Deep November

zero.

New York had never been my favourite place. The city was cold and wet in the winter, yet humid and sticky in the summer. It smelled of garbage and sewer and the crowds of bustling people bumping into one another was my worst nightmare.

If I could've avoided the city, I would've. With every ounce of my being, I hated it.

Unfortunately, I went where my work took me, and in my line of work I went all over. Mostly larger cities with copious amounts of wealthy people, party scenes, drug scenes and personal vendettas.

New York was my first stop back in the states after six months abroad; Ibiza, Barcelona, Mykonos, Amsterdam, London. I'd been all over but very rarely in the same place twice.

This would be my third job in New York. Rather unfortunate for someone who hates the city so much.

"He's going to meet you at the address I emailed you earlier" My assistant and best friend, Cristina, told me on the phone as I made my way down the sidewalk, bumping into people passing by as I walked. The air was crisp and cold, colder than usual for early November, and as I walked I found myself pulling my tan trench coat tighter around my body in an attempt to keep the chilly air out.

"Yeah, I got that earlier but I could barely make it out. A coffee shop? He really wants to meet me at a cafe?" I ask, wondering aloud as my heels clicked with every step on the pavement beneath me.

Heels and dresses also weren't my style, but for a business meeting I always wanted to look completely professional and put together. Even in my line of work, I preferred to look good to be taken seriously and to make as much money as possible.

"I know, a coffee shop is weird" Cristina agreed, I could hear her typing something on her laptop in the background as she spoke, the echoing of the room giving it away that she had me on speakerphone. "But I checked it out and it all seems normal; he might just not know how these meetings work" her voice sounded irritated, like she was annoyed that the stupid people I worked for had more money than sense.

The emails Cristina sent me were always encrypted in a code only the two of us knew how to decipher; addresses, names, numbers, any information that could be traced back was all encrypted if it was sent via email or text. Everything she'd sent me about my meeting today was encrypted so well, when I'd realized she meant a cafe I was thinking I'd read it wrong.

After analyzing the email about sixty different times, I'd come to the conclusion that I was indeed correct. The meeting spot was a cafe in the city.

"It's probably his first time" I say, weaving through more crowds of people to get where I needed to go quickly "but still. It's weird. A coffee shop at two in the afternoon?" Most men chose motels, hotels, offices, parks, cars even. And almost all meetups happened late at night, never in the afternoon.

After all, the men that I met up with generally had families that they wanted to keep out of their personal business.

"He's not a cop if that's what you're thinking" Cristina assures me "he checked out; his background check came back so squeaky clean I could see my reflection in it" I could hear the judgment in her voice and without even seeing her I knew she was rolling her eyes "He's a doctor, a brain surgeon" she continued "we don't see many of those I know, and he's got money. He's willing to spend it if you're willing to do what he wants"

A doctor. Someone who saves lives. Interesting that he was meeting with someone like me.

I snort, turning to see my destination coming up on my right side. "This isn't my first job, Cristina. I've done this more times than I can count. Trust me, I'm willing to do whatever he wants" I stood in front of the little cafe, wondering why in the name of god someone would chose such a tacky little place, before beginning to head inside.

"I'm on site. I'll let you know when I have the payment information" I say quickly, before reaching up to the Bluetooth in my ear to disconnect from the call.

A quick scan of the restaurant made me realize why it was chosen; people from all walks of life seemed to be in here. Several teenagers sat at a table by the front window with backpacks and laptops, a couple of hippies wearing tie-dye shirts and copious amounts of rings and beaded bracelets sat in two plush chairs towards the middle of the shop, a Mom with two children sat at a larger table towards the left side of the room, an old man sat alone on the far end of a pleather-looking couch with a mug of coffee. All sorts of people, all sorts of aesthetics.

It would be hard to look out of place.

As I walked inward more, I found a table for two on the very back wall as far away from any other casual coffee drinkers as the room would allow. It was tucked neatly out of site of the front windows, far enough away from the counter that the baristas didn't have us in plain sight, but still engaged enough that it wasn't odd to sit there.

Of course, there sat a man with a nervous expression on his face as he wrung his hands together in anticipation.

"Derek?" I ask, walking up to the man with a friendly smile. His head snaps towards me, his eyes clouded over in a way that made me wonder why he'd even bothered to call me if he was going to look so unsure.

"I'm from the Agency" I continued, hanging my tote bag style prada purse on the back of the chair before sitting down across from him.

"Thanks for meeting me" he says grimly, a to-go cup of coffee already on the table in front of him. "I don't know how these things normally go, but I have a feeling it's going to be expensive" he sighs, running a hand over his face as if this whole situation was still conflicting for him.

"I can guarantee you it will be, but I'd love to know how you came to that conclusion so quickly" I smile, leaning back in my chair and folding my hands on the table.

"You have three thousand dollars worth of bag hanging off of the back of your chair and what I'm asking you for isn't exactly something most people do for a living" he answers back, picking up his cup of coffee and taking a sip.

He's right, of course. My exact line of work was so hard to come by that it cost more money than anyone could ever guess.

"You're correct" I state with a slight nod "prices vary depending on what you want. Different people require different...situations" I'd worked a lot of jobs and almost all of them were unique; no two people could be handled the same way. That was my whole selling point, I would personalize just about every aspect of the job until everything was customized to be the exact way the customer needed it to be.

He nods in recognition, his eyes searching my face for something for a moment before he speaks again.

"I've brought what you've asked for, are we going to jump right to the discussion portion of this? I have patients to see" he informs me, checking the Rolex on his wrist for the time.

If he could spot a prada and be able to tell me the cost of it, of course he'd have a watch worth twenty grand just sitting on his wrist. Rich people could smell out expensive things; hence why I chose to dress the way I do, they're always more comfortable if they're surrounded by luxury.

"Of course. You tell me what you want, and I'll do it to the absolute best of my ability"

He takes in an uneasy breath, his eyes flicking around us to make sure nobody was within earshot before opening his mouth.

"I need you to kill my wife. And I need it to look like a suicide"