Chapter 1
Through a small gap in the grimy motel curtains, Lucky saw Conrad Andersen pull a hooker over his lap and playfully spanked her ass. The woman shook her bleached head, kicked her legs in false protest, shaking the entire bed. She slithered against his portly belly, gave him an exaggerated kiss, and then vanished from the scope.
Andersen wiped his mouth, traces of bright red lipstick smeared across his face. Frowning, he got up moving out of view.
Two hundred yards away, Lucky shifted on the rooftop, using the free time to ease the tension built up after an hour-long stakeout. First, a stretch and twist sideways popped a few vertebrae. Flexing both hands then rotating both ankles brought the circulation back. She wondered if military snipers did similar exercises when they watched a target.
Doubt any of them ever had to endure an Olympic, Viagra-induced, sexcapade.
Lucky eased back into position as Andersen appeared in the rifle’s scope again. Even with the obstructed view into the room, she could see he had dressed in a blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt. A decent-looking older man, but knowing everything he’d done made him vile enough to eliminate.
The woman reappeared and gathered her belongings off the ratty nightstand. When the lights dimmed, Lucky began taking deep breaths to maintain a slow steady heart rate.
Directing the scope three feet to the right and targeting ten inches below the top of the motel room’s doorframe was the perfect height to hit the man. Once she had a clear shot, the window of opportunity was five seconds. She already calculated the wind factor, distance, and bullet drop. As the door opened, Lucky let out one last breath then started to count.
One. The hooker emerged laughing.
Andersen
appeared and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulder. Two.
She glanced up at him. Three. Lucky eased the of the scope on his head.
Four. He leaned down and kissed his escort.
The mark lifted his head to search the parking lot.
In the fifth second, the bullet penetrated his skull. The man’s eyes popped as it exited, spattering pink bits of his brain on the door behind him.
The hooker screamed.
Andersen’s body slumped against the doorframe. Other rooms instantly sprang to life with commotion. A dog barked in the distance.
The remnants of his face stared back into the scope.
Kill confirmed.
Burn in hell, bastard.
The brass catcher on the rifle trapped the bullet casing. Lucky removed the silencer and quickly popped off the shoulder stock. Then she packed the Heckler and Koch MSG90 in the trombone-shaped case in record time.
She rolled up the blanket, surveyed the roof for noticeable evidence before slipping down the side of the house. The quiet development she found behind the motel provided excellent cover. However, the occupants and their neighbors could be home any moment and she had to move.
Lucky pulled the worn
French beatnik beret down her forehead before weaving through the home’s backyard.
She hopped over the fence of the adjoining property, emerging on
Though her heart pumped like she just rode a roller coaster, she felt completely at ease. Yet another sign she’d been doing this job too long. Less than a mile from the scene and she didn’t have a stitch of worry about the cops catching her.
She was getting that good at killing.
Rounding the corner, Lucky noticed a young girl crying in front of a makeshift lemonade stand her father was tearing down. The dollar sign, forgotten on the parched grass, had drops of tears streaking through the lettering. She slowed, feeling her stomach tighten as the sobs grew louder.
“We’ll try again tomorrow, honey,” the father said, ruffling the girl’s blonde head.
“But I dinnit sell anything, Daddy,” she squeaked.
Lucky had thirty seconds, maybe less, before someone called about Andersen. Response time in Vegas, at dusk, was never routine. Even if LVPD arrived within the next two minutes, she’d be long gone. She had to walk past them. Lucky couldn’t let the poor girl go to bed sad and disappointed either. She knew how that felt. After fishing out two dollars from her jeans, she approached the stand.
“I could use something to drink,” she said, keeping her attention on the child, head down, trombone case tight in her hand. “Think I can have one before you close?”
“Really?” The girl’s eyes bugged wide like little swimming pools.
“Get a cup, Sally,” the father suggested and glanced up from his work on the wooden stand. The kid filled the cup all the way to the rim and decorated the lip with two cut lemons.
“I made it myself,” she said.
Lucky took the cup, guzzled half, and then smiled. “Ahh, that’s very good lemonade.” She placed the two dollars in the girl’s hand. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” the father and daughter said simultaneously. That fatherly, sincere, tone warmed her for a moment but she didn’t make eye contact.
