Page 6 of One Secret

Message disregarded.

'Tell your boss he doesn't need to worry. And that I'm...' What? Loyal? Dependable?

...Just a little bit thankful?

'...reliable,' I finish.

'Reliable?' Jaime's tone twists the word until it sounds ridiculous.

'Yeah,' I tell him more firmly. 'And now's not the time to cool off on this. I've finally got a lead and I'm chasing it down right now.' I pull my cell from my ear to check the time on the screen.

20:54

Shit. He's due any minute.

'You got the meet with Fiori?' If it had been anyone else on the line I'd have said he sounded surprised.

'Yeah.'

I never know how to end (or answer) phone calls with pleasantries. So, I just hang up, cutting Jaime off mid-sentence. I decline the next, immediate incoming call and, a moment later, my cell buzzes with an alert. A new voicemail left in my encrypted, external inbox. I turn it off.

In my other ear, a new voice has me switching from personal to professional.

'He just arrived. Front entrance. Navy suit, black shirt. With him: two men, one woman.'

The earpiece I'm wearing is state-of-the-art, so it doesn't squawk or beep. My contact's voice is as clear as if she were sitting beside me in the hotel lounge.

She gives an equally succinct summary of the entourage.

'Thanks, Nat. Going silent.'

When taking the earpiece out, I'm careful to kill the signal entirely before dropping the lump of dead plastic into my pocket beside my phone.

Felix Caruso is widely known as a paranoid, power-hungry egotist. And he likes employing men of the same caliber. It'll do me no good to have his head hunter, Alexander Fiori, discover a bug on me.

I select another pistachio from the dish on the table: one of the brightest green pieces.

Color, I muse to myself, gets you noticed. Whether you're animal, vegetable, or mineral.

Which is only one of the reasons I favor gray.

The man who enters The Blue Star's Bar and Lounge a few minutes later has no such qualms. Dressed just as Nat described, every garment is a designer tag. His hair is styled down to the follicle and his shoes shine with a high polish.

Alexander Fiori is a man who likes to be noticed.

A desire made all the more evident as he preens under the blushing gaze of the hostess.

Fucking peacock.

The only labels and famous names in my closet are on my guns. And I only notice my hair when it's grown long enough to need a new buzz cut.

Short of keeping myself clean and fit, I couldn't care less what I put on my back. Most of the people I work for, however, take a different view on life. They follow the mantra: "If you flaunt it, they will come…"

I'd liked Leon because, despite his own rich labels and fine suits, he'd only cared enough to look fit for his job. Growing up without much money, he'd never needed to look sharp to feel worthy.

A rarity in an industry where nepotism reigns supreme.

Fiori and his boss Felix are more classic examples of high-bred, high-paid mobsters.

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