The slow purr of the Jeep was inaudible in the thickness of the thunder. It's matte black color made it inconspicuous in the shadows of the night and Lorenzo carefully parked it next to an abandoned terminal. Most of this area was uninhabited and devoid of any patrolling men in uniforms. The engine was switched off and the car blended with the darkness.

I slowly dragged the briefcase that was lying harmlessly in the seat beside me. The soft click of the lock thundered within the silence of the car. The sky replied with a deafening crack of lightning.

"There's a storm headed our way," I said, peering through the passenger side window, as I saw the evening sky bathed in dark clouds. Not a single star shone in the sky above me. There was no light capable of penetrating this darkness.

I opened the briefcase and saw the disassembled instrument. I grabbed the magazine and loaded it with twenty bullets. One by one they filled the metal slot. I reinserted the magazine briskly and firmly until I heard the audible click, locking the magazine into place, and engaged the manual safety.

I looked into the car's rearview mirror and saw Lorenzo's face reflecting in it.

"Ready?," I commanded him.

Lorenzo briskly nodded and stepped out of the car. I followed suit and we made our way towards the ramshackle of a building. The windows that had once glistened with the bustling activity of an orphanage for girls, were now broken and stained. The city had cut it's funding and all that remained within this enclosure was broken furniture and lost dreams of the unfortunate girls. Most of them had either ended up in foster homes, spread out all throughout France, or homeless. The very minority of them would end up having  normal lives. They'd be lucky if they didn't end up in a sex trafficking ring, given that white girls under the age of ten were the current flavor of the depraved. Huge markets existed all throughout Europe and Arab countries, with clients willing to pay six figures for one girl. I had been tempted to join the business, solely because it involved lesser risk and a huge return on investment. The government didn't particularly care about faceless and unknown girls getting lost within the system or disappearing. It would be an added bonus for them -- one less mouth to burden the taxpayers. The analytics made sense but the morality behind something so heinous would never allow me to stoop so low. The hypocrisy of this situation did not elude me. I was well aware that I supplied ammunition to some of the most deviant of minds that most definitely slaughtered innocents or terrorized civilians. Yet, even for me, sex trafficking was absolutely atrocious.

We entered the abandoned building and I found Lorenzo's contact person. A gangly fellow, in his late forties, was waiting for us with a duffel bag at his feet.

"You got what we asked for?" Lorenzo spoke in his usual gruff manner. The DGSE training had been heavily ingrained within him. His mannerism, from his walk to his talk, all exuded ex-military.

The gangly man spoke with a tremor in his voice. It was not uncommon for people to shit their pants when confronted with Lorenzo. I gave the man points for not stuttering under Lorenzo's intimidating presence. His eyes kept briefly flickering to me, but he was not courageous enough to hold it for more than a few seconds.

"Yes. I have everything you asked for. Uniforms, badges, security clearance. Everything is all there," he pointed to his duffel bag.

Lorenzo looked towards me and I gave him my nod. He looked at the skinny man and said, "Open it."

The man bent down and scrambled to get the zipper open. He opened to reveal the contents of the bag to the both of us.

"Empty it," I commanded him.

"Y-yes sir," he nervously responded.

He picked up each article of clothing one by one and laid it out neatly on the ground, with the corresponding badges, ID's and a hat with a baton.

"Looks good to me," Lorenzo whispered to me.

"Pay him off," I replied.

Lorenzo reached into his coat pocket and took out a wad of cash that was tightly held together by a thick rubber band. The gangly man's eyes lit up with the thickness of the wad. It was analogous to a druggie finding the source of his next hit. It was a pity that people's loyalty could be easily quantified in monetary terms and subsequently bought. If it weren't, I wouldn't have been able to thrive in my business.

Lorenzo swiveled his wrist to show the thickness of the wad of cash to the man and threw it at his face. The man leapt to catch it and clutched it safely to his chest.

"You know the consequences of talking?" Lorenzo asked him.

"Yes, sir," the man squawked.

"Good. Remember that if you ever get caught," Lorenzo said.

The man nodded his head fervently and kept glancing at his stack to count how much money his deceit had earned him.

"Now leave," Lorenzo barked at him.

The man scrambled outside the building and vanished into the thundering night.

I flicked my eyes to Lorenzo after watching the man scurry away like a rat. "Should we be concerned about him?" I asked Lorenzo.

"No, Boss. He's an alcoholic. He's never held a job for more than a month and probably won't last till the end of this year. He's been on a liver transplant for a while. It works in our favor that we have an inept healthcare system," Lorenzo stated.

I nodded in agreement and went to the stack of clothes. The man was the janitor at the Customs and Excise Office. He had happily handed us his spare uniform and badges, along with that of his partner's who wasn't due till the next day. These would be good enough to get us into the building undetected. The caps should provide sufficient cover against any surveillance systems. I took off my coat and dawned the janitor's jacket on top of my dress shirt and slipped into the new pants. I tucked my strand of hairs into the cap and made sure to tuck in my pistol within the waistband of my pants.

