There she spent the next two hours naked, under scalding hot water, while two other men scrubbed her body with hard bristled brushes. She had been sore and raw for weeks afterward. However, she had a sneaking suspicion that whatever they were trying to get off her skin made its way inside anyway. She’d been feeling weird lately.
“Pickup and delivery addresses?”
“Pick up at the corner of Rochester and Selby; deliver to 1020 East Bonanza Road, Las Vegas.”
Sangria punched the addresses into her GPS system mounted on the dashboard. Instantly she had the distance calculated and the time estimation of how long it would take her to go from one place to the other if the traffic was flowing and she drove the posted speed limit.
“An approximate driving time of four hours and ten minutes. I can pick up the package early in the a.m.”
“Now,” the woman demanded. “I need you to pick it up now.”
Sangria didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Something about the woman’s voice bothered her. Too icy, too controlled. A woman without emotions was a very dangerous person.
“That will cost you-”
“Two million.”
Fingers poised over the GPS system, Sangria froze. That was more money than she hoped to make in the next two years. Her usual transporting fee was twenty thousand. She made a comfortable living on that, with a job or two a month. With two million from one delivery, she could actually retire from the job and settle down in a Caribbean country like the one she always dreamed of. But there had to be a catch.
“Excuse me?” Sangria choked.
“I will pay you two million dollars to come now, tonight, to pick up my package and deliver it to Vegas.”
“My usual fee is twen-”
“I know what you usually get paid, Ms. Silver,” the woman interrupted.
Sangria swallowed hard. The woman knew her name. She went to great pains to be anonymous. Her vehicle was registered to a company with three bogus owners who didn’t exist. Her modest house was leased under a false identity that Sangria had created online, complete with birth certificate and social security number. Being an orphan and having run away from every foster home she’d been sent to, she had no family to speak of. And she had no friends and no regular lover. Sure, she had a couple of acquaintances who owed her favors, but it was strictly business not personal.
How did this woman know who she was?
Before she could speak, the woman continued as if reading Sangria’s thoughts. “Yes, I know who you are. I wouldn’t be in my position if I allowed people I come in contact with to remain anonymous.” She chuckled. “But I have to admit it did take longer than usual to uncover who you really are. You’re very good at hiding.” There was a long pause and then, “I’ll have to remember that.”
“What do you want?” A sense of dread started to wash over Sangria. She was never any good at dealing with glitches in her system. Her attention to detail and organization made her feel safe, secure. Now, she felt anything but.
“Your silence.”
“If you’ve called me then you must be aware of my reputation for discretion.”
“I am quite aware,” she stated icily. “But I am not some drug dealer moving H across state lines, or an arms dealer moving guns from New Mexico to Texas. I am so much more dangerous than that, Sangria.”
All the air left her lungs, and she had to close her eyes to stop from panicking. The woman knew about Sangria’s other conveying jobs. How was that possible? Unless she had been watched for the past year? But why?
Sangria’s hands were trembling, and she had to squeeze them together to stop from shaking. She couldn’t take this job. She had a frightening feeling that it would be her last. And not in a good, retirement type of way. Somehow, though, Sangria knew refusal wasn’t an option.
“I figured that out the moment I heard your voice,” Sangria answered trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“Good girl. I knew you were smart.” The woman chuckled, but it brought no warmth to Sangria. “Take the turnpike off Ventura and make your way to Rochester. Someone will meet you there.”
Sangria turned in her seat, scanning the boulevard, looking for parked cars, or buildings from which someone could be watching. She saw nothing but passing vehicles and large flashy billboards. Maybe her vehicle was tagged with a tracker.
“This will be the last communication we have.” The woman paused, and then stated acidly, “Unless there is a problem. And Sangria, you better hope that never happens.”
The woman clicked off, leaving Sangria close to hyperventilating. Ripping the communicator off her head, she shuffled across the seat, opened the passenger door, and jumped out onto the shoulder. Instantly the oppressive heat suffocated her. Although it was nearing dusk, there was no relief to the stifling summer weather.
As she took in some cleansing breaths, sweat started to dribble down Sangria’s face and neck, soaking the collar of her white cotton t-shirt. But she knew it wasn’t just because of the temperature.
She knew there would come a time when she wriggled into something way over her head. A person didn’t do the job she did and not know that they teetered on the edge of immorality and danger. She just didn’t realize how instantly it could sweep over her, pulling her down into a terror-filled void.
Leaning against her vehicle for support to try to ease her strangled breathing, Sangria quickly went over her options. And realized she pretty much didn’t have any. If she didn’t show up at the pickup address, she knew that no matter where she went, the ice woman on the phone would track her down and eliminate her. The fact that Sangria didn’t know the woman’s identity and hadn’t taken any money seemed to her inconsequential.
The only thing she could do was to pick up the package and safely deliver it to the Vegas destination. She had executed thousands of deliveries without issue. There was no reason that this one wouldn’t be the same.
Pushing away from the vehicle somewhat relieved, Sangria almost believed that. If it wasn’t for the cold creeping along her spine that ended on her skull, causing her short bone-white hair to stand on end, she could almost believe anything.
Two
The pickup had gone smoothly.
She met with two burly men dressed casually in shorts and tank tops at the corner of Rochester and Selby just as she was instructed. When she pulled up to the curb, they hefted the shiny metal case into her Hummer and handed her a black duffel bag. Without a word, they walked around the corner, jumped into a nondescript four-door sedan, and drove away.
After they had driven away, Sangria had jumped out of her vehicle again and slid under it on her back to check the under-carriage for any tracking devices. She had found two.
Swearing that she’d been so reckless and stupid for not inspecting her Hummer every day, Sangria had smashed the metal devices off with her tire iron. Although she knew it wouldn’t matter. Certainly, the case had been installed with a tracer.
She had jumped back into the vehicle and checked the bag. It was full of money, but not nearly enough for two million. There was a typed noted inside stuck to one of the money stacks. Fifty thousand now…the rest on delivery. Zipping up the bag, she sighed angrily. Figures. She wondered what other surprises were waiting for her. Sangria had the distinct feeling that this trip was going to be anything but a regular everyday delivery.
The sun was down by the time Sangria turned onto the I-15 heading toward Las Vegas. So far, everything was going as planned, and she managed to relax a little and enjoy the ride. Pushing a button on the dash, classical music blasted from her four built-in speakers. The Hummer’s controls were programmed to respond to her moods. And right now, she needed the soothing sounds of Mozart.