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Farmers Bank of Possibility sits on the corner of Main and Fisherville. The bank started a few miles away back in the late 1800's but constant flooding forced the entire town to move two miles upward to higher ground and rebuild everything literally brick-by-brick. The outside is kept looking the same: Corinthian pillars on the far left and right. Inside it's as modern as any bank in New York City.
Aiden walks through the front entrance and reminds himself to keep a pleasant demeanor. No need for shaking these people up. A happy-go-lucky looking hitman is an interesting sight.
He proceeds to the first teller window where Natalie, brunette hair with a flower-print dress, is keeping herself busy tapping the keyboard, keying in whatever.
“Hi, my name is Natalie. How may I help you?” Her accent is strong. Not Georgia. Not Mississippi. Not Kentucky. Maybe Tennessee?
“Hi,” Aiden tries to mimic her accent, or come close to it, “I would like to start a safe deposit box.” He smiles.
She smiled back. Bigger. “Awright... one moment please.” She shakes her head quickly, tossing back a strand of hair that falls into her eyes before turning and exiting stage right.
Minutes and forms later Aiden is looking down into a rectangular metal box. So this is it. He carefully lays the DVD inside along with a note on top of it. Closing the lid and locking it he walks away. She's going to be pissed...
It's not difficult to find Veronica. She has been marching back and forth outside for the past fifteen minutes conducting business while sucking down cancer stick after cancer stick. The double-helix of perfume and cigarette smoke led Aiden to her.
“Yeah, I don't fuckin' care what it takes! That shipment was supposed to be here fuckin' yesterday, it's not fuckin' here today and I swear to God if it's not fuckin' here tomorrow...”
She could feel his presence. She stops. Turns around. He faces her.
“Just get me that fuckin' shipment or you'll find one of my Stiletto's where the sun doesn't fuckin' shine. You got me? Are we clear?”
She presses a button on cellphone; one of those with a GPS, Internet, and it could do the fucking laundry if it needed. Tossing the cigarette butt on the ground she places another on her lips and lights up, taking a long drag before exhaling and walking over to Aiden, tossing it on the ground.
Aiden keeps his distance. “Thanks for the help yesterday.”
“Oh, that? Well... it doesn't come cheap.” She stops. He doesn't know if she's planning on hugging him, fucking him, or just playing nice.
“I figured. I have something for you, but I need a few assurances...”
“Aiden, hunny... what did your mother tell you about your reach exceeding your grasp?” Her teeth are white. Shiny. She missed her calling as a great white.
“Thad's dead. There's no contracts to be honored. Let the handler go.”
“Awww... can't I keep him a little bit longer? This one amuses me.” She grins again.
“I'm leading this dance and if you want it to end your way, let him go.”
She wantsto keep playing the game. Aiden wants to cut the dance short.
“Why should I do that?”
Pulling the key out of his pocket, he holds it tightly between his thumb and finger. “This.”
“Aiden, when are we going to dance for real?”
He shakes his head. “Make the call.”
Veronica looks down at her phone and punches something in. “Sending the message. You should hear from him in thirty.” She puts her cellphone away and grabs the key.
Aiden lets go, watching her smile. “Another time, Vicky.” He turns and walks away.
“Where is this to?”
“No shit! Which one?”
Aiden stops. “Give Tony something to do.” He continues forward. She watches him walk away.
Deep down he laughs. Deep down he knows that the DVD is only a movie, not what she thinks it could be. Deep down he won. Which means he may have to keep an extra eye out for himself but for now victory has an incredibly great taste. Like beer and a burger.