Mr. Dark 3 (Tamed #3)(10)

The third floor was almost totally empty, with only a single folding chair off in one corner. We walked the entire floor, our feet crunching on the dust and dirt that covered the concrete floor, and I looked around. "Well, it could become an office if we wanted," I said. "A few coats of paint, one of those potted plants in the corner, and we'd be good to go."

"I agree," Mark said. "All right Tabby, get the documents drawn up. Once we have the building title, I want workers here within two weeks. Until then, we'll use Mount Zion as our office, and gather up some more businesses. In the mean time, it's time to draw out Owen Lynch's friends."

"And how are we going to do that?" I asked, happy that Mark was taking my idea of a baited trap to heart.

"Two things. First, I'm going to crash a party. Next, you're going to take a photo, and then, we're placing an Amazon order."

Chapter 6

Mark

The night was perfect as I walked up the flagstone walkway to the Mayor's official residence. It hadn't taken much to wrangle an invitation to the Fall Benefit for the city's youth. It was the Mayor's current pet project, and with Marcus Smiley already making headlines for the past two weeks, I could easily go. I only wished Sophie was with me, but according to our plan I needed to attend by myself. It would be vital for the timing of everything.

I checked my tuxedo, and chuckled to myself. Before meeting Sophie, I'd worn a tux less than ten times in my life. Sure I'd worn suits, some of the best money could buy, but a tuxedo sends a different message. When you wear a tux, you want to stand out, and as a hitman, that's not something you want to do.

Now though, as Marcus Smiley, I had to play a role on top of being my normal self. In some ways it was great. I could invest money cleanly, and make a difference in public. I felt like in that way I was helping to take down the criminal empire that had infested the city. Maybe I was buying some atonement for my sins, but then again, I've never been a churchgoing man.

"Marcus Smiley," I said to the assistant at the door, who was checking off names against a master list on the iPad she had in her hands. She looked like your standard intern, probably a college student who was majoring in political science and getting some kudos along with most likely a job recommendation when she graduated. She was cute in that innocent college co-ed kind of way.

"Marcus..... Smiley?" she asked, recognizing the name. She looked up at me, and I had to give credit to the newspaper reporter who Sophie was doing most of the dealing with. She had that star struck look in her eyes, I hoped from the good press and not from my looks. "Ah, yes, you're right here. Donation box is there on the right, and enjoy the party."

It was a masterful move on the Mayor's part, I thought. By making the pledge box sealed but transparent, there was technically no reason for someone to even donate. However, if they did, there was the tightrope that everyone walked. For a minute at least once your slip fluttered through the slot, it could land face up on the pile. If you donated freely and generously, it would be noticed and you'd get commendations socially. If you were a tight-ass, you'd get noted as well. It encouraged donations that would get the sort of quiet kudos that these sorts of events were famous for.

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 drunk 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.