End of the Line

"Goodbye old friend." Lionel said. "I'll see you again soon."

"Goodbye Silver Lion." Trevor responded.

Lionel held back his tears as he squeezed the trigger and shot his best friend in the back of the head. He always knew it would come to this, because in this business having a friend meant having a liability. Painlessly, the Walther PPK delivered its retribution without remorse and without regret. That's when he realized the cold steel was an extension of himself.

One month earlier...

Lionel sat up from his ice bath feeling rejuvenated in body, mind and spirit. He pressed the button on his Suunto wristwatch stopping the digital numerals at three minutes and forty-five seconds. Weekly, he required these forty degree arctic plunges to keep himself centered, although he felt a bit ashamed that he wasn't able to reach four minutes, perhaps it was time to retire.

He'd been considering resignation since his thirtieth birthday a month ago, because after ten years of loyal service he felt like he didn't have much time left. Plus, he didn't have the love for the job that he once had; and his father told him, if you don't like what you do then it's time for something new. But when you're a government funded Contract Killer, that took on a whole different meaning altogether.

Antigua is obscure, he thought as he continued his grooming process with a shave and a shower. Maybe somewhere colder like Greenland, he thought as he got dressed. Or maybe someplace further away like Damascus, he thought as he reviewed his current assignment. He would have to decide soon but first...

He entered the lobby of the Marriott Hotel and headed directly for the small on site lounge. This premium establishment featured a mirrored bar, leather high back stools, a laminated walnut dance floor and plenty of female companionship. He found an empty seat at the bar next to a tall Grey haired gentleman. "Excuse me bartender. Can I have a Chilino Special please?"

"Coming right up sir." The bartender confirmed.

"Pardon me." The Grey haired man said to Lionel. "Did you order a Chilino Special?"

"Yeah...what about it. You have a problem with that? Because I just came to have drink and I..."

"No no no..." The man interrupted. "Nothing like that. It's just that's my favorite drink and I've never heard anyone else order it."

"Yeah well, there's a lost art to ordering drinks."

"You're right about that. By the way I'm Bob, Bob Parsons."

"Good to meet you Bob, I'm Larry. Larry Tate." Lionel lied.

Four drinks a piece later, and the two of them were practically best friends. They shared an affinity for cooking, men's fashion, animals and woman. They both drove a Mercedes even; but the one thing they didn't agree on was politics. "So you're saying...the United States should privately fund non- military personnel?" Bob asked.

"Why not?" Lionel slurred. "I think it makes for good business. Everybody gets a piece of the pie."

"Yeah, but the more people start eating pie, the smaller my piece gets." They both laughed obnoxiously.

"Speaking of pie." Lionel blurted. "Look at that sweet pie at the end of the bar."

He gestured at the lady in red sitting at the end of the bar. This blonde bombshell was in a red dress that was so tight it looked like skin. Speaking of skin, hers was smooth as silk, without blemish and the color of almond milk. Her eyes were the color of aquamarine with a splash of turquoise. And her blonde locks swirled down past her shoulders in the back, and bounced off her ample cleavage in the front. "I'll get drinks, you get her attention." Lionel pushed. "Ask her if she likes to dirty dance.?"

"You betcha pal." Bob retorted. He was already hooting and laughing.

As if cued by a director, the bartender sat three drinks in front of Lionel. Lionel leaned close to the bartender's face so that no one could hear him whisper. "I was never here." The bartender had a look of playful defiance, until he caught a glimpse of the Smith and Wesson hanging snugly in its shoulder holster under Lionel's jacket. The bartender began slowly inching away when he spotted the five hundred dollar tip; he quickly grabbed it before he scurried out of sight.

Once the bartender was gone, Lionel pulled the drinks toward himself while dropping two pills in the glass furthest to the right. One was a Speed ball, a combination of cocaine and speed, and the other pill was a capsule filled with Fentanyl; they both dissolved almost instantly. Then as if the scene changed in the script, he fell back into his drunken character and staggered toward Bob and the lady in red.

"Here he is now." Bob introduced. "Cherry Blossom this is Larry Tate." They both smiled.

"Good to meet you Miss Blossom, here's a drink for you." Lionel gave her the drink on the left.

"Thank you, Mr Tate. I'm Bewitched by your hospitality." Lionel smirked at the pun.

"And one for you my good man." He said to Bob as he handed him the drink on the right.

"And what do we drink to?" Bob asked.

"Let's drink two and see what happens." Cherry Blossom chimed in. Her voice was hypnotic. "Bottoms up."

They finished that round and ordered a second. The lounge had become more crowded, so it was easy for Lionel to grab his drink and slip away. He was sure Bob wouldn't notice his absence due to the effects of the cocaine in his drink and the curves of Cherry Blossom's body. She was in her element now, so she would keep him occupied for hours. So Lionel headed toward the restrooms and out the side entrance.

The following afternoon Lionel met his good friend and handler Trevor at Popeye's chicken in Robbinsdale Mall. They both ordered food, then found a seat in the middle of the food court. They settled in, sat in silence and began eating. "I know you don't read the news." Trevor said as he placed the current newspaper on the table.

