Connor

 

By eleven o’clock that evening, Farrah and I were waiting outside the Berth. It was a weekday, which meant that the streets were fairly empty, and the building appeared vacant. Minghelli had obviously not found what he was looking for there and had abandoned it.

 

However, he wasn’t a complete idiot, and that was what we were depending on. An armed thug, clearly in his employ, circled around the lot three or four times an hour in a nondescript gray car, perfect for spying. Minghelli obviously suspected that Farrah might choose to come back at some point—an assumption on which our plan depended.

 

Farrah. It was still so strange thinking of her by that name. I glanced over at her, seated beside me at the café across the street from the Berth, her conspicuous hair tucked under a man’s cap. A few of the blonde wisps had escaped, and the sea breeze coming in from the bay caught them and tossed them about her piercing blue eyes. As Princess, she had been sexy. As Farrah, she was beautiful.

 

“All right, guys,” my walkie-talkie buzzed. “I’m in place, awaiting your order.”

 

It was Joey. He was three blocks down the road, right outside a laundromat that we knew was a prop for Minghelli’s mob movements. He had about ten guys with him. On my say so, they would storm the laundromat, creating as much noise and chaos as possible. It was a diversion, to draw the bulk of Minghelli’s men away from the Berth of Venus. It would be dangerous for Joey, but not as dangerous as the mission which awaited Farrah and me.

 

We would be going in alone, presumably to search the house. Outside, five more Devil’s Wings would be waiting in case we needed them, but I suspected that wouldn’t be the case. Tom Minghelli would be so tired of this whole mess that I predicted he would show up himself to end things. I also guessed that he wouldn’t bring a whole army with him. This was a personal matter. I knew how he thought: To him, Farrah was just an out-of-line whore who needed to be put into her place. He wouldn’t want an army to help him with that. He wasn’t afraid of no useless whore.

 

I knew that that was what he would be thinking, because I used to think that way myself. But when I looked at Farrah, wearing a woman’s leather biking outfit with three different knives concealed inside, I knew that Minghelli was stupid not to be afraid.

 

I, for my part, was in awe of her.

 

“You ready, Farrah?” I asked. I wondered if she would be afraid.

 

“Yes,” she said, her voice perfectly clear and steady. “Let’s end this.”

 

I grinned and kissed her.

 

“Okay,” I said. “There’s the tail. We’ve got to make sure we’re seen and then we give Joey the order.”

 

“Right,” she said, and stood up.

 

The gray car pulled around the corner, coming down the street towards us. With her eyes straight ahead, as if she didn’t see it, Farrah marched boldly across the road, right up to the door of the Berth of Venus. There was a lockbox there, and Farrah expertly keyed in the code, making it clear for anyone watching that she was familiar with this place.

 

The watcher saw. I could tell by the way his eyebrows rose over his dark sunglasses. In a flash, he reached down to his belt to grab a cellphone, which he dialed immediately.

 

This was my cue.

 

“All right, Joey. Go!” I hissed into my walkie-talkie.

 

“Roger that,” he said, and then, before he disconnected, I heard his whoop of wild abandon and the sound of his squad charging in.

 

I grinned and switched off the talkie. I didn’t want it going off and alerting someone I was there. Besides, I wouldn’t be any help to Joey anyway. He and the other Devil’s Wings were on their own.

 

Farrah went inside. The watcher pulled away, breaking his loop to either go to Joey’s disturbance or to pick up Minghelli himself. This was my chance to follow Farrah. I knew we didn’t have long before Minghelli arrived.

 

“All right,” I said, joining Farrah in the entrance hall. I took a second to look around and appreciate just how high-class this building was, even with the evidence of the Minghelli’s rough search strewn all around. Venus Michaels had obviously been a sophisticated woman, and it sent a pang through me that the Devil’s Wings hadn’t leapt at the chance to own this place as well.

 

“So, where do you want to do it?” I asked her.

 

“You mean fuck?” she teased, laughing. “Any of the rooms are great, but I’ve always preferred the seashell room.”

