DAMI

"Has anyone ever told you how hot you look in turtlenecks?"

Kasper enjoys the compliment. He enjoys it so much, he begins to gloat. "Yeah, well, you're not the first."

Dami laughs. "You must be very popular, huh."

"I don't usually like to talk about my popularity." Kasper shrugs as he tries unlocking the door, as if he really is some star athlete sought out by many. A useless front. Dami sunk her teeth into as much information as she could find on the gunsmith. Kasper Morton, a thirty-six year old shut-in with thinning brown hair and blue eyes. He locks himself up in his house and only leaves once every blue moon. He has no popularity. He doesn't even have a friend.

But now he thinks he's at the top of some make-believe world, because he has Dami by his side. She cornered him when he left his house early that day, then spent the rest of it with him around the city. All she really had to do was smile and he'd been smitten. Kasper is clearly not a lady's man.

Dami took him to a bar, and then a club, all to have him drop his guard. Drunk men are easier to control. Although, Kasper is more tipsy than he is drunk. Which means he must drink himself silly within the safety of his house.

It takes him a couple trials to get the door unlocked before he ushers Dami in. And behold the cave known as Kasper Morton's home. Such a big house watered down by poor and tacky decorations. Old wooden chairs with walls that have begun losing their paint. In the entirety of the living room lays a single green couch with a lamp next to it. Then there's the TV with no stand which has been made to sit on the floor. At least the lights are on bright.

"No wonder he gets no action." Dami says to herself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She smiles. She could probably tell him the truth and he would still be willing to allow her stay. Men his age were always desperate. Especially with a living condition this . . . drab.

Dami stops in front of a mirror for a quick look-over. The image she's chosen for today's occasion is a mixture of copper hair and hazel eyes. Her nose and jawline have been altered, with lips that have grown top heavy since her last appearance. Even the space between her brows have been adjusted. A nose ring was added as a personal choice. It's been a while since she ad libbed any facial jewelry.

Dami turns back to Kasper who looks at her like she's the first visitor he's had in a while, which probably isn't false. She throws her arms around his neck. "I hope your bedroom's as cozy as this."

Kasper smiles, confidence oozing from the alcohol only. "You can see for yourself."

He takes her upstairs to his bedroom for what he thinks is pleasure time, but is soon knocked unconscious by the spiked drink Dami fed him. Too easy. He won't be waking up for hours, by which time Dami's objective is already done and over with. She heads back down to the living room and begins searching for a hidden door of some sort-anything out of the ordinary, because the workshop is somewhere below the house. Finding the entrance is the only issue.

It's a trapdoor hidden under a rug by the dining area. There are steps leading down to it, which are illuminated by the dim light bulbs above. The workshop is somehow much tidier than the living room and even bigger. A mixture of gunpowder and sawdust clings to the air, adding to the lines of foreign machinery—too foreign even for Dami to comprehend. How does Kasper operate such devices? Then again, this is probably what landed him a role within the Verdonni family.

There are wooden beams above and walls made of brick. There are even firearms on racks kept to the side, probably crafted by Kasper himself. As obscure of a man as he is, he is at least good at what he does.

"Now, where would those guns be?" Dami asks herself. She has come for Idris's dual pistols. They must be down there somewhere, because where else would they be? She checks the racks on the side, sweeps through the machines, and finally finds them in a file cabinet after searching drawer after drawer.

Dami grins when she sees them. So silver and polished and ready to be taken back to their owner. Unfortunately, only one will make it out alive. She throws on a pair of gloves and grabs one at random, then inspects it only to find the infamous family name engraved on the side. This surely will be enough evidence, seeing as their plan is to frame Kasper.

Again, too easy. Next on the agenda is paying a visit to John Beckham for that confession. But of course, this mission won't end without some form of interference. There are now chatters up above, and with Kasper currently paying a visit to oblivion, it can only mean he has company. Probably from the Verdonni family. Either way, Dami has to think up a way to escape unnoticed.

Except she can't escape, because the trapdoor opens and the visitor begins descending. Great. Just great.

Dami is already on the case. There's no space suitable enough to hide from the visitors, as the workshop is a transparent maze. What she can do, however, is take cover above. She climbs on top a machine with the pistol now tucked into her thigh holster, then jumps and latches onto a beam. Carefully, quietly, she hoists herself up and lays down flat over the beam, as there isn't enough space between her and the ceiling to sit or crouch. But this will do just fine.

She keeps her eyes on the man who has now made it down to the workshop, wary and high on alert. Any sudden mistakes resulting in her getting caught will land him six feet underground.

Luckily enough, the man has no interest in the ceiling, but in the cluster of guns on one of the racks. He begins sorting through them all, unaware that he's been made a target in Dami's eyes. One wrong discovery and he's a goner. The last of the company descends and joins the man in rounding up the weapons.

"Did you find him?" Companion A asks.

To which Companion B nods. "Yeah. The bastard knocked himself out."

"Whatever. Let's just grab these and get the hell outta here."

Dami relaxes when their attention is solely given to the weapons. But somehow, the strap around the gun had come undone amidst all the struggle to get on top the beams. It slips out of the holster and begins falling. Dami, however, with her agility, grabs the gun before it can make it to the floor, just by the tip. While a success, it steals the sense of stealth she has, because the wood creaks and alerts the men below.

