Artemis laughs, immune to my lies.
“I’ll tell you what,” she says, pointing at me, “I’ll come down and let you be the one to kill me, if you can promise me one thing. Are you a man of your word, Victor Faust?”
“Recently, yes,” I tell her, thinking of how Izabel changed me.
I motion for her. “I give you my word.”
Artemis studies me for a moment; the wind whips through her long, dark hair, and pushes her blouse against her. Then carefully she steps down and comes toward me. I grip the knife in my hand, eager to plunge it into her heart.
She steps up, and then reaches into her pocket. She places a folded piece of paper into my hand.
“Promise me,” she says, looking into my eyes, “you’ll protect him.”
The table I’m supposed to meet the woman at could be any one of these; the woman could be any one of these women, too. The brunette sitting in front of the large window, stirring her drink, dolefully; the African American woman in the booth with the glittery clothes and spicy high-heels; the sexy blond sitting with a man half her age. It’s my job to know which one. They’ll kill me just for getting it wrong.
I choose the mature woman sitting under the lamp light; scotch on the rocks on the table in front of her.
I sit down in the empty chair, and she looks up at me.
“How’d you know I was the one?” she asks, bringing the glass to her lips.
“You’re the only woman in this bar satisfied with who she is,” I answer.
She twirls her free hand at the wrist. “Please. Elaborate.”
I glance at the brunette.
“She’s waiting on someone,” I say. “And he’s terribly late. But she refuses to get up and leave, in case he decides to show.” I glance at the African American woman. “She’d be so beautiful if she wasn’t trying so hard. The jewelry and clothes are wearing her, not the other way around.” I nod toward the blond sitting with the much older man. “She uses others for what they have and can give her, because deep down inside she hates herself, and it’s the only way she can get back at the world for shitting on her.”
The mature woman nods.
She takes another sip and sets the glass on the table.
“So what do you have on Victor Faust?” she asks.
“Everything.”