Ana
and the Gang
With a smoking gun
in her hand Ana smiled as the man’s body dropped to the ground. She dropped a
pack of matches on the corpse, no words, just a pair of red lips. Her signature
left on each kill.
At
that moment she had jet black hair and green eyes. She spoke English with a
heavy Ukrainian accent, and this dead man had been her latest victim.
Ana
left the sight of the murder and went to her favorite bar. She ordered a glass
of wine and stared into the red liquid. A man approached her and sat down
beside her. Neither of them spoke. The man ordered a shot of tequila, and then
handed the bar tender an envelope. The bar tender quickly put it under the bar,
and smiled. Finally he spoke, “Don’t worry sir, your drinks on us!”
Nodding,
the man finished his drink got up, and walked away in silence. Ana blew him a
kiss as he walked away. The bar tender handed Ana the envelope, she gave him a
few hundred out of it and smiled. The bar tender spoke again, “Here are the
keys to your hotel room.” She caught them, quickly finished her wine, and
started for the door.”
She
checked into the hotel nearly a week later. It had taken her that long to
prepare her move. Now Ana had blonde hair, and wore pretty blue contacts. She
was speaking with a nice Midwestern farm girl accent. Sitting on her hotel bed,
she thought it was time to order some room service. The waiter brought her a
bottle of expensive champagne and some unintelligible dishes.
Ana
over paid him, and flirted heavily, advising him to come visit her when he gets
off work, suggesting, “Maybe we could share some of this Champagne together.”
The boy politely declined, and Ana was left a little annoyed. Leaving the food
untouched, but emptying the bottle quickly she opened up the envelope. It
contained four thousand eight hundred dollars. And it contained a name, printed
on an index card, Peter Solomon Lyte.
Her next mark.
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