I nodded in satisfaction. Smart girl. She’d done everything that I’d told her to—and then some. She’d made this old man prouder than I’d thought possible. I’d been right when I’d told Jo-Jo that Gin was ready for this. The girl was more than capable of doing jobs on her own. And soon, in a few more years, she’d be the equal of any assassin working today. And someday, maybe one day sooner than I realized, she’d be ready for what I was really training her for—to kill Mab Monroe.
When Gin was satisfied that the gaints were gone, she wiped her bloody knives off on the edge of the white couch and tucked them back up her sleeves. Then, she went over, unlocked the door, and left Jimmy Fontaine and his younger brother Jackson dead and cooling on the floor. She didn’t look back.
#
An hour later, Gin pulled open the front door of the Pork Pit, making the bell chime. She stepped inside, and her eyes swept over the interior, skimming over the blue and pink vinyl booths, the matching pig tracks on the floor, and finally back to the counter where I sat reading an old, battered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. It seemed like an appropriate choice, given what had happened tonight. Besides, you just couldn’t go wrong with the Southern classics.
“Is the job done?” I asked, using one of the day’s checks to mark my place in the book.
“You shouldn’t ask me that,” she said, a slightly hurt tone in her voice. “You know that I wouldn’t have come back unless it was done.”
I nodded. “You’re right. Forgive me.”
Gin nodded back. The girl came over and hopped up on one of the stools in front of the counter. My green eyes flicked down her body, but her dark jacket did a good job of hiding the blood that she’d gotten on her when she’d killed the Fontaine brothers. She’d taken the extra step of zipping up her jacket too, to cover whatever stains might be on her T-shirt. And somewhere along the way, she’d stopped long enough to wipe the blood off her face. Overall, she’d covered her tracks well.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, thinking of the punches that I’d seen her take in the office. “Do you need to go see Jo-Jo tonight and get her to heal you?”
I’d sent the dwarf home after Gin had walked out of Jimmy Fontaine’s office, but I’d told Jo-Jo that we might be over at her salon later, depending on how Gin felt about things.
Gin shrugged. “I think my ribs are bruised that’s all. It’s nothing that can’t wait until morning. What I’d really like now is some food. I’m starving, Fletcher.”
I nodded. “I’m one step ahead of you there.”
I turned around and retrieved the plate of food that I’d warmed for her. A thick, juicy hamburger with all the fixings, a pile of macaroni salad, and a heaping helping of baked beans smothered in the Pork Pit’s famous barbecue sauce. All of Gin’s favorites.
I pushed the food across the counter to her, and she immediately dug in. I knew that she was hungry. I hadn’t let her eat supper before she’d gone to meet Jackson Fontaine, for fear that she might throw up before or even during the job. It was always better to do a job on an empty stomach—especially the first time you went solo.
I let her get halfway through her food before I asked the inevitable question. “So how was it?”
I watched her face carefully, looking for any sign of guilt or fear or disgust. By now, the girl had had time to really think about what she’d done, and I didn’t want her emotions to start gnawing at her. But no guilt flashed in her eyes and no self-loathing twisted her fair features. Instead, she sat there and the counter, chewed her food, and thought about my question.
“It went okay,” Gin finally said. “I don’t think that I did very well at convincing them that I was a runaway. I was too angry about what they were doing to really play the part like you told me too.”
Her self-analysis was spot-on. Her acting could have used some work, but she’d gotten the job done in the end. And next time, I knew that she’d make an effort to correct her mistake tonight. I only had to tell Gin something once, and she did it, without hesitating and without asking questions.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter now, does it?” I asked. “The Fontaine brothers are dead, and you’re not. I’d say that makes the evening a grand success.”
I hesitated, not quite sure how to say what I really wanted to—or how it might sound to a sixteen-year-old girl who’d just killed two men. In the end, I decided on the direct approach. I’d never been one for smooth words, not like my son, Finnegan. That boy could charm the wings off a butterfly.
“I’m proud of you, Gin.”
“Really?” she asked in a soft, shy voice. “Really and truly, Fletcher? I did good tonight?”
I nodded. “Really and truly. You did real good tonight, Gin. What you did will at least give Victor Wong some peace. That’s all the poor man can hope for at this point.”
She smiled then, and it was as if the moon had suddenly burst into the Pork Pit, bathing everything in its soft, silver light. Still smiling, Gin turned her attention back to her food.
I decided to let her eat the rest of her meal in peace, so I picked up my book once more. But I couldn’t quite focus on the words—or hide the proud grin that quirked my lips.
Oh, yes. The girl was a natural-born assassin.
And I was going to make her the very best there was. So she could do what needed to be done—for herself and for her sister Bria.
One day, Gin Blanco was going to grow up and kill Mab Monroe. And I, Fletcher Lane, the Tin Man, was going to help her every step of the way.