Mr. Dark 4 (Tamed #4)(17)

"How so?" I asked, looking over his shoulder still at the spreadsheet on the screen. It looked a lot like a normal accounting spreadsheet to me.

"This accounting code," Mark said, tapping one of the cells, "is the same one that Sal Giordano used with me when he hired me out for contracts. I don't think that Pressman has another hitman working for it, I knew that group very well. It pays to know the men who might be putting a bullet in your back. But that doesn't mean that there isn't some other sort of Confederation operative working for Pressman."

"Like what?" I asked, finally taking a seat and looking at the screen, my imagination whirling.

"Oh, there are all sorts of different operatives. A place like this would be a good place to stash an arsonist, a bomber, drug maker, burglar, spy, quite a few different jobs. They'd have access to buildings, deeper than a lot of others go, and they don't look out of place carrying tools and weird bundles of stuff."

I shook my head in amazement. "And you knew the Confederation had these sorts of men."

"And more, my love. Why else am I taking so many precautions with our own actions?" Mark replied. "Well, we know what we have to do now."

"What's that?" I asked, as Mark shut down the computer and unplugged it from it's monitor and keyboard.

"We have to go down there, see if we can get eyes on someone, maybe figure out what is going on. You think Sophie Warbird and Marcus Smiley might be up for a weekend visit to our most recent potential investment?"

"Why not wait until Monday?" I asked as he sat back. We faced each other, and I could tell that Mark was nervous. "Come on, talk to me."

"I'm concerned that the Confederation may be making the same connections that I'm sure Owen Lynch is doing," Mark replied after a moment. "They know that coming after Marcus Smiley directly creates too much danger to their operations, but by putting out these sorts of poisoned pills, these land mines if you can think of it that way, they can derail us without risk of exposing themselves. I want to go down there today for two reasons.

First, they won't know we're coming, so they can't be prepared. If we call Tabby and go down there Monday, they'll know it and be prepared, giving us a whole dog and pony show that will surely be ninety-nine percent bullshit. We go down there today, and we might learn something."

"What's your other reasons?" I asked. "You said first as if you had others."

Mark nodded. "Yes. Tabby. You saw the way she acted the other day, I'm sure."

"Of course. We even joked about it."

"I remember. Sophie, what concerns me is if there is a connection between this guy that Tabby met, and Pressman Contractors. If there is, and they know who you and I are, then Tabby may have gotten herself into trouble again."

"Oh God," I moaned, standing up. "We should call her."

Mark stood up and took my hands. "No, there's no reason to panic," he said, giving me a reassuring look. "First of all, we don't know for sure. Also, even in Confederation companies, a lot of the workers are just ordinary people who are making a living. Only a small percentage are the real criminals. Finally, if they are trying to use Tabby to get to me, they're playing a long ball game. They know it didn't work before when they rushed it. Their most likely plan is to try and use her as a blind mole, someone who funnels them information on our operations without ever knowing they are doing what they're doing. She's not in immediate physical danger."

I felt Mark pull me into an embrace, and I relaxed, letting my tension flow into him. "Okay," I said after I was calm. Actually, I was a bit more than calm, but that's normal every time Mark hugs me. "So we go down there, and what do we do?"

"We be flamboyant," Mark said with a grin. "Rattle their cages, see what falls out. Is your Sexy Executive Suit still clean and ready?"

I grinned. "I have three of those, you know I have one ready. Which do you want, black or white?"

Mark thought for a second, then smiled. "White. It contrasts your hair more, and if you just happen to get a grease stain on it that pulls attention to your breasts, well, shucks, guess it can't be avoided."



* * *



Pressman Contractors looked like any of a half dozen other industrial companies Mark and I had visited for potential investment during our work. The front windows showed a somewhat cluttered but semi-organized mess of machine parts that I couldn't even begin to identify. The shop was somewhat dark, with a bored looking guy manning the counter. We drove up in our customized Bentley and got out, Marcus in his skinny panted suit with counter stitching and pocket watch, me looking like an anime wet dream. Thankfully the suit was mostly Lycra, I doubt it would have been able to move otherwise.

As expected, the counterman first caught sight of the car, then of me. Marcus' plan to be a "business peacock" depended on me pulling as much attention from his face as possible, especially when he went into areas that the Confederation or Owen Lynch could have men who knew his old face. That and it helped distract from the spring loaded knife blade he kept attached to his left wrist. A twist of his clenched left hand, and the top of his forearm would grow a ten inch razor sharp spike faster than you could blink.

"Good afternoon," Marcus said as he came in. "This is Pressman's, right?"