Title TBA

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7

Part VI

The sun blazed on my eyelids and caused them to flutter open. I sat up on Pat’s couch and looked around for him. He wasn’t in the apartment. I felt a bandage that covered the gunshot wound. Pat must have had some back-alley Irish doctor come in and take the bullet. I probably should have rested to let everything heal, but I needed to continue on my mission: whatever that was at this point in time.

I grabbed my bloody jacket off of the back of a kitchen chair, my Walther PPK, and headed back down into the bar. I felt a sharp pain with ever step; it was only a matter of time before the stitches burst. I took a seat at the bar; Pat was cleaning up before opening for lunch.

“Doc told me to tell ya that you should rest fo at least a week.”

“Can I get a whiskey?”

“I figure ya wouldn’t be listening to him laddie, but I guessed I should let ya know what he said.” Pat stared at me and poured a whiskey, I slammed it back. He poured me another, “Ya bags are in tha office.”

“Thanks.”

I slammed back the second whiskey and headed back into the office. I grabbed a couple stacks of money from the briefcase and extra ammo from the duffle bag. I walked back out and dropped a couple hundred on the bar for Pat’s trouble. He pulled out a stack of clothes from under the bar and handed it to me.

“Ya can’t go out looking a mess boy-o” he pointed to the bathroom, “change and I’ll grab ya a jacket”

I walked into the bathroom. I put on a pair of green Mulligan’s sweatpants and a black Mulligan’s tee-shirt: marketing at its finest. I walked out of the bathroom and traded my bloody clothes for the jacket Pat brought down for me. It was a dark grey windbreaker, it wouldn’t keep me too warm but it would cover up my holstered gun. Pat removed the snub nose from my tattered jacket and handed it to me.

“Wouldn’t want ya to forget this.”

“Thanks, I left the rest of my stuff in the office. I’ll come back when this is done to get them.”

I left Mulligan’s as a walking billboard for the place and headed to the Devoni casino. I knew it wouldn’t be open just yet, but I figured I could snoop around for some answers.

A stream of grey clouds moved in over the city blotting out the late morning sun as I walked down the block past the strip club. My thoughts went to then fine young bartender hoping she went unharmed.

I went into a bodega down the street from the casino and grabbed another pack of cigarettes. I tried a new brand: American Spirits; fewer chemicals and in my woozy mind it was a nice step toward healthy living. I grabbed a honey bun as well to try and balance out the blood loss and alcohol consumption. I stepped back out into the bleak day as snow began to blanket the city streets.

I lit up a cigarette and puffed the additive free tobacco into my lungs coughing heavily as I released the smoke into the cold air. The pain in my side made me double over, I spit up a little bit of dark red blood into the fresh powder. I gave up trying to smoke and tossed the butt into the street. The pain exited and I stood back up and ripped open the honey bun eating it as I walked the block to the alley. The guard was not yet on duty so I walked down to the door. It was unlocked so I turned the knob and pulled out my Walther before entering the doorway.

Behind the steel door was a dark stairwell, I inched my way to the top stair where another steel door welcomed me. This one was locked so I did what any respectable person would do: I knocked.

I lifted my gun up to the slot toward the top of the door as it slid open.

“Open the door.”

I heard the lock unlatch and I slowly pushed the door open.

“You shouldn’t be here Jason.” I was greeted by Terry. He was a small bald sloth faced man with the body of a bowling pin.

“Good to see you too. I guess you know I’m not here for cards.” I smiled as I went to re-holster my weapon.

“Please keep it out for the cameras.”

I pulled the gun back out and pressed it against Terry’s head.

Terry began walking so I followed him keeping my Walther PPK close to his temple. We walked into the back office. We took seats on opposite sides of the desk. I kept the gun pointed at him for the show. I wasn’t going to shoot him. I liked Terry as much as a degenerate gambler can like a black jack dealer.

“I see you’re moving up in the world. They let you run this place now?”

He fidgeted in his plush leather chair and leaned forward onto his desk.

“I have information for you, but I need you to make it look like I put up some sort of fight before saying anything, if they see me acting like your buddy you may as well pull that trigger now.” He pulled out a purple handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and dabbed the sweat off of his forehead. I stood up and slammed the barrel of my pistol across his face.

“Fuck!” He spit out a pool of blood and a tooth onto his desk. He sat stunned for a moment before talking. “Kathy, as you may know, was higher up in the Devoni family than I thought.”

“No shit, she stole files from my employer and now I’m a target for every dirty wop in the fucking city.”

Terry laughed causing more blood to spill out of his mouth, “once she found out who you were her new position left her no choice.”

