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 12th 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.
