Callie’s Last Dance

35.

Four Hours Earlier.

“ROY WILL BE at the club all alone this morning from at least nine to eleven,” Willow says. “Then he’ll head home to eat lunch and take a nap.”

“Why would he be there so early?” Maybe asks.

Maybe is Donovan Creed’s twenty-year-old daughter. She’s also a paid assassin with a double-digit body count.

“He thinks he’s meeting two new dancers, an hour apart. Nine-thirty and ten-thirty.”

“You set him up?”

Willow smiles. “He’ll be pissed when the first one stands him up, furious when the second fails to show.”

“Fifty grand,” Maybe says.

Willow looks at Gwen.

Gwen shrugs.

Hoping for a discount, Willow says, “I’d like you to consider this a long-term association instead of a one-and-done.”

“There’ll be more killing?”

“Almost certainly.”

Gwen raises her eyebrows.

Maybe says, “The best way to insure a long-term relationship is to pay me what I ask each time.”

“Yes, but fifty thousand’s a lot of money.”

Maybe shrugs and says, “According to Gwen, Roy’s not just a mobster, he’s a made man.”

“He’s not very dangerous. His right hand’s in a cast!”

“That’s why I’m only asking for fifty.”

“Would you consider a counter offer?”

“I’m open to charging more.”

Maybe’s real name is Kimberly Creed, but why make herself a target for those seeking revenge against her father? A year ago she chose the name Maybe Taylor on a whim and has grown fond of it.

Willow says, “I’m only eighteen. Where am I going to get that kind of money?”

“You could charge people fifty grand for killing other people,” she says. “That’s how I do it.”

Willow sighs. “Okay.”

Maybe smiles. “Good. I’ll need all cash, up front.”

“You don’t understand,” Willow says. “I’m not going to hire you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nothing personal, but fifty’s too much to pay for such an easy job. I should kill him myself. That’ll impress Carmine more than hiring it out.”

“Have you ever killed anyone? Because it might be harder than you think.”

Willow pauses before answering, and not because Maybe or Gwen might be wearing a wire. The three women are nude, in a sauna, at the Venetian Spa.

Despite that, she sees no benefit in confessing murder to total strangers.

“Have I ever killed anyone? No. Can you give me some advice?”

“Kill him in his home, not the club.”

“Because?”

“It’s bad for business.”

“Good point.”

Maybe stands up, extends her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Willow stands, shakes hands.

“Thanks,” she says. “Can I call you for the next one?”

“I don’t see the point. The price would still be fifty. Twice that, if it’s a big target like Carmine.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t afford you. Just that I can handle Roy by myself.”

Maybe eyes her carefully. “Just out of curiosity, how much were you prepared to pay?”

“Ten grand.”

Maybe laughs. “That’s all you brought today?”

Willow nods.

To Gwen, Maybe says, “This one’s thrifty. I think she’ll make Carmine a hell of a good bookkeeper, if she can earn his trust.”

Willow says, “Can you sell me a gun?”

“I suppose.”

“How much?”

“Ten grand.”

“Seriously, Ms. Taylor?”

“You could always pay some gangbanger five hundred for one that’ll blow up in your hand. If he allows you to leave unmolested. If you trust him not to tell the cops he sold a gun to Roy’s employee when he needs a get-out-of jail card. If you’re not worried he might blackmail you for years to come.”

Making a mental note to never again reveal how much cash she brought to a transaction, Willow says, “I’ll buy your gun.”

When Maybe leaves, Willow looks at Gwen and says, “Will you help me?”

“Kill Roy? No way!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be miles away when it happens. I just need some tactical support.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“We’ve both got long, blonde hair.”

“Mine’s lighter.”

“In a ponytail, ball cap, sunglasses, same lipstick and eye shadow, and matching shorts…we’ll look enough alike to pull it off.”

“Pull what off?”