Manufactured for Sin

15 Hit me.

I bit my lip seductively, peering down into the box he was holding in front of himself. It was a glorious weapon, hard, girthy, longer than I expected as if custom modified to better fit my hand. I reached into the box, sliding my fingers down the length and smiling like a giddy girl. He even included a soda can for perspective so I couldn't mistake the sheer mass of the well lubricated cannon resting in the container in front of him. What a gloriously well made piece of hardware.

"Wow. You really know much weaponry a girl needs. It's bigger and darker than I expected." I sighed breathlessly.

"Well, you're murdering someone, and we don't use guns very much. I don't want you to miss your mark. It's an upscale 1911, custom machined to for your hand and sighted with a laser dot in ultraviolet so you can see it and nobody else can. Only an idiot would use a visible dot your enemy can see and move out of the way. It's got a replaceable barrel and spring, matched to the rifling of a standard 3-d printed throw-away gun."

"Very clever. 18MM hand-cannon that only takes custom ammunition, and a one-time-use 10mm barrel, we can melt down with the magazine and spring, like it never existed. Same 10MM frangible copper target bullets Senator Ralla uses. It's not like I could even fire his gun if I wanted too, with my giant hands, let alone as accurately as an avid handgun shooter. Of course with a custom gun like this, anyone could get assassination-level precision, but nobody would match the bullet. Do you think of everything, honey?" I said, batting my eyes.

"You do. Now go have fun. You deserve it."

Greg wasn't even telling me the whole plan. That protective nature we've always had, even protecting ourself, was strong. I could sense his instinct to protect his woman and take the risk himself, let me have the fun part as he investigated and drew planning away from me for deniability. Even knowing I was just a female him, that Ancient Chivalrous nature ran deep in his core. At the time I didn't know what he was up to, but he was always a hell of a tactician and a ladies' man. I had a feeling what he was up to. Seducing the Blonde, to get the burner phone. Hard to resist that charm. Cheating got us into this mess, and now we have no choice but to cheat again to end it. As much as I hated the idea of betraying Izleena, at least it was just him, even if I now have the memory of it. Maybe we are just horrible people, maybe fate never gave us a choice, or maybe our nature was just too strong to deny, even for the universe's plans.

I remember it vividly, 8K quality and stereo to be specific. After hours of illegally reading phone records, security feeds and paying off a few bank tellers, he managed to trace down the Blondie. I knew the lady at the bank was acting suspicious, even looking familiar. It's like she knew it wasn't Garth. Brilliant cover, lady. Get a job at a bank, handling deposit boxes, manipulating low-level criminals with nothing to lose. It was only a matter of time before one of her peepers caught something juicy and big on film for blackmail. I guess it's my fault for not being more discreet about my Affair. I walked right into it. Greg and I both did. Well, we sprinted naked right into it. That's even worse.

She knew what she was doing, manipulating the bank records, using the deposit boxes and setting up Garth as a patsy before I even did. That loser was never even in charge of anything. Still, I was going to enjoy killing him. I hate bugs and I hate peeping-perverts. The only question left was why this blonde lady wanted us to know her plan. She made it too easy, she made it too obvious to me and Greg, and now with both of us having fall-guys set up, she didn't even hide her identity well enough. She wanted Greg to track her down, but why? Was she just toying with us, or was she working for someone even higher up the chain?

New-Years Eve, fireworks scheduled everywhere, everyone drinking and partying, nobody paying attention, every night club in town turning off security cameras, paid for anonymity by the rich bastards looking to party harder than usual. Perfect night for a murder or two. Greg dressed to the nines to hit the clubs the blonde woman frequented, knowing she would find him eventually. Me, dressed to kill and carrying a small hand-cannon even a child could use efficiently if they could handle the recoil. I spotted Garth walking the street in the fog and cool night air, as instructed. I sped up, catching up to him, as he zoned out and somehow still didn't notice me. This man has the vicinity awareness of a corpse. Maybe if I startle him he'll just have a coronary and drop dead on the spot.