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author's note: this is a rewrite of something I posted a while back. it's the same plot, but hopefully better written. reviews are deeply appreciated!
It had been years since Alexander French had stepped foot inside the restaurant, which bore the homely title "Joe's Place". Though the man would have to admit to being thirty-seven if he were being honest, he looked more like a fresh-faced twenty-year-old. Standing a mere inch above six feet, Alex was tall and thin with an air of importance and impertinence about him often said to have been earned; and yet, he'd never done a thing in his life to warrant it. His reddish-brown hair was far too long, the ringlets cascading down nicely tanned flesh, and curling inwards around his dented chin. He had deep chocolate brown eyes, and had long ago mastered the technique of using them properly in a puppy dog pout. Never one to fail to take advantage of natural assets, Alex was aware of his physical traits and not above using them.
Unfortunately, they would have no affect on the woman he had come here to see.
He strode with purpose across the tiled floor, stopping next to the booth where his older sister sat. She lifted her eyes, nearly identical to his in color and size, and smirked a little. "You remembered where the old place was."
Celine French was not beautiful. She was tall and shapely, with deep chocolate brown eyes that could be considered assets; but her jet black hair was an untamed mess most of the time, now cut short so that it barely even reached her chin. Her nose had once been a petite thing, but it had been broken when she'd been a child, no more than ten; and ever since then, it had been badly disjointed. She had never learned how to apply make-up properly, in Alex's opinion. Either that or she simply didn't care if people thought of her as a slut --- which, to be completely honest, was exactly what she was.
"Like I could forget." Alex responded, slipping into the seat across from her. He wasn't at all surprised to see that old Joe, the owner of the little restaurant, was asleep in a nearby chair, a broom propped up against the counter. At seventy-five, the old man shouldn't be running this place anymore.
"It's been a long time." Celine responded calmly.
"Not that long." Alex leaned forward a little, pressing his thin lips together. "What do you want, Celine?"
"Now is that any way to speak to your big sister?" Celine wondered, scanning him up in down in unabashed interest. Alex drew back a little, leaning against the back of the booth. He would have taken in her appearance, too, noting changes and differences; but nothing ever seemed to change about Celine. She still wore too much make-up and a low-cut dress that exposed more than a little bit of cleavage.
"Do you need money?" He asked after a quiet moment.
"Alex." Celine said patiently. "When was the last time I took money from you?"
"Oh, I forgot." Alex's tone was biting, and he didn't care. "You'd much rather be a whore."
Something akin to hurt sprang to Celine's face momentarily, but she quickly covered it with a hoarse, humorless laugh. Her voice was always hoarse, thanks to the many years of cigarette smoke filling her lungs. Even now, she reached into the purse at her side and dug out a cigarette and her lighter, hanging it from her mouth, lighting it, and drawing in a long breath before blowing the smoke out of her mouth. She didn't bother to ask her little brother if he wanted one; she knew what his answer was.
"Now, Alexander," Celine said, shaking the hand with the cigarette in his direction. "That's not very nice."
"It's true, though." Alex said bluntly, looking with distaste at her long, slender fingers. The nails were painted bright red, and rather sloppily, in his opinion.
"At least I actually give people what I promise them." Celine replied in equal bluntness.
While the words they'd exchanged were decidedly stinging, neither of them had expected any less. Neither of them were particularly fond of what the other did for a living, and not a meeting passed where one or the other expressed their distaste for career decisions. If, indeed, what the pair of them did for livings could be called "careers".
Alex tapped his fingers on the spotless table impatiently, his eyes roaming away from his sister and towards the window. "What do you want, Celine?"
"It's not that I want something, Alex." Celine responded, her voice dropping lower now. She leaned forward slightly. Alex snapped his eyes back towards her, taking in her expression. There was something dangerous in the way her eyes leered at him, and he didn't like it.
He pushed back a little, so that his back was flat against the vinyl on the back of the seat. "Have you been drinking?"
She laughed humorlessly and pulled back. "You used to be more fun, Alex."
"I'm your brother, Celine." He reminded her with a tight smile. Then, forcibly, he asked, "What do you want?"
"I came here to warn you." Celine finally dispersed with all the nonsense, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray at the end of the table. "They're coming for us, Alex."
Alex was justly surprised. Now he was certain she'd been drinking. "What are you talking about?"
She met his eyes evenly, her eyes clear and deadly certain. "You know what I'm talking about, Alex."
Cold dread ran through him. "No."
"We crossed a line." Celine continued, looking rather indifferent in spite of the graveness of what she was telling him. "I told you at the time that there was something about that man that unnerved me."
"Our covers were deep, Celine." Alex countered. "There's no way he could have..."
