8. Brian

Monday, February 14th. Valentine's Day.

"Let me do the talking. Gremlin isn't exactly the most enlightened arms dealer."

"There are enlightened arms dealers?" Mina quips.

This is a fair point. Probably not.

"His name is Gremlin?" she asks as I pull the rental car through the iron gate of a large and gloomy estate.

"You'll understand when you see him."

I wanted to leave her at the hotel while I do this, but it's the day of the kill and there is no more hotel. We checked out this morning. Now we're checked in—with cash—to what is decidedly a dump, but it's almost kill time, and we can't be calling attention to ourselves. It's safer for her here with me than alone at that motel.

There was one thing I forgot in the rush to get out here and out of the weather—cash from the ATM. Happily, the money I liberated from the till at the gas station easily covers our motel for tonight.

I got a bad feeling about that guy the second Mina walked into the gas station. I should have just gone in with her from the start. When I saw the way he watched her ass as she walked to the bathroom, I wanted to slowly torture the life out of him. But we were on a schedule. I was filling the tank and glanced quickly away when he looked to check if I was paying attention. The second I saw him move toward the bathroom, I put the nozzle back and went inside.

This guy must have had a few screws loose. How the hell he thought he'd just assault someone who wasn't even traveling alone and get away with it, I have no idea. His brain and dick were clearly not connected. Maybe he was just trying to scare her, but even that is a killing offense with me. It's been nearly three days and I'm still not over it.

Before switching to our current lodging, I downgraded us to a less attention-getting rental car because the whole point from this moment until we leave to go back home is invisibility.

Mina was surprised we actually were booked at the Four Seasons Friday night. I don't joke about accommodations. We stayed the past two nights at the Arizona Biltmore and lived on five star room service from our suite while we finalized our plans, planted listening devices in Cole's home, and looked at blueprints of the house via public records.

How did we plant listening devices at a location outside our home turf at the estate of a paranoid crime boss keeping a secret lover? Oh, just in the inner rim of the vase of roses we had delivered.

Fun fact: You can walk right inside a flower shop in a lot of places and hand pick everything. I used a small waterproof listening device with a strong adhesive. Cole ordered roses of his own from the same shop—part of my online recon before we left—and I made sure these would be just different enough from the rest of the order and would be placed in a location where we could hear things.

Some might think listening devices were overkill, but it has been useful to know that they won't be eating in the formal dining room but in the large main entry hall that he's specially set up for this dinner, mainly because according to the blueprints, there's a large staircase and a fireplace in this location. The dining room has no fire place. Less romantic ambiance.

The roses I sent are right where I expected they'd end up—as the centerpiece on the table that was relocated to the entry hall early this afternoon.

There are also several possible exits from the entry hall and only one single point of entry or exit for the dining room. He's being smart, but unfortunately for Cole, it serves us more than it does him.

I open the trunk of the rental car and pull out two large black duffle bags. The trunk is already lined in plastic for easy clean-up, and I've got several more rolls ready to go for lining the inside of the car after dark when we go do the job.

"Are we really renting?" Mina asks as we walk up to the front door.

I just chuckle. She already spent an hour of our trip when she wasn't listening to her villain playlist, grilling me about this weapons rental thing. I mean...why would I buy a bunch of weapons I won't logistically be able to to take back home with me? I'm not saying this is a normal thing… it's not like there's an Arsenal Rental Store on every street corner with a friendly staff in blue polo shirts and bright yellow signage. But Gremlin isn't the only guy I've done this with… so it's a thing.

I'm just saying people come up with creative arrangements when they have to work around the realities of airport security.

You can technically travel with weapons but my weapons are all unregistered so… it's just suspicious. And ideally you don't want to leave a direct paper trail right to your kill site. We did bring the Kevlar vests, though. Not only is it legal, but it raises less eyebrows than traveling with an actual arsenal. Half the time it just goes through the machine and nobody really notices it. Why should they? Not getting shot isn't illegal.

"Stop fidgeting," I whisper as I ring the doorbell.

"Sorry. I'm at the house of a guy named Gremlin for weapons. This is my first arms dealer meeting. Cut me some slack."

"You'll be fine. Just stay close to me. And don't call him that to his face."

"Does he not know everybody calls him Gremlin?"

"I'm sure he knows."

Not for the first time today I think maybe I should have left Mina at the motel. We're walking in without any weapons after all. I generally trust this guy, but Mina is a new variable, and I don't know how much I trust him with her.

We're greeted by a rather posh butler and led down several corridors until we get to a large open space that was probably originally intended as a ballroom, but serves as this guy's weapons gallery.

Gremlin spots me and ambles over. He's five foot four and balding on top. I'm nearly a whole foot taller than him. He's got bad skin, to put it mildly. Old acne scars—and the knife scars don't help anything. He's got enough money to fix some of this, but I guess he figures, what's the point? The only way he manages to not look like a homeless vagrant is the Italian bespoke suits and shoes he wears.

How a man of his small stature gained the level of power he has in the criminal underworld is anybody's guess, but at this point he's got bodyguards, so his height challenges no longer really matter to anybody but him.

"Sloan!" he says.

I nod and shake his hand when he reaches me. "Good to see you. I haven't been out this way in awhile." No one knows his actual name, but respect is a thing, so pretty much nobody addresses him as anything—except for his staff who call him Sir.

Gremlin's gaze slides over to Mina. He takes his time appraising her in a way I don't like. "And who is this lovely flower?" He actually licks his lips, as though he expects to be allowed to eat her later.

"This Venus Flytrap is with me," I say with the subtlety of a car alarm.

He chuckles. "Fair enough. Why harm a business partnership over a broad, right?"

Mina stiffens beside me, and I know if she actually had a gun right now, Gremlin would be lying in a pool of his own blood—fuck his status—and we'd have a big reputation problem. It's ideal in my line of work that we don't kill business associates. It makes it hard to find new business associates who want to work with you. It's not like we're all getting hazard pay.

"We're kind of on the clock, Gremlin," I say.

His eyes widen that I actually had the nerve to utter the handle he's known by. I mean, he started it, calling Mina a broad like he's in some 1940's gangster noir film. We all have reputations to protect here, and he should know better.

"Look," I continue. "I'm going to let your disrespect of my partner slide, and you're going to let me saying your handle out loud, slide. And we're going to do business and keep things professional, right?"

He definitely could have me killed right now. We are sort of surrounded by his armed thugs. Nine of them in total. Overkill if you ask me, but if Gremlin routinely runs his mouth like this, maybe not.

But again, it's bad for business so I'm guessing he's not going to destroy a fifteen year working relationship over this.

He wisely chooses to let it go and sweeps a hand in the direction of the glass cases filled with weapons. "What were you looking for?"

"Guns. Obviously. We need appropriate holsters, ammunition… give us all 9mm. And silencers. Knives and holsters also."

"Throwing stars," Mina interjects.

She loves her throwing stars.

"Knives and stars I'll have to sell you. We don't like our merchandise returned bloody. And of course the ammo."

"Of course," I say. It's not as though you can rent ammunition. And knives and stars often get left behind on kill sites anyway depending on the situation. If we do body disposal, we keep and sterilize them, but otherwise they just stay where they're planted.

Gremlin loads us up with the requested weapons, I pay the man, and we grab the bags.

"See, Killer? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy," I say as we walk out the front door.

Mina just laughs.