Monaco hung up the comlink to Bullet. She pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes as an exasperated sigh escaped from her throat.
Looking out of her tall bay windows across the city she dialled the Mr. Johnson.
“They killed the target.” She told him bluntly. No point in beating about the bush.
“I’ve heard better news.” He replied. “The contract is scrubbed then. Any explanations?”
“Nothing that won’t sound like an excuse. I picked the wrong team, that’s all.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” He paused for a moment, clearly thinking. “Sounds like you might have a team better suited to another task I have”.
Monaco allowed her eyebrows to arch in surprise. She didn’t expect to be being offered another job on the back of this fuck up.
Mr. Johnson laughed as he read into the pregnant pause. “There will be penalty clauses this time Monaco. I don’t mind using your gun-ho runners, they might even prove to be better suited to this task but if they fuck up this time…”
Monaco winced. She had been stung by contract clauses once before and it cost her dearly but she was over a barrel now. Take the job and redeem herself as a fixer, or ditch the job and lose face.
“I’m listening” she replied, though she knew there was little room to manoeuvre, this time the Johnson was calling the shots.