Page 9 of Cruel Lies

"Tito’s?" I mumbled around a mouthful of food, lifting the foil-wrapped delicacy in his direction.

"Mmm."

We ate in silence until the sounds of the bay doors sliding closed alerted us to the shop closing up. We stepped into the shadows of the nearby alcove of a run-down building in unison, waiting, watching, always alert.

We didn’t have to wait long.

First out to his car was Tony, the boot-licker now walking with a limp. I couldn’t help but grin at that, knowing how he ended up that way. Behind him by a few minutes was an older woman, accompanied by a gangly man I hadn’t watched very closely earlier, and a beefy dude wearing a patch on his shirt that said "Big John"—likely the owner or manager at least. The men saw her to her car and then dispersed to their own, finally leaving a single vehicle in the parking spaces, and two people in the shop.

I wondered which one of them walked to and from work.

"Okay, Ron, listen, I’m not drinking at the bar with all those fuckstains we call coworkers. You don’t even like them; I don’t know why you’re entertaining this stupid party."

There she was, walking arm in arm with the older gent in the baggy clothes. He looked every bit of seventy, if not more, with weathered hands that appeared gnarled from time and overuse. Laugh lines framed his face, and his hair had gone grey all over, though it was no less thick from time.

Ron patted her hand as they approached the last car, smiling indulgently at our target like one might at a granddaughter. "It’s free booze and some cheap gifts. I don’t have many friends left around here, might as well milk the open bar, right?"

Her laughter had me in a chokehold.She’s your target. A criminal, like the rest. No matter how pretty her voice, her laugh, her smile, she’s still your target.

How many more times would I have to remind myself of that?

Hopefully not many.

The old man got behind the wheel of the car, and before he pulled away, his driver window rolled down, and he pinned Hannah with a hard stare. "You sure I can’t give you a ride home? It’s almost dark, you know. Not safe for a girl like you to be walking alone."

She shrugged, her eyes softening at the man’s offer. "Thanks,Ron, but if I switched up my routine, I’d just be letting the ghosts of my past win. I can handle myself."

He sighed in resignation, his hands tightening on the wheel. "Yeah, I know you can. I’m worried about the asshole who tries to go up against you. Who’s gonna pay his hospital bill?"

When the grizzled man pulled away, our target set out on her own, putting her hand in a side-strap messenger bag resting on one hip. She pulled it back out just enough to show off the handle of what might’ve been mistaken for a gun but was clearly a knife to a trained eye.

Oh, Nash wasreallygonna love this one.

Ro and I marched down the road a safe distance away, watching her and making note of her route home.

She lived in a neighborhood where the crime rate was high, and the missing persons reports were even higher. It boded well for us—if someone actually noticed her absence, she’d likely be pinned to the impromptu neighborhood notice board—forgotten, just like all the others up there.

Not my problem.

One more thing to remember until the job was done, then promptly forget. Useless information that had no bearing on us outside of this contract.

Sad, nonetheless. That so many people could just disappear. Sure, some of em probably had it coming, but the kids? The teens who likely ran away for a better life? Probably didn’t have death or kidnapping or whatever horrible thing befalling them that had claimed so many faces.

Had things been different, my face might’ve been up here, one more lost soul, forgotten by all but a select few, and some not even that.

This could have been me.

The thought was as sobering as it was chilling.

FOUR

HANNAH FLAGG

Wake up,wake up, it’s time to go to work! Wake up, wake up, it’s time to go to work! WAKE UP, WAKE UP, IT’S TIME TO GO TO WORK!WAKE UP, WAKE UP, IT’S?—

I slammed my hand down on the fucking screen of my phone and flung the annoying thing across the room in my half-asleep stupor. With a groan, I yanked the covers back over my head and closed my eyes, praying I’d hit fucking cancel and not just snooze.

Ten minutes later, as I drifted half-asleep, about to float back off to dreamland, it started back up. I rolled out of bed, hands and knees on the floor, and crawled over to where my poor, abused phone lay, the screen cracked in places from so much use.

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