"What was that?" Questions Companion B.

Companion A retains his silence and scans the place. Meanwhile, Dami is frozen. The glove makes her grip around the gun slippery, but she holds onto it tightly and remains in place. Any more movements will give her position away. That is, if she hasn't already been exposed.

Finally, Companion A sighs and turns back to the weapons. "It's probably just the machines."

Companion B accepts his partner's deductions. He turns to the weapons as well. "You think the boss's guns are here?"

"Yeah, but we're not allowed to handle them. That's Kasper's job."

"Wonder why he needs customized pistols anyway."

Companion A merely shrugs. "When you have power, you can have anything."

Dami rolls her eyes at their conversation. She would tell them to hurry up under normal circumstances. Not these circumstances, however. The two pack their racks of firearms and soon begin their journey back up to the living room. Dami waits until they have seemingly left the house before descending to the floor. Thankfully, the situation didn't call for murder. It wouldn't bode well to leave a trail that big behind.

Now to pay a visit to John Beckham.

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Three days later, Dami gets into gear with the next plan. John Beckham, she knows, lives in Ithaca, just a couple hours away from New York City. At least, that's where the rest of his family resides. He has a wife and a son who just celebrated his ninth birthday, according to the information Dami dug up.

Even with a family this lovely, John hardly spends time at home, but instead, rents a hotel in the city where he spends a majority of his time. Could be for work. Could be for the women he cheats on his wife with.

Dami takes him on when she's certain he'll return home to his family. She arrives first, minutes before John. His wife reserves Saturday evenings for an outing with her son, so there's no one at home. No car in the driveway. Perfect.

Dami doesn't go in through the front door. That would be foolish, considering the possibility of a security alarm. She chooses the window on the second floor which has been slightly propped open. This is all luck on John's part, however. If these clues weren't here to help Dami, she would have resorted to kidnapping him.

The window leads into a bedroom, which she suspects must belong to the nine year old. She heads out into the hallway, searching for the room that belongs to John and his wife. And when she finally finds it, she takes a seat by an office desk, unwraps a lollipop, and simply waits.

John arrives thirty minutes later. He engages in some inaudible chatter with himself as he opens and shuts some cabinets. He doesn't sound too happy. Probably stress from work. Or the fact that he has to return home.

Then he climbs the stairs and finally emerges into the room. Suffice to say, John is baffled. However, he does not have the chance to question, because Dami pulls out a gun and points it at him. "Don't cause a scene. You don't wanna find out what happens if you do."

John's perplexity transforms into fear. He puts his arms up automatically. "Who are you?"

Dami doesn't entertain his question. "Take six steps towards me."

Only when he obeys and is away from the door does she leave her seat. She steps to the side and motions for him to occupy the chair—which he does, although reluctantly. Now comes her favorite part.

"John Beckham. Age fifty-two. Deputy chief in the NYPD. Family of three: a wife and a son. Failed the police academy twice and finally passed on the third trial. Your favorite hotel in the city is Chariot, and you visit home four times a week."

John is confounded. He begins spewing verbal vomit. "Who the hell are you? Do you know who I fucking am? I'll have you arrested for kidnapping. This is ridiculous! You're trespassing within-"

Dami lands a sick punch right on his jaw, which shuts him up instantly. He begins wailing from the pain, but Dami does not have the patience. She fires the gun at the floor inches away from his foot. John goes quiet like a whimpering dog.

"The next punch goes straight to your windpipe."

John, once defiant, hastily nods his head yes. It seems the gravity of the situation has finally settled in. Dami gets down to business. "How much did they pay you?" And when he doesn't answer, she adds, "The Verdonni family."

John maintains his silence, perhaps trying to figure out how she knows of such a secret. Dami, however, does not condone silence. She reaches into one of the pockets to her cargo pants and pulls out a knife, then squats in front of John and grabs his fingers. Hopefully the blood won't stain much of her attire.

If John wasn't already terrified from the gunshot, this knife threat certainly did the job. He begins to panic. "W-wait, I'll talk!"

Dami pauses, but doesn't move the knife away. "Then talk."

John gulps down saliva. "I-I don't know exactly how much, but it was a lot. They approached me years ago with the proposition. I didn't really want the money, I swear!"

"But you took it anyway. And you've been covering up for them, am I correct?"

John nods, eyes now teary. "Yes."

Dami smiles. Her work is done. She steps away from the cop who begins mourning the spot where the punch landed. It has begun swelling and turning red.

But before it all officially concludes, Dami pulls out her phone and brings up an image. "Does your wife know you're cheating?"

John freezes, as the pain on his jaw isn't nearly as bad as the secret Dami just revealed. She shows him photos of him with not one, but multiple women. He almost begins hyperventilating. "Where . . . where did you get that?"

Dami smiles, proud of her own work. "I took the photos myself. The qualities are great, aren't they? Like this one." She shows him another image of his infidelity. "I sent them to your wife. She'll be home in a couple seconds."

John opens his mouth to object, until the sound of a car pulling into the driveway grabs his attention. His wife is home.

With the mission finally done, Dami heads towards the window and begins her exit plan. The confession has all been recorded, and with the gun she confiscated from Kasper along with the evidence of tax evasion from Josi, this plan has almost drawn its conclusion.

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