Chameleon Assassin (Chameleon Assassin Series Book 1) Page 6

  “No, just stopped in for dinner and a pint.”

  I indicated an empty chair. “You can join us if you like.”

  Nellie leaned over and whispered in my ear. “There you go again, playing hard to get.” Luckily, I wasn’t drinking when she said it.

  He sat down and ordered when the waitress came over.

  “Do you know how to dance to this music?” I asked him.

  “I sure do,” he said with a chuckle. “Do you Irish dance?”

  “I’ve had a few lessons. Are you a good teacher?”

  We spun out onto the dance floor. I had liked dancing to R and B with him. He was even better at céilí and set dancing.

  “You were sandbagging me,” he said after the first song.

  I laughed. “My grandmother was Irish. My mother danced competitively when she was young.”

  “Can you step dance?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I’m not that good. I don’t get to practice much.”

  After another song, the waitress brought his food, and we went back to the table. Nellie gave me a knowing smirk.

  We stuck around for a couple of hours and Ron did give Nellie a couple of dance lessons, but mainly he and I danced. I was nowhere near tired, but eventually he said that he needed to go to work the next day.

  “Where do you work?” Nellie asked.

  “Um…” he suddenly seemed wary, as if ashamed, or maybe afraid we would laugh or think he was uncool.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s one of those if-I-tell-you,-I’ll-have-to-kill-you jobs. Right?”

  “Not exactly, but some people get grossed out.”

  “Ewww,” Nellie said. “You’re the guy who cleans the sewers?”

  He laughed. “Not that bad. I work at a funeral home.”

  Nellie barked out a laugh and opened her mouth to say something, but I kicked her under the table.

  “Don’t let her visit you at work,” I said. “She’s a closet necrophiliac.”

  “I am not!”

  As we watched him walk away, and we definitely watched, Nellie said, “You like him, huh?”

  “I like dancing with him. I don’t know anything about him, though.”

  “What’s there to know? If he can translate those moves from vertical to horizontal, you’ve got a winner.”

  A week after I finished the Sholokhov assignment, my doorbell rang. Only a half-dozen people knew where I lived, and my parents never came over. They summoned me if they desired the pleasure of my company.

  I slipped on a hoodie over the t-shirt and shorts I wore and put my pistol in the pocket, then opened the door. The man in an expensive suit was a stranger.

  “May I help you?” I asked.

  “Miss Nelson?”

  “Mister?”

  His smile tightened a little and I saw a brief flash in his eyes, but he responded pleasantly. “I’m sorry. My name is Gareth Blaine.” He pulled out a corporate ID and held it up. “I represent the Chamber of Commerce.” He had a British accent.

  Holy smokes. What kind of trouble was I in now? After the wars, the corporations decided that governments could no longer be trusted with anything important. Of course, most governments were corporately controlled already, but nukes falling out of the sky were bad for business. The corporations stopped pretending and relegated governments to what they saw as their proper role. The rule of law became a joke. Instead of laws, contracts between corporations ruled society, and the arbiters of those contracts were the Chamber of Commerce, the Court of International Trade, and the Board of International Settlements.

  “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Nelson.”

  “May I come in? I’d like to discuss a business proposition.”

  I showed him in, offered him something to drink, then sat on the edge of a chair wondering what the hell his visit was about.

  “I understand that you recently provided services to Mr. and Mrs. Simon Wellington.”

  “Mr. Blaine, my services are in the area of personal and property security. I’m sure you understand that confidentiality and discretion are required. I am not at liberty to discuss either my clients or any services I might have provided.”

  I was sweating bullets. I might be able to run and hide from an individual corporation, but if the Chamber was after me, getting on a plane would be almost impossible. My only option would be the backwoods, and I am so not a country girl.

  “I completely understand,” Blaine said. “It was Mr. Wellington who recommended you.”

  The tension flowed out of me. I wondered if Blaine could sense my relief.