 

I scowled. I wanted her to take this seriously. I was about to open my mouth to scold her when I realized that she was taking this seriously—deadly seriously—and that was why she was joking. She used laughter to make herself feel better. Just like Joey did.

 

Feeling fond of her, I approached and gave a waist a squeeze. “For real, Farrah. Which room?”

 

“The Ocean Suite,” she said darkly. “That was where Vanessa was murdered. I want him to feel the chill of it when he dies.”

 

Her voice was venomous, deadly in its power. My God, was she attractive.

 

“All right, Farrah. Lead on.”

 

Taking us through the whorehouse, I was impressed more and more with the size and luxury of the place. I wondered what had happened to all the whores who had worked here before Venus’s death. Probably they’d gone on to lesser houses, missing this great place. They certainly wouldn’t have gone to the Devil’s Wings. By the looks of it, all the good whores of this place would be out of our price range.

 

Besides, we had someone even better: Farrah.

 

Before we could make it to the Ocean Suite, Farrah stopped by a small security room. Much of it was smashed up, either from the searching or the stupid violence of Minghelli’s men. Fortunately, the cameras and the main computer were still working. She switched them on, and soon a number of screens flickered into life, revealing still shots of a number of the whorehouse’s rooms.

 

“This is how I saw him in the first place,” Farrah explained. “It couldn’t hurt to catch him again on camera. I get the vibe that Tom Minghelli doesn’t like to be filmed.”

 

I laughed and stroked a strand of Farrah’s hair. “Good thinking,” I said. “Smart.” It occurred to me how easy it was becoming to think of her as Farrah, this smart, sexy woman who obviously knew her shit. It also occurred to me that, deep down, part of me had always thought of her as Farrah—ever since she’d introduced herself that way that night at the bar.

 

Once the computers were set up, we headed to the Ocean Suite. It was a fine room for the needed activities, with a large, clean, expensive bed, numerous fluffy chairs, and a soft rug.

 

“He killed her there,” said Farrah, pointing. All evidence of it had, of course, been scrubbed away, but I still felt a small chill at the knowledge.

 

All of this over a dead whore, I thought. Who could have imagined?

 

I glanced at Farrah. She was certainly redefining what I thought of as a whore.

 

“Where are you going to hide?” Farrah asked me. We had, of course, discussed options at the clubhouse, but it was always important to reassess once you were actually on the battlefield.

 

It seemed strange that such a luxurious and fluffy room could be called a battlefield, but that was exactly what it was.

 

Even though it was a bedroom, no one actually lived there, so there weren’t any closets or good hidey-holes for me. However, the one window was decorated with a heavy satin curtain—designed, I imagined, to block noise as well as sight—and I decided to slip in behind that. I wanted to be somewhere I could quickly pop out from, in case Farrah needed me.

 

As many aspects as there were to this plan, the fact that it centered on Farah bothered me the most. I knew that she was tough and had faced dangerous situations, but Tom Minghelli was not a man to be taken lightly.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked her for about the hundredth time. “You don’t have to. You, Joey, and I could still try to think of another plan.”

 

“No, Connor,” she insisted. “I’m tired of playing this game. I want to end it. Today.”

 

“All right,” I sighed. Though I was worried, I could not help but admire her. “So where are you going to be?”

 

“Right here,” she said, sitting down on the bed, in plain sight of anyone who came through the door. In a trap, it was important that the bait be visible.

 

During our planning, Farrah had had a brilliant idea to spice things up even more. From a pocket in her jacket, she pulled a small DVD case. The DVD inside it was blank, but she had written in big black letters “MINGHELLI EVIDENCE” across the top. She placed this right on her lap, also clearly visible to anyone walking in.

 

Downstairs, we heard the opening and slamming of a door.

 

Farrah stiffened. “He’s here,” she muttered, taking several deep breaths to relax. I wanted to run over to comfort her, but I, too, needed to stay focused. Instead of rushing to her side, I bolted behind the curtain, pulling it in place so that nothing—not even the steel toes of my boots—could be seen.

