Title TBA

Part VIII

            I entered into a large living room. The floor was entirely Macassar Ebony hardwood dotted with extravagant carpets. Two plush leather couches faced a large stone fireplace. A Picasso painting hung high above the fireplace with an ivory candle holder on either side. A door on the left side of the room began to slide open. I turned quickly to fire the Remington: nothing discharged. I dropped it to the ground and dove behind one of the couched as return fire littered the elegant living room. I pulled out both my pistols and fired over the top of the couch.

There was no return gunfire so I took a moment to listen to catch any sound, but there was only silence. I slid the snub nose back into my jacket pocket, re-holstered the PPK, and picked up the Remington. I grabbed the last few shells from my pocket and loaded the shotgun. I stood up keeping the gun pointed at the door there were no bodies: living or otherwise. As I turned the corner into the other room I felt something rip into my right shoulder. I dropped the Remington and fell to the ground. I inched over behind another couch and pulled the snub nose out and held it in my left hand. I heard the French doors open and the ensuing firefight. I jumped to my feet—jump may be an overstatement it was more of a hobble. I fired the snub nose at two fat Italian greaseballs who were more concerned with Dermot than me. They both dropped to the expensive floor. I wasn't sure if it was from my shots or Dermot's but they were dead, so I had that going for me.

            “Two times now.”

            I staggered back over to the open French doors. Dermot was sprawled on his back on the patio. A small pool of blood was growing under him as he held his nub to his stomach and clutched his TEC with the other. I knelt by him.

            “I saved your arse two times now.” he coughed and spat out a small amount of over his pale face. “Go finish tha job. I'll be here when ya done.”

            I left him there and headed back into the house stepping over the two bodies and into a lavish kitchen. Stainless steel appliances were surrounded by pyrolave countertops and the same hard wood floors as in the living room. More shots came from the other side of the kitchen. I took cover behind one of the three kitchen islands: I guess you could call it a kitchen archipelago. I could hear soft footsteps approaching me. I peered around the island and saw a pair of alligator shoes stepping closer. I shot and killed them again. As the man occupying them fell in pain and I took the opportunity to make him match his lifeless footwear. I stayed crouched and pocketed my snub nose, which was out of cartridges, and picked up the dead man’s Heckler & Koch VP70. 

            As I headed out of the kitchen I started to feel woozy from a combination of the new wound in my shoulder and the old one in my abdomen which could not had have many stitches left holding it together. I tried to move as fast as I could.

            I entered the dining room and made a left down a long hallway. I walked to the end of the hall where I was greeted by a locked door. I took a step back and shot the knob off and pushed my way in.

            “Damn you are good darling,” I was greeted by a familiar face; Kathy sat at a large birch desk with a Glock 26 pointed at me. “Don't worry I won't shoot you unless this goes awry, but we have something special, so I'm sure we will be fine. Put the gun on the floor and have a seat.”

I didn't drop the weapon I just stared blankly. Her gray eyes returned my gaze. She smiled: I was too hurt and tired to do anything but stare.

            “You really got messed up out there. I don't know why I bother employing any of these people they can't even stop one person from entering.”

            She stood up and walked toward me keeping her pistol pointed at my heart. She grabbed the pistol from my hand throwing it to the floor. I tried to swat at her but she punched me in the wounded shoulder. I let out a scream. She reached into my jacket and took my Walther from its holster and tossed it to the side. She did the same thing with the snub nose.

            “Now have a seat.” she kissed my cheek and went back to sitting behind her desk. I sat across from her.

            “Two.” I whispered.

            “Excuse me?”

            “I wasn't alone. I had an Irishman with me.”

            “Where’s the Mick now?”

            “Staining your expensive patio.” My mind went over to Dermot dying on the patio and me dying in this office.

            “We had something, right?”

I didn't answer.

“We did. I really wanted it to go another way. It is hard meeting people. It will be even more difficult now that I have an enterprise to run.”

            “Can I smoke?”

            “Be my guest.”

            I pulled out the pack of smokes and lit one. The tobacco rushed to my lungs: it felt wonderful.

