Page 123 of Brian and Mina's Holiday Hits
He’s awfully talkative for a corpse. The authorities condemnedBenjamin Barker’s Costuming Companyafter the fire on Christmas Eve. They locked up the building and just left everything there. The firetrucks must have arrived quickly that night because most of the front room had only water damage. So we ransacked it for some stage blood and makeup to make his chest look like a gaping wound.
“They aren’t going to believe this,” I say, snapping photos even as I complain. I mean it looks good and all—like Hollywood movie level good—we watched several video tutorials. But still.
“Dante is dead. He had an ego the size of a Mack truck, so he surrounded himself with idiots. They’ll buy anything. We just need the contract as dead as he is so we can get on with our lives.”
I sigh and take a few more photos.
“They’re just going to think you faked your own death.”
“You overestimate the thinking power of the goons that worked for Dante—even at administrative level jobs like this. Everybody hated Valentino, and I’d bet they just want out of this whole thing. Nobody wants to still be working for this asshole even after he’s dead. His entire syndicate has scattered and are busy building their own criminal empires. They’re all going to be too busy jockeying for power and who gets to sit on the iron throne to think about me.”
It turned out that Dante didn’t just hire a team to take Brian out, he hired the whole underworld—the entire network of sundry killers and opportunists. I mean, not like in thewholeworld, or anything, just “our underworld”. This networkdoesextend outside our own city, but it’s not as though every contract killer in the world is in the same club and knows all the same people.
But it was an open contract, and with the money in escrow, the only thing that had to happen was the terms had to be fulfilled… by anyone. So we’re fulfilling them.
Once Brian approves the photos, I send them over the dark web to whoever was put in charge of handling this whole sordid affair. The reply is surprisingly quick. And just like that, a new ten million dollars is being wired to one of Brian’s offshore accounts.
No wonder people were willing to risk it all to come after him. That’s the highest contract I’ve even heard of.
“Well, that was easy,” I say, still not trusting it.
We get rid of the body of the poor random thug we used for a heart, and go back to the house. Everyone just stares at Brian’s fake gaping chest wound.
Gabe looks the most concerned of anyone at the house, followed by Julie—but she’s the sweet type who cares about everything from small puppies to wolverines.
“You okay?” Gabe asks, sounding actually concerned. I told you there was a whole bromance thing going on there.
“It’s just makeup,” I say to the assembled house residents.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Lindsay says.
“Oh really, Doc? You think you can run this house without me? I’m calling your bluff. Mina and I are going on vacation, effective now. We’ll be gone for six months, so if you need me, you can fuck right off and take out your own trash.”
Now, I’m gaping at Brian. He doesn’t do vacations. I mean, I knew we were going to have to lay low for awhile until word spread through the underworld that the contract was dead but Brian hasnevertaken a vacation in the entire time he’s been a partner at this house.
“Y-You can’t do that,” Lindsay splutters. “You can’t be gone that long.”
Brian raises a brow. “With all the years I’ve been here, I’ve got vacation time built up. Everyone at this house but me has taken a vacation. So good luck to you.”
“But, how can we reach you if there’s an emergency?”
“Guess you’ll have to sit with the reality of my untimely death, Doc. I’m not going to be reachable. So you better hope there isn’t an emergency.”
We pack our bags and charter a private plane to an undisclosed island where we stay in the best available suite in a five star luxury resort. We drink Mai Tais and lie on the beach and fuck in the ocean and dance under the stars and enjoy the night life for six amazing months.
Like a normal couple.
Okay, maybe normal couples don’t get to fuck off to some tropical island luxury vacation for half a year, but my logic is sound.
We’re lying on the beach at the end of our trip when I finally ask him the question that’s been tumbling around in my brain for weeks now. “So, is Brian Sloan really dead?”
He laughs. “The world wishes.”
“Are you going to use a different name at least?”
“Absolutely not. I spent way too much time building the Sloan reputation to throw all that away now.”
“But… the contract…” In my mind, if one person put out a huge hit on Brian, anyone could.