“Welcome. Gotta go,” she said, swinging the trombone case. “Gonna be late. Bye”
“Bye! Come back tomorrow.” Sally waved.
A minute after
finishing her lemonade, Lucky found her rental car on
Lucky opened the trunk, secured the case, and slipped into the car. Then she sighed. Her boss wanted her to get rid of the sniper rifle despite pleas to keep the weapon for sentimental value. She knew he was right, she used the execution method several times, still, it was a great gun—one she had for years—and she hated to melt it down.
Sirens screamed in
the distance breaking into her head. Not wanting to push her luck any further
by sticking around, she took off, traveled south to
“It’s done,” she said while checking the rearview mirror. “Our boy had a thing for hookers, apparently.”
“Leave the package where I told you, he’ll take care of it for us. I’ll see you when you land, okay?” the man on the other end replied.
“Sure, Phen. Tell Bet she owes me dinner.”
“She does? Why?” He huffed. “Don’t tell me you two are wagering over your jobs.”
“No, she owes me because I told her you’d make me get rid of Heckle today.”
“Don’t be sore, you still have the other rifle.”
“Yeah, yeah. Talk to ya.” Lucky clicked off the phone. Annoyed and physically high from the adrenaline rush, she went to drop off her weapon at the butcher’s lock box hoping to find a way to work through the pending madness that followed her jobs.
Two days later, seated at the back of the plane, Lucky Fascino ordered a gin and tonic from the flight attendant and thanked him with a smile. Her row mate, a pink-skinned gray haired man, had curiosity etched on his face. She ignored him, sipped the drink, and turned to the window.
Next to Lucky, any Caucasian looked pale so she understood their interest. Naturally bronzed, due in part to an unknown mixed heredity, gave her an all year color most women would kill to have. As part of her normally disguised travels, she hid her curly, honey brown hair and slight almond shaped amber eyes—now considered exotic instead of strange—behind a jet-black wig and brown contacts.
Talking to a stranger was the last thing she wanted to do. Getting as far away from the job was the only thing on her mind. She’d been in Vegas for nine days watching the target, learning his habits, hangouts, and daily rituals. During the last five, she’d seen him with three hookers in two different motels.
Gotta love Vegas.
The last two days
in
The man beside her tried to make conversation while she nursed her drink. It was natural for most normal people to want some type of contact to ease the mundane flight. He annoyed her until she finally engaged him during her second cocktail. She didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t shut up.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Frank asked after the exchange of names and destinations.
Kill people like you. Well, she didn’t really kill people like him, unless he had some sordid history of crime. Unlike Andersen, who used his corporate success to embezzle, commit fraud, and murder, Frank seemed like just another guy.
“I’m the
Comptroller for an international furniture company.” Lucky watched the man’s eyes
glaze over. Accountant types never impressed anyone. During long, boring jobs,
she made up a personal history and itinerary to go along with whichever fake ID
she used. Today she played Lucille Summers from
“Sounds lucrative.” He rubbed the side of his vodka-reddened face as he covertly tried to ogle her legs. “In Vegas for business or pleasure?” The way he enunciated the latter made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if he were the last man on the planet who could donate sperm to keep the species alive.
“Business
meetings, you know how it goes, have to get those fiscal reports in order for
the CFO,” she responded, smiling, mostly to suppress the gag reflex.
He laughed, continually eyeballing her as he talked about his trip. It didn’t interest her in the least, but she politely nodded and uh-huh’d him as he spoke.
The trite conversation continued until the plane began its descent.
As the plane taxied off the runway toward the terminal, Lucky leisurely collected her things. Frank, already out of his seat, searched for his carry on.
“Take care, Lucille.” After collecting his luggage, he offered her a card. “If you ever need a contractor, give me a call.”
She
put the card in her jacket pocket, cleaned the area with a handi-wipe until it
smelled like lemon, and waited until the crowd thinned out before deplaning.
Having no checked luggage, Lucky walked right by and smirked. She spotted
“What the hell are you doing here, you nut?” Lucky handed over the garment bag. “Here, make yourself useful.”
“How was the trip?” Bet asked with a grin as she took the bag.