  He continued. “Mr. Wellington said that you were familiar with the luvdaze problem.”

  “A little. I’ve run into it during an investigation, and I’ve read about it.”

  He nodded. “I’m going to be blunt. We think the drug is being manufactured here, in Toronto. It’s being marketed to a very different demographic than we’re used to seeing, and I don’t have any agents who could easily infiltrate the circles where it’s being used and sold. We tried recruiting a couple of university students to go undercover, and they ended up dead.”

  I may not be the brightest light, but it was pretty evident where the conversation was headed.

  “And what makes you think I would fare any better?”

  “You’re Jason Bouchard’s daughter.”

  Well, that was pretty blunt.

  “Miss Nelson, I’ve known your father for twenty-five years. After his accident, after he retired, I have contracted services through him on behalf of my employers. You’re young and fit the demographic. You’re smart, and the fact that you’re running a successful security business is evidence that your father trained you.”

  “Have you spoken to him about this?”

  “No. I’m following up on Simon Wellington’s suggestion that we enlist your help.” He gave a slight shrug. “I don’t mind you discussing it with Jason, as long as our confidentiality is kept.”

  Unable to sit still any longer, I jumped up and paced across the room. “Exactly what do you want me to do?”

  “Try and find out who is producing and distributing this junk. I’ll make any resources you need available to you.”

  I thought about it. It wasn’t that I’d never earned any legitimate money, but usually my work was on the decidedly shady side. Being one of the good guys wasn’t a familiar role. On the other hand, being in good with the Chamber couldn’t hurt me. I might even be able to pull a string or two if I ever got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  On the third hand, the assignment itself had tons of downside. I considered dying a significant downside. The possibility of a painful death was even more disturbing. I’m not a pain girl. A little light spanking was the extent of my masochism, and you’d better make sure I had a couple of drinks first.

  “You said resources. If I need any technology, do I get to keep it after the assignment?”

  I caught him by surprise, as evidenced by his bark of laughter. “It depends,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not buying you a helicopter or a laser cannon.”

  With a grin, I said, “Shucks. I’ve always wanted my own laser cannon.” I walked back to my chair and sat down. “Electronics were more what I had in mind. Surveillance equipment, jammers, see-through technology. The kind of sophisticated stuff that’s not readily available on the open market. I’d also want my own cavalry.”

  His brow furrowed. “Cavalry?”

  “You know, tough guys ready to ride to my rescue. I’m pretty slippery, but I have a congenital aversion to pain and death. If I get into something I can’t get out of, I want to know someone has my back.”

  “You want us to monitor you,” he said slowly.

  “Yes. You’re going to anyway. I just want an open arrangement. Communication.”

  He leaned back in his chair and looked me over. “I’m a bit surprised. You normally work alone.”

  “I normally don’t do this kind of work. I don’t want you hanging over my sh
oulder, or insisting on daily reports, but I would appreciate knowing I’m not walking into a drug den alone with no options.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Mr. Blaine, I may be young, but I’ve never taken drugs. Any illegal drugs. I’ve never been in the drug culture. You’re going to have to insert me as a novice. Miss Goody Two-Shoes gets in over her head type of thing.”

  “We can do that. I can get you a university ID.”

  I nodded. “That would be good. University of Calgary under a different identity. I’ll get you pictures. Now, as to pay. My normal services don’t include risking my neck. Triple my normal rates plus expenses.”

  He shocked me. I expected him to haggle. I’d have been happy with anything over my normal rates. Nellie and Amanda would have a coronary if they knew what I was asking for this job.

  “I’ll have the contract drawn up,” Blaine said. “Is tomorrow at this time convenient? Can you have the pictures by then?”

  After he left, I paced around the house. What in the hell was I doing? I’d scrupulously avoided drugs my whole life. I knew nothing about the drug culture. Would I have to take them? Crap. I might be willing to try something mild, like weed, but not luvdaze or heroin.

