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About the Author: Martin Hill Ortiz is a professor of pharmacology at Ponce Health Sciences University in Ponce, Puerto Rico. He is an active member of MWA with over 50 short stories in publication.
Gaspar’s handler lost him at the words, “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll know her when you see her.”
Gaspar always worried. Life, death, and the murders in-between were filled with details and getting each bit of the minutiae correct had kept him from being caught—so far.
Know her when I see her? How would she stand out? Everyone in this West LA restaurant looked other-worldly. A to-the-roots blonde in desperate need of smile-reduction surgery. A man in fishnet stockings with three-inch spikes, top and bottom, hair and heels. Even Gaspar’s omelet, made with peahen eggs and fixed so that the yolks remained unbroken, seemed out-of-place anywhere else but this misfit asylum.
The prices were outrageous. Five bucks for tap water. Celebrity tap water?
The joint was crowded, every chair taken except for the one facing him. He shooed aspirants away, waiting for his contact. The one he’d know. When he saw her.
A woman with frosted hair and a chilling smile glided his way. She didn’t ask whether the chair opposite Gaspar was taken, merely installed her million-dollar bottom on its seat. She set down her mug of flat white and a plain manila folder on the shared table.
Perhaps, thought Gaspar, I’ll know her because she’ll make the contact.
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