Price of a Bounty

-Guy-

Who is Madeline?



A mysterious young woman recently entered my life. I noticed her the second she walked into the café and was pleasantly surprised when she walked directly to my table. I immediately wondered why – why had she come to me? Did she know who I really was? If so, what kind of help was she seeking? She introduced herself as Madeline.

Madeline had the most amazing green eyes. She was well dressed yet looked hungry. Despite her clothing, I knew she wasn’t Elite. I could also sense that she needed something, possibly food, probably something else. She must know, but who directed her to me?

I ordered my favorite, Chicken Kiev, a side of mixed vegetables and a bottle of Chardonnay. Then I hesitated. She really did look hungry.

“Would you like the same?” If she saw that I was willing and able to offer this, it might put her at ease. I was well aware that asking for help could be a daunting task, and I wanted to make this as easy as possible for her.

But, she didn’t ask. Not then, and not as the conversation continued. In between topics, Madeline seemed to be studying me. Was she trying to decide if she could trust me? I wanted to ask, “Why did you approach me?” but instead said, “What do you do, Madeline? How do you spend your days?” Maybe her answer to that would provide some clues.

When she asked, “What do you do for a living, Richard?” I realized she wasn’t going to ask for help. So why was she there, at my table? She had obviously sought me out specifically. But why?

I did discover the answer to my question but not until later that night. Madeline drank too quickly, or pretended to do so, and I ended up taking her home to see how this would all play out. I meant to keep a close eye on her.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t anticipated Rose. Neither her friends nor her family knew we were seeing each other. After Rose left, I waited to be certain that Madeline was sound asleep before I opened the safe. I could help Rose a little. It was the least I could do before ending the relationship.

All of the money was gone, every last gat. So that’s what Madeline had wanted, and she took the opportunity when I walked Rose to Eberhardt’s apartment. But, why was she still here? I immediately checked her purse and coat pockets and discovered a set of keys, an ID issued to Madeline Jones, 24 gats, two tubes of lipstick, a travel toothbrush and a couple of… I shook my head. Was that how she made a living? That and stealing?

Why did she carry two tubes of lipstick? Different colors perhaps? I opened them. Small metal rods poked out of one, a lock pick kit.

Who is Madeline? How did she know about the money? Where did she put it? Why is she still here? More important, what else does she know? I couldn’t leave her unattended, not now.

As I watched her sleep, I replayed the evening in my mind. I wondered if any of the details she’d shared about her life and family were true. When I’d asked about her father, her reaction had seemed genuine, but what about the rest? Did she really work for the Becketts? Should their estate be a future target? We could always use more funding, and I was sure I could uncover a good reason for Lance Beckett to “donate” to the cause.

My thoughts drifted back to Madeline, to her long wavy black hair and her bright emerald green eyes, eyes that had seemed familiar. I’d been serious when I’d asked her if we’d met before, but I didn’t recognize her name.

Eventually, I grew tired. I called Eberhardt and asked him to watch our “guest” through the night.





-Keira-

Friend or Foe?



I blinked. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, but a shadow fell over the bed. A large muscular man sat in a straight-backed chair. He stared at me. I stared back.

“Aren’t you Richard’s driver?” I feigned an indignant tone. “Why are you watching me?”

Eberhardt ignored me but called out. “Rick! The girl is awake.”

Richard III entered the room. He appeared rested and ready for the day in a tailor-made light grey business suit.

Why am I being guarded? Is he onto me? I looked past him. The closet door stood open, as did the door of the safe. Oh, hell!

“Good morning, Sunshine! So, where did you put it?”

“What?” I asked in confusion. “Where did I put what?”

“My money. You bat your eyes, pretend to get drunk, end up at my place and steal my money.”

“I honestly don’t know what you mean.” My eyes grew wide.

“You know something though.”

I knew something all right – I’d been set up. The money isn’t at his other apartment. It isn’t here because someone else has already gotten to it.

Could it be Rose? Although they hadn’t been together long, Rose could already have a key to the apartment. Had she really needed to borrow money for rent, or was that just a cover story to direct attention away from herself? But, how had she opened the safe on her own? I hadn’t looked into her background much. Had I missed something crucial? I thought she was a fluffy headed socialite. Why she was interested in a gardener, I had no idea. Did she know he’d been lying to her? If so, and this was about money, why hadn’t she just blackmailed him?

