Three days after I had agreed to assassinate Doctor Whitson, Burt had this pale raisin of a facial expression when I requested clearance to Greco Technologies, under the name of Dr. Victor Finch. He's become restless and anxious. Even though Burt has remained silent about things, I know there’s a royal event that I must attend.
I stand in fighter stance, while dressed-down in sweats and an A-Shirt. I pummel a punching bag in the gym at Bulgari and listen as Burt runs off my entire weekly schedule. He stops when I don't reply. “Okay, I’ll get the clearance to Greco.”
Though his final agreement is a setup, I thank him, and then proceed to give the bag a roundhouse kick that sends the ceiling chain clanking.
“However, you aren’t allowing a level of disconnect.” Burt finishes.
I wipe the sweat from my face and continue, even though that statement upsets me. Burt hates my father. But to use that concept of disconnection while hunting, that was one of my father’s morsels of wisdom with regard to a kill.
My strict upbringing dictates that Arlington, England must be my next step. As a royal duke that overseers an area almost as large as Queens, I know that getting back to Arlington is of the utmost importance. Mother almost had a heart attack when I forwent The Queen’s birthday. Come to think of it, I had missed more than my fair share of Garden parties at Buckingham Palace. However, a prestigious education and the standard of royal ties will never compare to the thrill of the kill. At this moment, the kill might be delayed. For the first time ever, something else has piqued my interest. A petite female.
“May I ask a question?” Burt asks, knowing that I’m unyielding to his previous requests.
“Shoot,” I answer, continuing to jab, jab, uppercut, straight right.
“If I’m to provide you with said alias, then I’m to assume your enjoyment of murder at a distance will not do in this situation.” Burt pauses. He takes a deep breath, and then asks, “I won’t remind you of your pending and very important engagement in Arlington, but I do think that I deserve to continue…”
I provide the bag with a hard left hook. It shakes profusely. Like always I will disregard how Burt tries to bring in my business dealings in England into the fold of our conversations. I square my shoulders and take to jabbing the bag even harder. My adrenaline is surging, blood is pumping and I become drenched in sweat. I always stay on point, mentally and physically, but that doesn’t stop Burt from his constant prodding.
“Why is Whitson still breathing, pray tell? And does it involve a young lady?” He taps his fingers on the buttons of the uniform he’s worn every day. “Oh, I’m sure you would want to know–since yesterday you began to ask such preposterous questions, regarding an imaginary Dr. Finch, someone has looked you up, Dr. Finch.”
I smile on key. The beautiful Luxury has checked into my name. Lux Whitson is interested in me. “Yes Burt, I’m sure it was the most beautiful woman in the world.”
He grumbles as usual. And then with more poise and the understanding that he works for loyalty, Burt the Butler says, “What happened to Middle Eastern women being the most beautiful, exotic women in the world? I distinctively recall you saying that not two weeks ago.”
I take the thick Ralph Lauren towel from him, wipe my forehead and shrug. “When in India, yes. When in France, nothing can compare to a gorgeous Parisian telling me exactly what she would like to do to me. Now that I’m in America, the current situation is a beautiful young woman.”
“Luxury Whitson?” he murmurs.
“Burt you dirty dog, you deprived me of Miss Lux’s information?” I ask, going back to the punching bag.
“I am not a dirty dog, and not technically. I removed her portions of the profile in X-Member, believing that this anonymous person is entirely too desperate. He’s given locations from where the Doctor buys coffee–one creamer two sugars–down to the entire daily scheme of things with regards to Whitson. I wouldn’t have you murder the man in front of his offspring.”
I pause from pummeling the bag again, to give a sardonic look. Yeah, right. There isn’t a question of me murdering Whitson in front of Luxury. I’m too much of a pro at this. I take delight in the most peculiar of opportunities. Burt wants to make sure I keep my eyes on the ball. My focus should be on killing Whitson, anywhere but in the proximity of Luxury. As soon as she had shoved all that hair from her face, and I actually took notice of her shapely figure, my dick hardened. She became a must.
“I’ll disregard the fact that you selfishly didn’t want me to enjoy Lux. Now, concerning her father, it would seem the requestor of Whitson’s death has dotted all of his I’s and crossed all of his T’s. I practically read a thesis on why the old man should die.”
I rub my chin. Whitson hadn’t appeared to be a thief of some other psychotic scientist’s invention. As I allow him to ramble on, it became evident that Whitson was the mastermind of the pending technological cardiovascular program that he was accused of stealing. Lux had stared me up and down while I stood there listening to her father's ramblings. I kept my anger at bay while reasoning that a cheap–$500k–mark had been made to benefit someone anonymous. Or am I to assume that whoever initiated the request for Whitson’s death knew of his invention and wanted to stake claim. That would all have to wait because there’s nothing stopping me from having the little woman.
“Honestly Victor, she is a very beautiful girl.”
“Precisely! I thought she was child when I saved her from a bike.” I reminisce. “Burt the Butler, you can’t imagine how beautiful and tiny she is. If I could put her in my pocket, and just pull her out whenever I–”
“Shall I remind you that I am not to be called BURT THE BUTLER? And save her?” he scoffs. “Now operating under the guise that the minx has imprinted on you?”
Burt’s bashing of my character warrants a hearty laugh and nothing else.
After a quick shower, I dress in a black suit and shiny black Tom Fords. I step out the bedroom and into the living room.
Burt has his back to me, his nose in a newspaper, Burt says, “Your destination, I could only presume, is The Urban Gardens?”
“Burt, shame on you. I won’t even ask if there was a photo of Lux in the requestor’s file.”
“Luxury Nicole Whitson,” he mentions her entire name. The formalities of it all are beneath me, because I plan to know each and every inch of her body. Soon...
