Hitman Damnation by Raymond Benson

Author:Raymond Benson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thrillers, Science Fiction, Adventure, Espionage, Fiction
ISBN: 0345471342
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2012-10-30T05:00:00+00:00

With one hand carrying a bouquet of flowers from Sam’s Florist on Greenhill’s Main Street, 47 knocked on the apartment door with the other. It opened swiftly, and Helen stood wearing a daringly low-cut evening dress. He wore his signature black suit and red tie.

“Stan, come in. Oh, flowers! Are these for me?”

“Of course.” He handed them to her and stepped inside. She closed the door and smelled the mixed bouquet. “How lovely! Let me get a vase to put these in. Come on in and make yourself at home. Dinner’s almost ready.”

While he had been in her apartment a couple of times, this was the first for an honest-to-goodness dinner date. A one-bedroom space, Helen’s home was decidedly feminine and tastefully furnished. A card table, covered by a white tablecloth, sat in the middle of the living room. Two large lit candles provided flickering illumination. In fact, Helen had placed several candles around the room.

Was this what they called a “romantic” dinner? 47 wondered. In preparation for what might be an unpredictable situation, he had chosen not to take any oxycodone that day. So far, he felt fine.

She reentered the room with the flowers in a glass vase. “I’ll put these on the coffee table, since the vase is too big to go on our table. How do you like it? I borrowed the tablecloth from the cafeteria.”

“It’s very nice.”

She laughed. “Stan, you really are a man of few words.” She pointed to a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket. “Could you open that? I just have to check on the chicken.”

47 took the bottle, examined the label, and didn’t recognize the name. He figured it was one of the inexpensive brands sold in the convenience store at Greenhill. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t planning to drink much of it. 47 tore off the foil top, worked the cork, and pointed the bottle at the ceiling. After the pop, sudsy liquid spilled onto the rug. Helen came back in to witness it.

“Sorry,” he said.

She laughed again. “Don’t be silly. That’s what’s supposed to happen with champagne.” She picked up two glasses from the table and held them out to him. “Fill ’em up, sir.”

He did, then placed the bottle back in the bucket. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Not really. Who says you have to be celebrating something to have champagne?”

He took his glass. She held hers up and said, “To Charlie winning president, to the Church of Will, and to our friendship.” 47 clinked her glass and took a sip. She nearly downed hers. It wasn’t the best champagne he’d ever had, nor was it the worst.

Dinner was a roasted chicken covered with a mustard-based rubbing that 47 found delicious. Helen had also prepared baked potatoes and a dish of broccoli roasted with garlic cloves. She broke out a bottle of red wine and filled yet another glass. 47 watched her consume too much during the meal, and she became giddy and talkative. She was obviously nervous, as if she expected something to happen between them that night.

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