Title TBA

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Part III

I had three options, go up to the bell tower and watch the hookers apartment to see if she was lying to me, go find the little man, or get a drink. Since I didn’t have the equipment for a long distance stake out with me, or  have any idea where to start looking for the little man I took my third option and headed down the street to Mulligan’s Pub.

Mulligan’s was run by a small fiery Irish immigrant who back n Ireland he was a member of the IRA, but here he runs a quiet pub that would fit right back in Dublin, or whatever Mick town he was from. He told stories of his IRA days and I know he has connections with the Irish mob here, so I wasn’t just heading there for a drink, but also some information: mainly just a drink.

I walked into Mulligan’s and took a seat at the bar; it was a worn oak top riddled with cigarette burns from long ago. Pat, the owner and bartender walked over to me, his face stern and serious: he never smiled even while telling a joke. He had a thick beard that had grayed with his age. His hair was short and combed over like a catholic altar boy with a color to match his beard.

“What’ll it be laddie?”

“A Guinness and a whiskey.”

“Of course it is. It’s always whiskey for this one.” He spoke to the empty bar. He poured me a glass and placed it in front of me.

“Sheppard’s pie as well.” I slammed back my whiskey. He brought the bottle over, poured another one.

“Aye, he eats! He don’t just drink.” His facial expression remained the same even when he laughed at his own joke. “Son, you’ve been coming in here for years and never ordered food ‘tis a miracle if you ask me.” He placed the order to the kitchen and came back over to me. I was the only customer and Pat loved to talk. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Work.” I took a sip of my beer. No one in Salem Bay could pour a Guinness to perfection like Pat. It must have be the green blood that pumped through his veins.

            “Ay, tough job this week?”

            Pat knew what I did; I had done a job for his brother a year prior. It was a quick job taking out a federal judge. Pat was the only person I could talk to about my work with.

            “I think I was set up,” I slowly sipped my beer

“Why would ya say that?”

“The mark found me before I found him,” the cook brought out my Sheppard’s pie; I waited for him to head back to the kitchen, “I was hoping you would know someone who can help locate my employer.”

“Oh, let me just run ta the end of the rainbow and grab a wee bit of magic.” His face stayed stern as if he was serious about a magic rainbow.

“Sarcastic prick,” I shook my head and downed anther whiskey, “I have a limo plate number and you have friends. I figure you can trace it for me.”

“What’s the plate number?”

“GCA987.”

Pat walked into his office which was situated in the back corner of the bar. I finished my lunch and waited for him to come back with some information. It felt good to finally have something in my stomach to balance out all the booze I had been drinking since I woke up. Pat returned and handed me a folded piece of paper. I read it. It had a name and address; finally a start.

“Be careful laddie.”

I paid my tab and headed back out into the snow, the address that was given to me is back down in the Southside near my apartment. The car must be registered to the driver, but he can point me to where I can find the little man.

 I hailed a cab and he dropped me off at a rundown project building which made my place feel like a Vegas penthouse.

Outside of the entrance was three men just like the ones that hung outside of my apartment. They stared at me as I walked to the entrance. They were each wearing green hoodies, the fat one was wearing a Celtics knit hat sitting on a bench, the thin one had nothing on his head, but I’m sure his afro kept his head warm, and the third one stood with his arms crossed acting as tough as he could: the steroids helped him accomplish that.

“Yo, what you here fo’ son?” The fat one said, or some variation of that it was hard to understand him because he had a hard time with talking and breathing at the same time. I ignored him, put my hands into my coat pockets, and kept walking toward the building.

“Maybe you ain’t heard my friend. We axin’ what you doing here.” The steroid user stepped in front of my path.

“Me?” I asked pretending to be confused.

“Yeah, you.”

“Oh, no one told you? I have been sent here by the city to give you fellows some English lessons!”

“Oh, you’s a wise guy?” The fat one said as he struggled off of the bench, “I think we ought to handle dis like we did wit’ the teachers in school.”

The muscle bound guy grabbed my under arms and lifted me into the air, as the skinny one and the lard laughed. My finger felt the trigger of my snub nose, I squeezed and the muscle head dropped me as the bullet lodged in his chest. The other two grabbed him.

“You motherfucker, you kilt him!”

“Listen idiots, I’m here to see someone and unless one of you shit heads holds a job as a limo driver I don’t believe you are him. So, if you don’t mind moving your friend to the side and getting out of my way I’ll let you guys stay alive for his funeral.”

The fat one stood up and looked at me, his round face wet from tears, “Dat was my brother you bitch.”

“Listen, tubs, he isn’t dead yet,” I pulled out my wallet and tossed a twenty at the dying man, “get a cab and take him to the hospital. I’m sure he will be all right.” I said as I rolled my eyes knowing damn well he was going to die. Ambulances never respond quick enough in this part of town

“I think we fuck you up instead cracker.”

“I wouldn’t do that, I don’t want to kill you guys too. Just go to the hospital.” They stepped toward me and the fat one reached into his hoody to pull out what I could only assume was a weapon. I pulled out my Walther PPK and shot him in the kneecap, he fell to the ground with a thud kicking up a cloud of snow snow. I pointed the gun at the scrawny thug. “Listen, just take them to the hospital before I put a bullet into your head and they bleed out here in the snow.”

He was terrified his eyes twitched. He picked up the twenty dollars and ran to the street to hail a cab. I stepped over his bloody friends and headed into the project

The lobby smelt like piss I had to hold my breath until I reached the stairs. I walked up to the second floor and knocked on apartment 2G.

