Are You My Client?

The tall, pale woman dressed in black riding leathers parked her hog behind the small, grey, brick building and locked her helmet to the saddle. A casual stroll around the building, her booted steps quieter than what would be expected, assured her that she was alone.

She entered Frank’s Diner, ignoring the Health Department scorecard that listed it as “Needs Improvement,” one grade above being closed down. She made her way to her usual table in the back corner, where the lights didn’t seem to reach. The floors were sticky and stained, the chairs long past their usable date.

She sat down, her leathers creaking as she did, and checked her watch; three minutes to two. When the waitress started towards her, she waved her off and pointed to her watch.

The front door creaked, and a short, self-assured man in an expensive suit stepped in. The waitress greeted him and pointed to the table where she waited.

He approached her table and stopped. “What a shithole. I take it you’re the ghost?”

“Sit.” Her voice was commanding without being harsh.

He sat opposite her, and she watched him trying to maintain his cool composure in the chair with one leg slightly shorter than the other three. “What should I call you?” he asked.

“Ghost is enough,” she said.

“Why are we here?”

“It’s a shithole dive. No one’s going to be looking for you here.” Raising her voice, she called out, “Marlene, sweetie, two of my usual, please.”

The waitress answered back from the pass-through window, “Right away, hun.”

She pulled a small device out of her pocket and held it as she walked around him slowly.

“Looking for wires? I’m clean.”

Satisfied, she returned to her chair and sat. “Why don’t you tell me what you need and when, and I’ll tell you if it’s possible.”

The man had shifted such that the chair was stable beneath him. He crossed his legs and laid his hands on his lap. “I need some security at the docks, Thursday night. Two hours, sixty-thousand dollars.”

“What are you securing?”

They fell silent as Marlene approached and set a to-go cardboard box in front of each of them. The boxes each contained a grilled cheese sandwich, a bag of off-brand barbecue chips, and a can of off-brand cola. The woman dug into hers as she waited for the man’s response.

“We’ll be liberating a shipment from a container before it goes through customs inspection.”

“How big is this shipment?”

“Why does that matter?”

She set down her sandwich and picked up a chip, waving her hand to make it disappear and reappear. “Small things are easy to screen.” She popped the chip in her mouth, continuing to talk while she chewed. “Bigger things,” she picked up the can of cola, “take more preparation…bigger teams.”

“I’m not at liberty to say in exact terms, but it fits in the trunk of a car. Two-man team, in and out.”

“Sixty grand, now, and I save your sorry ass.”

“What makes you think—?”

“That I’ll need to save your ass? I’m about to do that now.”

His eyes took on a predatory glare. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

“You’re Don Marco’s man. Antony, right? And you’re getting ready to steal a pair of lead-lined, hard-sided cases marked as sensitive scientific equipment.”

The man’s surprise showed only for the briefest moment before he composed himself. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“First, whatever you think is in those cases is wrong. The person that opens one of those cases without proper precautions is going to die a slow, painful death.”

He snorted a derisive laugh. “Trying to scare us off the di—uh…package, isn’t going to work.”

“Second, let’s say you show up on Thursday night and manage to get the cases. By sunrise Friday, the war you started will be in full swing. Monday morning, when the smoke clears, Don Marco will be begging for death, the Marino family will be history, and the rightful owner of those cases will be auctioning off the east side to the highest bidder.

“This is me saving your ass. Go home. Forget about it. There are no diamonds, just death.”

“So you say.”

“Isn’t it odd that Don Marco is looking for help outside the family? Does he not trust his own people enough for this?” She shook her head. “No, he wants to limit the number of people who know, because he knows it would turn into a bloodbath if anyone so much as lets out a peep. So, it’s him, you, the two-man team and maybe a driver. Even then, you don’t know everything he does, and I’d guess the team knows even less.”

“Who is it?” he asked. “The Russians? The Irish? Some punk street gang? We’re not afraid of any of them.”

“All I’ll tell you is that you don’t want to cross them,” she said. “They’re a client. The only way I remain a free agent and continue to get jobs is that I don’t tell my clients’ business to anyone else.”

“I see. Then I guess I’ll need to look elsewhere.”

“That’ll be sixty thousand,” she said.

“For what?”

“Are you my client? Or do I go to my other client and tell them Don Marco is sniffing around their property?”

His pleasant smile dropped, and he pulled a pistol from inside his jacket.

She felt an electric jolt of adrenaline and her legs tensed in reflex, ready for action. She took a calming breath and met his steel gaze with her own. “Are you my client?”

“You just made the wrong enemy.”

“Antony,” she said, forcing herself to relax and spread her arms out, making sure he saw that Marlene and the cook were staring at them, “you’re not going to shoot me here, in the middle of the day. If you were one of the street rats or goons, I’d be worried. You’re too smart for that.”

“You’re right. But I know what you look like now, and the family will be looking for you to shut you up within the hour. I’m gonna’ save your ass now. Run while you can, bitch.”

She leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice, “From whom? You’re already dead, you just don’t know it yet.”

“You don’t scare me, bitch.” He put the pistol away and left the diner. She waited for the sound of his car starting and driving away before she pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open.

“Checking in,” she said, when the phone was answered.

“Hello, Ghost. Are the packages safe?” the voice asked.

She dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table and waved to Marlene on her way out. “Yeah, still safe. Somebody’s interested, though.”

“And this somebody tried to hire you. Will you let us know who it is, or are they your client?”

Once out the door, she headed the long way around the diner to her bike parked in the back. “If they were my client I wouldn’t have needed to call, because they would’ve gone home and forgotten about it like a good boy. Don Marco sent Antony looking for outside security to grab the packages from the docks…Thursday night. I’d bet most of the Marino family are in the dark, though, or he would’ve used his own people. Oh! They’ve got the diamonds story, if that tells you where the leak is.”

“Interesting, it does.” There was a moment of silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. “When we catch Don Marco’s boys with the packages, we’ll get the information we need to shut them down for good. You might want to stay clear of Marino territory for a while.”

She reached her bike. “I’ll be staying clear for a while anyway. Antony just put a price on my head.”

“You need anything from us?”

“Nah, they’re amateurs and I’ll see ’em coming. The courier dropped the first package last night. It’s at the warehouse. The other two land tomorrow and hit customs on Friday.”

“I suppose you’re due a bonus for the heads-up, and for exposing the mole. What would you consider a fair price?”

“I’ll leave that to you, but could you have your guys pick up the package soon? It’s giving me the creeps. Why do you deal in that shit, anyways?”

“It’s a form of currency in my business. I’ll make sure to leave you out of any future payment deliveries, especially on such short notice. Someone will be by within the hour to pick it up. Call me for the challenge and code word when they get there.”

“Thanks. And let me when it’s safe to go back out.”

“Will do, Ghost. And if you decide to leave consulting for a full-time position, my head of security position just opened up.”

“No, you know me…free spirit and all.” She put her phone away, straddled the bike, and pulled on her helmet. The bike started with a rumble, and she eased out of the alley, turning west on the road fronting the diner.

She wasn’t about to go to work for any client full-time…especially this one. Things like the package currently sitting in her warehouse would probably happen all too often. “Currency” or not, lead-lined case notwithstanding, she wasn’t happy about having radioactive materials in her home.