 

In silence, Farrah and I waited.

 

It did not take Minghelli long to reach the room. Perhaps he knew that this would be where Farrah would go. Perhaps it was as simple as his guilt leading him here. I wouldn’t know. What was important was the small, silenced pistol in my hand, ready to be drawn in a second.

 

He opened the door. Farrah did not jump, but instead stared calmly right back at him. She held the fake DVD in her lap, for all to see.

 

“Well, well. Farrah Michaels,” he growled.

 

“Tom Minghelli,” she curtly replied.

 

He chuckled. “I knew that dumb whore we interrogated before wasn’t you. How could she have been, being as selfish and empty-headed as she was? Not like you at all, huh, sweetie?”

 

Farrah did not reply. With every word, Minghelli took a small step closer. She did not retreat. She merely tightened her grip on the DVD. Through a small slit in the curtains, I could see her knuckles turning white.

 

“So where are your Devil’s Wings friends? They get bored with you already? Hard to imagine, with a body like that.”

 

I expected Farrah to wince, but she did not. She just returned Minghelli’s steely-eyed glare.

 

“I left their services,” she said coldly. “They asked things of me I could not provide.”

 

“Really?” Minghelli purred. He was practically on top of her now. “Does that mean you wish to provide us with your services?”

 

The angle meant I could not see his eyes, but I could imagine them crawling up and down Farrah’s body. It made me so angry I wanted to burst out from behind the curtain then and there and put a bullet in his head, but I resisted. Farrah and I had agreed that if we could end this without violence, we would. We did not want a blood feud between the Minghellis and the Devil’s Wings.

 

That did not mean I took my hand off my gun.

 

“No,” Farrah stated. “I am here because I want to end things. I’m tired of running, and I’m tired of you chasing me—and all over some dead whore.”

 

“I agree,” said Minghelli. “It would be so much simpler if we could just end things now …”

 

As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and drew out a small gun of his own. I think he had expected Farrah to cry out, or try to hide, but she didn’t. Instead, she slowly and deliberately raised the DVD as if it was a shield.

 

“I wouldn’t be too hasty there,” she declared. “I’ve got information here that might interest you.”

 

Minghelli stared at the DVD, and spat. “That the video of the whore?” He demanded.

 

“You mean Vanessa? Yes, it is.”

 

He leveled the gun at Farrah. “And what’s to stop me from shooting you and just taking it right now?”

 

I tensed, my hand on the trigger, but I forced myself to relax. I was just going to have to trust Farrah. She could do this.

 

“Please,” she chuckled. “You really think that this is the only copy? Come on. The daughter of Sam Michaels is smarter than that.”

 

Minghelli hesitated. I could tell her bluff was getting to him.

 

“So what do you propose?” he growled at last.

 

“I propose we use this to buy each other’s silence,” Farrah explained. “I will not tell anybody about the contents of this video, and in exchange, you will stop hunting me and my friends. And you should know—I’ve sent this video to certain allies of mine. If I, or any of the Devil’s Wings should end up dead, by your hands or for reasons unknown, then they will release its contents to the police. Got it?”

 

This, of course, was a bald-faced lie. Would it work? Would Minghelli buy it?

 

He leaned forward, his jaw inches from her ear. “What if I were to tell you, Farrah Michaels,” he growled, “that I don’t like useless fucking whores telling me what to do? What would you say to that?”

 

Farrah sighed, like a disappointed school teacher. “I would say … that I’m calling the police.”

 

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cellphone. And then, three things happened so quickly they were all a blur.

 

Minghelli pulled the trigger.

 

I burst out from behind the curtain, gun drawn.

 

And, most spectacularly, Farrah rolled to the side and kicked at the gun.

 

She threw herself to her left, out range, and then rocketed her foot upward in a high strike that would have broken a two by four.

 

At least, that’s what I figured. It certainly broke Minghelli’s wrist. The gun went off, the bullet striking uselessly against the far wall while the gun itself was knocked aside, tumbling down to the other side of the bed.

