Free Dead Lucky by M.R. Forbes Page A

door, now thirty feet or so behind me, to this one, and at that point I was just about ready to stand up and walk the final few steps, if only to give my lungs a chance to expand again.
    It only took a few repetitions of my favorite mantra,'I don't want to die', to convince myself to stay prone and keep snaking.  
    Left arm, right arm, left arm, right arm.  
    I finally got my eyeball to the bottom of the door, fortunate that it had been hung with as little care as anything else in this dump.
    "Now that we have the details out of the way... Did you bring it?"
    Peeking in under the frame, I couldn't see who was speaking, or even tell where the voice was coming from. What I could see were three pairs of feet, two on one side of a desk, and one on the other. They were all angled somewhat cockeyed, which told me that the targets inside were sitting. The closer feet, they were packaged up in standard-issue brown boots. The other guy was wearing some nice shiny loafers, probably a Gucci or a Prada.  
    "Yeah, we've got it."  
    There was a rustle. Someone pulling something from a plastic bag. The thunk when it landed on the desk said it was heavy. At least I was in the right place.
    "Mr. Black will be pleased with your success," Gucci said. "We've been having a lot of trouble getting the drops picked up lately."
    "We heard. If you had put the money up sooner, you wouldn't have had to lose so many packages."
    I slid forward a few more inches, lifting my eyes to the rusted doorknob above my head. I really wanted to open the door, and I didn't want to be seen or heard doing it. What would be the odds of that?  
    "Since we're on the topic, Mr. Black has another job if you're interested."
    Laughter. "If the money's right, we're interested."
    A soft chuckle. "Of course. The money, my friends, is sure to be to your liking."
    I reached up, my hand moving ever so slowly towards the knob, boney fingers finally falling onto it with the softness of a feather. Even so, just touching the surface caused the door to emit a slight snap.
    "You hear that?" one of the booted men asked.
    "It's an old building, Rodge. Shit probably creaks and groans all night."
    "Like your mother?"
    "Shut up."
    I started to turn the knob, a fraction of a millimeter at a time. It was a movement so precise I doubted many people could have repeated it. It was that control, that attention to the art that had made me everything I was today. It didn't seem like much, crawling around on the floor of a shitty hotel like a worm, but from time to time it paid at least one or two of my bills.
    "So what's the job?" Rodge asked.  
    I ran my mind through the profile I'd been given of the targets. Roger Excelon, and his brother Tim. They were a pair of accomplished ghosts, experienced heavies who were making their move up into the big-time. Their normal work orders consisted more of guard duty than active carrying, but defense never made the same kind of coin as offense, and to be honest, their backgrounds did make them more suitable for pickup and retrieval.  
    The third guy was a fixer, an associate of Mr. Black's whose role was to arrange the resources for the given job. There had been no way to know who he would be, which made him a wild card that I was only slightly nervous about. I had planned this thing right, and allowed for the unknown variable.
    "Another pickup. A little more sophisticated this time. Mr. Black has a rival, and that rival has something that Mr. Black wants. Need I go on?"
    "Nah, I get it."  
    Rodge's laughter was the perfect cover as I finished twisting the knob and carefully eased the door open about six inches. It wasn't enough for me to get into the room, but I didn't want to get into the room. Yet.
    "It sounds like there might be some violence involved," Tim said. "Violence costs extra."
    "Yes, of course it does. I imagine there may be some violence. Dragons very rarely wish to part with even the smallest trinket from their hoards, if you know what I