[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
February 14th, 2023

I cut my business trip short. What I needed to do couldn’t be done on Zoom or a phone call. This had to be in-person. I left China to get to Boulder City one week before my meeting with John Fisher.

I would’ve preferred anyone else. But this assignment requires a certain level of skill and discretion. And Rita is the best at what she does. Almost too good.

I may be a Boulder City resident, but I don’t eat out often in town. So I got a chuckle out of the two replica shotguns used for handles at the front door of the Dillinger Food & Drinkery. It was a little too on the nose for a restaurant named after a Depression Era gangster, but I appreciated the nice touch.

My sister was already at the restaurant when I arrived, and I was fifteen minutes early. Rita is nothing if not punctual. She was wearing her typical rigid pressed pantsuit, with a tightly wound bun of black hair. Black rimmed glasses framed her laser focused eyes. She gave me a sharply raised eyebrow as I sunk into the seat across from her.

“This must be important if you need me,” she started, with a 50/50 blend of curiosity and judgment. “On Valentine’s Day, of all days.”

I absentmindedly let loose a chuckle, knowing full well my sister had zero capacity for love or a love interest. She pretended not to notice, turning her attention to an arrangement of sugar packets in front of her. They had a strange order and perfection to them. It was… familiar.

“What you got going on there?” I asked, nodding to the rows of Equal, Splenda, and Sweet’N Low.

“This?” she responded. “This… is us. Our table. This is where you’ll sit.”

“For what?” I replied before I could stop myself.

“Don’t be coy,” she said drolly. “Not with me.”

Rita pointed at the packets, and then the corresponding tables and key points around the restaurant, explaining the ideal positions to place cameras and recording devices.

“Now,” she asked, “who’s the target?”

I told her. She wrote down nothing. Just like me, Rita has a photographic memory.

“First name,” she continued, “with or without an ‘H?’“

“With.”

“And the last?”

“No ‘C,’” I answered.

She asked me if I owned the restaurant, but I figured she already knew the answer. She probably already pulled the Clark County tax records and had a blueprint of the Dillinger Food & Drinkery. She suggested I put in a cash offer to purchase the place outright, today. The sooner I had the deed, the sooner she could get to work.

Rita never asked me why I needed it done. The less she knew, the better. For both of us. Her background in surveillance and security necessitates an absurd amount of detail. But when you operate in the shadows like she does, sometimes it’s best not to know everything.

I asked her how much it would cost. She didn’t answer. Which was the worst possible outcome.

“You owe me,” she said, and got up from the booth and left.