Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

Surely Mister Stark was thinking of this when he maneuvered her into this damned hotel room. Well, she had plenty to tell him. But she certainly could not put her shredded dress or those nasty underclothes back on after two days in the fetid jungle. Looking around the room for cover, she settled on two large bath towels. First, she dried her body thoroughly. By carefully wrapping the towels around herself, she managed to make herself reasonably modest. Without a brush her thick hair would be impossible but she would cope with that later. She shoved the door wide open, prepared for war.

The scene that greeted her stunned her into silence. It was as peaceful as dawn over the Wicklow Mountains back home. Morgan lay face up on the far bed, barefoot and topless, with his left arm thrown over his eyes. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady cadence that indicates a deep, sound sleep. His mouth sagged open slightly and he gave off a sound just short of a snore.

On the other bed, clothes were laid out the way a mother does for her young children, in the shape of a body. Just under the pillows there was a tie-dyed tee shirt with a bra on top of it in the appropriate place. A pair of blue jeans lay just below the shirt, topped by a pair of cotton panties. At the foot of the bed she found a pair of locally made sisal sandals. She knew that Morgan must have gone out to a local shop or across to the mall to pick these things up. How considerate.

Felicity gathered the clothes and returned to the bathroom. Getting dressed provided another surprise. The jeans fit perfectly, although they were a little tight. She preferred them that way, and figured Morgan would too. The shirt was comfortable, and she decided to do without the bra for now, planning to rinse out her custom pocket-bra in the sink later. Finally, she slid her feet into the sandals, finding that even they were the right size. She would not have thought it possible.

Not until she was fully dressed did a more disturbing thought strike her. How had Morgan paid for all this? He couldn’t have bought her a new wardrobe with no money. That morning he had told her he only had twenty dollars, and he spent some of that to pay for their disappointing breakfast.

She left the bathroom again to find Morgan still sleeping. Silently she shifted the bed, reached under the carpet and gathered up her bills. A quick riff through them told her she was missing about four hundred dollars. He had found her cache, but only taken pocket change, much of which he must have spent on her. She could not help but wonder how much he had left.

She stepped silently over to her sleeping roommate. After surveying him closely it appeared the only wrinkle out of place was on his left front trouser pocket. It would be tricky to explore, especially with a mark lying down. But she knew she had the lightest touch in the business. Her hand slid smoothly into his pocket. Her two middle fingers closed on the bills. She began to withdraw them, very gradually. The paper hit the slightest snag of cloth.

Steel fingers closed on her wrist and nine-millimeter death was suddenly staring her in the face. She caught her breath and froze. Her eyes crossed as the Browning Hi-power’s muzzle brushed her nose. There was a terrible moment of peak tension, then Morgan’s fingers relaxed on her arm and he lowered his automatic to the floor next to its shoulder holster.

“Sorry,” Morgan said with an apologetic grin. “Trigger nerves.”

“No kidding.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re out,” Morgan said, standing and stretching as if the incident had never happened. “Are you about ready to get on the road? I think I got everything we need.”

Felicity found his casual demeanor, after sticking a gun in her face, a little disconcerting. She backed away, trying to push her brain into the new conversation.

“I appreciate the gesture, and this stuff is nice, but you don’t really think you can shop for me, do you?”

“Why not?” Morgan answered, pulling dresser drawers open. “Look. Jeans, tee shirt, shoes, two purses, skirt, blouse, sunglasses, a bra and panties, plus what you’re wearing. Let’s see, comb, brush, toothbrushes and a suitcase. My clothes are in the closet.”

“Wait a minute,” Felicity said. “A bra? You think you can look at me and…”

“Thirty-seven C,” interrupted Morgan calmly. “Waist twenty-five. Hips thirty-eight. Ankles about seven. I never miss when it comes to judging distances. In any form.”

He had stopped her. Felicity stood with her mouth partially open, unsure how she should react. Not only did he hit every measurement exactly, but she could not think of anything else she needed.

Marlene Seagrave sat in front of her vanity mirror, dressed only in a full-length slip, brushing her shoulder length blonde hair. She wasn’t pleased with what Anton had done with her hair this time, but that was only the leading edge of her unhappiness. Her image in the mirror was certainly not ugly, but it did not please her.

They used to say she had soft brown eyes, like a fawn, but now narrow lines were growing under them. Just thirty-two years old, and she was already considering botox shots. And she had just found her first gray hair. Why that should move her close to tears, she did not really understand.

Her arm movements became more and more forceful, although she knew no amount of brushing would make that gray hair go away. Besides, it was just one indicator of what was happening to her entire body. Six years ago she did calisthenics or aerobics almost every day, swam twice a week, and watched her diet very carefully. Then she married Adrian and all that changed. She went from starving model and Hollywood hopeful to society lady. Because of Adrian’s money she dined at the finest restaurants and drank the best liquor. Life was so much fun when it all began. She was the belle of the ball, and Cinderella never had it better. How she loved him then.

Then?

Now, the best clothes, the best hair stylists, manicurists and makeup could not make her the woman she was before. And with time, her view of the man she loved had only become clearer. Her luxurious apartment seemed cold to her now, as did their king size bed. For this Cinderella, happily ever after was the hard part.

The bedroom door whooshed against the deep burgundy carpet as it opened. She turned, an automatic smile brightening her face.

“Adrian. I didn’t know if I should expect you home tonight. That business meeting…”

“Life isn’t all business, baby,” Seagrave said with a slight slur. He approached her wearing only a silk robe that was too long for his squat form. After six years of marriage, she could tell by his walk how many drinks he had gotten under his belt. Seeing him standing there at the edge of drunkenness, she could not help but compare him to her six-year-old mental picture of him. His complexion was rougher now and his brown hair thinner, but that was all superficial. More importantly, his eyes had grown harder. In them she could see that he looked at her less as a lover and more as a thing, a possession.

Still, she stood as he reached out to put an arm around her. She wanted to give him the love he deserved. He was, after all, her husband.

“Take a look at this, baby,” Seagrave said as he pulled a large velvet jewel box from his robe pocket. Her smile became more genuine as she accepted this unexpected gift.

“Oh, Adrian, what is it? What’s this for? I mean, it’s not my birthday or anything.”

“Open it,” he said, giving her a crooked smile. “You’ll know.”

Her eyes widened to saucers as light glanced off her new prize. “It’s magnificent,” she breathed. Her heart pounded with a flush of renewed love. He was trying to make things better, and she would try too. She knew they could make it like it used to be.