AVERY
“Are you seriously telling me that they gave the contract to the Brewster brothers?” I sigh and lean back in my desk chair.
“You’re not in the game anymore, remember?” Elliot chides.
“I’m not, but I can’t believe anyone would give those bumbling fools a contract, much less one that requires precision. If they manage to kill this senator without getting caught or leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to themselves, I’ll be shocked.”
“Remember that congressman you offed?” he asks.
“Which one?” I snort.
“The one with the mistress who looked like Dolly Parton.”
“Oh, yeah. The one from Tennessee. He was a real asshole. Thumping his Bible on TV and beating up his mistress in private. Killing him was easy.” I sigh. “But those days are gone.”
“You chose this, remember?”
“I did.” I retired young, mainly because people in my line of work rarely make it to true retirement age. “What are you up to besides giving me bad news?”
“Job in Vienna. Nothing flashy. Stealing some art. Pretty run of the mill.”
My ears perk up. “Anything I might be interested in?”
He laughs. “Doubtful. Besides, don’t you have enough priceless shit in that mansion of yours?”
“Never.” I drum my fingers on the desk. “Tell me if you get anything particularly rare. I can pay top dollar.”
“I know, but I don’t want to see you on an episode of Filthy Rich Hoarders anytime soon, so I think I’ll keep my spoils to myself. Besides, I’ve already got a hefty payday coming if I can lift this stuff and get it out of the country.”
“You will.” I try not to sound jealous, but fuck, I miss work. When I was in it, I couldn’t wait to get out of it. But now … Now I wander the halls of my home, inspect my holdings, and simply exist. I don’t engage in shootouts, don’t steal masterpieces, don’t torture rivals for fun, don’t do anything except maintain my empire of rare and valuable things.
Heirloom rubs against my leg, bringing me back to the now. I pick him up and set him on the desk, his big blue eyes peering at me.
“All right, I’m going to get to work,” Elliot says.
“Call me if you need me.”
We hang up, and I scratch Heirloom under his chin. He purrs and butts his head against mine, the diamonds on his collar sparkling with each movement.
“Do you have any idea how spoiled you are?” I ask him.
He rubs his cheek against me.
“You do, don’t you?” I smile. No point taking my frustration out on him. He’s by far my favorite possession, though I can admit a shelter cat who’s missing half an ear doesn’t seem priceless in comparison to the rest of my collection. He is, all the same. “Let’s check the greenhouse. The golden orchid is going to open any day now. We can’t miss it.”
He hops from the desk and trots into the hall. I follow him, winding my way down the stairs and along the back hallway.
Cutting through the kitchen, I run into Mrs. Lou. “Something smells good.”
She nods to a beat, her Airbuds in, and chops an onion. Mr. Lou sits at the kitchen table and carefully folds napkins, each one of them precise.
“How’s it going?”
He looks up at me and cups a hand to his ear. “Mr. Harbin?”
“I was just asking how you’re doing.”
He smiles, his wrinkles doubling. “Wonderful, thank you sir.”