Page 9 of Velvet and Valor
JUNE
“You’re so nervous. Relax.”
The blade-thin man pours liquor into a silver mixer and adds a few slices of lemon, and a sprinkle of salt. He shakes it around with gusto and pours two glasses.
My phone is in my purse. I could try and text someone for help. But what would this man do if I tried? There’s a bad energy about this stranger. He seems civilized on the surface, but I can almost feel the monster hiding on the inside. I can’t work up the nerve to call for help. Not yet.
“Here,” he says, pushing one of the glasses into my hand.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I lie.
“I insist,” he says.
I grit my teeth. “Well, it is my policy never to refuse insistent strange men in limos.” I take a tentative sip, hoping I am not being roofied, and my eyes widen. “This is tasty.”
“My personal Tom Collins recipe,” the man says. “I have to say, you’re not what I expected. You look just as I pictured, but you are seemingly unpolished, untrained.”
“And what makes you think I don’t have training?” I counter. Oh man, if they figure out that I’m not who they think I am, I’mas good as dead. I have to keep the ruse up until I get out of this death trap.
“Nothing overt, I assure you,” he says, holding up a restraining palm. His eyes are surprisingly empathetic. “In my experience, those that are drawn to our line of work, tend toward stony silence. You’re refreshing.”
“Um, thanks?” I say. “For a criminal mastermind, you have excellent manners.”
He laughs, face wrinkling up with what I think is genuine mirth. If not for the circumstances, I would almost find this guy charming. He’d make one hell of a studio exec. One of the cutthroat, ruthless ones.
“Oh, mastermind is a great deal above my pay-grade,” he says. “I’m much like yourself, a facilitator for those who do the real moving and shaking.”
Funny, he kind of just described my job at the studio. This guy is like the slightly off-putting but funny uncle I never had. And definitely never wanted.
“Well, I won’t be able to relax until the job is done,” I say just so I don’t sit there looking stupid.
“Ah. You’re new at this,” he says, nodding. “It all makes sense now. If you decide to stay on in this line of work, please don’t lose that brassy attitude. It will open doors and make people take notice of you. That’s your chief currency in this industry.”
Man, he’s good at shadowboxing around the truth. We’ve been talking the entire ride, and I still don’t know what he does, who he is, who he works for, or what he wants.
Clearly, it’s something shady. Blade-man didn’t object when I labeled him a criminal, so I guess there’s that much I’ve learned.
“So, what’s the itinerary?” I ask with sudden inspiration. Maybe that’s something this guy will share with me.
His posture changes subtly. More businesslike, I suppose. Colder, too. Definitely colder.
“We will ferry you to the Lucrecia Cove Marina. At that time, you will board the yachtGo For Brokeas a guest of one Ming Xa. Ming Xa will relieve you of your duties at that time.”
He stops talking. But I still have questions.
“Um, I think you left out the part of what happens to me afterward. I’m not expected to go around the world on a yachting expedition, am I?”
“You will be returned to the marina after nightfall, having enjoyed the hospitality of a luxury class vessel with plenty of food…and party favors if you get my meaning.”
He waggles his little finger, which has an extended nail. I thought people stopped doing that in the late 80s. Possibly even the 70s.
“Great,” I say, plastering a smile on my face.
I swallow audibly as I watch his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Tell me, how is the engine oil?”
“The engine oil…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Ah…what?”
“How is the engine oil?” he repeats.
