Merci is sitting on the couch with Hammer, martini in hand, when there's a knock at her door. She reluctantly gets up to answer it, placing her drink down, but not before digging an olive out of it first. She opens the door to a messenger boy. He hands her the envelope, and she hands him a five, while tossing a wink at him. Mouth agape, he thanks her profusely and leaves. 

Standing in the open doorway while munching the olive, she reads the letter inside.

Then she reads it again. 

"Can't be serious," she mutters, wadding the letter up and tossing it into the wastebasket. But after several minutes pass, she pulls it back out and presses the wrinkles out. 

Merci,

Your area of expertise is respectfully requested. There is a substantial fee. If interested, please leave word with my assistant, and I'll come by to discuss the details with you tomorrow.

Regards,

Augustus

After several more minutes and a heavy sigh, she picks up the phone.

Caesar puts down the phone receiver with mixed feelings. He loved and hated to hear that voice at this point, simultaneously. It was the reason why he had written to her instead of calling her in the first place. Putting on his trench-coat and hat, he set off to see her, escorted by Sarge and his men. Sarge had grown considerably warmer towards him since the divorce. Perhaps he felt that they were in the same situation, having been set aside by the same woman. 

He pulls up next to The Fountains, and steps out of the vehicle. Instructing Sarge and the guards to wait at the car, Caesar walks to Merci's door, and stops before it. He hesitates before knocking, wondering what her reaction will be to see him. "Ok, calm down, and keep it professional." he thought to himself, and knocked. 

Merci opens the door, and her cat Hammer hisses and runs off into the kitchen. She takes in the entourage and inwardly rolls her eyes. 

"There may or may not be room for you all to sit. I can offer gin, but I'm not sharing olives," she says, standing back to let them in. She holds her breath as Caesar walks by, not wanting to smell his woodsy scent. Where was a head cold when you needed one?

She moved to the small bar and started grabbing glasses. The entire time, Caesar simply watches, mouth slightly ajar. Who the fuck was this woman? Her hair was much shorter and dyed blonde. She was a smoker now, apparently, and as he watched her pour drinks, a double stream of smoke blew out of her nostrils like a cartoon bull. As she walked back and handed him his drink, mumbling something about a lack of scotch in the house, he noticed her bare toes, which were now...painted, and the color of cherries.

She sits on the couch, knees popping through the holes in her jeans.

"What can I do for you, Michael?"

He smiles at her when she refers to his entourage. Accepting the drink he is offered, he responds. "Don't worry, they won't be coming in. I trust you have read the letter I sent you?" he asks her, his eyes wandering over her new look. She had changed a lot. 

"Yes. It was pretty vague. I assume you want me to kill someone?" she asks, settling back into the couch and tapping the rim of her glass with a finger.

He nods slowly. "Yes. Someone and his family. The message needs to be sent, so we will need some collateral damage." he tells her grimly, as he hands her the details on the hit. "He decided to gamble on credit at the casino, and when I sent two clerks to collect the interest and the payment, he paid them in lead. A strong message needs to be sent out so other debtors don't get an ideas." 

He leans back and sips the drink. "You'll have to kill his spouse and children first, and then capture him. I want him alive. I will be paying you four times your regular pay for this job. Once for doing it, twice because it's a favour to me, thrice because of its nature, and the fourth time because I will be coming with you." 

The fourth one stopped her finger. Competing thoughts bounced back and forth in her head. She wanted to argue on principal, but four times her rate meant retirement before 40. 

So she did the one thing she'd never done in the short time they'd been married. She mentally stepped back and let him have his way.

"Alright," she said, flipping through the documents. "When do you wanna leave?"

Caesar pulls out his pocket watch. "In 24 hours time. I will meet you at the airport. Thanks for the drink." he says, getting up and moving towards the coat hanger. 

Merci watches the door close behind him and drains her drink.

***

The following evening, she arrives at the airport with two bags. Spotting Caesar at the ticket counter, she crosses the terminal and places her bags on the counter next to his to be checked. 

One clanks ominously, but no one seems to notice or care. Ah, loose airport security! 

"Michael." She nods politely. 

In the lounge, they take a seat at the bar, and order their respective drinks. The tender places top shelf scotch in front of Caesar, and a martini in front of Merci. She stops the man before he walks away by grasping his hand. 

"Excuse me. You forgot the olives," she says.

"Sorry, Ma'am. We're out," he says before stepping away to help another thirsty passenger.

She turns to Caesar with a look of sheer panic, then quickly looks away. "Off to a great start," she says morosely.

Moments later, their flight is called, and they board the plane. The last time she'd been on one, every thump of turbulence between Philly and Vegas had exacerbated her gunshot wounds. She'd passed out repeatedly on that trip and the gunman was still out there, somewhere...but that was a job for another day. 

Caesar seemed content to stay buried in his newspaper, so she leaned back and closed her eyes, still clutching the olives like a talisman.

He continued to peruse the paper as the procedures for the take-off took place, resolutely ignoring the safety instructions being provided. In the all too likely event, that this metallic death-trap decided to go to shit in mid-air, no amount of safety instructions would save their asses. As the aircraft starts to taxi out onto the runway, Caesar suddenly looks up from the paper and turns to Merci. "Is it just me? Or are you getting a feeling of Déjà vu as well?" he asks her frowning. 

Merci cracks one eye open and studies the stewardess' rack. "No, her breaks are too small," she says, grinning.

Caesar shakes his head in confusion. "I have no idea what you are talking about." he tells her before accepting the glass of Scotch that was offered to him by the not so well-endowed stewardess. Taking a few sips, he turns back to Merci. "We will have to wait overnight till we can make our move. It will need to be done in the early hours of the morning. I have booked rooms for us at a local hotel. Not too fancy, but they will provide a couple of relatively private and clean rooms." 

When the plane touches down a few hours later, they disboard to find a car waiting outside the airport. Caesar gives directions to the hotel and they are on their way through the twinkling lights in the outskirts of the city. 

Upon arrival, Merci grabs her bags from the trunk and follows Caesar to the hotel lobby, where he is handed two keys. The ride up the elevator is a long one, various memories of hotels and elevators with this man like invisible kicks to Merci's ribs. With a sigh of relief, she exits the elevator after him on the 16th floor. Her unlucky number.

She follows him down the hallway until he stops in front of two adjoining rooms, and as he hands her her key, she quietly prays there's a mini bar inside.

The mini bar is indeed mini, and Merci has drunk most of its contents within the hour. She starts pacing, smoking cigarette after cigarette and at one point seriously considers knocking on the adjoining door. On the tail end of that thought, she panics and heads to the desk, where she pens a quick note and slides it under his door before quietly leaving the room. In the elevator ride down, she finishes the remainder of the last mini bottle while swallowing a small handful of amphetamines she's dug out of her pocket. The note that Caesar would later find read as follows:

Michael,

Can't sleep. I'll meet you at the designated time, across from the target's home. 

Merci