Who else? Eberhardt probably knew about the money. He’d been employed by Richard for over a year, and they seemed close. He drove Richard to his father’s firm as well as to his other “side jobs.” But if Eberhardt was going to steal from Richard, wouldn’t he have done so long before now?

Are Rose and Eberhardt working together? I glanced at Eberhardt and realized he had the look of a professional bodyguard. He moved away from the chair and stood imposingly in front of the door. His body language said there would be no escape. He was a big, scary-looking man in a suit, tall with wide shoulders, muscular, with a scar across his left cheek. He was the kind of man who looked like he meant business, the kind of man I didn’t want to cross, if I could help it. My gut told me that Eberhardt had, and always would have, Richard’s back.

I realized then that there was one other person who could have orchestrated this. She wouldn’t have double-booked, would she? Is she crazy? Doesn’t she realize who she’s messing with?

Richard turned the chair around and sat down. Casually, he leaned his arms across the back of it and faced me. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up straight. I looked directly into his eyes, showing no fear, and dropped the innocent act.

“Who are you, Madeline?” Richard asked.

I responded with a question of my own. “Why haven’t you told Rose the truth?”

“That’s none of your business. Who are you?”

“That depends.”

Richard shook his head. “Depends on what?”

I softened my tone. “What’s the money for?”

He looked at me steadily for a moment, calculating, and then shared just a little. “All right, that money was meant to help people, the sick, the needy, those the Elite step upon or push out of the way. People like your father, I suspect.”

I felt a catch in my throat. Could he possibly understand? Why did he refer to the Elite as if he wasn’t one of them? Wasn’t Richard the type of person who stepped on people to get ahead? Weren’t they all?

The last war created the Divide among our people. The Elite and those they considered useful received money, medicine and care. They didn’t just survive; they lived. However selfishly, they lived, and everyone else…

I thought Richard was one of them. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d thought otherwise. Why would he be interested in people like my father? Artists and dreamers, idealists. Hell, everyone who wasn’t a member of the Elite, was either used or left to rot and die.

I thought for a minute longer while Richard waited patiently for me to make the next move. Elaine Ramsey was on one side of the Divide. I was on the other. Which side of the Divide was Richard on?

Ramsey had hired me to find and return her money, and in the process, eliminate Oren Johnson, a gardener, a nobody. If she’d known who he really was, she wouldn’t have ordered a kill, not for the amount he’d stolen. The Elite wouldn’t hesitate to squash those beneath them for touching their precious gats, but they’d never hire a Freelancer to kill one of their own, not unless the stakes were much higher. Maybe the stakes are higher than I thought.

I’d never had a problem eliminating the wealthy and corrupt. In my experience, the two went hand in hand. I believed my job made Tkaron a safer city. But, I never took out the innocent or downtrodden. Those were the people I wanted to help.

But now… I realized now that Richard hadn’t given me any reason to believe that Tkaron, or even the entire Realm of Terene, would be better off without him. And based upon what he’d just said, the opposite could be true.

All right, if she’s changing the rules, then so am I. I took a deep breath and hoped I wouldn’t regret what I was about to say.

“Elaine Ramsey hired me to retrieve her money and eliminate you.” Call me a fool, but telling him felt right.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his bodyguard, pull out a gun. Richard motioned for him to hold back and quietly said, “Eberhardt doesn’t respond well to attempts on my life.” He hesitated for just a moment. “What do you know?”

“I know that Richard Burke III is your real name and Oren Johnson isn’t.”

“Is that all?”

Eberhardt held his position. I hadn’t given them enough.

“There’s more, and I’ll tell you when he lowers the gun.”

Richard looked at his bodyguard and nodded. Eberhardt lowered the gun and clicked the safety into place.

“You’re Guy Bensen,” I said.

Now it was his turn for silence. My contact had assured me that this alone was what was most important about Richard Burke III.

He narrowed his eyes. “Does Elaine Ramsey know about my ties to the Resistance?”

“She never mentioned it.”

“She only hired you because of the money?”

“Yes.”

“Then you learned about me all on your own.”

“Yes.”

Richard was a member of the Resistance. He had just confirmed it. My source had neglected to mention that. It was the game we played. If I hadn’t been so evasive about what I was going to do with the information, she may have told me more.

