Best For The Job

With a quiet screeching sound, the door half opened, and the anxious barman stuck his head through the gap and motioned us to get inside.

I nodded as I took one last drag before dropping the cigarette onto the muddy ground and putting it out with my heel. Wesley led the way in silence, and I followed two steps behind.

We were led to the back room, where only expensive transactions were handled. The barman smiled nervously and knocked on the door three times before swallowing and pulling the door open. Wesley waved the barman away, to which he did gladly.

Wesley turned his head slightly. I closed my eyes for a moment before slowly opening them again. He mumbled all right under his breath and stepped inside.

The room was filled with smoke and the smell of strong liquor. Several men were standing around, laughing, drinking, and smoking. The chatters stopped instantaneously after we were seen, and hostile glares replaced the laughter. 

In the center, a nicely dressed, pale man sat on the couch, right in the middle. His hair was parted perfectly even and secured with an abundant deal of wax. He had a thin, long, and feminine face that was rather unique and memorable. Noticing us, he pushed up his spectacles.

I recognized him. Facing me was Antonio De Rossi.

A strange feeling churned my stomach, and I began to feel uneasy.

"I don't think we've agreed on bringing a showgirl," De Rossi curled his lips. "I also can't say I'll refuse the offer either."

"She's with me," Wesley said broodingly. "She works for the family."

"Relax. Have you no humor? I'm only joking," De Rossi laughed. He picked up the only teacup on the table, leaned back, and crossed his legs. "Although, I'm amazed she married Thomas Murphy. Can you believe a dirty chink whore like her marrying the head of the Murphy family?"

His men burst out laughing in synchronicity as if it was rehearsed. I kept a straight face. This sort of thing happened often, and I knew I couldn't act out of line. Never with these people. Wesley, however, wasn't too impressed by what was said.

"Don't," I whispered behind him. "Doesn't worth it."

De Rossi raised his left hand, and the room returned to silence.

"Have you fucked her?" De Rossi took a sip of his tea and looked into Wesley's eyes: "She was good, you know, I would recommend."

The men laughed again. Wesley was silent, though I could tell he was on edge.

"Hyuk," I called him by his name, "let it go. Doesn't worth it."

Wesley shook his head in dismay.

I smiled at him bittersweetly. De Rossi raised his hand. Silence.

"We're here for business," Wesley said surprisingly calmly. "Shall we talk about business now?"

"Then we'll talk about business," De Rossi smacked his lips, put down his cup, and pointed at me: "You there, this is about you."

"And what may that be?" I stepped up. My tone was cold and flaccid while my mind was racing.

"I'll cut to the chase," he pushed up his spectacles again – albeit it hadn't moved an inch since the last time he adjusted them – and leaned forward. "My brother Matteo is dead. And we are here to set it straight."

"I see," I answered.

I needed a smoke.

And I tried to smoke. A cigarette was taken out of its golden case. De Rossi struck a match and extended his hand before I could light it. I sighed, bowed a little, and let him light up my cigarette.

"Yes, as you may expect," he blew out the flame. "I'd like you to handle it for us."

Looking up from his spectacles, he narrowed his eyes. 

"What?" I chuckled nervously.

"Neil Ferguson," De Rossi stated. I was almost sure he winked with one side of his mouth faintly lifted to taunt me. "I want you to take him out for us."

Looking over my shoulder to Wesley, he frowned. Over and over, I had imagined settling the feud with Neil, but not in this way. I should've known the reason De Rossi wanted me here. But I wasn't ready to bring myself to think about it.

"I presume you are aware of my relationship with him," I remained poised. Any trace of anxiousness would make the deal even worse.

"Of course," De Rossi threw his hands. "Which is why I'm choosing you to handle this business for us."

"I'm afraid I'm not the best person for it," I said, maintaining eye contact with him.

"No," he interrupted me and put his right index finger up. "I don't think you're listening. I'm not asking for a favor. I'm administering a request."

"A request?" I asked.

"We've been quite lenient with the Murphys in the motion picture business when we don't have to," De Rossi shrugged with his mouth. "If you want it to stay this way – which I'm sure Thomas would like – then you'll handle Ferguson for me."

"You sent your bother here to get rid of him," I spoke up when I was supposed to keep quiet and agree. "Why wouldn't you deal with him yourself this time?"

De Rossi laughed a high-pitched laugh. His men laughed as well in a synced choreography. Then his laughing stopped abruptly as he leaned forward and tilted his head: "Because you owe me. I know what you did in the Cecil Hotel."

His eyes were piercing, and I had nowhere to hide. I took a drag of the cigarette to buy some time. Eventually, I inhaled deeply and said sternly:

"My apologies, Mr. De Rossi. As much as I'd like to, I don't think I can work this job for you. Please excuse us."

Turning around, I straightened my back and walked to the door. A cold gun barrel touched the back of my neck as my hand touched the doorknob.

Taking another drag, I closed my eyes to gather my racing thoughts and turned around.

"There's no need for this," I said, glancing over Wesley, who shared the same fate. "I really can't kill Neil for you. I can recommend some of my best men for the job if you'd like."

"Would you rather I give him to the Russians?" De Rossi pointed at Wesley. "I'm sure they'd be delighted to have him back after two – or has it been three – years."

I looked over at Wesley. He was in as much shock as I was.

"He's a senior family member," I said as composed as I could. "You wouldn't want to go to war with us, would you?"

"Of course not," De Rossi said jeeringly. "But there'll be no war. You out of everyone should know Thomas values business more than anything."

I knew that very well. Shakily, I puffed the cigarette.

"I understand, Mr. De Rossi," I was deflated and defeated. Clearing my throat, I attempted to fix my broken voice and made my last effort: "Although I have no idea where he is. For all I know, he could've left the county already."

"You don't need to worry about that," he paced toward me. His eyes and mine were on the same level, yet I was tiny. "I'll make sure he stays within the county line. Don't pull any tricks, Annie; you have two weeks."