“Ya know, same shit, different method, location, and target.” Bet never heard the details of her hits so she dodged the question as usual.
Lucky towered over
her friend by half a foot, but no one commanded attention like Bet. Her sparkling
green eyes rolled in response as she tossed her short bleached hair backwards. The
product of a white father and black mother, Bet was a kindred spirit who didn’t
fit the norm. Lucky always considered her a curvy, punk-rock version of
“Well, he told me I owed you dinner so I figured we could grab something in town before we went home.” Bet shrugged.
“I
could eat. Want to go to
“As long as you get rid of that stupid wig.”
Lucky
and Bet took a long walk through the former garment district of the
By the time they
got back to
Bet unlocked the ominous cast iron gate guarding the house—that they still called the compound—and pulled up the drive. Lucky gathered her belongings and went to the den. The smell of burning wood and cinnamon tickled the air in the foyer. She peeked in; Phen put his paper down aware of her presence.
“Welcome home, Felicia.” He peered over his thick-rimmed glasses smiling at her.
Lucky smirked. “Thanks, Uncle Phen.”
He crossed the room and pulled her into a quick hug. She’d known Stephen Chambers, her adoptive father’s childhood friend, most of her life. He was the reason she and Bet were best friends. The reason she had the career she did, more or less.
Phen
motioned to the couch near the fireplace. It roared with warmth she desperately
needed. She hated the change in temperature while traveling and coming home
when
Phen poured two drinks and carried them to the sitting area. She arched a brow, studying him. Something was up; he never gave her a drink after a job.
He sat down, took a sip, and placed his glasses on the coffee table. Her uncle scrubbed his sharp, pale face with both hands. He sighed. At fifty-eight, he still looked like a man in his forties despite his thinning white hair. His weary hazel eyes opened, the lines on his face crinkled as he faked a smile in her direction.
“Aren’t you ever going to call me Lucky? It was my nickname first and it’s been five years since Luciano used it,” she said, trying to break the silent tension in the room.
“You’ll always be Felicia to me, sweetie,” he replied then downed the contents of his glass in one gulp.
“Phen, what’s wrong?” Lucky put her drink down.
“It’s time for me to retire.” He held up a hand, stopping her attempt to interrupt. “You know I’ve been doing this a long time, but what you don’t know is that I’ve been training my replacement this past year.”
“You have? But what about—”
“Felicia, let me finish,” he interjected, rising to pour another drink.
Lucky watched him, spotting a few new bottles on his antique liquor cabinet. The colonial décor of the den normally soothed her. Now it agitated her as memories of the past hung all over the room. Reminders of why she killed for a living.
In the portrait
above the fireplace, Lucky was eight, Bet nine, and both of their parents were
alive and well. Luciano and Molly Fascino stood beside Stephen and Kiya
Chambers, smiling proudly into the room. All of them were a mixed group of
misfits. Bet had a tooth missing and Lucky’s smile was anything but genuine. She remembered posing for the picture. For some reason, it had
been a bad day.
This was turning into one now. Without Phen helping her
track down leads, she had no way of fulfilling her promise. All those years
killing and living in her father’s shadow, would mean nothing if she couldn’t
finish what he started.
“I’m not about to abandon you or the search. I’ll always be here for support and back up. It’s time to focus on finding leads; we’ve had nothing for three years. If we want to get anywhere, I need to devote more of my attention to it.”
Lucky frowned and finished her drink. He was still on board, but she had a bad feeling about what came next. Phen approached, she lifted the glass for more cognac.
“Don’t
be sore, sweetie. I’m doing this for the both of us. It’s just as important to
me as it is to you.” Phen put the bottle back then took his seat across from
her. “I’ll keep tabs on your jobs for a few more
months while I help
“Wait…what?”
“She’s taking over for me,” he replied, picked up his glasses and put them back on. “You didn’t think I’d leave you with a complete stranger did you?”
“Well, uh, no, I guess. But…Bet? Phen, do you really want to expose her to this? I mean, I know she knows what we do for the network, but I’ve never told her the details of my jobs.”
