Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 12

“So what’s on the schedule for today?” asked Keller, as he joined Michele in the living room portion of their two-bedroom suite the next morning. He wore cargo shorts and a white shirt. Michele, he saw, was wearing a colorful caftan.

“At 7 pm, we will be visiting a man by the name of Janasz." said Michele. "He’ll be giving us our assignment. Until that time, we may as well continue to enjoy the sights of Sydney. Let’s start with a bus tour of the city, shall we?”

“Sounds good,” said Keller.

Michele discovered that she enjoyed Keller’s company, as they spent the rest of the day together. She had already known that he was multi-lingual and knew about art, in particular the Entartete Kunst, but he was also knowledgeable on a vast range of other subjects …almost as vast a range of subjects as those in which she was an expert. They argued quite amiably about architecture, modern art, economics, political theory and so on, so that the time seemed to fly by and suddenly it was 6 pm.

They returned to their hotel room, and at Michele's request changed into the one tuxedo that he'd brought along. Michele also changed into an evening gown. Another all-covering gown in which she looked gorgeous, he thought.

They were both ready by 6:15pm. Keller knew enough not to articulate his surprise or approbation that it had only taken Michele 15 minutes to change. He had had only a couple of girlfriends himself, but he knew all the clichés…it should have taken her a couple of hours and changing into 5 or 6 different outfits…but then, she was Taran Tula.

“Alright, Keller,” she said, as they entered the taxi. “I’ll be going back to calling you Mr. Largo from now on. And you will refer to me as Marguerite.”

“Marguerite?” asked Keller in surprise.

“Marguerite Zelle.”

Keller nodded.”As you wish.”

Marguerite had given the cabby an address. To Keller’s surprise, they did not draw up at someone’s home, or in a sordid back alley in some broken down neighborhood, but rather at the Sydney Shooting Center. It was a huge building, where the Australian national shooting team held their practices, not to mention the general public.

“I’ll take care of providing the proof of our abilities, Mr. Largo,” said Marguerite as they exited the taxi. “I presume you are more at home with dispatching someone in an up close and personal manner, eh?”

“Indeed,” said Keller, calmly.

Inside the lobby, they were greeted by two men, also in tuxedos. “I’m Jan Janasz,” said a youngish but bald man, shaking their hands. “And this is my associate, Adams.”

Keller said nothing, just concentrated on looking calm, cool, collected and suave.

Janasz said, “Thank you for meeting us here. You’ll appreciate that I only know you two by reputation. I’ve arranged a little test. We’ve reserved the running man range.”

The four of them walked into the Shooting Center proper. On one side of the very long building were rows of seating, to accomodate an audience when competitions were held. The shooting range was actually just a broad expanse of dirt running along the other half of the building...no lanes separating the shooters. There were about twenty shooting stands, each about fifteen feet distant from its neighbor.

All types of shooting took place here: trap, skeet, air rifle and air pistol.

Janasz picked up a .177 calibre air rifle by the forestock and held it out to Michele and Keller.

“I presume you’ll want a practice round, to get a feel for the weapon?” he asked.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Michele, taking the rifle from him.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with competitive rules,” said Janasz. "The target will run to your left and then back to your right at slow speed, and then past you and back at high speed. 30 shots at slow speed, 30 shots at high speed. Olympic caliber shooters get 45 bullseyes out of 60 shots.”

“Well,” said Michele, checking the rifle over, “in our business we typically make our first shot count, don’t we, Mr. Largo?”

Keller only smiled, what he hoped was a sardonic, menacing smile. These two guys, Janasz and Adams, were clearly on edge. Reputable businessmen, probably, not used to dealing with hired assassins. Was there a tinge of fear in their glances at him? Yet they’d had the nerve to ask for a demonstration! He hoped Taran Tula was as good with a rifle as she apparently thought she was.

"So," said Michele, "I guarantee that my first shot will be a bullseye. After that I hesitate to say."

Janasz and Adams looked at each other uncertainly, then Janasz shrugged. "Well, let's see you then," he said.

“Send the slow target by me just once,” requested Michele, “So I can get the feel of the rifle, alright?”

Janasz nodded and signaled the firing range operator, who flicked the appropriate switch.

Michele assumed a parallel stance to the target, lifted the rifle and sighted, and began popping away.

At the end of the trial run, she’d amassed 8 bullseyes out of 15.

Michele hefted the rifle a couple of times and nodded, satisfied.

“Okay, Mr. Janasz. I’m pretty sure I’ve got the hang of it now. Shall we do it for real this time?”

Jan nodded and signaled to the operator once more.

This time, Michele did better. By the time the slow target had completed its circuit, she’d pumped 27 out of 30 bullets into the bullseye.

Keller watched Janasz and Adams exchange glances. No longer uncertain ones, this time. Impressed ones. He was feeling pretty impressed himself.

“Fast target please,” called out Michele.

The operator nodded and flicked the switch that sped up the target. Michele lifted the rifle to her shoulder smoothly and began to fire away calmly.

When that round was done…she’d pumped 27 out of 30 bullets into that bullseye as well.

Not bad, Michele thought to herself. It had actually been several months since she’d practiced any shooting of that kind, but at one point she’d dedicated quite a lot of time to perfecting her eye. She'd fallen in love with skeet shooting at age 18, after all, when she'd been on that slow boat to England. Ever since she'd pursuied the sport and related ones. Nice to know that it was riding a bike, you never lost the skill.

Michele handed the rifle back to Jan, who took it and gazed at her admiringly.

"Just call me Annie Oakley," ahe said with a smile.

“I think we’ve learned everything we needed to know, Ms. Zelle,” he said. “I hope you didn’t take offense.”

“Oh, not at all. Besides, I enjoyed it.”

“Ta, ever so. Well, let us adjourn to my house and commence to talk business.”