            “That's a disgusting habit Jason. I'm sure if we stuck it out I would have gotten you to quit, but that went out the window when I found out who you were being contracted by,” she frowned slightly. “Maybe we can work something out and you can come work for me and we can reignite those sparks. What do you say? Do you want to come work for a real organization and not some Canadian Mountie outfit?”

            “I'd prefer to work for them. They didn’t try to kill me a few days after fucking me.”

            “Come on Jason it was just business, not personal.”

            “I figured you would pull that grease-ball line out. Trust me you aren't as convincing as Brando and rumor has it he gave great head and I can't say that for you.”

            That pissed her off. She shot me in my wounded shoulder.

            “Last chance to work for me or I leave your body slumped there in that chair until I find one of my employees you didn't kill to dump you in the marshes.”

            I stood up and walked over to the corner where a bar was set up. I put out my American Spirit in a crystal ashtray and lit myself another one. I poured myself a whiskey and returned to my seat across from the brunette beauty. 

            “We could have had something, but you turned out to be a major cunt.”

            “Do we need the harsh language?”

            “I think when the shoe fits you should shove it up your ass— kinda where I was shoving things.”

            I stirred the single ice cube around in my glass with my finger. The pain of moving that arm killed my shoulder, but I thought the coolness factor outweighed my pain.

            “So you want me to work for you after you tried to kill me?”

            “Your abilities will be better served with us than those Nordique freaks.”

            “I didn't even know they were Canadian I just know they pay extremely well.”

            “I can match their pay scale,” she cracked a smile, “and I could give you a little something extra,” she sure thought highly of her sexual abilities.

            I took the final drag of my cigarette and put it out in another ashtray that sat on her desk probably left from her father's reign. I stared at her. A part of me wanted to take her offer because we had a lot of fun together, but another part wanted to watch her die. One part was bigger than the other.

            “That's all great, but you tried to have me killed and they haven't,” I downed my drink giving it a moment to flow down my throat. “Besides, they have better whiskey.”

            I stood up quickly and threw the glass at Kathy's symmetrical face. It shattered on impact. Her finger pulled down on the Glock’s trigger: I felt a 9mm slug enter my stomach. I dove across the desk and tried to grab the gun from her hand. She pulled the trigger again shattering liquor bottles across the room. She slammed her bloody head into my nose. I felt the crunch as the bone shattered.

            I released my grip and I was sprawled across the desk. Kathy stood up and aimed the barrel at my throat.

            “I really liked you to.”

            Before she could finish me off I grabbed the ashtray and bashed it across her hand. The gun fell to the ground. I hit her across the face with my crystal weapon then I rolled off of the desk and rushed to grab one of the guns she tossed. I picked one up and turned as Kathy took a shot that struck the wall behind me piercing a Monet painting. I fired back with the Heckler & Koch VP70 breaking off the left side of her skull.

            I fell to my knees. My stomach hurt like a bitch, but I was alive. I struggled back to my feet and stumbled out of the office back down the hall. The compound was silent and I could hear the faint sound of sirens approaching.

            I made my way to the patio where Dermot laid in a pool of his freezing blood. I picked him up and tossed him over my shoulders. As soon as his body landed on them I dropped to my knees again as his weight put more pressure on my bullet ridden shoulder. I put him back down on the ground and dragged him by his foot with my one good hand. The sirens blared as I heard police out front as I reached the rear gate.

            Dragging Dermot along I headed through woods, past the pond, and back to the dirt rode. A Ford Pinto never looked so gorgeous. The sound of sirens was now distant again. I put Dermot in the passenger seat and took my spot behind the wheel and sped as fast as the pile of bolts would take us. I made a call to Pat to have him get the doctor prepped for surgery

            The moon broke through the clouds as I pulled the car in front of Mulligan’s. Pat and a few other Irishmen rushed out of the bar. Two of them carried Dermot into the bar and another took the car to a safe hiding spot.

            My phone rang with a number I didn't recognize. I answered it.

            “Good evening Jason.” a soft voice spoke, “I tallied your bill for the damage at my place and  it came to one dinner at Giannini's Friday night.”

            I was silent. I stood in front of the bar under the shining full moon as my blood dripped to the snow.

            “Say around seven?” She said breaking the silence.

            “Sure, but not Italian. I've had my fill of Italian shit for a while.”