Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

The kitchen area was to the right of the sofa, and an overstuffed easy chair stood off to its left, almost in the corner. He continued to pan left to take in the wall on that side, and as he did his eyes widened in wonder. To his surprise, there was no wall to his left.

On closer inspection, that wall was a series of glass panels, running from floor to ceiling, each three feet wide. Sheer curtains hung at each end. Morgan was staring out at a twenty-one foot vista of the Pacific Ocean. Rarely nonplused, Morgan had to admit that the view totally overawed him. For the first time in years, he was reminded of just what money can buy.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Felicity asked. “I get all the light. And I practically own the sunset.” Felicity’s voice had taken on a slightly Californian, almost valley girl accent that mixed oddly with the Irish tones he had detected before. She was pouring something over ice while he continued his turn around the room. Landscapes and still life paintings in a variety of sizes hung on the wall behind him in a random pattern. The huge centerpiece, an oil painting of windmills, unexpectedly changed to a field of pansies. On closer inspection, what looked at first like a huge painting was in fact a forty-two inch plasma television screen. Someone had programmed it to display a rotating collection of art, probably from a disc in the DVD player below it.

“By the way, Morgan, do we have a business deal?” Felicity asked, bouncing down the steps back into the living room. She extended her hand, with a drink for him.

“I’m still deciding.”

“Oh come on,” Felicity prompted, seizing a cellular telephone lying on the floor of the deck behind the couch. She walked around in front of the glass wall, sipping slowly. Watching her there, dwarfed before the Goliath moving mural, he thought this woman must be in love with the sunset.

“Oh, I don’t know, Red,” he said, sipping from his own glass, and reacting to the sweetness of its contents. Bailey’s Irish Creme over ice was not one of his regular choices. “Maybe I can help you recover your fee if it requires any rough stuff. How about fifteen percent of what we collect, plus my expenses?”

“Fine,” Felicity replied, “but don’t call me Red.” While she dialed the telephone, he dropped the suitcases and bounded easily up to the marble level behind her to stare out at the boundless view. He felt as if he had landed on top of some private mountain. The sky was infinite in all directions, with only one small bank of cotton ball clouds over on the left. There was no hint of the city behind them. In the distance a gull slid across the wind lazily, banking and playing the currents like a seasoned hang glider. Below, foam swirled around a body surfer as he was caught in what looked like a giant washing machine.

In the background, he could hear the beginnings of Felicity’s conversation. Her voice was rising and falling as rhythmically as the hypnotic ocean swell before him. It became white noise, as if he could hear the waves below. None of her words caught his attention until a demand broke through.

“If I don’t have the cash within seventy-two hours I’ll come and get it. And don’t be thinking I won’t.”

Morgan spun and leaped to her side in one long bound.

“Red! What are you doing?”

“I have friends, you know,” Felicity snapped into the telephone, ignoring Morgan. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Don’t tell them we’re coming,” Morgan said in a harsh whisper. “You’re throwing away the advantage of surprise, you idiot.”

“I won’t take it, Stone,” Felicity shouted, waving him to be quiet. “It’s my money or it’s your arse.”

When she slammed the telephone down, Felicity looked up as if she was expecting an argument, but Morgan reacted with neither rage nor resignation. His initial response to her conversation was a dumbfounded silence. Slowly he moved to sit on the edge of her plush sofa, which turned out to be real velvet, not just velour as he had assumed.

“Did you just say Stone?” he asked after a moment. Felicity nodded her head.

“Tall dude? White hair? Kind of pale eyes?”

“You know him?” she asked.

“We’ve done business in the past,” he said, settling into the deep, totally comfortable couch.

“Well that’s a bit of luck,” Felicity said, perching on her oak cube. “What do you know about the man?”

“He’s an old pro. Sort of a general contractor.” Felicity’s puzzled look prompted him to continue. “Say for example, somebody has the dollars and wants a dirty job done. He contacts Stone. Now, Stone doesn’t actually do stuff, but he knows how to find the people who do. He’s connected. You need mercenaries, a hit man, a bodyguard, a courier…”

“A thief,” Felicity added.

“Yeah, or maybe some Mafia muscle. He can get them. All for a fee or a percentage, of course, and no risk to himself. As a matter of fact, he was the contact man for this last raid I executed. This raid I didn’t get paid for in Central America. You and me, we got some things to discuss.” He tossed back what remained of his drink. “By the way, you got any real liquor in here?”

With a thoughtful expression, Felicity picked up the remote control unit resting in a space apparently cut into the oak block for just that purpose. She thumbed a button, and suddenly Brahms filled the room, seemingly from everywhere.

Morgan was no lover of classical music, but he considered himself a connoisseur of fine stereo equipment, and the quality of the sound reproduction impressed him. Glancing around, he spotted four of the tiny but powerful Bose jewel cube speakers. There would be an Acoustimass module hidden someplace for the base..

Felicity had wandered back to the bar and when she returned she held a glass of amber liquid at his eye level.

“Chivas Regal okay?” she asked.

“More like it.” He gratefully tipped the glass to his lips. Felicity stretched out catlike on the couch, her skirt rising high on her shapely thighs. This was not the hyperactive feline he’d met on the trail. She was completely relaxed there on her own home ground, too relaxed for his tastes. Now that he had signed on for a job, he felt he needed to take command. The tactical situation, mostly unknown, was growing worse.

“Tell me what you know about the opposition,” he said, sitting up straight. “Who’d Stone hire you for? Where’s your real client? What kind of backing and resources does he have?” From his jacket pocket he produced a small note pad and the sharp stub of a pencil he always carried. Felicity examined the ceiling for several seconds and took a long pull on her drink before she spoke.

“Wish I could tell you. I worked blind for Stone. That phone number I just called? It’s in Denver, but from the time lapse and the clicks on the line, I think it’s transferred through to another city. I really have no idea who I was actually doing the job for, or what kind of organization he might have at his base, or even where his base is for that matter. Had no reason to want to know at the time. I guess we’ll have to find out somehow.”

“Yeah, well, good luck,” Morgan said, getting to his feet. “I figure either this guy couldn’t afford to pay you, or he’s so rich he don’t have to bother paying you. If he’s small time, he’ll just drop out of sight, fade into the woodwork. On the other hand, if he’s big time, he could have a dozen thugs on our necks in a couple of days.”

“So what do you suggest we do?”

“We?” Morgan said with a smile. “I think you mean you. You better get busy trying to trace that number. I’m a mercenary, not a private eye. I’ll hang around here for three days. You’ve got seventy-two hours to get a line on this mystery man. After that I’m splitting. I’ve got my own snake to find. Even though that job came through Stone too, I can probably find the client easier than the flunky. I’ll get after him if your job falls through, and my trail starts south of the border.”