We made the five-hour journey back to Pittsburgh and arrived at our hotel a few minutes ago. It’s been a long and eventful day, and we’ve got plenty to think about. We waited a few minutes before getting out of the Winnebago, to make sure no one had followed us or was scoping the place out. Happy we were in the clear, we crossed the street and headed inside and up to our rooms.
“I’m gonna grab a shower and crash,” I say to Josh as we stand outside our rooms. “Come and get me in the morning, and we’ll grab some breakfast, plan our next move.”
“Sounds good,” he replies.
I take my keycard out of my pocket and move to swipe it on the keypad next to my door, but I notice my door’s already open, standing very slightly ajar. I instantly reach behind me for my guns, but I’ve left them in the Winnebago…
Shit! I really need to stop doing that…
“Josh,” I whisper.
He’s halfway into his room when he stops and turns. I silently point to my door. He nods once and instinctively takes up position on one side of the doorway. I lean against the wall across from him. We talk in silence using our hands. On the count of three, I’m going to push the door open and dash inside, dropping low and moving to the side of the bed for cover. Josh will follow, staying high and ducking just inside the bathroom, using the door for protection.
I count on my fingers…
One…
Two…
Three!
I move in front of the door and kick it open. I run in and dive at the side of the bed, quickly scanning the room. I hear Josh coming in behind me. I can’t see that anything’s been visibly disturbed or stolen — not that I’ve left many belongings in the room anyway. The only thing different from what I remember is the chair by the window… It’s not empty anymore.
Sitting in it is one of the most extraordinarily beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s sat with her legs crossed, smiling at me with a look of amusement and curiosity. I stand slowly, keeping eye contact with her.
“Josh, I think we’re fine,” I call out.
He appears from inside the bathroom and steps out into the room, standing next to me. “Very fine…” he says smiling, looking at the mystery woman with an approving eye.
She tilts her head slightly, her smile changing to an inquisitive smirk that only farther accentuates her beauty.
I hold my hands out to the side, showing I have no weapons; my palms are open as a passive gesture, signaling I pose no threat.
“Are we good here?” I ask her.
She stands and draws a gun from behind her with a speed I don’t mind admitting I’m impressed by, holding it professionally in both hands and aiming it first at me, then at Josh. When she speaks, her sultry voice has a strong accent that I can’t quite place. That intoxicating smile on her face hasn’t faltered once. She raises an eyebrow.
“We’re great.”
She’s quite tall, maybe five-ten, with long, dark, straight hair that’s shining like a shampoo commercial. She has skin-tight jeans tucked into brown, knee-high boots that have impractically high heels on them. Her tank top is a couple of inches too short, exposing her toned midriff, and the neckline is low enough to show off her ample breasts. It’s like a car crash — as much as I don’t want to look, I can’t help it.
Come on, Adrian, get it together… you’re acting like you’ve never seen a woman holding a gun before!
I take a deep breath and focus. That accent… where’s she from? If I can figure that out, I might be able to work out who she is. My gut’s telling me she’s in the business…
“I know you, don’t I?” Josh says, breaking my train of thought.
I look over at him, surprised. “Josh, you sly dog… you kept this one quiet!”
She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at me and turns to look at him. She regards him impassively for a moment; her eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to remember if she’s met him before.
Without warning, she swings her gun round and pulls the trigger, shooting Josh in the arm, just below his left shoulder. He falls to the floor, letting out a grunt of pain as he lands. Blood spreads slowly across the carpet from his wound, and he clutches at it, applying pressure with his right hand to stem the bleeding.
“Josh!” I yell. I immediately rush toward her, but she quickly takes a step back, adding distance between us, and re-aims her gun at my head with ruthless efficiency. I stop in my tracks and put my hands out to the sides again.
“I’m alright,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s just a flesh wound and only hurts… a lot.”
“Okay, enough,” I say to the mystery woman. “Who the fuck are you? And why are you in my hotel room?”
“You’re friend’s right,” she says. “He does know me — we briefly crossed paths a few years ago. However, we’ve never met, Adrian.”
I look over at Josh, who’s managed to sit himself up against the wall. His hand’s stained with dark crimson from his wound, and he’s fading in and out of consciousness, presumably due to blood loss.
“Well he never mentioned you,” I say. “You couldn’t have been that memorable.”
She laughs. “Oh, your words hurt me… Your trademark verbal offense, as advertised. I’m truly in the presence of greatness!” She sits down again, never taking her gun off me; the barrel steady and aimed perfectly between my eyes. “It is an honor to meet the legendary Adrian Hell.”
Ignoring her obvious sarcasm for a moment, I have to admit it is nice when your reputation precedes you. It proves I’ve been doing something right all this time, I suppose. But still, when a strange woman breaks into my hotel room and shoots my best friend… pleasantries aside, she’s skating on thin fucking ice.
I look her up and down again — this time with a more professional eye. She has very toned legs, and the skin-tight jeans accentuate her well-developed muscles. She’s in great condition, and could probably crush a man to death with her thighs.
Her skin is like silk, blemish-free and tanned partly because of her nationality and partly because of where I’m guessing she’s spent most of her life. She’s covered up pretty well, despite the obvious fashion statement with her breasts. But her arms are the key — again, very muscular, in a delicate kind of way. But I can just about make out part of a tattoo she has on the top of her right shoulder, which I’m assuming runs down her back or side. It looks like a dragon…
My initial instinct was right — she’s a trained killer. And she has to be in the business because she knows me. I thought she might’ve been Iranian at first, but having heard more of her voice, I think she’s Israeli. She’s younger than I am, but probably older than she looks. I’d say maybe late thirties. Possibly former Mossad or Shabak. Either way, she’s definitely had extensive training.
“Listen, I’m sure this is a very big day for you,” I say. “Meeting me… waiting in my room for me like a horny little groupie… Your whole life has likely been building to this very moment… But, for me, it’s Saturday. And you just shot someone close to me. So I suggest you drop the gun and start talking. Otherwise, you might find yourself prematurely giving up breathing.”
She’s still smiling, which, as nice as it is to look at it, is starting to get a little weird. She also seems very confident and comfortable pointing a gun at me. And given she knows who I am, that actually speaks volumes.
“You talk a lot,” she says, seemingly unfazed by my threat.
“Yes… yes, I do.”
“You think you’re smarter than everyone else.”
“And funnier… And more talented…”
“Your little routine probably works on most people too, right?”