RACHEL ANSARI HAD an impressive condominium on the sixty-seventh floor of the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest building. A wealthy arms dealer had died mysteriously, and his grieving widow put it on the market for only seven million US dollars. Rachel seemed to know before anyone else that the luxury condo would be available at the reduced asking price. Although not meeting any of the stringent requirements for citizenship in the UAE, miraculously, she was approved. People whispered that she had the ears of the sheikhs themselves. No such whispers in her ear, of course. Her condo had a magnificent view of the famed Dubai water fountain display, and she could see the colossal observation wheel, Ain Dubai, often referred to as the planet’s largest Ferris wheel. A wheel with its incredible light display. So massive that it takes thirty-eight minutes to complete one revolution. Her condo had the most expensive carpeting, furnishings and exotic woods available, much of the wood illegal elsewhere. In her parking space, was a gold Ferrari Spider: $600,000.00, 0-60 in 2.8 seconds, top speed 211 mph, twin turbo V-8. She looked like she belonged in the car.
Her father was an Arab Prince, handsome and wealthy. Her mother was Ashanti and Chinese. Rachel was the quintessential cosmopolitan, a citizen of the world. At the moment, she was not in Dubai, but in Los Angeles. Actually, she was at an expensive home in the Hollywood Hills, overlooking smog-draped LA. The homeowner’s bodyguard had gone on to his just reward, or punishment, and the homeowner was fretfully pushing the emergency button under his desk.
Rachel informed him, “He won’t be coming to help you, Mr. Olsen.” Her captivating voice matched the mesmerizing body.
Olsen was sixty-five, balding, overweight, twelve miles from being handsome, and had to use his ill-gotten money to hold onto his young redheaded mistress.
He attempted to sound brave, “Why not?”
“He decided to seek another employer. My guess would be that this one has a red suit, horns, and carries a pitchfork, perhaps chasing him.”
Olsen blurted, “You’re lying! No cunt could take out Carlo.”
“Believe what you will, but Carlo won’t be joining us.”
Olsen mused unhappily, “If the bitch is telling the truth, then I’m in a bad spot.” He addressed the beautiful woman, whose name he did not know, “What’s this all about?”
Rachel pointed out, “You’re too old and I’m too busy to play games.”
“All right, so it’s about the other four hundred thousand that the fucking Armenian claims I owe him.”
Rachel shook her head, causing the long ponytail to swish, “Mr. Garabedian doesn’t claim you owe the money, he knows for certain that you owe the money. Our arrangement was for eight hundred thousand dollars, four hundred up front and the balance on the successful completion of the contract.”
“Well, I found out that you cheated me. I could have gotten the job done locally for one hundred thousand.”
Rachel reminded him, “You came to us; we didn’t solicit you. You told us how you wanted it to happen. We complied. You told us when you wanted it to happen. We made it happen. You told us where you wanted it to transpire. We accomplished that. Most importantly, you wanted no suspicion to fall upon your shoulders. We took care of that. You agreed on the fee, half up front, the balance when completed, and you were the sole owner of your manufacturing business and a widower.”
Olsen tried bravado, “What are you going to do, sue me? Tell the judge we clipped this guy’s wife and he tried to stiff us?” He scoffed.
Rachel slowly shook her head, “Your example is childish. Like every business, we have to maintain the respect of our clients. If the liquor store owner lets a person walk out without paying for the bottle of whiskey, then no one will pay.”
“Well, you tried to cheat me and…”
Rachel snapped, “Shut up! You told the young woman in our Las Vegas office to go fuck herself and to sing for our money, your words. And it’s in your best interest to keep both hands on the top of your desk.”
“And if I don’t?”
Rachel reached into her grey Gucci purse, that cost as much as a compact car, and took out a Walther .380 single-stack pistol. She casually screwed on a 7-inch Dead Air silencer.
