Winston Tabor found it too convenient to see the pair again at the same place. He had gone back with the idea of questioning somebody inside; see if anyone knew where the guy lived. When they left he noticed they didn't go together. She caught a bus and he just walked away. He wasn't chasing a bus and he certainly wasn't going to try another hit and run with a rental car; he'd tail him . . . carefully this time.

^^^^^^

Grace Purcell viewed the dress she held up in front of her then scowled and tossed it aside, swishing to her closet for another. The ritual continued until she settled on an electric blue, sleeveless number with a low cut bodice and a full skirt. The chosen shoes and handbag were fog grey and a single pearl strand hung attractively from her long neck. She brushed a hand through her wavy hair and gave it a toss, satisfied at last with the whole effect.

Out of her bureau drawer came the Beretta PX4 SubCompact from its wooden storage case and caressing the custom walnut backstrap, she held the cold smooth barrel to her cheek. Grace lived for these assignments. It was the perfect tool for her work; lightweight, durable, easy maintenance and versatile with the various accessories encased in the storage box.

The daughter of a retired civil lawyer father and a community active mother, both enjoying their sixties in the penthouse condo supplied by their loving offspring, Grace maintained her secret life behind a façade of successful wedding planner, which while being lucrative in itself was no match for the figure she demanded for her private service.

She slipped the Beretta into her purse, hefting the barely added weight with a mischievous thrill, and left her large loft apartment, riding the renovated freight lift to the garage.

Lester Ward was one of her favourite clients. He paid promptly without question and his assignments left her with a feeling of not being so much an assassin for hire but a dispenser of needed justice. Grace was called for particularly troublesome clients. Owing money was bad enough but when word got around that Lester could suck wind before he got paid, Grace was employed.

Some contracts were distasteful in that she was uncomfortable disposing of women, particularly those who were mothers but then one couldn't get ahead being too moralistic.

The Mercedes slipped through the evening traffic with silky ease and she smiled as she manipulated the gearshift through its stations. Grace ran the information Lester had provided through her mind again, picturing the target, the location and the approach she would employ.

To Lester this was just another day in his world fraught with, what Grace considered a segment of society that was not only as dumb as a rock when it came to borrowing, but chose ignorance as a way out of their problems, giving no consideration to the consequences.

She enjoyed making these work moments theatrical events; Grace was a bit of a showoff. She steered the car into the hotel drive and waited for the young attendant to dash around and open her door.

"Welcome to the Bristol." He nearly bowed as she slid a long leg out onto the drive and stood next to him.

"Keep it handy please, I'm not planning on being here long."

"Pity." He gave her a wolfish smile and dropped down into the leather bucket seat. Grace watched him drive away and toyed with the idea of an afternoon dalliance then dismissing the fantasy, strode confidently into the hotel lobby.

The elevator swished silently to the sixth floor and Grace exited to the left with easy familiarity. She paused in front of a hall mirror and checked her appearance then stepped up to the door of the target's room and rapped softly. The door opened and the man's frown turned to a sunrise as he raked her with an appreciative stare.

"How can I help you?" He almost drooled.

"You could invite me in." She entered without waiting, scanned the room, moving to the bathroom door and peeking inside. The room door closed and she turned to face the man grinning foolishly at her.

"Do I know what's supposed to be happening here?" He asked with puzzled chuckle. "What's this about?"

Grace shifted her weight to one leg and studied him. He was around his mid forties with just a touch of paunch, grey temples and an irregular but strangely attractive face... particularly when he smiled.

"It's not about anything, it's exactly thirty-seven thousand, five hundred dollars that you owe to Lester."

"Lester! What the hell is this? I don't owe him that amount and who the-"

"With ten percent a week, which you agreed to by the way, it comes to that amount... and Lester wants it. Now."

"Bullshit." His demeanor shifted to a more confident belligerence. "He knows I'm good for it; what's a few weeks to that crook anyway."

"That crook is a businessman who loaned you money because you crapped it away on horses."

"Businessman!" He snickered rudely and pushed the air with a hand. "Tell him he'll get it back when I'm ready."

"I'm afraid not." Grace took the Beretta from her purse and attached the custom suppressor to the barrel, watching the man watch her with confused fascination.

"Are you for real, lady?" He started to laugh, stopping as the bullet blew his knee apart.

Grace unscrewed the suppressor and slipped it and the gun back into her purse as she leaned down to the writhing man. "It's still ten percent a week so I would think hard about getting Lester his money. You only have so many joints and they shouldn't be squandered."

She straightened up, walked to the door and gave him another look before leaving; there was still twenty minutes to meet with the caterers for her client's wedding.

************

Tabor stood across the street from Desdemona's apartment watching the light in the window he knew was hers. There was a light in the one below and another a few apartments along on the same floor; the rest of the building seemed to be in darkness. He crossed the road and climbed the steps to the front door and looked at the buzzer entry panel, choosing three numbers on different floors and pressing them all at once.

A static of voices came on the speaker and at the same time the door latch clicked and Tabor pushed it open and smiled to himself; it didn't always work but more than enough to satisfy. Desdemona's apartment was on the third floor and he carefully climbed the stairs, avoiding the elevator.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Desdemona stopped stirring her coffee and stared at the door. Who could be knocking, she hadn't admitted anyone. A neighbour? Unlikely, most of them were away. She left her coffee on the counter and went to the door peering through the viewer but seeing nothing but an empty hall. She waited silently and the knock came again.

"Who is it?" She called loudly, trying to sound forceful.

"A friend of Parker Nevens. He asked me to give you something."

No way. Des backed away from the door and headed for the phone but before she got there the door opened and the man stepped inside waving a large gun at her.

"Not a good idea." He said, indicating the phone. "You need a better lock too." He moved toward her and she stepped behind her kitchen counter, which formed a divide to the living room.

"No questions? No startled exclamations?" The gun bobbed in his hand.

"I know who you are." She said, fighting the quaver in her voice.

"True, you threatened my eyesight as I recall. So you must know why I'm here."

"Well there's something you should know too," she bluffed. "My place has been watched by the police since you missed with your hit and run of Parker."

Tabor stopped and stared at her. He'd seen no one outside. Shit, what if they were there? "You're bluffing, lady." He moved up to the counter and Des snatched the coffee and hurled it in his face.

He stumbled backwards, yelling and clawing at his face and crashing back over the small magazine holder, whacking his head on the coffee table in front of her couch. The gun flew from his hand and she hesitated only a moment before dashing out the front door screaming for help and rousing a few of the neighbours.

"A man in my apartment! He tried to kill me!" She yelled. "Call the police!" There was a flurry of excitement and confusion as Des charged down the stairs and out into the street looking frantically for a taxi. Upstairs the curious were leaning in the apartment door staring at the man squirming on the living room floor.