  Maybe it would be better to go at it another way. Provide some money and present myself as a seller. That might work. Poor little rich girl chafing under the limits of daddy’s allowance. Maybe a little awkward, wanting to fit in. Yeah, a nerd. A lot easier for me to pull off than a femme fatale. That could help to explain my fear of the drug. Nerd loses virginity under luvdaze, only wants to do it with boyfriend.

  I went to my bedroom and stood in front of a mirror. First, change the hair to black. Leave the height alone, maybe a little more boobage and butt. That worked. Then the face. Not homely, but a bit more plain. Widen the nose, thicken the lips, flatten the cheekbones, round out the face and chin. Give a bit of a slant to the eyes and take off a few years so I’d look university age. I played with it a bit and found something that fit the nerd-girl stereotype. Some stupid t-shirts could round out the image. Being over six feet tall when I was fourteen gave me plenty of practice feeling awkward, especially around boys.

  When I had what I wanted, I took the ID pictures. I could have created my own identification. Dad taught me forgery when I was barely a teen, but I didn’t see any reason to let Blaine know that.

  Blaine. He said he’d contracted services from Dad. I doubted those services had to do with stealing jewelry. Maybe industrial espionage, but that was more a corporate concern, not the Chamber’s. That meant he’d probably contracted for assassinations.

  I got dressed and headed over to my father’s house.

  Dad listened to my story, then said, “Yes, I know Gareth Blaine, and I trust him about as far as I can throw him.”

  “So you think I made a mistake agreeing to help him?”

  “Damned lousy business.” He took a deep breath. “No, I don’t think you had much of a choice. I mean, you could have turned him down, but he’d have been mad. He’s used to getting his way. But be damned careful, Libby. Remember, he’s grasping at straws. No one else has any ideas of what to do about this drug mess, so if you can’t figure it out either, that’s not a strike against you.”

  “Does he know I do wet work?” I asked. Wet work was the euphemism used for assassinations.

  “I think he suspects, or he wouldn’t have approached you. When he told you his previous operatives died, and you didn’t flinch, you basically confirmed it. Most rational people stay far away from death.”

  “You’re saying I’m not rational.”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re not. It’s my fault, but I’m not apologizing. Your parents are criminals, and we raised you to be a criminal because we don’t feel guilty about what we’ve done. You’re my legacy. Out of all my kills, only a couple caused me any heartache, and they were collateral damage. To tell you the truth, Libby, if someone shot the chiefs of every corporation in the world, I wouldn’t shed a tear. Do you want to know why?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s better than the old system, isn’t it? Crazy people with armies dropping bombs on cities?”

  “I’m not saying the old way was better, but this oligarchical system is very close to a type of slavery. People like us, the indies, are the only reason the corps haven’t enslaved everyone. That and laziness. But my major gripe with them is this—look at the wealth Simon Wellington has, and then look at your friend Amanda Rollins. Which one do you think deserves to live? But the corps are killing her. Slowly to be sure, but it’s a shitty system.”

  “Did Amanda call you?”

  “Yes. Why are you doing this?”

  I started to get defensive. “It’s my money. I earned it and I can spend it any way I like.”

  “I’m not disputing that. I’m just asking why.”

  I bit my lip and tried to formulate my thoughts in a way he’d understand. “Dad, those kids didn’t ask to be born, and they sure didn’t ask to be born the way they are. They’ve had the shittiest end of the stick poked in their eyes, but you’d never know it when you meet them. They’re sweet and kind to each other. They smile, and none of them has any reason to smile. Like you said, some people got nothing, and some have everything. I have more money than I need. Why not help someone else?”

  “You’re not doing it because you feel guilty about the people you’ve killed? You’re not trying to assuage your guilt, are you?”

  “Phaw! Oh, hell no. Dad, when I bring food to those kids and they love me for it, it makes me feel good. It makes me feel happy. I mean, I know you and Mom love me, but I like having someone else love me, too. It makes me feel that I’m earning the oxygen I’m using.”