A young girl answered the door and stared up at me.

“I’m looking for a Blake Randolph.”

The girl didn’t take her eyes off of me, “BR, dare a white man here. It probably the police, what you do?”

A short black kid wearing glasses came to the door and the girl went inside mocking him like he was just sent to the principal’s office.

“Blake?”

“Yes sir. Most people just call me B.R.”

“B.R. mind if I come in a moment? I’m not the police I just have some questions about your employer.”

BR seemed to be relieved that I wasn’t the police. I went into the small one bedroom apartment; it was clean compared to the rest of the building. To the left was a coffee table and ragged couch. On the table were several books, and papers. To the right of the TV set was a bookshelf full of all the classic books and several more by modern day civil rights authors.

“You can sit down sir.”

“Thanks.” I sat down and he cleared, up some more books off of a recliner and took a seat

.

“I’m not sure how I can assist, I’m only a driver.”

“Well, the limo is registered in your name, so I figured you would be a good start. I work for him, or for his employer, as well, but I don’t even know his name.”

“It’s Mr. Williams. I don’t know his first name.”

“Where do you pick him up?”

“I don’t. The limo stays in a parking garage on 12^th and he calls me an hour before I’m supposed to drive him. I just go there and he is already waiting in the limo. I never see him arrive and he stays after I leave.”

“Do you have his number?”

“He always calls from restricted.” B.R., fidgeted his hands, and stared at me, “I am not dumb, I get the feeling this is not a good relationship you have with my boss. I don’t want to lose my job. It pays well and is helping get me through college. There aren’t many opportunities like this for someone from here.”

“I wouldn’t want you to lose your job, but I need to see this man.” I grabbed a pen and notebook off of the coffee table I scribbled my cell number down, ripped it out, and handed it to him. “Just call me right after he calls you.”

I pulled the last stack of money I had in my pocket and dropped it onto the table. I stood up and walked out of the apartment back into the urine scented stairwell.

I stepped out of the building as a group of people gathered around a pool of blood in the snow. I walked past them without stopping and headed to the street. I stopped, lit another cigarette and pulled out my cell. I decided it was time to give Kathy a call. It didn’t ring, instead I got an automated message letting me know the number was no longer in service.

“Fuck,” I murmured.

I tucked my phone away and headed up a couple blocks from this slum to my own palace. I had a little bit of time before Kathy’s backroom casino opened which I thought would be my next stop.

I entered my apartment and turned on the TV as the four o’clock news was just starting. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a drink. I figured it had been long enough since the last one. I was pouring some scotch into a glass when the news switched to the murder at the race track. I walked back into the living room and stood in front of the television as a blonde anchor woman with a fantastic rack spoke about the murder.

“Police say they have a suspect who was caught on a security camera,” a grainy image from the camera showed above the woman’s shoulder. “Authorities say the man is Alexi Carracci. He is a convicted felon and is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. No motive has been released yet”

The mystery of Kathy was going to have to wait a bit longer I needed to get to Alexi before the police he was a key piece to the puzzle I was trying to solve. I finished my drink went in to and closet and put on a jacket with less bullet holes. I grabbed more ammo from under my couch along with a briefcase which housed my custom built SGW Multimatch AR-15 sniper rifle and some more cash before heading out.

The snow had stopped falling and the sun had begun its descent out of the sky as a full moon took its place to the east. Wind rushed in from the seaport across the street whipping the snow off of the ground and around my face. I hailed a cab and took it back uptown.

I stepped out of the cab in front of St. Francis Cathedral which had been abandoned for over a year since the deacon murdered one of his altar boys, and several other children were discovered in the basement awaiting shipment out of the city as part of a citywide human trafficking sting. Two towering gargoyles stared down at me and the rest of the city from high above the door. The secrets they could tell if they were more like those kick ass gargoyles from that 90’s cartoon.

The doors were boarded up and several do not trespass signs dotted the outside of the building. I needed to find a way in without being seen. I walked toward the grave yard that was behind the church and a set of back stairs. The door at the bottom was boarded up and police crime tape crisscrossed it. I peeled the tape off and tried to find a point along the edge of the board where I could wrap my fingers around it.

I pried off the board and placed it to the side and opened the door. I carefully propped up the board back in front of the entrance to make it seem like it was never removed. The basement was dark, and dust floated throughout the room. Long wood benches lined each side of the room with makeshift hand cuffs attached. It gave me the fucking creeps.

 I walked up the stairs into the main cathedral. A large crucified white man watched over the empty church as dust filled all of the pews, he looked sad as if upset he was unable to stop the atrocities that occurred while he just hung there as a spectator. I climbed the spiral stair case, stepping over a small dried patch of blood where the deacon was killed by a detective responding to a missing person report, and headed to the top of the bell tower.

The moon was shining bright above the city as I opened the brief case and put together my AR-15.  I laid down flat looking through the scope for the condo unit I was in earlier that day. I came across it and scanned the place.

 The woman was standing in the kitchen washing dishes, still dressed in nothing but her panties. I watched her for a few moments; her body was glistening with sweat. Her breast bounced and her ass shook with every movement. I was really hoping that I wouldn’t have to kill such a beautiful woman.

I finally stopped staring at the high class hooker like the creep that I was and scanned the rest of the condo. A man was standing in front of the bedroom mirror changing— it was Alexi. The bitch fucking lied to me. I fired a shot which put a hole through the window and ripped through Carracci’s bum leg. He fell to the ground. I stood up, packed my gun, walked down the stairs, and headed out of the cathedral to the condo building.