Page 75 of Callan

“Carmen…” I murmur, half cordial and half cold. “How are things?” I toss at her in a curt voice while she runs an inquiring gaze over my face.

Like any woman who had spent a lot of time in bed with different men, she developed a gift for reading people. Men in particular. She can tell with maximum precision whether I’m bothered by a thought, aroused by the idea of fucking her, or simply eager to get out.

I put a friendly mask on my face as she’s having mixed feelings about me.

Her studying me prolongs while I tilt my chin toward the group of people.

“Who’re they?” I say, and her smile gets a boost of confidence.

She loops her arm through mine and nudges me in their direction.

“I’ll introduce them to you.”

It turns out they’re regular people from work. I didn’t know she had a job. Go figure. Apparently, she works for a transportation company. A big one at that.

I shake hands with an accountant, a lawyer, and a few sales representatives and their wives.

Who knew I’d be stumbling into these kinds of people?

I’m running a big company myself, and while I’m good at it, I can’t say it’s my favorite thing to do.

It’s a necessary evil.

As much as it is boring, it keeps me away from other people’s eyes.

Smiling, I do my best to engage in conversations.

To Carmen, I’m an aspiring actor and a freelance writer. Carmen has never shown much interest in my employment status.

Let’s say there was no time for that.

I served her a pickup line at a bar downtown as soon as I identified her as Thomas’s wife. I knew she was married. That’s how I got to her.

I wanted access to her life and knowledge, and fucking her seemed to be the way.

But despite chatting my ear off, she hasn’t been a valuable source of information. At the same time, I couldn’t clear her of any wrongdoing.

So, here we are, no longer fuck buddies––in my view––yet somewhat connected.

The conversations stall, and Carmen’s focus shifts to other people, so I make myself scarce and leave the group to check the premises.

Her place looks just like Mackenzie’s apartment in terms of layout, with only more furniture and stuff.

The walls have been painted in brighter colors, and the styling accurately reflects what this is.

A place to fuck.

She and her husband have a weird arrangement going on, but who am I to judge?

I enter the second room, her bedroom.

I checked every corner of this apartment the last time I was here. Every drawer. Every box. And every closet.

There’s no way Thomas has brought the necklace home.

Whoever ordered the hit probably got the necklace.

My hope was that they left a clue behind. That some little piece of evidence could take me to the mysterious person behind the operation.

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