Tittle TBA

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Part II

I woke up after another night of tossing and turning. The inability to sleep was an issue I dealt with on a regular basis which was compounded with the fact I watched my only real acquaintance get killed because he associated with me led to a worse night than usual. I’ve watched a lot of people die, I’ve killed most of them, but none were anyone I cared about. I stumbled into the kitchen and started my coffee, and mixed myself a strong drink: a vodka tonic with one ice cube.

I checked my phone, and still no message from Kathy— bitch.

I walked out into the hall to pick up the copy of the Salem Bay Sun that waited for me every morning. I sat down on my ripped tan leather couch and opened the paper. The top headline read:  “Hero Cop Slain”. An article about who, what, where, when, and how followed. “No suspects as of yet” seemed to be the plot of the article.

I knew who did it. What I didn’t know was how that wop scum knew me. I am extremely careful at my profession. I may drink too much, fuck a lot of prostitutes, smoke a few too many cigarettes, gamble too often, but I am carful when it comes to my job. Targets don’t know they are being targeted until they feel their flesh being pierced by a hollow tip, or feel the warmth of their blood flowing out of their open neck hole. Yet somehow a man I just received a job on found me only a few hours later; before I even had a chance to start coming up with a plan to take him out. Something didn’t add up and I needed to get to the bottom of it.

I went to the bedroom. Got dressed in my finest clothes; a nice pair of Nike sweats, a tight Under Armour cold gear to help me battle what looked like snow falling outside my dingy bedroom window.  I put on my Salem Bay Crabs baseball cap and walked back into the living room.

I lifted up the cushion on my couch and placed it to the side. I lifted up a piece of plywood that rested under the cushion. This was my secret weapon cache. I pulled out a black Walther PPK, the silencer attachment, and a couple extra clips. I always felt like James Bond with it in my hand, albeit a less classy, far less suave, sweatpants wearing Bond. In fact thinking about it now I’m actually the complete opposite of 007: I have no social skills, I hate martinis whether they are shaken or stirred, I’m what people would call a “bad guy”, I don’t get laid, I don’t own a tricked out Aston Martin (or any car for that matter), and I’ve never worn a tux let alone own one.

Whatever, with the small Walther PPK I was at least armed like Bond, though my watch didn’t double as a walkie-talkie.

I put on the holster for my PPK and tucked the gun in its home. I threw on my tan trench coat and tucked my loaded .38 snub nose into the pocket. I put the couch back together and headed to the hallway. I expected Jack to be standing outside of his door grabbing the morning paper, but of course he wasn’t.

I walked out into the cold snow day, the first flakes of the upcoming winter. I lit up a cigarette and started walking toward the corner of my block where I hailed a cab. It dropped me off at 31^st St I walked the rest of the way to the Devoni condo complex. It was time to get answers. I could start by getting them from Carracci.

I stopped in front of the building. It was all brick, built in the early 1920s it was bought by the Devoni crime family a decade ago and turned into a luxury condo complex for their higher up members. The rented out spaces to other people as well, to try and thwart suspicion of it being mafia housing. I walked into the building

The security guard sat at a large white desk at the center of the lobby. White tile led up to a fountain that was situated beyond the desk near the back of the lobby where the elevators were. The elevators were gold and glistened in the light. I started heading back to the elevator when the security guard waved me over to the desk. His hair was white showing he was aged, but his physique was that have a 25 year old body builder.

“You have to be buzzed up.” He stared at me, knowing damn well I wasn’t invited there, not dressed the way I was. I could have just put a .38 mm through his skull, but I always tried to leave people who had nothing to do with my mission alive. I walked over to him. “Yes, I am here to see Mr. Carracci, he is in condo 1353.” I smiled and did my best to act polite: it gave me a wicked headache.

The behemoth of a security guard typed something into his computer.

“That unit is vacant, and I don’t see anyone with that name.

”

I stood there staring at him, “Are you sure sir?”

He didn’t double check, he just asked me to leave. I left.

I stepped outside back into the snow, which began coming down a little faster. I figured there wasn’t any sense in me making a ruckus here because though riddled with Devoni members, there were actual reputable people living in the building. I headed down the block to High Heels Gentlemen’s Club which was another place ran by the Devoni family and thanks to the document provided by my employer, I knew was a favorite spot for Carracci.

The club was empty except for a few losers with money, too much time, and nothing else to do with their lunch hour. The room was lit with a dim red, music played softly echoing off the velvet walls. Two small stages were tucked into each of the far corners of the room they weren’t lit and were used only at night when the place was full.

A main stage with three gold poles sat in the center of the room. Silver tables were situated around the stage to provide a place to enjoy the show and some food; they were dotted with a few people in business suits and others in leisure suits. On one of the gold poles a Mexican woman was grinding and swinging her ass in the face of a fat balding pervert who eagerly stuffed dollars into her g-string.

It was my kind of place.

A DJ booth was situated on the left side where a thin white man stood playing the records with his sunglasses on. Directly across the room from the DJ booth was a long bar.  I made my way there.

The bartender, a young woman with blonde hair and green eyes strolled over to me. She was wearing a corset that was tight and caused an over spillage of cleavage. Her skirt was a thin strip of red leather and left little to the imagination. I ordered a scotch.

It was my kind of place. The kind of place I met Kathy at. She was there enjoying some tits that’s what drew me to her; that and her fantastic ass. She stopped responding to me and I didn’t get why. She did run a mafia casino, maybe she got wind of what I did. Maybe we worked for the same person. I was going to find that out too. I slammed back the scotch and the hot little number poured another one. I slammed it back and she kept them coming. I scanned the room hoping that Carracci would be one of the losers there, but he wasn’t. I turned to the bartender; I was her only customer so she was standing close.