I turned my back around to find that Lorenzo was already suited and monitoring the outside surveillance of the office building.

"Let's go," I said.

The office was 2 kilometers away. We had purposely chosen a distant safe house to meet at so as to not arouse any suspicion from innocent passersby outside the office.  Even though it was late, there was the added danger of having my car and number plates being recorded as suspicious. Lorenzo and I briskly walked the kilometers to the building and entered through the back alley that was reserved for the night guards, janitors and cleaners. The night guard was dozing at his desk. I stealthily crawled closer to him and sprayed one squeeze of chloroform right under his nostrils. The guard wasn't conscious in the slightest and me and Lorenzo continued our way inside.

We passed through the metal detectors which beamed twice as we passed, while the guard's snores droned on into the evening.  We walked with our heads held low, avoiding all the cameras that were pointed towards us in the corridor. We passed an officer on the way who didn't offer us a single glance as he remained glued to his mobile phone. It was remarkable how a simple disguise of a banal uniform was capable of resuscitating such a dismissive attitude within people. We finally reached the door of the office we were looking for — Cyril Sadoul; Lead Customs Agent.

Lorenzo slowly turned the handle of the door. It didn't make a sound and when he opened the door an inch wide, we could hear the gruff voice of a man talking in rapid French.

Lorenzo carefully peered inside without attracting notice.

"He's on the phone. His back is to us," Lorenzo whispered to me.

"Let's go," I said, peering at the end of the corridor through which we had just entered. The lighting in this building was dim and left shadows along it's unkept hallway. We hadn't seen a soul except that one officer who would probably be making his way back soon.

Lorenzo carefully entered the room, making no sound as he slithered with the dexterity of a snake. I followed suit with less grace. Once I entered, I realized that the man, Cyril, had a mobile phone squeezed between his shoulder and ear as he barked into it, while his hands were busy occupied riffling through a filing cabinet. He hadn't noticed our entry yet.

I slammed the door behind me with a loud thud.

"Who the fu - -," Cyril muttered as he whipped his body around to the sound of his office door being slammed.

Cyril was an average built man with an average face and height, holding a mediocre position with a less than hopeful future ahead of him. His big bug eyes protruded at the sight of me and Lorenzo. His stance froze, in an almost comical way, and his phone dropped to the floor. Lorenzo walked over and crushed it with the heel of his boot.

"Mr. Renauld," Cyril stuttered.

"You recognize me? Even with the disguise?" I mused, pointing at my janitor uniform.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me, while his eyes flutter towards Lorenzo who was standing unreasonably close to him.

I removed my cap and ruffled my matted hair. I could smell the stink of stale sweat on the cap, which had most probably transferred its way on to my scalp by now.

"Why don't I give you one guess as to why I'm here," I said. I walked towards the seat opposite his desk and pulled it out. I plopped myself down and crossed my legs across the desk, while my hands were folded across my stomach. My gaze landed right on the man who had led the charge of looting me by threatening me to pay him more commission.

"You're here to negotiate the Customs Officers cut," he said. He sounded a lot more confident now. His eyes no longer darted towards Lorenzo, yet he kept himself still as a statue.

"I gave you a fair deal, Cyril. Why are you trying to fuck it up?" I asked.

"It was fair before the police started investigating you," he replied. "You did some nasty things to that lady, Mr. Renauld. It's just time before the police start digging into your side business."

"It will never get that far. Those allegations are preposterous. Irrespective, you have a fair deal and I have come to make it clear that there shall be no negotiation," I said. I hoped my sternness cracked the stupidity that was apparently plaguing this man. But a more depraved part of me hoped that he would give me a little more resistance. I had been cooped up inside the walls of my office for a few days and I was craving the opportunity to unleash some of my rabid energy on someone.

"I know all the details about your business. I don't think you'd like me telling the police about it, would you?" he said.

I smiled. This man either had some huge balls to stand up to me or he was too dense to realize that he was treading on thin ice.

"So what do you propose?" I asked.

"Double the commission," he responded.

"Will that double commission help you with paying for your daughter's college tuition?" I asked.

Cyril's eyes bugged out of his head. He looked like a toad who was being choked to death. It always amused me to watch confidence evaporating within people who tried standing up against me.

"You keep my daughter out of this!" he snapped at me.

"Why should I? She's a gorgeous young lady. Cheryl, is it?" I asked, my brows furrowing with confusion.

"You stay the hell away from my daughter, you bastard!" Cyril yelled. His spit flew across the room and landed across his desk. He took a step towards me as if trying to physically tackle me, but Lorenzo stood as my watchdog. I didn't even flinch at the sight of this weak man trying to attack me.

