Vegas Moon

14.

“How much do you charge?”

“What, to guard Lucky?”

We’re back in the kitchen. It’s four p.m. Gwen has just polished off beer number four.

“To kill someone.”

“Depends on the job.”

“In general.”

“Each job is different.”

We’re sitting across the table from each other. Gwen is twisting her hair with her thumb and index finger. She’s not drunk, but not sober, either. She’s in that middle zone, where endless possibilities reside. Tipsy enough to exude sensuality, but sober enough to know what she’s doing. And saying.

“So,” she says. “If I hired you to kill one of the guards out front, what would it cost me?”

“Nothing.”

She perks up. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on the clock. I’d kill them both for free, if they tried to hurt you or Lucky.”

“Oh,” she says. Then says, “But say they weren’t trying to hurt us. Say I just wanted one of them dead?”

“I’d need a reason,” I say.

“I thought hit men killed ’cause it’s their job.”

“We kill for lots of reasons. I’m one of those who never used to ask questions.”

“And now you do?”

“Depends on the client.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re what, twenty years old?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you were twice that, I probably wouldn’t need a reason.”

Her eyes widen just enough to show I offended her. But not too much.

“Are you saying I’m not mature enough to make that decision?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But if I had a good reason?”

“I’d do it.”

She nods. “For how much?”

“Those guys at the gate?”

“They’re pretty tough,” she says. “Lucky wouldn’t have hired them if they weren’t.”

I nod. “Ten.”

“Ten thousand?”

“No. Cents.”

Gwen’s smile blooms before my eyes, and spreads across her face.

She says, “Would you be offended if I gave you a real kiss right now?”

“You mean here, at the table?”

“For now.”

“What about Lucky?”

“He’ll have to wait for his kiss.”

“The answer is no.”

Her smile fades. “Why not?”

“I meant no, I wouldn’t be offended.”

She smiles again, climbs into the chair next to mine, puts her arms around me, and gives me a long, slow, hot-breathed kiss. When she pulls away, her face is flushed. She stands and says, “That was nice, Donovan.”

“Nicer for me, I expect.”

“Maybe,” she says. “And maybe not.”

With that, she turns toward the opposite hall.

“Where are you off to?” I ask.

She stops, turns around. “My bedroom.”

“A nap?”

“Eventually. First, I’m going to lock the door, remove my clothes, climb into bed, and, um…think… about what just happened.”

“Wow! I hate to miss that!”

She smiles. “Disregard any gasps you might hear.”

“Maybe you should leave the door unlocked. You know, in case you need help.”

“The area I plan to focus on is very small. I think I can handle it myself.”

This time when she turns, she keeps walking until she’s out of view. A moment later, I hear a door close. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Then I start searching the house.