THE WHITE...
I probably shouldn't see her. It's simple. Hit the target and get the job done, never look back unless you forgot the socket on the ground. But Angelic does a different job. She held my attention longer than necessary.
I never see a face. I don't memorize details unless I dream of them later. I don't know his hair color or height. These are just targets, it's just a job. But I saw her. I now know the color of your hair, your height and shape, the color of your eyes and the structure of your nose. I know all its characteristics.
I am an observant man. I never forget something if I spend more than five seconds looking at it, which is why I didn't have to look away a second time to make sure I captured an image of her in my spirit.
The hair is light blonde, almost white, but some strands are darker than others. The nose is fine, small and slightly projecting upwards. The eyes are blue, no different from those of other blondes. But the lips… fuck, the lips. A woman with the right proportion of lips can have anything she wants.
I'm Detective Pierce in the White House office. Here begins the investigation into tonight's attack. I can imagine the dozens of reporters outside and the collapse of the internet.
He opens the door and lets me in first. Outside the office, a policeman stands guard.
The environment is vast. A library behind the table, two chairs in front. Red carpet, white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the orchard.
The detective closes the door and leans against it. He takes a notepad and a pen from his inside pocket and looks at me.
- Mr. Campbell – Kevin Pierce starts.
He is young, probably not yet thirty. He takes this job seriously because he knows it's a golden opportunity. The salary is an insult, but for someone who has never had a million in their bank account, it is enough.
"It's me," I said.
I have to say I don't like lies, but that doesn't mean I'm a bad liar. My name is not Bruce, much less am I part of the Campbell family. However, that was my last service, and I still have the information about them fresh in my mind. And besides, Daniel Campbell is dead, so you can't argue with me.
- Is Daniel Campbell your father? Pierce frowns.
- Has been.
- I thought Christian Campbell was an only child.
"As part of marriage, he was," I lie.
I walk slowly towards the bay windows. It is the night of the full moon and the orchard is well lit.
- Well – I can hear the sound of the pen scratching the paper as Pierce writes something on his pad – What are you doing in America?
- Exercising my right to come and go, I suppose.
- Be more specific, Mr. Campbell, we don't want to stay here all night.
I turn to face the detective. Bold. I like.
- My father left a lot of problems in the business, and I need to solve them before my brother decides to sell everything - I answer.
This part is not a lie. Anyone with half a brain knows it's only a matter of time before Christian tires of playing the business man and trades his father's vines for a jet.
- Your father was invited to dinner today – he said – Why did you decide to come in his place?
Come on, detective. You know you can do better than that. When are you gonna start lying to me for real?
'Because he, of course, couldn't,' I said.
I walk over to one of the chairs in front of the desk, unbutton my jacket and sit down, turning to face the detective, who is still leaning against the door.
- I don't like your little jokes – Pierce approaches – But I don't care if you want to continue – He stops a few meters from me, almost as if he wants to intimidate me – Just know that I am committed to finding the truth at all costs - he pulls the gun out of his trouser belt and lays it on the table.
To finish.
"I wish I could report what happened, but I wasn't in the lobby," I said.
- You were with Mrs. Donneli. Tell me more about this moment.
- We stayed in the closet during the attack – summary.
Pierce makes another note, which is really unnecessary for the case. Almost everyone in the world has a reason for wanting to kill the president.
- Angelic Donneli said you approached her and took her to the closet. You left when it was all over. I don't want to speculate, but you were the only person who seemed to predict the future. How did you know about the attack?
I don't know who was responsible for the attack, but I would like to say thank you. It gives me a unique moment with this detective. At least fifteen years have passed since the last time a policeman suspected me.
- Wherever the president is, it is a place of alert. There were too many photographers, too many waiters, too little security. I shrug my shoulders.
Pierce pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. I look at the screen and see the image of a man. He was one of the servers at the party. I suspected it from the first moment. He was alert, looking around, staying to the sides of the room. I'm no body language expert, but I recognize someone who is about to commit a crime.
- Sound familiar?
- The waiter - I answer.
- You've never seen him before? Pierce insists.
Not. But if I had seen it, I would definitely not say. I face the detective and raise my eyebrows.
- This man is one of those responsible for the attack. He is not registered with the company hired to organize the dinner. There are also accomplices, and they have all been taken to the police station – he warns, then puts his cell phone away.
- Good job - I applaud twice.
I can almost see smoke coming out of Pierce's head. He knows he's wasting his time with me. I'm a liar with an alibi, the police's nightmare.
- I'm going to need your call log, Mr. Campbell.
- Clear.
I get up from the chair. In my peripheral vision, I see the detective bringing the gun closer to him. I take a step towards her. He's smaller, but he straightens up so he doesn't look like it. He thinks he has the advantage of being the authority among us. Amateur. If he had any idea who I was, he'd have the armed forces escort him.
- In five seconds I will begin to regard this weapon as an affront - I say.
Pierce puts the gun away again.
- We'd better stop here. You are free, for now – he said – Stay accessible.
I confirm with a nod. Without more words, I start walking towards the exit of the office. Nothing like a cop with importance syndrome to remind me why I avoid these dates.
As I grab the handle, a thought crosses my mind. Pierce thinks of everyone in the room tonight, but he's forgotten the people who weren't there. Margot Donnelly, for example.
- Inspector – I turn to him – I missed some people at dinner today.
After placing the bomb on his lap, I open the office door and go out.
I don't think Margot was responsible for the attack. She's smarter than that. On the other hand, the fact that she is the only Donneli not to attend the dinner party is puzzling. Whoever organized the attack wanted to protect her. My first guess is the family attorney. He knows about diamonds, he's Margot's lover. Why not?
I walk down the hall, then into the ballroom. The place is filled with policemen, two or three detectives and all the other guests who have not yet been questioned. The president and his daughter were taken to another location, along with most of the politicians.
I'm starting to like the character I created. Important enough to talk to the president, insignificant enough to be questioned by a rookie detective. I haven't participated in society in this way for a long time.
However, for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I made a mistake. I protected Angelique because it's me who has to kill her. It's my job, and I do it perfectly. I cannot allow a delinquent to do in any way what I should do with mastery.
But somehow, this attitude I had was impulsive. I didn't think before catching him in the hallway, I didn't think before entering the first minimally decent hiding place I saw. Nothing was designed by design, and my perfectionism condemns me.
The image of our first date is in my head right now. She looked at me, came towards me. It took me a few seconds to understand his intention. Was she being polite, introducing herself to the only person who didn't already know her, or was she annoyed that I wasn't going to lick her feet as soon as she walked in?
All human beings are intriguing. That's why I don't seek to know the details of my targets. I don't want to think they deserve to live. But now I'm aware that Angelic exists, not just a target.
She's pretty, but that's not all. She knows she's beautiful, she knows that men look at her lips and eventually up to her breasts. Its a question of confidence.
She is adrenaline-hungry, indulges in every drop of adventure. I'm not responsible for defining who deserves to live, but if I had my say, I'd say the people who hire me deserve death more than those who get shot.