The Last Assassin

The street was narrow, almost an alley, and there wasn't much room to let them go by. I steered us to the left so I would have the inside position.

They saw us and stopped shouting. Not a good sign. Then they slowed. That was worse. And then one of them peeled off and started crowding our side of the street, with the others drifting along with him. That was unwelcome indeed.

I eased out the Benchmade and held it hidden against my open palm with my thumb. I didn't want anyone to know there was a knife in play until I decided to formally introduce them to it.

I had hoped simply to pass them, maybe absorbing a predictable shoulder check en route. But they had fa

A paranoid notion tried to grip me: Delilah could have set this up. But I knew instantly it wasn't that. The four of them were too young, for one thing. Their vibe was too hot, too aggressive. For professionals, violence is a job. For these guys, it felt like an opportunity.

Besides, Delilah hadn't been leading me as we walked. I would have noted that, as I had noted its absence.

We all stopped and faced one another. Here we go, I thought.

'Lovely evening, isn't it, ladies?' said the one who had originally started drifting onto our side of the street. He was looking at me, smirking.

'You must be the leader,' I responded, my voice low and calm.

'What's that?' he said, his brow furrowing.

'You moved first, and your friends followed you. And now you're talking first. I figure that means you're the leader. Am I wrong?' I glanced behind us just to ensure no one was closing in from the other direction – all clear – then back at the other three. 'Is it one of you? Come on, who is it?'

The interview wasn't going the way they had hoped. I wasn't cringing. I wasn't blustering. If the idiots had any sense, they would have realized that now I was interviewing them.

'Oh, it's me, all right,' the first one said, trying to recover some initiative.

I nodded as though impressed. 'That's brave of you to say.'

'Why?'

I smiled at him. The smile was in no way pleasant.

'Because now I know to kill you first,' I said.

He glanced at his friends as though reassuring himself of their continued presence, then back at me. I felt him starting to reconsider.

But one of his friends was too stupid or drunk or both to notice the position they were in. 'He's calling you a wanker, man. You going to take that?'

Fuck. 'I'm not calling anyone a wanker,' I said, my voice still calm and steady. 'I'm just saying neither of us wants to spoil the other's evening. La Ribera's like an outdoor party right now. Isn't that where you're going?'

The last question was calculated: not a command, just a reminder, a mere suggestion that could be taken with no loss of face. And I could tell from the guy's eyes that he wanted to take it. Good.

He glanced at his friends again. Unfortunately, they didn't give him what he was hoping for. He looked back at me, and I saw he had decided. Decided wrongly.

He started to move in, his arm coming up, probably for a finger jab to my chest or some other classic and stupid next-step-on-the-road-to-violence. He didn't know that I don't believe in steps. I like to get where I'm going by the shortest route possible.

But before I could move in and drop him, Delilah stepped between us. She had been so quiet, and the guy had been so focused on me, that it took him a moment to adjust. He paused and started to say something. But he never had a chance to get it out.

Delilah snapped a rising front kick directly into his balls. He made a half-grunting, half-retching sound and doubled over. Delilah moved close and stomped his instep. He grunted again and tried to shuffle back. As his forward leg straightened, Delilah swiveled and thrust a sidekick into the side of his knee. There was a sickening snap and he spilled to the ground with a shriek. I saw her measuring the distance. Then she stepped in and kicked him full-on soccer style, directly in the face. Blood shot from his nose, and he shrieked again, like a field mouse being torn apart by a falcon.

Delilah stopped and looked at the other three. There was no particular challenge in her expression, just a question: Who wants to go next?

They all looked wide-eyed from her to their twisting, wailing compatriot, then back again. Finally one of them stammered, 'Why, why'd you have to do that?'

If I had been feeling more talkative or even just kindly inclined, I would have explained that it was called a 'finishing move.' The idea is that, when your attackers are just bullies, not real operators, you do something so nasty, so gratuitously damaging, to one of them that the collective mindset of the rest veers from Let's kick some ass! to something more like Thank God it wasn't me! And while they're thus momentarily paralyzed with schadenfreude, you get to walk away unmolested.

All they needed now was a task to focus their scattered attention. 'You'd better get your friend to a hospital,' I suggested evenly, knowing that would help. I touched Delilah's elbow and we moved off.

We changed cabs twice on the way to the hotel. No sense making it easy for anyone to inquire about who we were or where we might have been going. We just kept our heads down and our mouths shut.

Back at La Florida, I let us into the room and locked the door behind us. The bed had been neatly turned down, the lights lowered, and the serene atmosphere was slightly surreal after what had just happened in the street. Delilah pulled off her shoes and examined them. One of them must have had blood on it, because she took it into the bathroom. I heard water run, then stop. A moment later she returned and put the shoes down together by the window. Then she sat on the bed and looked at me, her cheeks still hot and flushed.

'Sorry about that,' she said.

I shrugged. 'Makes me glad that time in Phuket was at least half-consensual. I guess I'd be limping right now if it hadn't been.'

We both laughed at that, harder than the comment really warranted, and I realized we were still giddy. The aftermath of violence is usually like that. I wondered if she recognized the signs, as I did.

When our laughter subsided, I said, 'I wouldn't have stopped to engage them, though. I would have just gone right through them, before they had a chance to get themselves worked up.'

She nodded. 'I realized afterward that's what you were thinking. But I don't have your upper-body strength. I have to play it differently. Plus, you have to admit, I can bring a certain element of surprise to the equation that you can't.'

'That's true. I guess we'll have to get used to each other.' I wasn't sure about the way that sounded, so I added, 'To the way we do things.' No, that wasn't right either. 'So we can… handle situations like that better.'

Her eyes softened and she smiled just slightly, and I felt she was seeing right through me. 'You think we should get used to each other?' she asked, ignoring my stupid qualifications.

I looked at her. I didn't know what to say.

'I don't think it's a bad idea,' she said, still smiling gently. 'I've been thinking about it myself.'

'You have?'

'Sure. Haven't you?'

I sat down on the bed next to her. My heart started kicking harder.

'Yeah, I've been thinking about it.'

She put her hand on my thigh and squeezed. 'Good.'