The headline read 'Senator Robert Parsons was found dead in a prostitute's room.' The article also featured the picture of a well-endowed blonde woman wearing a red dress. "How did you get so close to the mark?"

"White face."

"Of course... pure genius." Trevor complimented. "And the entertainment."

"Random. Right place at the wrong time."

"Wow, they're going to right stories about you." Trevor praised as he slid a manila envelope across the table.

"I hope not." Lionel said as he took the envelope. "I'd hate to have to kill someone."

The two of them sat and engaged in conversation while they finished their meal. They prattled about the local patrons, about Donald Trump and upcoming sporting events. They conversed about popular music and culture, recipes and even gift giving ideas for the upcoming holiday. "Trevor... I need to tell you something."

"Shoot."

"I'm thinking about getting out of the business."

"What." Trevor said in obvious disbelief. "Why? You're so good at what you do, you're like Rembrandt with a weapon."

"I appreciate that, I think. It's just that I met someone, and I think I'm going to marry this girl Trev. I mean she's smart, she's sweet, and she's sexy. Hell, I think she might be one of Charlie's Angels" They both chuckled.

"Well listen, if you feel that strongly about this chick I'll run it by the boss. You know, put in a good word for you."

"Thanks brother."

"No problem." Trevor pretended. "So what are you going to do with yourself?"

"I think I want to be a barber." Lionel smiled as he spoke. "You know open up a little shop with four or five chairs. Maybe help brothers getting out of prison that can't find work."

"What!" Trevor yelled. "A barber. Who are you, Ice Cube? And help brothers do what? Last I heard, you wanted to help brothers get their wood by opening a strip club with hotel rooms that charge hourly rates! "

"You don't understand." Lionel interrupted.

"Wait, let me guess. She's a beautician right?"

"Yeah and..."

"And she has a relative that's locked up?"

"Yeah, her father."

"Can't you see it man, she's playing you for a fool. She's got you twisted"

"She's not like that. You don't even know her."

"OK, don't go all Oprah on me." Trevor mocked. "Like I said, I'll let the boss know how you feel. In the meantime, get some R & R and I'll reach out in a few days."

Her name was Veronica Peel, and she ran the most popular beauty salon in all of Detroit. It was called 'Sex A Peel', and she lived up to the name. At five foot four inches, she gave hourglass figure a new definition with her thirty-eight, twenty-four, thirty-eight. Add mocha colored skin, hazel eyes, a degree in business and a sense of humor, and she was the type woman that you took home to your mother. And lots of brothers tried, but she only had eyes for one.

When Lionel walked in, you would have thought he was a celebrity. All the ladies gazed at him with lustful admiration, while all the men acknowledged him with a respectful head nod. He was hard to miss at six foot four two hundred and twenty-five pounds and three percent body fat. Plus when it came to fashion, he believed you should always dress to impress.

When she saw him her eyes lit up, her smile widened, and she nearly burned her client's hair. He reminded her of a buffed, tatted Malcolm X as he made his way toward her. She even admired the way he walked, as she allowed her eyes to drift below his waistline. When he reached her he seized her in his arms, lifted her off her feet and passionately kissed her. "Veronica Peel." He whispered.

Then without warning the door of the beauty salon burst open and a barrage of floral delivery personnel came charging in. The sudden hustle and bustle got everyone exited wondering what was going on. By the time it was finished, there was a single white rose at all eleven stations and a dozen long stem red roses at Veronica's. The ladies stared in amazement.

"Back to work ladies." And simultaneously the regular chatter continued. "What is all this?"

"Well you know how I like to make an entrance."

"Yes I do." They kissed again.

"I have something for you."

"You mean something more than the flowers for everybody?" She smiled.

"Yes. Read the card."

She read the card then looked into Lionel's eyes. "Are you serious?" She asked. "Hawaii?"

"Yes baby, let me take you away for a few days."

"When?"

"We leave tomorrow." Her client giggled with excitement.

"Tomorrow? I can't leave tomorrow."

"Girl, if you don't I will." Her client interjected.

"OK, yes. I'd love to go to Hawaii with you."

"Great!" Lionel said enthusiastically. "Then it's settled, I'll pick you up tomorrow at four PM."

The waters of the Pacific ocean were as blue as Periwinkle and as calm as a sleeping baby. And the warm eighty-four degree island sun on Oahu was like Chicken Soup for the Soul. The green sandy beaches and the starry nights were more of an aphrodisiac then oysters, and love was definitely in the air.

Lionel and Veronica shared every waking moment together, usually hand in hand or locked in a meaningful embrace. Each day their adventure started at sunrise and didn't end until dusk. They water skied, para sailed, snorkeled and swam with the dolphins. They hiked, toured, rode horses shopped and ate exotic foods; and at the end of the second day Lionel proposed.

They spent the rest of the trip in their suite.

When Veronica and Lionel returned they brought the island glow with them. Their shine touched everyone they encountered, and their love seemed like it came straight out of a story book. They already settled on a Wedding date next year, followed by a two week honeymoon cruise. She would then move to his home state of Florida, where they would buy a house and start a business together. Their plan was flawless.