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Meeting the Boss

The next day, I woke up to my stomach grumbling. I groaned and looked at the clock – it was still early by my standards. I dragged myself out of bed and started the coffee pot while I took a shower. I wanted to go back to sleep, but it just never works out when I’m hungry. I stumbled across the apartment in my towel, and poured a cup of coffee that I took to the bedroom while I got dressed.

Once the coffee took the last of the sleep from my eyes, I went back to the kitchen to check the fridge. It was empty, which is pretty par for the course since I really hate grocery shopping. I grabbed my phone and wallet, stuck them in their appropriate pockets, and went out for breakfast.

When I got home, I found the biker from the night before leaned against the wall next to the entrance to my apartment complex. I was across the street when I spotted him, and paused to weigh my options. He noticed me right after I noticed him, and held his hands up as if to gesture his surrender.

“I’m sorry about last night.” he called across the street to me. I glared at him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, watching him carefully.

“My boss wants to talk to you.” I asked if his boss had sent him before, too, and he nodded. “It turns out I was just supposed to ask you. Boss just said ‘bring her to me’, and asking isn’t how I usually get things done.. so yeah, sorry. He’d like to apologize to you, too.” I tossed some questions at him, and against my better judgment, I agreed to go meet this “boss” character, on the condition that I drive my car. The biker agreed, and got into the passenger seat. I gave it a thought, and zip-tied his hands together.

“If you do anything stupid, I will push you out of the car,” I said, pulling into traffic.

We spent the better part of an hour and a half driving in mostly silence. I tried to get a few more answers but the common response was that I’d have to ask the boss. I did manage to find out that The Boss was a man named Gregor Dolovich, but not much else about him.

Finally, the biker pointed out a bar. “There”, he said. It wasn’t much to look at, and appeared to be the kind of bar I usually avoid. A couple of motorcycles were parked outside. I shrugged and parked the car in the lot. The biker held the door open for me. The inside was dark – the windows were tinted heavier than I’d ever seen. There were two men seated at the bar. They turned to look at me, and one of them spoke.

“Ah, you must be Aneta. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve got a job offer for you.”

“And what kind of job would that be? Judging from the circumstances, I’d think it operates on the other side of the law than I usually work.” Gregor vaguely described a position with various duties, that were all in a lovely gray area, assuring me that the police would never be a problem. I inquired about salary; my morals can be skewed for the right price.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll do one job for you, then I’ll think about it.” I said. Gregor’s associate, Victor, handed me a piece of paper with a name on it and a manilla envelope full of cash.

“This man has some photographs that I want. You bring them, and him, and I’ll give you the rest.” I put both items in my bag and nodded. “Can I have a drink for the road?”

Gregor nodded at the bartender, who pulled a fancy bottle off the top shelf and poured me a shot. I picked it up.

“Gentlemen. Cheers.” I downed the shot, which was a smooth whiskey with a hint of spice and a flavor I couldn’t identify. I grabbed my bag and left.

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