"But he did, Alex." Celine responded when he trailed off.
The two of them sat there in silence for a long minute, each reflecting on the situation in silence.
"Give me an hour, and I'll get us out of here." Alex finally said, drawing in a deep breath. "You've always wanted to go to England, right?"
"No, Alex." Celine's painted red lips twisted into a humorless smile, tight and small. "I'm not running."
"He'll kill you." Alex replied, his eyes widened in disbelief.
"I knew one of your crazy schemes would be the death of me someday." Celine replied with a light shrug.
"You don't know what you're saying, Celine." Alex knew he sounded desperate, and that was because even inch of him was. "You don't want to do this."
"I only came here to warn you, Alex. I'm not asking you to save me." Celine was already gathering her belongings, her tone one of finality. "We both screw up lives so that we can live ours. What part of you believed that would never come back to haunt us?"
"Celine---"
Celine held up her hand to stop him, pushing herself out of the booth. Her heels clicked on the floor as she drew her cheap fur coat over her shoulders, adjusting the handbag at her side. "Good luck."
Alex couldn't believe she was really thinking about walking straight into the face of death it's self. "Don't be an idiot, Celine. I can fix this. Let me."
Celine paused next to him for a minute, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good-bye, Alex."
And then, she was gone.
O'Reilly's Grill and Bar
New York City, U.S.A.
April 16th, 2008
3:31 AM
If Gregory Bliss was going to make business cards and advertise his service, they might say "assassin". Or "mercenary". He supposed, given the right incentive, he might even be tempted to put the word "murderer" on his card.
But he preferred the term "cleaner".
That's what he did, basically. He cleaned up messes. Messes made by other people.
Rich people, mostly. It had been said once that the love of money was the root of all evil. A lot of people got that confused, but Bliss hardly ever did. The love of money. The fact that so many rich, fat people who sat in their castles and looked down at their "peasants" snootily, loved their money...
That was what made his services so desirable.
Now, as he sloshed bourbon around in his cup, he reassured himself that he didn't love money. Because he didn't. Sure, he took it; securing the services of the infamous Gregory Bliss could not simply come cheaply. But the money was not what he treasured. In fact, he could care less about the money. It was convenient, certainly; but Bliss had survived long enough in the world without it to know he didn't need it.
His appearance would never lead anyone to believe he had money. He was a thick-bodied man; not fat, but thick, covered in muscle. He'd recently shaved his head bald, but he kept a finely trimmed and combed mustache. Black, as his hair had once been. And not just some random shade of brown, either. Black. He was tall, stretching to 6'3. He had one tattoo on his arm; it said, "Danielle".
No one ever asked him who Danielle was.
Now, he lifted his dark green eyes and peered at the man across from him. As sniveling as they came. Not shy or unnerved, like a lot of men who came to Bliss for his services. This nameless, almost faceless man had done what many of Bliss's clients had not; he'd actually managed to cover his tracks. That was to say, Bliss couldn't simply type in a name into his Google search engine and come back with details back to the cradle. If Gregory Bliss cared who he was working for, he could find out.
He didn't care.
"The deed is done?" The man's voice was low. Inconspicuous.
Bliss took a swig of his bourbon. "That you have to ask is an insult to my skills, boss."
He said "boss" more like he would normally say a cuss word than as a title of respect.
"No evidence?"
"If there's evidence, it would lead to me." Bliss lied. There was no evidence, of course; but if there were, it would definitely not lead to him.
"You did it the way I told you?" The man insisted nonetheless, leaning forward. "Exactly the way I told you?"
Bliss gave a one-armed shrug. "Be cheaper if you didn't insist on every detail being followed."
"Tough." The man growled.
Bliss put his shot glass down with a thunk! "You paid me to follow the instructions, right?"
The man didn't look at all content, but he leaned back. Bliss analyzed him in spite of himself. Thin. Mid-forties. Probably born to wealth; the man looked like he hadn't worked a day in his life. And his hands were soft. Sure sign of a patsy.
"Your job isn't done." His employer reminded him.
"All I need is a name." Bliss told him firmly.
"I don't know what name she goes by now, but it was Riley Addams when I knew her." The man responded.
Gregory Bliss narrowed his eyes. It hadn't been easy to find this Celine French, nor to track down her real name. There were other names. Other bodies.
He didn't like working multiple times for the same employer.
But maybe, he reflected, he did love money.
Because the price his latest client was offering was too much to resist.
"Details?"
"Many of them."
Bliss didn't miss the dangerous glint in the other's blue eyes... and, if he were being honest, it unnerved him.
Just a little.
Alexander French, the only man who could give the police her real name, was already gone.
