Then she turned to me. She smiled, suddenly blithe."Wha's the mattah Boss-man? Give up already?" On second thought, not cheerful but insurgently mocking. I felt a surge of anger . . . I will not be mocked! I hadn't realized that I said it aloud till she began her laughter anew. It took every ounce of restraint I had not to capitulate to the feelings of hate and humiliation that threatened to inundate me, I needed the codes, and I couldn't afford to kill her yet.

I let the breath I had been holding whistle between my clenched teeth, forcing my taut features to soften. When I was sufficiently relaxed, I turned back to look at her. She was really quite beautiful. Even with the split lip and black eye. Where had she gotten that? Not on my orders. I considered myself to be of genteel breeding, I liked to think that I was far more subtle than a smack in the face. Besides, a gentleman never strikes a lady. Of course, the same couldn't be said of the reprobates that I was forced to work with.

The tall man (I didn't even know his name) was starting to get impatient. His trigger finger kept twitching as if it spasmed from a twinge of pain. 'He'd best be careful,' I thought as I gripped my gun. At that moment, I had no qualms about killing the hired help. They were little more than chattel in the eyes of my superiors any way. This particular man was starting to get on my nerves. He was too stereotypical. He evoked images of the God-father. I almost expected him to pull out a tommy gun. That night he wore a pin striped suit. If anyone else had been wearing it, it could have been considered stylish, but on him? It was astoundingly garish. His body was noisome, not an unwashed smell exactly. More like he had bathed in gore, it seemed to match the blood lust that glowed in his eyes. He was truly vile. He was the best malefactor they could find, so I had been told. But best or not, if I had to listen to any more of his just about interminable jabber, I'd kill him myself.

"C'mon boss,"he said, effectively breaking the monologue of my thoughts, "Let's kill 'er now. She won't tell ya nothin'. I've seen 'er type before. She won't tell ya nothin'. I was at a break in once where we had ta kill the owna' out right 'cause he wouldn't tell us nothin', I bet she won't tell..."

"Desist!" I had just about enough. The man's redundancy and his tangents were slowly but surly eroding my patience.

He stared up at me, confused. "De whasis?"

With a wistful sigh, I longed for the days when I had been an entrepreneur. It hadn't been a profitable business and I wasn't too proficient, hell, no one on my staff was really good at anything. Strictly speaking, my business was a reck. And I had a completely banal life, it was, to use an interesting if under used term, humdrum. Go to work, pay taxes, go to bed and wake up the next day. Of course that was before I met these people. Well, my life may have been devoid of interest but at least then I wasn't forced to work with idiots.

"It means stop, you inane idiot!"

He turned away, looking all for the world like a dolorous puppy. What a coward, what a craven idiot. The next thing you'd know he'd start to bawl . . . I hoped that it wouldn't come to that. There's nothing worse than to see a grown man cry. With an air of civility, which seemed like far more trouble than it was worth, I pulled my handkerchief out of my pocket and threw it to him. "Clean yourself up!" I turned away from the tall man's grateful eyes, and I refocused my attention back to the woman.

Well, she was certainly taking this whole ordeal surprisingly well. Not surprisingly well, suspiciously well. If I had been in her place, I doubted that I would be so brave. Had she a reason? She looked almost . . . smug. I felt sick. An onerous knot formed in my stomach. Was this a ruse, a trick, a trap? I walked over to her, I looked close. Then, I saw it. A lump in her side, a bug. I'd been set up. Anger boiled up in me. She smiled a cruel, cold, ominous smile. She didn't know I knew. If she had, she would've been scared. She wasn't scared. She would be.

A bug. How quaint; how very old fashioned. I looked at her again, so very confident, so much wisdom, so much sagacity. Poor, poor woman . . . She had been had, too. She thought the cavalry would come any minute to save her, emancipate her from this prison, to free her from her bonds. Ha! They wouldn't come till they heard gun shots. Not till I killed her . . . Then they could kill me. Fait accompli, I had no choice in the matter, I had to kill her. But before the main attraction, a show, for the men waiting outside.