“Do you know if an Alexi Carracci comes in here? He’s an old friend of mine and I’ve been trying to get a hold of him and I was told this was the type of place he spent his time.”

“I’m not sure if I know him,” she said as she rested her elbows onto the bar making sure to puff her chest out so I would notice her tits– I noticed.

“Are you sure?” I asked her cavernous cleavage.

“A lot of fellows come in here; I can’t keep track of them all.” She responded in a flirtatious tone. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill from my wallet and placed it down in front of her. She straightened up and tucked Mr. Franklin into the abyss of her breasts.

“He usually comes in here Thursdays; I’m pretty sure he lives around the corner.”

“Not really worth a hundred.”

“Sorry, hun. That’s all I got.”

I had one more scotch and headed back into the cold. I needed to get into Carracci’s condo. I lit a cigarette and stood on the sidewalk watching the smoke mix with my breath in the air when an idea hit me like I was standing in an elevator with Ray Rice. I reentered the club and headed straight for the bar.

“What time do you get off?”

“I can’t fraternize with the clientele.”

“I don’t want to fraternize I want you to do some work for me.”

“I’m not a hook.”

“No, nothing like that; I swear.” I placed my hand on my heart, “I need you to come to the condo building where Carracci lives and flirt with the guard.”

“How much?”

It was always with money with these types of broads. Kathy was the same way.

“I’ll give you a cool G.”

“And all I got to do is flirt with him?”

“That’s it.”

She stared at me and bit her lower lip; her empty blonde head was deep in thought.  She looked around to make sure no one could hear her and she leaned in putting her breasts close to my hand. “I go on break in ten. Meet me at the corner.”

“Ok.” I turned to head out.

I stood on the corner and waited for the hot body bartender to meet me. I watched her as she approached me. Her cleavage was covered by a heavy tan trench coat, and her legs once in a skimpy skirt were now covered in sweatpants: she was still gorgeous, maybe even more so.

“So where’s the money?”

I handed her a stack of bills rubber banded together. “I’ll give you the rest once I get in and out of Carracci’s condo.”

She walked into the condo and removed her jacket as soon as she was in the lobby, exposing those magnificent peaks and the security guard was sucked right in. I snuck past unnoticed and hopped on an elevator and took it up to the thirteenth floor.

I exited the elevator and entered the hall. It was just as elegant as the lobby: the walls were a white marble lined with paintings, the carpet was royal blue, and exotic plants were placed along the hall for more color. I walked down until I came to the door marked 1353. I knocked.

I stood with an ear to the door. I didn’t hear a sound, so I picked the lock and entered. The floors were solid cherry wood, a white carpet sat underneath a glass coffee table. The back wall was lined with a row of floor to ceiling windows with a view of an old gothic cathedral’s bell tower. To the left was a kitchen with all stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The coffee maker was on. Someone was here. I pulled Walther PPK and began to search the condo. I went into the bedroom there was solid mahogany furniture and a king sized bed. The door to the master bathroom was shut and I could hear the shower running. I tucked the gun back into the holster and headed back to the kitchen.

I took a mug from the cabinet and poured myself a cup of coffee, and brought it into the living room. I sat down on a leather sofa, took a sip of the coffee, grabbed a coaster and put my beverage onto the glass coffee table. I pulled the snub nose out of my pocket and placed it on the table pointing the barrel toward the bedroom door.

I heard the bathroom door open and I sipped my coffee sitting patently for them to come into the room. I watched as a small brunette walked into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of panties her small round breasts exposed. I wasn’t one to complain about a nice pair of tits, but she wasn’t Carracci and wasn’t going to get me any of the information I needed. She stared at me.

“Are you lost?”

“No, I’m in the right place, but I was expecting a man.”

“What are you a fruitcake or something?”

“No ma’am. I’m just here on some business”

“I’m not on the clock, nor is this how my appointments happen.” She looked me up and down, “And from the looks of it honey you would not be able to afford me.” She walked past me into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of Joe. She walked back into the living room and stood in front of me, not a care in the world that her slim body was practically naked.  I stared directly at her breasts, not her eyes. What a fucking pervert I was, maybe that was why Kathy stopped speaking with me.

“So what are you doing in my place of residence if you can’t afford to fuck?”

So blunt. It was quite the turn on. I always had a thing for hookers, but I would never be able to afford her so I shook the thought of her naked body against mine and moved on with the reason I was there.

“I’m looking for Alexi Carracci.”

“Well, he isn’t here, nor do I know him.”

“I’m sorry, but I was given this as his address.”

“You were given wrong. Now since I am a polite person I will allow you to finish your coffee before you get the fuck out.” She stared at my feet, “And I will ignore the fact that you did not take your shoes off before trampling all over my $1,200 rug.”

I didn’t finish my coffee. I stood up grabbed my gun off the table putting it back in my pocket, and walked out of her apartment. She could have been hiding something, but I’m not a very good at interrogating people just killing them.

I headed back down the elevator to the lobby. The bartender saw me exiting and gave the security guard a fake number; I knew it was a fake because I order pizza from that place all the time. She followed me outside.

“You get what you needed?”

“No, I didn’t get anything except an erection and a free cup of coffee.”

I gave her the other half of her pay and watched her swing her hips back down to the club. I lit a cigarette. I needed to find the little man, but I had no idea where to look.