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responsible for gathering intelligence for my jobs, arranging all things logistics, planes, cars, hotels, etc. He also organized clean-up operations when things got out of hand (which didn’t happen very often, but was an inherent risk in this business). In addition, Martin also liaised with one of our main clients – the Research & Execution Agency - the undercover joint venture between government bodies like the NSA, CIA and HS, and which was founded to fix difficult problems that couldn’t be resolved officially. Martin dealt with their contact officers and analysts to get the best possible intel on current projects that we working on for them. Martin actually went one step further, he collected a lot of data on our employers and collaborators, contract killers, the mob, and government officials. You never knew when this information could come handy. In simple terms, Martin and his team were invaluable.
    "Do you have any new information on the St. Brigid shooting?" I asked Martin.
    "Nothing conclusive yet," Martin answered. "Our guys are working overtime on this."
    "Did Research & Execution provide anything interesting?"
    "They think, based on interviews with the victims and witnesses, that the perpetrator was very keen on shooting at Wimbledon's car, clearly with intent to kill. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, but it may be a lead worth exploring. This could be a personal kind of vendetta."
    "I’ll look into it. I’ve thought about that myself. Carter Wimbledon, the deceased father, was the only adult victim with a dozen bullets in his body. I was at the hospital today, but the Wimbledon kids were not yet mentally fit to be interviewed. I'm going to the hospital tomorrow to interview them."
    "Good, I’ll let you know if anything new comes up as soon as I know it myself."
    "One more thing," I said, "I need to book a flight for Carmela Molinari to Pittsburgh for 5.30 today."
    "Sure, no problem, I'll arrange that."
    "Thanks."
    "Anything else?"
    "No, that's it, thanks," I finished the conversation.

 
     
    8.
     
    Before Carmela arrived I had to do some shopping. I’d promised to buy her something nice. I was thinking about buying an evening dress for her. I took a cab to the nearest shopping mall. I went from shop to shop looking for something suitable. Eventually, I found an elegant, tightly fitting dress in a color that I would describe as black (although I'm sure there's a fancy name for it). I visually inspected the sizes and decided on the one that would look best on Carmela. The shop assistant at the cash register commented that it was excellent choice, which is probably what they tell everybody. But I felt flattered anyway. It looked really cool, with a low neckline, which I hoped would expose quite a lot. And with an even larger, gently curved V-shape at the back going nearly to the waist. Hopefully it wouldn’t reveal the inter-gluteal cleft, or butt crack for you and me.
    Carmela's plane arrived on time. I was waiting for her in the hotel lobby.
    "Hi Michael," Carmela greeted me with a broad smile.
    "Hi Carmela," I answered. "How was your flight?"
    "It was all right, quick and on time."
    "Did you miss me?"
    "Jesus, Mike, you pay me to be with you, have you forgotten? Of course I missed you."
    "Yes, I know, but let's make it a little bit more romantic," I laughed.
    "Sure, let's play a little game if you want," she laughed too.
    "I have something for you. I promised you a little present last time. I hope you like it, baby," I smiled with confidence and handed her the gift.
    "Thanks Mike," she gasped. I watched her while she was unpacking it. She had a beautiful slim neck, a perfectly proportioned chin and a beautiful face with enticingly protruding cheek bones. Her neck was really something to die for.
    "It's lovely, Mike. Thank you."
    "I knew you’d love it," I said, very content.
    "Yes, it's lovely, you have quite a taste, I admit," Carmela applauded. "But you have no eye for size."
    I froze.
    "This is