One Night Stand
{TW: murder, mentions of abuse}
One manicured finger circles the rim of her martini, her engraved brass ring glinting despite the poor light of the bar.
"I must say, you are the most beautiful woman in this entire bar." The older man smiles, his salt and pepper hair giving his age away more readily than his botoxed face does.
She flashes a smile, her perfect teeth bared in what he perceives as her interest. "I do believe you're just tryin to butter me up, sugah." The pad of her finger dips into the glass, a drop of the clear liquid beading on her skin before she continues tracing the rim.
The man smiles, leaning in. She can smell the whiskey, heavy on his breath despite the full tumbler in his hand. He’s probably been drinking for hours, but that doesn’t change anything. "I can't help it. Ever since you walked by, I've had the most ungentlemanly thoughts." The brunette‘s pleasant expression doesn’t flinch as the palm of his hand begins to slide up her bare leg, his fingertips playing with the hem of her skirt.
This was the moment she had been waiting for: grabbing the sloppy mess he calls a tie with her left hand, her clutch dangling from her wrist, she pulls him to her. Lips finding his ear, she whispers in a heavy southern drawl, "First we finish our drinks, then I'm gonna let you live out each one of those thangs you been thankin 'bout." Right hand hovering over his drink, her thumb presses a tiny latch on her ring. The top, engraved with a dagger, flips open and the fine white powder falls into the amber liquid in his glass. A twist of her wrist causes the poison ring to close again just as she pushes him back. The lusty haze in his eyes lets her know he'll be downing his whiskey and GHB probably before she even brings her own glass to her lips.
Her eyes never leaving his, the brunette picks up her martini glass, taking a sip of her water, wrinkling her nose as if it carried the sharp bite of alcohol. Cocky grin in place, the man swirls his whiskey in the glass before turning it up, downing every drop. The woman simply smiles.
"Looks like you're anxious to get me upstairs." Abandoning her drink, she stands and heads to the elevator. Whispering to herself, "Three, two, one."
When she finishes her count down, have can hear his clumsy stagger directly behind her. "Hold on, baby, you need me and my key."
She can't help but roll her eyes, still smiling. "Of course, sugah. Just lead the way." Taking his arm, the green eyed woman watches for any sign that the drug is taking its effects.
Once inside the elevator, it's a matter of seconds before his hands are all over her, roaming her body. Suppressing the nausea that punches her in the gut, she plays along. A soft moan here, a tug at his shirt, all the right signals to promise him the time of his life once in the room.
Her efforts pay off as the door opens and his near lifeless body slumps against her. Pulling his arm around her shoulders, she half carries and half drags him to the room she already knew was his. The smell of his rancid breath combined with the heft of his weight causes her to stagger. Anyone watching would believe it’s just a drunken couple trying to make it to their room. Looks are usually deceiving like that. Leaning him against the door, she pulls her lip between her teeth as she searches his pockets for the key card. Pushing it into the lock, she quickly pushes down the knob. It's hard to hide her satisfaction at how his head bounces on the cheap carpet of the hotel floor.
"Oopsy daisy!" Ginning wide, she steps over him before grabbing his arm. She steadies her grip on his forearm, so the delicate bones of his wrist don’t separate, and drags him inside. Grateful for the automatic locking door, she smirks. "You could have waited to go to sleep on the bed, dear."
Bending at her knees, the woman hooks her arms under her unconscious companion's shoulders. With a loud grunt, she heaves him onto the bed. Though he outweighs her considerably, she has enough faith in her nightly squats routine to move him. Methodically, she undresses him, dropping his clothes into a pile beside the bed. It’s not easy to make it look like a man undressed himself, but it’s a skill she’s developed. Quickly wiping the buckle of his belt and any other buttons that may have caught her prints. She knows she has to work fast.
He may not be dead, but that was only temporary. Diego Montez was known for three things. His association with the mafia, his heroin addiction and his taste for women. This was the image he presented to friends and family alike. Few people knew of his child trafficking, or that he carried, by her estimates, one hundred thousand dollars from his underground venture with him from place to place. There had to be ledgers and notes on his sales and associates. The man was a shrewd business man. There’s no doubt he would record everything, and in a hotel room, there was only one place he would keep his stuff.
Dropping to her knees in front of the closet, she slides the door open. With a smirk in place, she opens her wristlet. Pulling out a black card, she's careful to not to tangle the cord hanging from it. One quick swipe and the tiny computer attached to the other end quickly scrolls through the numbers zero through nine before they find the right four digit combination that causes the little door to swing open.
"And they said digital locks would be harder… it was harder when you had to listen to the tumble and click."
Her quip ends suddenly when she sees her haul. Nine stacks of cash, four inches high and all the little tools he needed to chase the dragon. With a giggle, she claps twice. "He made this too easy." As she unloads the cash, there’s a treasure waiting on her. Two books: one full of numbers and the other serving as the key to unlock the code of numbers. While the money is a nice surprise, these two little books are far more valuable. With them, she can take down an entire web of pain…
As she approaches the unconscious man with the lethal dose of heroin, she can already read tomorrow's headlines "Suspected Underboss Found Dead From Overdose."
The night had gone better than she expected. A potential one hundred thousand dollar haul ended up being a nine hundred thousand pay off with an escape route /and/ a virtual map of evilness. If only all her targets made her calling this easy. A needle in pervert, eight hundred thousand dollars at a battered women and children's shelter and a hundred thousand more in her own bag finds her catching the next bus out of town the following dawn. The emerald eyed murderess doesn’t know where this bus is going, not that she would care even if she knew. She had her destinations in mind. She just had to connect the dots to get there.
