I hear stories all the time. The Phoenix, he did this. The Phoenix, he did that. Makes you a little insecure about your job in a line like mine. Or it did. Until, one day, it came down the vine that our dear Mr. Phoenix was dead. Still makes you insecure, though. If the Phoenix could be killed, what about the rest of us? I mourned him the way one mourns a distant relative, recently deceased, whom one had never met. I had certainly never met him. I didn’t even know his name. I don’t suppose it matters much. No one knows my name either. Not my real name, anyway. Oh, my family does, but they are also under the misapprehension that I am a part-time flight attendant. I fly about from place to place, earning enough money to travel around for a while, then work some more. I’m not entirely sure how or why they swallow that story with such abandon, but it isn’t my place to judge.

I have no delusions of retiring at 55 and settling down in the country with the love of my life and a good book. People like me don’t end that way. I sometimes wonder how I will go. Phoenix was taken down by a double-agent lover, or so I was told. Sloppy, for someone of his legendary caliber. That’s certainly not the story my folks would hear, God bless them. It would probably be a skiing accident in the Alps or an airplane crash with a Garde-tampered manifesto. The latter would be nice and distant, while suitably messy, so the folks would end up with a closed-casket funeral and my “company” would help defray the costs. Though, in a way, it’s warming that my shell has a place to go home to. I heard that the Phoenix got an unmarked grave on foreign soil. No family. No friends. Just a .357 Mag and a lipstick stain.

I’m not usually this depressing. I don’t have time to be. But, it’s one of those nasty, drizzly nights like you see in old films and I’m cooped inside a hotel on surveillance. Even my eagle eyes wouldn’t be able to detect much in this weather, so I pulled my relief out of a pack on the floor: A motion detector hooked to a heat sensor all relayed through a camcorder. I played with the sensitivity until only the mice in the gutter could get past the alarm. Even then, the larger rats might interrupt my erstwhile activities. Not that I really had any particular plans. I was trained to keep watch in total darkness around the clock if that’s what it took, but I did fancy a pee break now and then. And a girl had to eat.

As soon as the thought of food passed through my mind, a knock sounded at my door. Right on time. I carefully pulled the curtains around my setup and smiled. I love cold Chinese. And it would be cold because I’d ordered from a place on the other side of town and offered to pay double if they delivered it to me. When I opened the door the young man snapped to attention, which amused me until I realized it was because I’d taken off my jacket and forgotten my holster. He was really quite cute, if a little nervous. I curled my lips seductively and made my hazel eyes reassuring.

“Why don’t you come in and I’ll get your money.”

His eyes widened, but I backed up, slid the gun sling off and set it on the ottoman. I talked to him as I dug some money and a fake badge out of my purse.

“Personal protection in an uncertain world. I’m sure you understand. Also, official issue. I’m sure you understand that, as well.”

He nodded and I slipped a few folded bills into his shirt pocket. The poor boy still didn’t look that at ease, so I planted a quick, flirty kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Keep the change.”

He gave a boyish grin and I knew my secret was safe. Just the same, though, I sighed at the closing door. Picking up the phone with one hand, I reattached my holster with the other.

“Front Desk.”

“Yes. This is Ms. Francesco in suite 401. It’s just awful! Just terrible! You have to help me. … My husband. He’s found out where I am! A friend just phoned to say he’s coming after me. Is there any way, any possible way I could change rooms and no one know? … You would? You wouldn’t tell a soul? … 305? That would be absolutely perfect! … No, no. Don’t call the police. I’ve been down that route. As long as he doesn’t find me, everything will be okay. … Thank you. Thank you so much!”

I wiped the tears threatening my eyes. I was a very good actress, even without an audience. The woman at the desk was sympathetic. She was changing the code on my key via her computer. All I had to do was walk down a flight. Perhaps I was a little zealous over one delivery boy, but in my line of work one delivery boy could ruin your whole day. Quickly gathering my scant things, I threw my jacket on to properly conceal my backup. It was risky, taking eyes off my target for even the two minutes it would take to trade spaces, but the number one rule was to stay uncompromised. If you lived to see another day, you lived to fix what you’d missed. Until a mission was complete, an agent was unto their own. A dead agent meant a backlog of paperwork and weeks of picking up and sorting out the pieces.

Quickly, yet inconspicuously, I left and made my way to 305. It wasn’t meant to be, though. As I set up camp at the window, the target began to move. My mouth formed a thin line as I pocketed an extra clip and my cell. I headed out the fire escape with the swirl of a scarf and melted into the night.

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