"Please, I beseech you, I beg of you, give me those codes." She smiled at me, she thought that she had won. Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to smile myself. That gave her pause. Then I began to chuckle. She stared at me, expression puzzled. Then I began to laugh. That was when the fear entered her eyes for the very first time.

I supposed that I brought a lot of this upon myself. I hadn't had the foresight to frisk her when she was first brought here. In my infinite wisdom, I had decided to trust in the higher ups. Now that was just idiocy. The problem with the self acclaimed elite, at least this was my conviction, was that since avarice and greed made the rules, and since the buccaneers, as they liked to call themselves (Although they were little more than pirates), were too busy stabbing each other in the back with ill meaning accolades, they didn't see the profuse inflow of stupidity that threatened the longevity of the organization. It seemed so surprising, at least to me, that such a powerful organization could have garrisons of troops, who were skilled killers and thieves, people who could get away with bagging the president, lacked the skill to frisk someone.

Unless, of course they were out to get me as well. Maybe they wanted me dead too. Now that was a thought. A thought that was starting to make more and more sense. "Find bank account codes" wasn't much of a mission . . . they had hackers for that sort of thing. And why interrogate a secretary? A temp secretary? Wouldn't a bank president make more sense? It was a set up. Definitely a setup. Many of the older members resented my quick rise. I heard one of them say that they wanted me dead..Looked like now he'd get his chance.

Gripping my gun, I slowly slid it from my pocket. I stared at it. It was made in Japan. The grip had been made from indigenous mother of pearl. They had given it to me when I first joined. It had been different then. So much more organized, so much more dedicated, so much more controlled. What had happened?

I opened the bullet chamber . . . four bullets left. More then enough. I motioned to my gun man. He came closer, quickly, eagerly; Just like a dog. I put my hand on his shoulder, I gave him a warm smile. The gun shot echoed in the large edifice, augmenting the sound into a roar of thunder. I watched his body fall to the floor. Watched his eyes lose that brilliance, that luster of life. I watched the blood pool under his head. I wondered if he had enough time to register surprise before the bullet entered his brain.

I turned back to the woman. She was crying, mascara running down her painted cheeks. She knew she had lost, and she did nothing to retard the progress of her tears. She knew that she was done. You had to admire someone who admitted defeat. I bent down and looked her in the eyes . . . She wasn't scared anymore, more resigned to her fate.

She opened her mouth to speak, then she shut it again. She realized as did I that there was nothing else to say. The corollary would be to get on with it, so to speak. I raised the gun. I fired.

Her head lolled to the side. Her body began to sag and list. Her dark hair draped itself over her face. I gently pushed the now soaked stands back to reveal her features. Still beautiful, even after death. A specter of a smile haunted her lips and her grey, now glassy eyes didn't hold the accusations I had thought they would, she looked serene and calm. Too bad we hadn't met under different circumstances. She was my kind of girl.

When the cops arrived, they'd tell the news media how brave she had been. Give her family whatever money they had promised her and give her some posthumous praise. And well-deserved it would be. I drew my blood stained fingers away from her face. In the distance, I could hear the sirens. A proper dirge for all of us.

As I raised the gun up to my own temple, I wondered what they'd think when they entered the lair. Would they be happy that I decided to do it myself? Or would they be angry that I had robbed them of this particular pleasure.

"How far have I gone to get where I am?" My voice echoed hollowly in my tomb. In the end it didn't matter, it never did. I hadn't realized that until now. I cocked the gun for the last time, I heard the bullet chamber complete its revolution, positioning the bullet that would claim my life. I felt the warm barrel on my temple. I closed my eyes. I had been born into the world blind, and so I would leave it. I heard them bust open the door, they were too late. I began to chuckle softly. They told me to freeze. I laughed and pulled the trigger.