 

“Argh, you bitch!” he roared, springing towards her again, this time with just his hands. That was when he saw me out of the corner of his eye and whirled.

 

“The fuck—” he started, freezing as he noticed the barrel of my gun leveled at his forehead. “Who the fuck are you?” He demanded.

 

“I’m here to make sure you listen to what that ‘useless fucking whore’ tells you. Now, we’ll only say this one more time. We can end this nonviolently, with a mutual agreement, or we can end it with your brains splattered all over that bed there’s fancy sheets. Which would be a shame. They’re definitely quality.”

 

Minghelli hesitated. His eyes, though glistening with pain, were alert and cunning. I imagined I could see the thoughts churning through his mind, wondering if he could take me, and what other tricks Farrah was hiding. He certainly hadn’t expected her to break his wrist.

 

“All right,” he said, dropping his gaze in defeat. “I’ll cooperate.”

 

“Good,” I said, lowering my gun. “So we’re in agreement, then. You’ll leave Farrah and her friends alone, and we’ll—”

 

“Argh!” He lunged suddenly, taking me by surprise. I felt his shoulder hit my gut and his hand knock my gun aside. My teeth bared in a savage growl, I hammered at him, slamming his kidney and the back of his head, but he wasn’t letting go.

 

I glanced left. There was my gun, halfway under the bed and firmly out of reach.

 

Good, I thought. It’s better this way. I’d always rather a fist fight.

 

Seeing how firm his grip was around my waist, I decided it was time to go to the floor. I grabbed him round the hips, squeezed until I shattered his balance, and then we both went down, with me on the top. I lifted my knee up just in time, driving it into his gut upon impact. He grunted in pain, then rolled, trying to get away from me.

 

My first punch landed on his ear.

 

“Fuck!” he cried, in surprise and agony.

 

My second punch clocked his jaw. I swore I heard a muffled crunch that said a tooth was broken. But he wasn’t finished yet. He hadn’t gotten to be the head honcho of the Minghelli clan by being weak.

 

He grabbed my elbows, pinning my arms in place so I could no longer punch him, and then rolled, taking me with him.

 

“Yes!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help it. This was going to be a good fight! Two evenly matched men, battling it out with strength and courage!

 

That was when he reached down to his waist and pressed a button.

 

“Argh!” I gasped as terrible pain shot through me, paralyzing me in place. A Taser! Fixed to his waist! As I struggled to move and regain control over my body, I was not thinking about the pain or how this left him free to punch me. All I could think of was:

 

He cheated.

 

“You coward!” I bellowed. “You cheating, spineless, coward!”

 

He smiled and rose to his feet.

 

“You idiot,” he said. “There’s no honor in fist-fighting. It’s just kill or be killed, simple as that. Speaking of which …”

 

He reached down and plucked my gun up from the floor, for his was too far away. He leveled it at my face, his finger on the trigger.

 

“Goodbye, Devil’s Wing,” he sneered.

 

But the command to fire never made it from his brain to his fingers. For just as he was about to pull, a silver blade, grasped in a pretty little hand, flew round his neck and lodged itself firmly in his throat.

 

He gagged, a look of surprise over taking his eyes. His hand spasmed, and the gun fell harmlessly to the floor, where I quickly scooped it up. Minghelli turned to see who had done this, and saw Farrah standing there, a wide grin on her beautiful face.

 

“You …” He gurgled.

 

“Me,” she said, and it was the last thing he would ever hear, for the next moment he tumbled to the ground, dead in a pool of blood.

 

Farrah and I glanced at each other, shocked by the dead man at our feet.

 

Just then, my cell phone rang.

 

In a daze, I clicked it open, holding it up so both Farrah and I could hear.

 

“Connor!” It was Joey’s voice, urgent and frantic. “I’m sorry! I know I wasn’t supposed to call, but this is an emergency! Calvin Minghelli sensed a trap, and now he’s on his way over to the Berth right now!”