“Smoke?” He shook his head as I lit another American Spirit and drove the butt of my gun into his right shoulder. “Just keeping up appearances,” which I was, but also he had one of those annoying laughs that made me always want to hit him. Now I had his permission, so I took advantage.

He shook off the pain and continued “a buddy of mine overheard Devoni higher ups discussing you. That organization that you work for was planning on using you to take out all the high ranking members of the family. Carracci was just the start of your work.”

“I could always use more work.”

“Yeah, but the plot thickens my friend.”

I bashed him in the shoulder again and took a seat; he wiped more blood out of his mouth and sat back in his chair in pain.

“Go on.”

He leaned forward and took a deep breath, “ turns out Kathy was only running this until her new job opened up.”

“What job is that?”

“Don.”

I slumped into my chair and dropped my cigarette onto the floor.

“Yeah, I was surprised too, but a guy who works at the compound came in here, had a little too much to drink, and confirmed it with me. She is Devoni’s daughter and the Godfather’s successor.”

I lit another cigarette and grabbed the tumbler of whiskey off Terry’s desk and poured myself a shot. I slammed it back and lit another cigarette.

“Her first order of business,” Terry spoke at a whisper like someone was listening, “was to stop your employer from gaining any ground in Salem Bay which meant taking out their local muscle which is you. So, as the great Don Corleone would say ‘it was business not personal.’”

“I’m not about this Sicilian bullshit. Someone wants me dead it becomes personal. Have you ever seen the compound?”

“No, but I’m sure it won’t be easy for you to get into if that’s your plan.” He picked up a wood pipe off his desk and started puffing smoke into the air, “All the family muscle is looking for you. In fact I need to make a call to the hotel across the street to tell them you were here, or I’ll be dead.”

“How many are across the street?”

“Not sure.” He smiled, “just remember who your friends are if you make it out of this alive.”

I stood up and put my cigarette out on his desk and walked out of the office. I heard him on the phone as I was making way through the casino. I headed back into the alley with my gun ready.

The snow began to fall harder as I stepped back outside. There was only one way out of the alley and it was toward the street where the hotel was. I saw several people walking past, but the wind whipped down the alley spinning the snow through the air which made it difficult to see if any of them were walking with the intent to put a bullet into my head. I crouched low and started down the alley when bullets began to fly in my direction ripping apart the brick wall behind me. I dove behind a dumpster and waited for a break in the action to look out to see who the shots were coming from.

The shots ceased once I was behind the dumpster and out of their sight. I tried to think of a way to get myself out of this predicament. Most of the high officials in the police department were on the Devoni payroll so I couldn’t hope they would be on their way after reported gunfire. I wished at that time I had taken my Heckler & Koch MP7 sub-machine gun instead of just two pistols. I felt warm blood leaking from my wound as a couple of the stitches broke.

The sound of footsteps crushing in the fresh snow echoed off the buildings. My first thought was to jump out and put a bullet in each of them, but I didn’t know if they had a sniper watching the alley from the hotel: that’s what I would do if I was in their greasy shoes. I tried to put the fact that I was bleeding from my mind and try to focus on formulating a plan as the footsteps came closer.

            Voices spoke in what sounded like Italian as the footsteps ceased. I took a deep breath and before I could jump out guns a blazing I heard two loud thuds. I peered around the dumpster to find two olive skinned men lying lifeless in the snow with throwing knives sticking out from their throats.

            “It’s ok boy-o,” someone shouted in a thick Irish accent.

            I stood up to see a fair skinned man standing at the entrance of the alley. He smiled exposing his yellow teeth beneath a red mustache. He may have only been five foot six, but he was built solid with muscles that nearly burst from his beige flannel shirt, and tight faded blue jeans.

            “Thanks,” I said as I stared down at my would be assassins.

            “Aye, not a problem,” he approached me with a hand out, I grabbed it and shook. His grip nearly crushed my hand, “My name is Dermot, Patty sent me. said ya might be needin’ some help.”

            I re-holstered my Walther PPK and opened my jacket up; the blood was seeping through my shirt.

            “Maybe we should go back to Patty’s and get ya sealed.”

            I closed up the jacket and pulled out another cigarette, Dermot gave me a light, “I have something to do first.”

            “Aye, Patty said you’re a stubborn on, how about I give ya a hand.”

            I gladly took Dermot’s assistance. I needed to get into the Devoni compound. It would have been suicide if I went solo, but with an experienced gun by my side I had a chance. We jumped into Dermot’s puke green 1979 Ford Pinto and headed out of town to whatever fate awaited us at the compound.