they were after. Overkill. A warning. The problem was, it made them stand out so much, they may as well have been wearing signs announcing their intention to kill Rose. Of course, not everyone was as good as Ward, but they could have done better if they were smarter and thought about it.

Rose was getting close to them now and she didn’t know it. Ward stepped out of his car and started to walk towards the park. They thugs were watching Rose, they wouldn’t really notice someone approaching them from the rear. He wore sneakers with blue jeans, a black tee and a light track jacket. He needed the track jacket to hide the gun at his back.

He kept walking at a steady pace towards the area they were hiding in, planning to make it at the same time as Rose. He had to walk a little quicker than her, but he didn’t want people remembering him as the “guy that was moving fast”. It was a warm sunny day so there were more people out than was usual after lunchtime.

Ward saw one of the bushes move a little and slightly quickened his pace.

Not too fast. Inconspicuous.

He was about ten metres away from the bushes and a further ten away from Rose. The goons were between him and Rose and he slowed.

Click.

Shit.

The sound unmistakeable.

They were going to shoot.

Here?

Fuck.

He quickened, at the same time pulling the gun from behind him and holding it towards the bushes and the outlines of the goons.

The dull sound of silenced shot rang out and he saw Rose fall.

Fuck.

Inconspicuous.

He pulled the trigger of his automatic and let off four shots. The goons went down, but Ward didn’t have a silencer. He wasn’t the guy who was running anymore. He was the guy with the gun. The loud gun.

Inconspicuous.

He didn’t bother to check if he’d hit the shooters, instead running straight to Rose. She was on the pavement on her side. She was alive, they’d hit her arm. He shook his head.

Clowns.

She was alive, but her breathing was shallow and she was pale. He made a decision. He picked her up in his arms and started to run back to the car. She was light, but then most people were to Ward.

When he got to the car, he held her in one arm and opened the back seat and lay her down. He would have to check her quickly because if she needed an ambulance then he’d have to find one somehow. His instincts told him it was a flesh wound. There wasn’t pouring blood, rather just a steady oozing. Also, she was conscious and that was always a good sign.

He placed a towel under her head.

“Take it easy,” he said. “I think it’s only a nick, but I have to make sure.”

The sirens were already starting to get nearer, but he had an idea. He reached down to Rose’s waist and pulled the radio from her belt. He pressed the transmitter and brought it to his lips.

“Damn, officer down on Redden St. Officer down!”

Redden St was two blocks away. Close enough for them to think there may have been a mistake with the original location and a cop under threat would draw the bulk of the attention.

“Thanks,” he said holding the radio up with a wink and then throwing it in the passenger front seat. “Learnt that from you.”

Ward opened the driver’s side door and jumped into the car. He didn’t want to look too hurried or break any speed limits, but he needed to get out, especially with another three men probably dead. He put the car into gear and then remembered to put his seatbelt on, just in case….

He turned back to Rose in the back seat.

“I appreciated what you did nearly a week ago. We’re even now.”

He looked back to the road. At least the colour was returning to her face.

Inconspicuous.

There were cops everywhere and he worried about a random check on the car. He needed to keep low. Speed limit. Seat belt. Smooth drinving.

Inconspicuous.

A wounded cop lying in the back of his car.

Inconspicuous.

He decided to concentrate on the road and get them out of the area without getting picked up. It actually appeared like Rose wasn’t too worried about being in his car. She was a good cop, so she would want to find out more about him

He sighed as he drove clear of the area and then pursed his lips.

Inconspicuous.