There are cars honking, kids screaming, and bicyclists zipping by. And that's just the tip of the iceberg in Harlem. If my mother knew I got on the train to this place, she’d have a stroke. So, luckily, Burt is on an unrequested “vacation” at the Bulgari as I make my way past 133rd street, looking for The Urban Gardens. Brownstones come and go. I almost go past the little shop while watching kids chalk the sidewalk.
A trio is close to the curb singing an old R&B tune that had exploded on the charts in England about 20 years ago. I pull out a crisp bill and allow it to fall into their guitar case. I'm feeling lucky today. Ready to see my tiny charm.
Then my senses pique. Within all the chaos of this active city, I feel a set of eyes on me. While walking down the street, I pretend to stop at a hot dog vendor, get in the line, and slowly take in my surroundings. I see a man, black as night, standing in the alley across the street. He's dressed in army fatigues and a crumply shirt. He has on mirrored sunglasses meant to intimidate.
I know this Brazilian hitman. I sigh and decide that Lux will have to wait a few more minutes. I head in his direction, weaving past slow moving cars, and then proceed through an alleyway. Should have known this guy was also offered Whitson’s hit.
As an added “benefit”, when one or more persons have been given a prime mark, they get the chance to take out one another first. But X-Member requires that we utilize the same strategies of murder during the showdown. Yup, it’s nothing but a western movie, where the cowboys walk 100 feet in one direction and whoever draws first is king.
Right now, with the Brazilian, the art of Jujitsu will be our tactic. I’ve learned the ground-fighting skills that will force this assassin to stay on his toes, even though this is his specialty and marksmanship is mine.
“It’s just me and you, Vic,” he says in a hard tone, though I’m not even fazed by all the jagged scars on his arms and legs. He back flip and bounces off of a dumpster in one quick, agile movement.
“Okay,” I sigh.
The Brazilian begins kicking out at me, but I pull my silencer out and shoot him straight in his chest. Since he’s mid-air, his body slams back into the ground. He’s in shock as death claims him.
“My apologies,” I offer as his eyelids lower. But I won’t be scuffling with anyone because I have a date to attend to. I slip on my leather gloves, drag his body between two dumpsters and amble out of the alley.
It takes a few minutes to get back over to Urban Gardens. I breathe easy, knowing that the only other contender for Whitson’s death is dead. So, I won’t have to worry about any prospects for a few more days, when the requestor grows weary of waiting.
A dark-skinned woman with braids pauses to glance at me. A smile appears, as she looks me up and down. “How can I help you?”
I smile back, knowing she plans to make good on the request. Then my eyes lock onto my new prey.
“Victor…” Lux’s small, silky voice fills the shop before she steps out. I mentally deny the desire to fuck her right on the spot, as she comes out dressed in a peach maxi dress. The clothing brings out the cinnamon of her beautiful freckles, and those golden flecks in her eyes. I’ve been dreaming about her features ever since we met. “How did you know I worked here?”
“You ranted about a florist shop in Harlem when you refused my getting you fresh roses, so I searched the few in this area.” I lie, even though Burt had finally provided her information. I bypass the argument and refocus on the reason behind my visit. “Luxury, I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”
“No,” she quickly replies with a slight connotation of nervousness. She comes up with, “I uhhh ... watch reruns of Different Strokes with Dad every Thursday night.”
Lux’s coworker clears her throat.
“Aliyah,” Lux turns around with an embarrassed, dimpled smile. All the while, her glance is threatening.
“Victor to be 100 with you, I have the feeling that we wouldn’t even mesh well,” Luxury looks me up and down and doesn't even notice how she licks those sexy lips of hers. “Furthermore, I don't drink, but would rather consume an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol and chase it down with bullets than be told what to do, which I can only assume is your type.”
I listen patiently, amused by Lux's assessment and loving her reference to bullets.
“You haven't even really asked me out on a date,” Lux continues to talk, seemingly more confident by the second. Then she laughs, the tone of her voice is shaky, as she waits for me to ask her out. Too bad. She would be waiting forever.
Her lanky friend gives a careless smirk and replies, “Tomorrow, Lux is free tomorrow night.”
I reply, “Great, I’ll have a driver pick you up at 7 tomorrow evening.”
“Aliyah, bye!” Lux shouts.
“Bye, booboo!” Aliyah says, rolling her neck. “Stop talking that man's head off and awaken your mentality.” Aliyah glares down at my trousers before stalking away.
“Disregard my crazy friend, and what do you mean by 7? Did I say yes?” Luxury places her hands on the type of hips that are slick to the grip. “Dr. Finch, maybe you should go back to elementary school where grammar dictated a question from a statement… Hey stop that–!”
“Stop what?” I cut in, knowing exactly what she means. Luxury is rattled by the way that I stare at her. I give a cocky smile and add, “Now, before you continue Lux, take note I’ve just provided you with a question.”
“Ha. You can ask a question when you want, I’m sure.” Lux smirks, “But stop staring at me like it's as if you want to kill me or eat me or…?”
“Fuck you?”
“Oh, never mind. The more I speak to you the more…” Lux clamps her mouth shut, and it’s evident that she didn’t mean to divulge this information.
“What’s your phone number?” I ask, even though I already have that information.
“Why?”
“So the driver can inform you if there are any issues with traffic,” I state as a matter of fact, bemused by our disconnected dialogue.
“I didn’t say yes…” she scoffs as her friend walks by to greet a new walk-in and clears her throat. Lux rolls her eyes in response, then those amber marbles land on me, “okay. You've got so many more degrees than I do, but somehow you lack simple communication skills. Where,” she sighs. “Where would you like to meet?”
“Bulgari.” I provide a slight smile.
“No.” Luxury chuckles, now more embarrassed. My glare makes her add, “Isn’t that a hotel?”