3 Amaris: The Gig

The human's office is in the penthouse.

Immediately, upon entering, it strikes me as far too elegant to belong to the weasel-looking, greasy-haired, sniveling man sitting at the large leather chair. A chair which looks far too large for him, shrinking him to an comical level.

"I was expecting someone older," he speaks first. Confirming that his voice sounds exactly as I expected it to. Timid and tepid. Not the voice of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Did he recently get promoted? "You hardly look legal."

"I'm old enough." I respond curtly, pushing my sunglasses farther up the bridge of my nose. The fact that this man doesn't look like he has a backbone makes me all the more suspicious of him. He's supposed to be a real estate developer? "But we're not here to talk about me. Who's the target?"

He scrutinizes me, focusing longer than needed on my chest before refocusing on my face only after I clear my throat. "His name is Samson Romano." He opens a drawer in his mahogany desk then slides a photograph across the top to me.

It's grainy, as if someone zoomed in too much after taking it and cropped it. But the sandy-haired man is distinguishable anyway. He's smiling at a redhead, smoking a cigar out the corner of his lips. Both are sitting at a round table outside a café, the sun reflecting off the woman's hair, making it appear redder than it is.

"Why exactly do you want him taken care of?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the photo.

"Do you need a reason?" He cocks an unkempt eyebrow.

His being a werewolf is reason enough, if I'm being honest. Even with the newfound information about my origins. But I shrug noncommittally. "Call it professional curiosity."

The man's eyes harden before he relents with a sigh. "Fine. He owns a good piece of undeveloped land near the woods just outside the city. It'd be perfect for a private club or golf course, endless possibilities. But the bastard won't sell and he won't develop. He's literally sitting on millions. I want that land. But I need the deed to stake a claim after he's... gone."

I observe the picture a little longer before leaning back into my seat. It's always about money.

But a werewolf who owns land usually means they're an alpha, the leader of a pack of werewolves. That's a complication.

Werewolves are already tricky to kill for two reasons. One, they're almost never alone. Two, they have a slight resistance to magic. Slight. But it's enough to give them a bit of an advantage. The trick is to catch them alone then hit them hard and fast. Really hard and really fast.

Most bounty hunters avoid alphas because as tricky as regular werewolves are to dispose of, alphas are twice as difficult. But I'm not most bounty hunters.

I'm a witch with an axe to grind and a desire to own a motorcycle without dipping into my retirement savings.

"Let's talk money." I say and cross my arms.

"Fifty thousand. A third now, the rest after. I'll even throw in a bonus if he's gone by the end of the week." Hmm, I guess he can take command.

I shake my head. "Nobody will do this for less than a hundred and even that is hardly worth the trouble. Two fifty. Half now, the rest after."

"Two-fifty?" He balks. "You're delusional. He's just one fucking werewolf."

Humans, they never know what the fuck they're talking about. I lean forward and pick up the photo, putting it up so he can see it. "You see all these huge men sitting around him?" I don't give him time to answer although I see his eyes roam over them. "Those are his men. His pack members. Your werewolf is an alpha, dipshit." It's pretty obvious. They're sitting at all tables with a vantage point, their backs to the sandy-haired man. They're not inconspicuous, quite the opposite. Werewolves are never subtle. "If you want him gone, you need to get rid of them, too. Two-fifty."

"I don't care about them. I just want Romano." He insists. "Seventy-five."

"They'll care about you when they find out their alpha is dead and some human has the deed to his land. You won't survive the weekend." I drop the photo and it slides to a stop in front of him. "Two fifty, non-negotiable." That leaves a hundred and twenty-five to split evenly with Sabrina once we get the gig done. More than enough for a pair of red bottoms and auto-body repair for her and a motorcycle for me —three if I want them.

The man glares at me, before his eyes drop back down to the brawny men in the photo. I see the fear sweep through him then, or is self-interest?

"Fine," he groans. "Two-fifty. Bonus if he's gone by the end of the week. That still stands."

I nod. "I need to surveil him for a day or two, just to see if he has any sort of schedule or routine in place. Before my associate and I plan an attack. What other information do you have on him?" I snap my fingers and a notebook and pen appears in my hands. I open it, a blank page at front and center, then look up at the man expectantly when he doesn't speak.

His eyes are round, but he quickly clears his throat and continues. "He's having dinner with that redhead tonight. I don't know where or when but I trust you can figure it out. If you manage to tail him, you'll figure out where he lives. I tried having that information already but his home is well-hidden and he knows how to take precautions."

That's not very helpful, but I write it down regardless. It'll appear on Sabrina's identical notebook and she can get a start on it. I write down Romano's name as well, his title, the price and the name of the café from the photo: Titto's.

"When was that photo taken?" I ask.

"This past Friday."

I write the date down next to café.

"Do you know what he does?"

"For a living?"

I nod.

"Didn't you say he's an alpha or whatever?"

I try to withhold my annoyed eye roll. "That's a title. Not an occupation."

"Well then, I don't know. The wolf knows how to be discreet."

That'd be a first.

"How'd you know that land was his then?"

"Public record," he states.

"How'd you contact him?"

"Does any of this matter?" He snaps.

"If you have a phone number, I can trace it back to the account holder. Which might have an address or even bank attached."

