Out of Plans - Stylo Fantome
Out of Plans
The Mercenaries #2
FIFTEEN KILOMETERS EAST OF SALENTO, COLOMBIA
Liliana Brewster used one hand to hold the roll bar above her head. Her other arm was out the side of the car, holding against the door. She used her grip to stabilize her body as the Jeep she was riding in crashed through the jungle, roaring through puddles and leaping off of downed trees.
“You see!?” the man driving the vehicle shouted, pointing through the windshield. She squinted her eyes, trying to see what was out there, but the mud splattered all over the glass, and a mist had started to come down on them, making visibility low.
“No!” she shouted back.
“Hold on, we are almost to the part where -”
The Jeep began to skid as he pumped the brakes, the tires losing traction in the mud and causing the back end to swing around a little. When they came to a stop, Lily looked over to her right and realize they were on the ledge of a very steep embankment. She stood up in her seat and leaned her hips against the windshield.
“Where did you see it?” she asked, bringing a pair of large binoculars to her eyes.
“Over there, to the right,” her guide said, motioning to the same place as before, leaning over his wheel.
Lily turned, straining her eyes. The weather was shit. Low cloud cover hung over the jungle, threatening to dump at any moment – the mist was just a warning. She wanted to get to her destination before that happened. She wiped her damp hair off her forehead and kept looking.
“There!” she shouted.
A couple kilometers in the distance, rising out of the thick canopy, was a spindly little plume of smoke. Light gray and barely noticeable, it couldn't have been anything more than a campfire. A small campfire. Suitable for one or two people, max. She dropped the binoculars into the back seat, then tracked the smoke with her bare eyes. She began to smile.
“Ms. Lily,” her guide started. “Why do you search so badly for this man?”
“What man?” she asked, trying to guesstimate how long the drive would be to get to the smoke.
“I heard you last night, you said you are searching for a man,” he explained. Her smile turned to a frown.
“Marcelle De Sant,” she said softly.
“Yes. Why do you want to find this … this De Sant person so badly?”
“Because,” she finally looked at her guide.
“I'm going to kill him.”
Finding the mercenary Kingsley Law hadn't been as easy she'd thought it would be; Lily had to learn on her feet. The phone number on the card he'd left her actually worked, but it didn't lead to the posh British man himself – it led to a cranky guy in Brooklyn.
“Everyone wants Law, lady,” the guy had squawked. “How much money you got!?”
The fact that Lily knew Kingsley's real name and had one of Kingsley's personal cards spoke volumes, so the man, who introduced himself as Carl, finally decided to help her. Turned out, Kingsley had left her name with the contractor, with instructions that when she called – when not if – he was to help her get a hold of Kingsley.
“Bangkok, lady. You'll find the asshole in Bangkok.”
When Marcelle De Sant had left her in Africa, he'd left her with a sizable amount of money. All cash. So she ditched the swanky resort he'd checked her into and she bought a ticket to Bangkok. One way.
Kingsley wasn't at his hotel when she got there, so she got herself a room and waited for him. And waited. And waited some more. After four days, she called Carl back, asked if maybe Kingsley had moved on to somewhere else.
“Nah, just give him time, lady. Sometimes it takes him a while to find his way home,” was all the man would tell her.
Lily remembered a conversation with Marc, after everything had gone down with Ivanov and they'd been laying low in Casablanca. Marc had said that people in “their lifestyle” had different ways of coping with it. Kingsley had “Law's Lifestyle”, which in Marc's own words meant “fucking anything that moved” - and directly after saying that, they had both listened to Kingsley fuck a prostitute into the wee hours of the morning.
Prostitutes. Kingsley likes to fuck them. Okay, it's not much, but it's something.
It took three days of investigating the red light district to find him. She stuck to high end brothels, places that took a lot of money just to get into,