Page 81 of Assassin Anonymous

She nods, digs around in another drawer, and comes out with a USB stick, which she places next to the rest.

“And I could use some cutlery,” I tell her.

Not that I’m planning to open any throats, but a knife can be useful in so many other ways. She opens another drawer and comes out with an eight-inch blade snugged tight within a sheath. “Clip point, flat grind. It’s not very resistant to corrosion and sometimes gets stuck coming out of the holder, but you can use it as a pry bar without worrying about snapping off the tip.”

I pull it out—the sheath does offer a little resistance, but it’s not bad—and check the edge of the blade. Looks plenty sharp, and the rubber handle is nice and grippy.

“What do I owe you?” I ask.

“Let’s call it thirty grand,” she says. “Your credit is usually good with me, but considering what you’re about to do, I’d like you to pay me now.”

“Business is business,” I tell her, and dig the money out of my coat.

As I stack the bills on the table she asks, “You sure about this?”

“Not really, no,” I tell her.

“What you and the others are doing, the whole group thing—it’s good. You know that, right?”

“How do you know about that?”

She smirks as she places a duffel bag on the counter so I can load up the gear. “You and Kenji don’t keep your voices nearly as low as you think.” She looks around the room as I pack up. “You’re a good customer. You’re probably going to get killed, but it’d be nice if maybe you didn’t.”

“Thanks, Lu,” I tell her. “And you’re tougher than a mouthful of thumbtacks. One last question: How do you feel about cats?”

She nods. “If you don’t come back, I’ll make sure he finds a good home.”

“You’re a doll.” I throw my gear over my shoulder and leave Lulu to get the room straightened up. On the way out of the diner I stop at the register. One last thing: I grab a black felt marker off the pad next to the register.

Never leave home without one.

I put the carrier on the counter and open the door. P. Kitty was napping—I guess he just got used to the travel. I don’t risk holding him too tight, because then he’ll just squirm away from me and get lost in here somewhere. But I hold him up and look him in his eyes—or, eye, considering one seems to be pointed at the wall.

“I’m sorry for all the times I called you dumb,” I tell him. “You saved my life. You are a good cat, and I love you, and I hope to see you again, okay? Either way, thank you.”

“Meow,” he seems to say in response, as I load him back in the carrier.

—

I hang up the phone. Booker accepted my apology, and my thanks. He promised to find Valencia and complete the favor I asked of him. I was worried it might be asking too much at this point, but it wasn’t.

Because the feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us, and it’s on me for forgetting that.

Satisfied that’s covered, I lean over the edge of the roof. Cold wind blows through my hair and my stomach dips. The Agency building rooftop is about twenty stories down. I check the harness around my waist one more time to make sure it’s secure.

Funny the way life comes full circle.

My career with them started, and will officially end, with jumping off a roof.

I move to the other edge, to where I can clearly see the trash can on the sidewalk. There are still too many people around it, so I wait. I don’t have much of a plan, other than to stroll into the Director’s office, introduce myself, show him how easy it is to get to him, and demand they hand Kenji over.

Maybe not the most elegant plan, but I’ve certainly rolled out with less.

I’ve been inside before, but only on the lower floors. It used to be the tallest building on the block, but then developers got obsessed with these super-tall residential skyscrapers, and the security inside them sucks as much as you’d imagine. A bored ex-cop at a desk and a camera system I can walk straight through without attracting any undue attention.

Surely the Agency caught me on the city’s CCTV, and they know I’m nearby. They probably assume I’m coming in the front door. Which I hope they continue to believe. I’m going to help them believe it, if the space around the trash can would just clear a little.

As soon as I land on the roof they’ll register my presence—there are some electronics scattered about that look pretty innocuous but I’m sure can count the pebbles on the surface of the roof. Need to take them out quick. There’s an emergency access panel near the stairwell door that looks promising.

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