 

“Shit,” I muttered back. “Thank you.” And then I hung up.

 

I looked to Farrah. There was a very dead, very bloody corpse right in front of us, and we needed to figure out what to do.

 

“Do we … try to hide him?” Farrah asked. Though her voice was steady, I could tell she was shaken by the act of killing a man. It was always hard the first time.

 

I would know.

 

“No, that would be impossible. But I think there might be a way to convince Calvin to step down. Hand me the DVD.”

 

She obeyed, and then I ordered her to sit beside me on the bed, right out in the open. After several minutes, we heard the entrance to the Berth bursting open, and the sound of a very angry man searching room to room. He didn’t know there was anything special about the Ocean Suite, so it took a while for him to get there. In the meantime, Farrah and I waited in silence, preparing.

 

At long last, he arrived, stepped inside, and froze in horror.

 

It took several seconds for him to take it all in. Me, with a shimmering DVD in my hand. Farrah, looking cool and collected as ever, and the body of Tom Minghelli, the blood only just beginning to dry on the floor.

 

“What the …” he stammered, and then began reaching for his gun.

 

“Uh-uh,” I said, raising my own pistol. “You keep your hand off that holster or I shoot.”

 

A vein in his temple throbbed. I could tell he was so angry he was considering reaching for it anyway. But at last, he said, “Did you … did you do this?”

 

He nodded towards to body on the floor.

 

“Actually, I did not,” I said, rising to my feet. “She did.”

 

As one, Calvin and I looked at Farrah. I could see the stricken look in her eyes as she thought, Why is he selling me out? But I ignored it. I had a plan now.

 

“She …” He gasped in disbelief. “She … that little whore … why?”

 

“Because Minghelli wanted this,” I said, holding up the DVD. Calvin’s eyes centered upon it, and I saw beads of sweat forming on his brow. He was frozen, torn by a lust for vengeance and my obvious advantage in the situation. Wide eyes—both Farrah’s and Calvin’s—focused on me, waiting for me to act.

 

I lifted the DVD up, high above my head, and then slammed it to the ground, where it cracked in half. For good measure, I drove my heel on top of it, twisting until it was nothing but silvery shards and dust.

 

“Wha …” Mumbled Calvin.

 

“Tom Minghelli was an honorable man,” I said, walking about the room as if I was giving a lecture. “He was a good mobster, a good brother, and a good friend to those he accepted.”

 

Calvin nodded, mute and bewildered.

 

I continued, “It would be an awful shame for people to find out he was killed by a useless whore, wouldn’t it?”

 

Calving found his words. “How would you … prove it?”

 

I chuckled. “Oh, the whole scene was recorded. Extra copies are being sent out right now.”

 

Calvin blanched. He probably didn’t even know what the DVD had contained, and yet he was far more worried about people knowing that his brother had been killed by a skinny little blonde girl. That was how criminal pride worked.

 

I could tell I was reaching the end of his patience and his capacity to think. Even though he was clearly outmaneuvered, his hand once again went for his gun.

 

“Hold on there, Calvin,” I said. “I have a proposition. As you can see, I have just destroyed the DVD your brother wanted. That conflict is over. The only issue here is how your brother died, so I offer this: In exchange for letting this go, and for the Minghellis leaving us alone, I vow here and now to tell everyone that Tom died like a worthy mobster, in a knifefight with a Devil’s Wing. That way, he can be remembered as strong and proud as he always was. Would that be acceptable?”

 

Calvin stared. “The Minghellis … forget all this, and you … killed him?”

 

“Yes. There is no need for anyone to know about her.”

 

Calvin looked to Farrah, who looked cold and composed and yet tiny and feminine nonetheless.

 

I tensed. My whole plan came down to this: which was stronger, Calvin’s anger or his pride? The two are so closely connected, and yet …

 

He hand moved away from the holster, and rested at his side.

 

“It is done,” he growled. “But I don’t want to see you … or that bitch … ever again. You got it?”

 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Minghelli,” I said, nice as pie. “You got it.”