“You’ll
never have to, unless that’s what you want.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
The harsh details of her jobs or what she went through out in the field stayed
locked inside her head. Phen didn’t know her struggles. She deliberately kept
him in the dark knowing it was unfair to put more stress on the man. She chose
to live this way. Although Phen understood, to an extent, explaining those
reasons to Bet wouldn’t go over well. She didn’t know the person Lucky became
like Phen did. “Believe me, I’ve thought about this for a while. I wouldn’t
expose
“Are you sick?” she asked and rose from the chair. He shook his head and Lucky moved toward the front window to hide her concern. “Then what is it?”
“I’m just getting older, Felicia. I’m almost sixty. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy to keep up with everything regarding the network and SEC anymore.”
Lucky nodded and walked the length of the Oriental rug. Taking care of SEC Inc., the business front for her contract hits, wasn’t an easy endeavor. Phen had to keep the company legit on the books. She and a few of her aliases were on the payroll as consultants. The real work Phen subcontracted out for security installation, training, and Bet’s salary completed the company’s purpose. They had no products or overhead, but like any business, they had bills and taxes to pay. It took a lot of work to keep everything running.
She paced in front of the bookshelves lining the length of the room. Phen and Luciano’s collection held everything from Chaucer to the US Army’s Survival Guide. Each one read by both her and Bet practically by force. Lucky should have seen it coming. Recent changes were starting to make sense. The last few months, Bet had picked her up after jobs, made flight arrangements, and did other tasks for Phen regarding her network hits. Bet wasn’t just dealing with the legitimate side of SEC Inc. anymore; she’d been making her move into the network life.
When Lucky decided to step into her father’s network shoes, one stipulation had been telling Bet. Although her cousin wasn’t pleased to learn Lucky killed people for a living, Bet eventually accepted the truth.
Over time, Bet had integrated herself into network conversations and privately mentioned suspecting her father had been into something shady for a while. She’d been right. However, the more she learned about what Lucky did, the more she’d want to know. Always a cousin first, Bet was big on family and didn’t mind sticking her nose in everyone’s business. The reasons were simple: a family had to stick together. Most families handed down a farm or at least a tax preparation business, but contract killing was way out in left field.
Family first. That was their expression, had been for years. As Bet said more than once, family doesn’t turn their backs on each other. Even though Lucky never told her the reasons why she did what she did, Bet had always been there to help any way she could.
“There’s not going to be any trouble is there? I mean, do people quit from this business and really live to talk about it?” Lucky glanced over at him. It was rare a contract killer made it to ‘retirement’. The cops found you because you got sloppy, someone else killed you, or like her father, it wore you down and diseased your body. Handlers had a certain amount of anonymity and better survival rate, but they were still at risk.
“The network likes to keep tabs on those who opt out, just for safety reasons, but there’s no reason to fear retribution from the Ruddy and his partners or other contractors. He knows I’ve been thinking about it, the few I know won’t be surprised either. Some think we’ve gone soft because of the earlier jobs I’ve turned down for you.” He pressed his lips together in a tight smile.
“Hey, don’t give me shit; you know how I feel about those scrap board jobs.” She ran her finger along the edge of the shelf and turned back to the fire. “I’ve kept us in the network so we can keep digging for leads and I’ve made us a lot of money.”
“Luke was the same way. He wouldn’t take a job unless he felt justified.” He patted the spot beside him and wrapped his arm around her shoulder when she sat down. “You have enough money saved to call it quits too.”
The thought had crossed her mind, many times over the last five years while doing this job. What would it be like to feel normal again? Stop killing and start living. Lucky had no idea. She was in so far, so deep, she didn’t know if there was a way out for her. Even if she did get ‘out’, what would she do? Contract killing didn’t exactly give you real world skills to work in an office building or retail store.
It didn’t matter, getting out was a long way down the road. She still had an obligation to fulfill to the people who adopted, raised, and loved her. Questions needed answers. She and Phen hadn’t come close to those answers in all the years they’d been searching, but maybe his renewed focus would change things. Her life would stay on hold until she fulfilled her promise and gave her parents a bit of peace.
“You know I can’t quit,” Lucky replied, resting her head on his shoulder. She allowed herself a moment of comfort from Phen; he was still her uncle despite knowing what she had to do to keep that promise. “When you get me some solid leads and I find out who killed her, I’ll stop. Until then, Lucky lives.”