In Too Deep(111)

Striding up to the box, I took a quick glance at what was inside, and saw that most of the donations were in the five thousand dollar range. Not bad, considering the party was over two hundred people, with three corporations that were controlled by Owen Lynch already publicly stating they would absorb the cost of the event itself, but I wanted to really make a splash.

Taking the pledge slip from the pile, I smirked as I wrote my name in very bold, very dark letters across the top. In the donation slot I wrote smaller, but still clearly, twenty five thousand dollars. Owen Lynch might have been a criminal, but the mayor was actually trying to do something good. And the number was just high enough that it would get the attention I was looking for.

The party itself felt perhaps more dangerous than some of the hits I've done. Every face that greeted me, every person who shook my hand sized me up, every smile and every word uttered felt like there were multiple levels to the conversation. All in all, I enjoyed some of my meetings with criminals more than I did with the social elite of the city. At least with the criminals you knew they were trying to stab you in the back.

"Ah, Mr. Smiley!" I heard behind me. I turned, and saw the face of the man I had wanted to get the attention of all night, the man whose attention was worth twenty five thousand dollars to me.

"Deputy Mayor Lynch," I replied, offering my hand. I was nursing a single flute of champagne in the other, having drank about a third of it. I normally detest alcohol, but there was no way to get around it in this situation. I refuse to partake in a substance that dulls my senses. However, lots of repeated bringing the glass to my lips without actually taking a drink led people to believe I was drinking along with everyone else. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Why thank......" Lynch said, his voice faltering. He could see something in my face, which is exactly what I'd hoped for. The secret behind successful plastic surgery is not in dramatic reconstruction. People who go overboard end up with work that looks, well, plastic. The key is in subtle reshaping and changes. It was the type of work that Sophie and I had done. It was enough to fake most photo analysis done by computers, especially if the image used was of poor quality or taken from a distance.

Up close was different however. For example, think of a movie where one of the characters undergoes aging. I'm not talking a bad movie, I'm talking one of the real high quality ones that even may use a bit of CGI for the effects. You watch the movie long enough, and you can tell who the actor is under the makeup and effects. There's certain things that can't be changed without risking disability or death, such as the distance between your eyes, that just cannot be screwed with. It was why I made sure the few photographs that had been taken of Marcus Smiley had me wearing non-prescription glasses or other things that disguised the shape of my face more.

Owen Lynch was going through that now. For years, I'd been one of the best hitmen in the entire city, and aligned with the Confederation, although I'd also done work for him through third party contracts as well when they didn't conflict with the Confederation's own goals. I was dangerous, and one of those faces that he wanted to learn just to protect his own ass. It may have been four and a half months since Mark Snow had last been seen in town, but now here I was, standing less than two feet from him.

I smiled, putting just a bit of the predatory creature I am into it. "No, the honor is all mine Deputy Mayor. You look a little peaked, let's get you a drink," I said, grabbing a flute of champagne off the tray of one of the circulating waiters. Putting it in his hand, Lynch still looked perplexed. My plastic surgery was enough that he couldn't be sure, but there was still that little voice in his mind telling him he knew who I was. "Tell me, sir. I'm new to this fine town, and I must say it's more than lived up to its well earned reputation."

"Well, we work hard at it," Lynch, ever the politician, replied. We were surrounded by the social elite of the city, there was no way he'd risk a confrontation that would expose who he really was to the few who didn't already suspect.

"I'm sure. Although, after spending so much time overseas in warm climates recently, I'm not sure if I'm going to be ready for the upcoming winter," I segued, smiling tightly. "Although my fiancée Sophie is. She grew up in Canada, and really wants to teach me how to build a snowman. Do you know if many people have a snowman in the city?"

Lynch blanched at my words, stuttering for a moment before regaining his composure. "Well, I'm sure there are a few. Winter is not too bad here though. Have you ever been in a very cold winter, Mr. Smiley?"

I shook my head and smiled again. "Nope. I've been to Russia a few times, but only in the summer time."

Lynch nodded, and extended his hand. "Maybe someday you'll get the chance to visit it in winter. I have heard it is very harsh, and very cruel though. People who aren't prepared can be in very big trouble."

"I'm always prepared, Deputy Mayor. By the way, I was wondering, Smiley Consolidated is opening our new offices soon in the warehouse district. If it's at all possible with your busy schedule, I would love it if perhaps you could make an appearance for the grand opening? It would be a great motivator for my staff and such."

"I'd have to check my schedule. Perhaps your secretary could e-mail the information to my office?"

"I look forward to it. Well, I've taken enough of your time. Have a good evening, Deputy Mayor Lynch." I walked away, melting into the crowd before Lynch could have any hired muscle he had on hand converge on me. I had observed five different exits during my time at the party, along with at least a dozen security men, most of whom looked like off duty police. That didn't mean anything though, as Lynch owned the cops as well.