"She's looks . . . quite tasty. She plans to go into fashion, right?" I kept egging the anger within Cyril. The rage was boiling within him and it was manifesting by him clenching and unclenching his hands. He must be picturing different ways to wring my neck.

"I'm curious. What did you think would happen when you demanded an increase? You thought I would just . . . give it?" I said, laughing in the end at the complete ridiculousness of this meeting.

"I know enough about your business to put you away for life!" he yelled.

"Then why don't you?" I said.

Cyril sputtered for the first few seconds. He couldn't find words to string a coherent sentence. He then composed himself to answer me. "I would have, but me and my team have risked our jobs enough to know that we deserve more compensation. If the police were to ever discover your 'business', we'll be fucked over in the process."

"So?" I asked with nonchalance.

"Do you not care about anyone but yourself?" Cyril asked in astonishment.

"Not particularly. Certainly not some custom agents that are easily replaceable," I said.

Cyril's face contorted into one of utter disgust. Mine must have shown indifference.

"You can either take what you're getting, or go to the police, Cyril," I said. I removed my legs from the desk and stood up. I dusted the cap that I had removed and put it back on my head while I wrapped my hands in a pair of gloves. I slowly walked closer to him which caused him to take a step back and bang his back against the filing cabinet.

"So what's it going to be?" I asked.

Cyril's eyes betrayed his fear, but I had to hand it to the man. He didn't cower like most of the people I had intimidated before. "You might be able to silence me this time. But what about the next time? Or the next person? Do you plan to threaten us all?"

I smiled. I had almost tempted not to go ahead with my plan. Almost, but not enough.

"I have a plan for that," I said.

Cyril's brows furrowed. "What do you - -?"

Before he could finish my sentence, I dug out the knife from my pocket and impaled him with my favorite choice of weapon — Gerber Bear Grylls Ultimate Knife. It was a 4.75" carbon stainless tell drop point blade with a textured rubber grip.

The gasp that left Cyril's startled lips sent a jolt of thrill within my body. This is why I was so good in this business. I love the fear the glowed within the hallowed eyes of my victims and the realization of how utterly powerless they were. I absorbed the adrenaline which came with the risk of running an illegal business. I live for this thrill. As I saw Cyril's eyes turn from shock to recognition of his situation, I bared my teeth in a maniacal smile.

"Cyril, I'm going to grant you a little mercy. Think of it as your pardon for trying to cross me," I said. I stepped away from his frozen corpse. Lorenzo held him upright as I drifted towards the edge of the study. Lorenzo carefully placed him on his chair.

"Don't move," Lorenzo told Cyril. "You move an inch and you'll nick the arteries supplying blood to your heart."

I picked up the landline phone on Cyril's desk and called the police.

"Thank you for calling Emergency Services. How can we help you?" The voices drifted from the phone. I dropped the handset on Cyril's desk, only inches away from his reach.

"I'd say you have about 25 minutes before you suffer a severe cardiac arrest. Unless you move. Then it's," I snapped my finger to show him how instant his death would be. "But I've give you a fair shot at living. So you can thank me later."

Lorenzo looked at his watch and quietly signaled me that it was time we left.

He led his way to the door and opened it. He peered outside and motioned me that the coast was clear.

"Oh and Cyril," I called out after me. Cyril was as rigid as a statue. Only his eyes flicked to mine. "Don't make any moves that will force me to cross paths with your daughter."

Cyril's eyes shown with panic and anger. An intermingling of a plethora of emotions flashed across his eyes. I didn't wait around to enjoy all of them. Lorenzo and I hurried outside the room, past the corridor and out of the office. We ran the 2 km to our car and rushed all the way back to my house.

Lorenzo shot like a bullet through the night. The sky crackled with lightning and thunder gave way to a downpour of rain. We entered our driveway and the gravel crunches under the tires of my car.

I threw the janitor coat and dawned my suit jacket. I stepped out of the car and was drenched within seconds. I looked up to find a pair of round brown eyes staring at me.

A wave of hatred welled up within me when I felt her beautiful and untouched presence. Every time I looked at her, I was reminded of the stark differences of our lives. I strutted up the staircase and she cowered away from me. That caused my anger to further flare up. The scent of her sweet vanilla perfume filled my nose and caused my body to ache in need. I ignored the pulses fluttering within me and rang the buzzer to the house. I kept banging till Francis opened the door.

"What the hell took you so long?" I snapped at Francis.

"It's midnight, Jean. Where is your key?" he replied.

"I lost it," I said. "Get someone to change the locks tomorrow."

Francis looked over at Ella. "Ella, you're soaking. Let me run you a hot bath."

"Francis, it's fine. I'm just going to hit the bed. I'm really tired," Ella replied.

"No. You look drenched, you poor thing," he spoke with soothing tones to her.