The Falcon and the Hawk

The girl stared at the gun barrel with a cold, calculating indifference in her old eyes. It seemed to Vann that the girl's eyes were not the same age as the rest of her; they had seen too much too soon. This, however, was Vann's last thought.

The gun smoked as the girl slid it coolly back into her purse. She looked at the man, laughed shallowly, then turned on a shiny silver stiletto heel and continued on her way. The black jewelry hanging from her neck clinked gently with the sway of her hips, and her dirty blond hair swished and fluttered in the cool evening breeze. She pushed her sunglasses down over her eyes, and with a smile tickling the corner of her lips, she broke through the crowd outside the club, flashed her ID, and walked in without a word.

The Falcon was a high-class, celeb-only type of club. Only the elite gained entrance. Jaz was neither elite nor celeb, but no one bothered to look twice when she waved her license in their faces. The bouncers backed away and waved her in the doors, and she strutted to the center of the dance floor, doing a quick once-over of the room. Jaz's jaw was set when she took off across the room towards a small metal door. Her hair whipped behind her, and her silver dress made no sound. The only noise she made was the sharp 'click-click' of her heels on the tile of the dance floor.

Jaz pressed her ear flat to the door. Anyone watching would not have noticed her quick knock and her mumbled password; they would only have seen a shockingly beautiful girl lean on a door and then quickly fall into the room behind it.

She shut the door quickly behind her, then took off her shades. Her eyes pierced the darkness, quickly finding the desk and the large, sweating man seated behind it. She nodded to him and laid a thick manila envelope on the desk.

"Done," was all she said.

The fat man nodded and slid a thin folder toward her. "Time for number two. This guy's got a record with us. Owes about two mil, and he's evaded my best for a full year. You find him, you get twice this much," he said, putting a small briefcase on the desk.

Jaz nodded, grabbed both the folder and the briefcase, and walked back out the door. Her sunglasses went down again, and she slid out of the club just as quickly as she had entered it.

The briefcase thumped against her leg, and a single, shifty-eyed man watched her carry it down the street. He noticed with interest that the case read "N.J.Hawk."