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shopping soon. I always bring food with me for my visit. Then I lock the door and stay in the room for three days. They leave me alone; no maid service, no calls, no nothing. When I come back to my senses I clean up the mess, or pay for anything I've damaged. It's worked well so far because I've never told anyone I go there.
    Except now I was bringing this client to my hideout. Go figure. Weirder still was that I was glad that the room could be ready.
    I heard her swallow and noticed the nervous tapping of her fingers on the wheel. She was shifting back and forth in her seat restlessly.
    "So, how did you get my number?"
    She relaxed back into her seat. The tension drained from her like air from a balloon. She smelled of gratitude. Warm and slightly musty like air from a dryer's vent. "You would not believe how difficult it is to find someone in your profession."
    I said nothing. It's not supposed to be easy. That's how we stay out of jail.
    "I mean, it's not like you can just look in the phone book." She put her hands on top of the steering wheel, resting her wrists on it and pretended to be flipping pages. "Let's see, here we go, assassins. See hired killers" Amusement edged her voice.
    I chuckled. So much for my fear she'd get maudlin.
    "I remembered reading a few years ago in that magazine from Colorado… oh, you know the one. I can't remember the name."
    "I know it," I responded, "Go on."
    "Well, I remember they got into real trouble because they were running ads for mercenaries."
    I nodded. "I read about that. The people who put in the advertisements weren't real bright, either."
    "Well, I hoped that maybe even though they got busted they might still be doing it."
    I raised my eyebrows. "And were they?"
    "Sort of," she conceded. "There weren't any actual ads but when I called the magazine and talked to the classified department the clerk had a list of people who couldn't put ads in."
    A back door approach. I like it. I grinned.
    "It must have been a private list. He started to tell me but I guess his boss came in 'cause he hung up. I tried to call back later but he wouldn't take my call."
    "So what did you do?"
    "I went to the library and looked up some back issues. The ones that did have the ads in them."
    "Attagirl."
    She blushed and smiled. She was bright. It won her a few more points. It almost made up for the '60s spy movie get-up. Smart, with black humor. And hey, she wasn't bad-looking. I looked her up and down. Decent figure, great hair under the wig, nice smile. Not bad at all. Yeah, I could do her. Happily, if that little taste earlier was accurate. She glanced at me and must've seen something of what I was thinking. Her eyes widened and her head snapped forward again. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. I smelled the sharpness of her sudden fear and the musky heat of desire.
    "So, anyway," Her voice, now, was just a little shaky, "I called two of the numbers I found but they were both on 'extended leave of absence'. I presumed that meant they were in jail."
    "Or on the run."
    "Either or," she agreed. "But one woman gave me a number of someone that she said was good. That her 'man', as she phrased it, respected."
    "And that's how you called me?"
    She shook her head. "No. I got the number of another person. That was the weirdest meeting I've ever had in my life." She shivered. "I got a message to meet him at this little video arcade that has a lunchroom. I sat down at the table that I was told to, and up comes this kid wearing baggy blue jeans and a striped T-shirt. Dark blonde hair cut long on the front so it covered his eyes and shaved in the back. You know, typical teenager."
    Ah. Him. I nodded, unable to suppress a smile.
    "Anyway, I figured that the kid was going to try to sponge money. So I ignored him, hoping he'd go away. I mean," she looked at me somewhat pathetically, "I was supposed to meet someone."
    "Not realizing that he was who you were coming to meet?"
    She looked at me, shocked. "You