LOCATION — Underground Parking Facility of his Apartment, Genta. DATE — Mid-Late August. STARTER — Closed for @websweavings
The modifier chip crackles, distorting his voice as he grouses into the cellphone.
"There are easier ways to make §3,000,000 than by disarming a security system and killing an old lady without leaving a mark. Have you seen Gillingham's mansion?... Do you know how easily the skin of an eighty-year-old bruises under the slightest bit of pressure?..." No, of course he doesn't. Because that's Teodósio's job, and he's rather good at it. All his middleman needs to do is acquire the agreed-upon settlement, yet even that simple task is apparently beyond him.
It isn't about the money, not really. The mercenary already has the main thing he wants from completing that job; an opportunity to bug Mr. Gillingham's home office for what he suspects will be a much bigger return on investment when the old man incriminates himself by blabbing on his likely involvement with the Vice Premier's disappearance.
Teodósio doesn't need the money, but a deal is a deal – not §2.5M not §2.7M – three million sellos, down to the last bronze marca. If he starts accepting pay cuts, he may as well kiss this whole thing goodbye. There are no paper trails on the black market. If he can't enforce both ends of a bargain, it'll come out... It'll inspire future clients to try and stiff him. "For the last time, the sum is non-negotiable. Do what it takes to relay it."
"Get it done, Waqas. That's what I'm paying you for." There's no room for argument, but even if there was, it'd be wasted on Teodósio just then, whose attention is snagged by a ridiculous sight. He ends the call mid-sentence, cutting off the middleman's voice as he tosses the phone over to the passenger's seat, freeing both hands for the steering wheel. He rolls up to his parking space in the dimly lit underground, and pounds a fist against the horn, the blast loud enough to startle those members of the camera crew who had their backs turned at the time. They scurry out of his space, giving him a full view of the glimpse he'd caught on his way down the ramp.
Next to his now-empty parking spot, there is another car, also owned by him, on top of which two women are currently canoodling... A wet dream for some, surely, but rather an opposite reaction for the Del Bosque; who kills the engine and snaps off his seatbelt before splitting out of the car, eyes landing on the same culprit he's found down here for the third evening in a row, now. "What the fuck, Angelica!... Not again."
