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 31st 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.