“Madeline, you’re very good at your job.”

“You have no idea.”

“We could use your talents.”

Me, fight for the Resistance? Their goal was to return balance to our society. I believed it was a losing battle yet hoped I was wrong. It surprised me that someone as wealthy as Burke was involved.

“I live between the light and the dark,” I said. “The dark usually pays better and generally seeks to eliminate itself anyway, but maybe I can be of some assistance.”

“You can begin by returning the money.”

“I would if I could,” I responded honestly. “It was already gone when I got here.”

“I don’t believe that. The money is the only thing missing. If someone else had broken in, don’t you think they would have taken more? Is your arrival the very same night just a coincidence?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Richard closed his eyes. “Are you willing to take a lie detect?”

“I don’t really trust old techno.”

“Don’t worry, my lie detect works every time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eberhardt will break one of your fingers every time I suspect you’re lying to me.”

Eberhardt holstered the gun beneath his suit coat, flexed his fingers and smiled at me. At least I think it was meant to be a smile – it came across as more of a grimace.

Richard looked directly into my eyes. “So… are you ready to begin?”

I couldn’t quite read his expression. Is he serious, or is he bluffing? He held my gaze. Do I even have a choice? Either I accept his offer and hope he believes me, or I don’t and…and what? I knew what I would do in a similar situation. In their eyes, I was a threat to the Resistance, and Eberhardt had a gun that I was certain he was willing to use. I would have to convince them that their secret was safe with me, that I could be trusted as an ally. My life depended on it.

I steadied my gaze and my voice. “Sure.”

Richard walked over to the dresser. As he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out an old fashioned lie detect, I quietly sighed with relief.

He turned to me. “Is there anything you need before we begin? This will be more reliable if you’re relaxed.”

“Mouthwash or toothpaste – morning breath,” I explained with a shrug.

Richard nodded toward the bathroom. “In the medicine cabinet.”

After I took care of business, I located the mouthwash, mint flavored, sipped some and began to swish. I gazed into the mirror over the ebony sink. A slender young woman with long wavy black hair and emerald green eyes framed by long dark lashes gazed back at me. I spat into the sink, and then glanced over at the whirlpool bath.

Well, now that I had some time. It was black and shiny. I ran my fingers along the edge, clean. I hadn’t seen anything like this, well, ever. Working Class apartments had tubs stained by mineral deposits. I turned one faucet, cold, then the other, hot – a rare commodity! If this ended up being my last day ever, I was going to make it a good one, and if it wasn’t…well, a hot bath certainly wouldn’t hurt. When the water was high, I removed my clothes, lowered myself into the tub and pushed a button that started the jets. The tension drained away as I enjoyed the first hot bath of my life.

My eyelids fluttered open when I heard a knock on the door. It opened, and Richard poked his head inside. I made no move to cover myself but just looked at him, then leaned my head back, closed my eyes and sighed.

About an hour later, I exited the bathroom. I felt refreshed and confident. I’d blown my cover, and I was still alive, at least for the moment. Richard and Eberhardt were in the living room. They stared at me for a minute.

Then Richard stood and asked, “Are you ready?”

“That tub is one piece of old techno I could get used to! You did say this will work better if I’m relaxed,” I reminded him.

Richard ignored my comments and simply pointed to a chair. I sat, and he began to connect me to the machine.

“I’ll ask you questions. This part,” he pointed, “will record my questions and your answers. The electrodes,” he indicated some wires, “will send signals to these needles which will make marks on this paper. Truthful answers will leave different marks than false ones, so I’ll begin by asking you some questions we both know the answers to. Are you ready to begin?”

“Are you sure this thing is reliable?”

Again, he ignored my comment, and the interrogation began. “Where did we first meet?”

“At the Café de Rivoli, downtown. We had dinner together.”

“Who hired you?”

“Elaine Ramsey.”

“What is my name?”

“Your birth name is Richard Burke III. You also go by Oren Johnson, but you prefer Guy Bensen, at least with people you trust.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a Freelancer.” I saw no need to lie about this, not now.

Richard paused and shook his head.

“Does Elaine Ramsey know about my ties to the Resistance?”

“I don’t think so, but maybe.”

“Is Madeline Jones your real name?”

Finally, something new. “No, I’m Keira Maddock.”