Diary of an Assassin Read Free

champagne and nursed it as Rachel struck up a conversation with two men. Stephanie managed to slip away unnoticed a few moments in and went out to the patio. She sat and watched all the men and women meandering about, attempting to look sophisticated or say something witty. She disliked them. But Clarence had asked her to come so she did.
    She understood something that most politicians were only dimly aware of their entire careers: she could be rented by her donors. Every politician catered to their major donors but most of them fooled themselves into thinking they were independent and didn’t need to do it. She understood that she was obliged to them. Many of her friends had been thrown out of Congress by younger challengers because they didn’t understand this simple fact.
    A scream rang out and then laughter. Stephanie glanced back to see a half-naked woman running out of the mansion and Paul scrambling to pull up his pants. She smiled and turned away.
    A few moments later, Clarence came and sat next to her. “No one appreciates a good joke as much as me, but that was just cruel.”
    “Don’t take it personally, Clarence. It was directed at Paul.”
    “What the fuck was he thinking? In my coat closet? Chris Mathews is here. What if he decides to run with the story of your husband openly cheating on you?”
    “Didn’t seem to hurt Hillary much.”
    “Touché,” he said, taking a s ip of his champagne. “You’re always welcome to stay here. I’ve got thirty rooms and it’s just me.”
    “I appreciate that,” she said, lightly touching his hand. “You’re a good friend. But I’m fine.”
    He shrugged and took another drink.

 
    CHAPTER 4
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Rhett waited in the alley and watched the steam rise from the Manhattan sewers in the cold morning. A non-profit was set up near some dumpsters and he watched people file in and out of the front door. It was a single glass door covered in handprints, the dumpsters just off to the side. He wondered how people even found this place if they needed to come here.
    Manhattan was not his city. He disliked crowds and disliked filth even more. Compared to his Saint Thomas with its clean sandy beaches, Manhattan seemed to him soiled with a stench that permeated everything, even him.
    A van pulled to a stop behind him, driven by a man with jet-black hair and a gold chain around his neck. In the passenger seat was a smaller man, eyeing Rhett like he had never seen another man before.
    The driver stepped out and approached him, his hands in his pockets as his eyes flitted to the non-profit and back.
    “You got our money?” the driver said.
    “It was wired to you this morning.”
    “I couldn’t get it.”
    “It has a hold. The hold will be removed as soon as the merchandise is delivered.” He glanced into the van, his eyes sweeping the driver. “I don’t know either of you. Where’s Johnny?”
    “He had to be in Philly. His pop’s really sick.” He glanced around again. “Come on back.”
    At the back of the van, t he man opened the doors, revealing two steel suitcases.
    “Open them,” Rhett said.
    The first cradled a rifle in six separate pieces. Pure chrome with an infrared laser scope, it shimmered in the dull light of the alley. The next suitcase contained a pistol in four pieces. Also shining chrome.
    “Remove the hold,” the man said.
    Rhett watched his face: a bead of sweat was rolling down the forehead. Rhett didn’t take his eyes off him as he pulled out his phone slowly and dialed a number. After he entered in another, longer number, a message reported, “Funds released. Thank you,” loud enough for the man to hear. The man smiled.
    “ Fifty thousand,” he smirked. “Who has that kind of money for a couple a guns?”
    “People that need guns I suppose.”
    The man reached into his pocket and removed a package of cigarettes. He put one to his lips, and as he patted his pockets for his lighter, his eyes never left