Saddling up to the bar I put forth my most dazzling smile. “I’m looking for Wrath.”
“Get out,” the man barks at me, and I nearly jump straight out of my Manolo Blahnik heels.
I came prepared for such a cold reception such as this. Sliding a few one-hundred-dollar bills across the bar top, I say once more, “I’m here to see Wrath.”
The slimeball pockets the cash and says, “Take a seat. Back booth. He’ll arrive soon enough.”
With my shoulders back and my head high, I parade through the crowd of vagrants to the seat the bartender pointed out. Crossing my ankles under the table I can only hope that the filth of this place doesn’t rub off on my clothing. I hate to think of all the health code violations happening in this dump. I can’t wait to ditch this itchy wig and take a shower.
The place is dark and musky. It smells like piss, smoke, and liquor. I can feel their eyes on me, but I’m not stupid. I am wearing a wig and contacts and driving a rental car. I should have however dressed down.
—Wrath
Pulling up outside of Hell’s Gate, a bar on the freeway not far from the airport, the parking lot is full of motorcycles just like mine...all except for one car. You don’t see many Cadillacs here. You won’t find a man who drives a car like that here unless he’s here on business or lost.
I’ve been on the road for weeks. There's only two things on my mind. A cold drink and pussy. However, you won’t find good pussy here. That can wait. My thirst can’t.
Grabbing a stool, I toss a twenty on the bar top, and Raider opens me a longneck bottle of Budweiser.
“You got company. Back booth.”
I raise my beer, taking a hard swig with a grunt. I’m in no mood for company unless it comes with long legs that are ready to spread or mouth that is ready to deepthroat my dick.
The back booth is occupied by a woman who is too damn classy to be here. She must own that Cadillac. Probably a rich bitch hoping to off her unsuspecting husband. She’s not the first, and I’m damn sure she won’t be the last.
Too damn fancy to be seeking out the likes of me.
Her well-manicured fingers tap against the hardwood of the table. Her blonde hair is pinned neatly to her head. That won’t last long around here. I won’t be the one to ruin her hair or smudge her lipstick though. She’s a bit too old and plastic for my taste. I prefer a natural woman who doesn't have to try so damn hard. Her eyes are cold, like damn glaciers that would cut a man in two.
I’m not just any man though. I didn’t earn my name or rank by being a cowering pussy.
No, my road has been paved with blood.
The blood of weaker and lesser men.
Low lives.
Scum.
I make the world shine a bit brighter by taking them out.
“You Wrath?” My name comes out as though it tastes bitter on her tongue as I approach the opposite side of the booth.
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“I have a proposition for you.” She hands me a piece of paper.
Glancing at the number, I smile.
She doesn't waste any time. I can appreciate a woman who knows how to get down to business.
Taking a seat, I lean in across the table. “Start talking. I charge by t
he minute.”
She clears her throat. “I have a person I need you to dispose of.”
“Send the information and the payment to this address.” I slide a card across the table.