J. Redmerski - Reviving Izabel

Carefully I look to the left and right of me, expecting to see a burly man or two in suits coming toward me with guns.

“I’m not here alone,” I go on, “so don’t even think of trying anything stupid. We need to talk, you and I.”

Gazing up toward the balcony floor I try to get a sense of where he might be, hoping that he’s even here. A few tense minutes pass and just when I start to think this night has been wasted and I really have talking to myself, I notice movement stirring on the balcony floor just above the south exit. My heart is drumming rapidly as I watch the tall, dark figure emerge from the shadows and descend the stairs.

I remember this man, broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair and a dimple in the center of his chin. It’s the manager of the restaurant, Willem Stephens, who I’ve met here once before.

He steps up to my table with absolutely no emotion on his face, his big hands folded together down in front of him, his back straight, his chiseled chin solid.

“Good evening, Miss Seyfried.” His voice is deep and ominous. “Where, might I ask, is your owner?”

I smirk up at his looming height, take a casual sip of my water and place the glass back on the table, taking my time. Every part of me is screaming, telling me how stupid it was for me to come here, and as much as I know that to be true, I don’t care. It’s not fear making me tremble underneath my skin, it’s adrenaline.

“Victor Faust is not my owner,” I say calmly. “But he is around. Somewhere.” A faint, sly smile touches my lips.

Stephens’ eyes move subtly to scan the area before he looks back at me.

“Why are you here?” he asks, dropping the sophisticated manager act down a notch.

“I have business to discuss with Arthur Hamburg,” I say with confidence. “It will be in his best interest that he arrange a private meeting with me. Here. Tonight. Preferably now.”

I take another sip.

I notice Stephens’ Adam’s apple move as he swallows, and the edges of his strong jaw as his teeth grind together. He glances up at the area he came from and I notice a tiny black device hidden inside his left ear. It appears he’s listening to someone speak. Hamburg would be my guess.

He looks back at me, his dark eyes cold and hateful, yet he retains his unemotional demeanor as flawlessly as Victor always had.

His right hand unfolds as he holds it out to me and says, “Right this way,” and only when I stand up do both of his hands drop to his sides.

I follow Stephens through the restaurant and up the stairs to the balcony floor.

And either this will be my first night as a killer, or my last night alive.

Sarai

“If you touch me,” I say to the suit-clad guard standing outside Hamburg’s private room, “I’ll put your nuts in a meat-grinder.”

The guard’s nostrils flare and he glances at Stephens.

“You requested a meeting with Mr. Hamburg,” Stephens says from behind. “It’s only proper that you be searched for weapons before we allow you inside.”

Dammit!

Calm. Just keep calm. Do what Izabel would do.

I breathe in a heavy breath and sneer at both of them menacingly. Then I throw my little black purse at the guard. He catches it as it hits his chest.

“I think it’s safe to say I couldn’t hide a weapon wearing a dress like this unless I put it up my cunt,” I snap, looking back at Stephens. “My gun is in the purse. But don’t even think of touching—”

“Let her in,” a familiar voice says from the door.

It’s Hamburg, still as porky and grotesque as he was before, wearing an oversized suit ready to bust at the buttons if he inhales too deeply.

I smirk at the guard glaring back at me with murder in his eyes. I know that look, I’m all too intimate with it just the same. He takes the gun from my purse and hands the purse back to me.

“Mr. Hamburg,” Stephens says, “I should remain with you.”

Hamburg shakes his double-chinned head. “No, you mind the restaurant. These people aren’t here to kill me or else they wouldn’t be so obvious. I’ll be fine.”

“At least leave Marion outside the door,” Stephens suggests, glancing at the guard.

“Yes,” Hamburg agrees. “You stay here, let no one interrupt our…,” he looks at me once coldly, “…meeting, unless I ask for an interruption. If at any time you no longer hear my voice for a full minute, come inside the room. As a precaution, of course.”

He smirks at me.

“Of course,” I mimic and smirk right back.

Hamburg steps to the side and gestures me in with an opened hand, palm-up.

“I thought this was over, Miss Seyfried.”

Hamburg shuts the door.

“Have a seat,” he adds.

The room is generous in size with smooth, rounded walls seamless from one side to the other. A series of large paintings depicting what appears to be scenes of a biblical nature are set near a large stone fireplace, mounted inside enormous glass shadow boxes with lights beaming upward from the bottom like spotlights. The overall lighting is low, like it is in the restaurant, and it smells of incense or maybe scented oil of musk and lavender. On the far wall to my left is an opened door leading into another room where the blue-gray light from several television screens glows against the walls. As I walk in closer to take the leather high-back chair in front of Hamburg’s desk, I glimpse inside the small room. It’s just as I thought. The screens show different tables in the restaurant.

Hamburg closes that door, too.

“No, it’s far from over,” I finally answer.

I cross one leg over the other and keep my posture straight, my chin raised with confidence and my eyes on Hamburg as he moves through the room toward me. I reach down to pull the end of my dress fully over the knife sheathed at my thigh. My purse rests on my lap.

“You’ve already taken my wife from me.” Indignation laces his voice. “You don’t think that was enough?”

“Unfortunately, no.” I smile slyly. “Wasn’t it enough that you and your wife took one life? No, it wasn’t,” I answer for him. “You took many lives.”

Hamburg chews on the inside of his mouth and takes a seat behind his desk, facing me. He rests his sausage-like hands out in front of him across the mahogany. I can tell how badly he wants to kill me where I sit. But he won’t because he believes I’m not alone. No one in their right mind would do something like this, come here alone, inexperienced and reckless.

No one but me.

I just have to make sure he continues to believe that I have accomplices until I figure out how I’m going to kill him and get out of the room without getting caught. Hamburg giving the guard one minute of not hearing his voice before he can burst into the room has further put a serious wrench in the plan that I never really had to begin with.

“Well, I must say,” Hamburg changes the tone in the room, “you are stunning no matter what kind of wig you wear. But I admit, I like the red one better.”

He thinks my dark auburn hair was a wig. Good.

“You’re a sick man, you know that, right?” I tap my nails against the chair arm.

Hamburg smiles creepily. I shudder inside, but keep a straight face.

“I didn’t kill those people on purpose,” he says. “They knew what they were getting into, that in the heat of the moment, control could be lost.”

“How many?” I ask demandingly.

Hamburg narrows his gaze. “What does it matter, Miss Seyfried? One. Five. Eight. Why don’t you just get to the reason for your visit? Money? Information? Blackmail comes in many forms and this wouldn’t be the first time I was faced with it. I am a veteran.”