  He cracked a smile. “And that’s the best reason in the world for doing something. Okay, I found her a building, an old school. I had it inspected, and it’s structurally sound. Electricity and running water just have to be turned on. Has a kitchen and cafeteria, but someone will need to clean up and refinish the kitchen equipment. Some of it might have to be replaced. The catch is, it’s not for rent, but you can buy it for cheap.”

  I opened my mouth and then stopped. I hadn’t considered buying something. I thought it would be a lot more expensive. “Can I get a mortgage?”

  “Probably. You don’t have the credit, but I’d co-sign it. Do it on fifteen years and the monthly payments would probably be around five hundred.”

  I leaped out of my chair and gave him a big hug. “You are the best.”

  “I take it that’s a yes?”

  Blaine came by the next day. I gave him the pictures of me and ran the contract through a software program to check it. We haggled over a couple of the provisions, but in the end he made the changes I asked for, we initialed them, and then we signed it. I wasn’t a corporate employee, but it was as close as I’d ever been.

  “These are the pictures for the IDs?” he asked, examining them closely. “You can actually look like this?”

  “Yeah. I put on the disguise before I took them.”

  “You’re pretty damn good. You could make a living doing makeup for vids.”

  Only for a one-woman show.

  “I’ve heard lots of stories about drug gangs,” I said. “I don’t want anyone deciding to take revenge on me later.”

  “I can understand that. I should have the documentation for you by tomorrow. When can you start?”

  “As soon as I have the IDs, I’ll rent a cheap flat down by the university and bill it on my invoice.”

  I told him about my idea of going after the drugs as a dealer rather than a user. “I doubt the people selling this stuff are using it,” I said. “From what I can tell, it’s pretty debilitating.”

  “You’re right about that. It’s the same with most hard drugs. The dealers at the lowest levels tend to be users trying to support their habits, but above them, it’s all business.”

  “Kind of what I thought.”

  Chapter 7

  I went down to
The Pinnacle that evening to hear Nellie sing and tell her about the school for Miz Rollins. I also told her I had a gig and wouldn’t be around much.

  I’d been there for about an hour when Ron came in, ordered one of those ugly orange things at the bar, and came over to my table.

  “Hi,” I said. “Have a seat.” He did. “I have no idea how you can drink that stuff.”

  “I guess it’s an acquired taste. An old girlfriend of mine used to drink them.”

  “Did they kill her? Is that why she’s ex?”

  He laughed. “No, she said she couldn’t handle my job. Said that she thought about death all the time when she was with me.”

  “I think about death a lot, too. I think about all the assholes I’d like to kill.”

  He laughed again. “I hope I’m not one of them.”

  “No, I think you’re okay. I haven’t seen you being an asshole. Wanna dance?” Nellie often commented on my subtle approach with men. I just had a hard time putting myself out there the way she did. I guessed I was destined to be a wallflower.

  Nellie was in a mood that night, singing a lot of slow songs. We danced a fast one, then when the next one was slow, I flowed into his arms. I like to think I flowed. It sounds better than ‘awkwardly stumbled into him.’

  After a minute or so of us being pressed together, he said, “God, you feel good.”

  “Yeah, I do. How did you know?”

  He seemed to think I was funny, and I liked his laugh.

  “Keep playing your cards right, my boy, and all you see before you could be yours someday,” I said with mock seriousness.

  “I have to work tomorrow,” he said, “but maybe we could go on a date sometime.”

  “You mean, like a get-dressed-up, go-out-to-dinner, boy-and-girl-alone kind of thing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Wow, you really have this romance thing down. I’m more used to hearing, ‘You girl, me boy. Let’s fuck.’”

  “Oh? And does that work?”

  “About as well as you’d expect.”

  The song came to an end, and he twirled me around, pulled me close, and kissed me on the lips. It didn’t shock me, but it left me speechless. He took my hand and led me back to our table. As I sat down, I glanced at the stage. Nellie gave me a big smile and a thumbs-up.