He shakes his head. "He contacted me when he found out I'd inquired about him. It was a disposable phone, though. I tried calling back but it was already disabled."

Alright. A name and the dinner with that redhead is all I'm getting out of him. It's not much but it's enough to start. With another snap my notebook and pen disappear and I stand up. "I have my work cut out for me, it would seem. I'll contact you again when it's done. Meanwhile, I'll need that fifty-percent up front."

His eyes roam my body before narrowing distastefully at my sunglasses. "Cash or check?"

"Wire it. You have my associate's number. Contact her again and she'll facilitate the information and instruction. If the money is not in the account by the end of the hour, I'll be coming back."

He huffs, it looks like he wants to say something but I turn on my heel and walk out before he has a chance to.

°°°

"How'd you get him to agree to that price? I'm in awe." Sabrina laughs, knocking back another mimosa like she didn't spend all last night drinking hard liquor. Her long blonde locks swishing side to side behind her as she sways to the music playing at our favorite bistro. It caters only to witches, so we don't have to worry all that much about being overheard because anything witch-owned guarantees discretion.

"I told him the truth." I grin devilishly at her, which just makes her laugh more.

"Well, Matrona will be pleased with you. Hundred and twenty-five is a hefty price."

Matrona is the head witch of our coven. She's a hard ass, but less hard when you bring in a lot of money or expensive wine. Needless to say, Sabrina and I are two of the handful of witches she considers "friends." Although that can change at a moment's notice. Especially if some other bounty hunting duo bring in more money than that in one go. Unlikely, but when Damara and her girlfriend find out, they'll undoubtedly try.

"So were you able to find out anything with the information I wrote down?" I decide to get back to business with a sip of my Dr Pepper.

Sabrina, too, stops dancing in place to pull out her notebook from thin air. Unlike me, she uses a hand flourish as her gesture instead of a finger snap. "You know these are two-way, right? You could just pull yours out."

I smile at her, coquettishly as I like to do. "But then I would have had to eat alone."

She snorts then flips her notebook open. "Well, I did some guesswork. I figured if he has land, he probably has money. And people with money like having dinner at swanky places. I called every reservation-only restaurant in town, pretending to confirm for tonight."

"And?" I prod when she pauses.

"Oliviano's at seven. He used his own name, too. So I guess even if he is discreet, he's not necessarily hiding. Maybe it won't be too difficult to take him out."

I shrug. "I don't know. That doesn't stop him from being an alpha with detail."

She holds my gaze for a few seconds before looking back to her notebook. "I tried doing a little more digging into his background. I wasn't able to find much, nothing recent, at least. He's young though, that photo didn't do him any justice. He's twenty-eight."

Twenty-eight? That's pretty young for an alpha. I'm impressed. Although a young alpha means another complication. They're not as calculating nor restrained as older ones, more trigger-happy and violent, though.

"What else?" I ask. "Who were his parents? That might help us find out where he lives."

"That's the thing. The stuff I was able to find is all basic and vague. All I could find is his name and date of birth. Anything after or even before is either covered up or nonexistent. There is a PO Box to his name besides that land, that's it. Nothing else."

I groan.

Another complication.

Lack of a paper trail in werewolf cases can only mean one thing...

"He's a rogue." I conclude.

Sabrina's face falls. "Are you sure? We don't get many of them in the city. Maybe he's just good at covering his tracks. Besides, a rogue wouldn't have registered land. They don't have the paperwork nor the necessary skills to fill them out."

Rogues are any supernaturals whose ancestors decided that they wouldn't join the human world. They're almost always werewolves since vampires and witches need humans. Vampires to feed and witches to extort. It's our natures. But werewolves don't need humans, everything they could possibly need is easily found in forests and woods: prey, caves and water. Some of them don't even speak human languages, others are more animal than man. They're feral, really.

But it's not unheard of that a rogue would become civilized.

Regardless, if this Samson Romano is a rogue —or former rogue, I should say— that makes him even harder to kill.

Fuck.

I could have gotten more money out of that sniveling dipshit of a human.

Sabrina's shoulders slump as she reads the disappointment on my face. "Could have charged more, huh?"

I nod. "Let's keep this between you and I though. If Matrona finds out, she won't be as happy about the two-fifty charge."

"How much more could you have charged to get rid of a rogue? Couple thousand more?"

I almost don't want to tell her. "He's a rogue alpha, Sabs. Which likely means his pack are also former rogues, which means rates are doubled. There's four members in that picture plus the alpha. Not to mention we're stealing a deed. This could have easily been a million dollar gig."

Her cobalt eyes bulge and my own disappointment is quickly reflected on her own face, as well. "Well, fuck me in the asshole. Do you think that human knew? Maybe that's why he didn't resist the two-fifty all that much."

"He didn't even know he was an alpha."

"Well, what if we tell him what we've learned and try to get more money?" She suggests hopefully.

"If I try to get more money out of him now, he'll go blabbing and scare off potential customers. We can't afford to have Matrona's coven labeled as hustlers, we'll never get gigs again. It's best we just get this done and try to hide the fact that we, potentially, lost the coven more than half a mill."

She sighs sadly. "What a bummer."

It was a bummer.

An expensive bummer.