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.”

Title TBA

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Part VII

                The Devoni Compound was on the outskirts of the northern end of the city in a gated community known as ‘The Woods’ which is home to the mansions of the cities wealthiest citizens and the Devoni crime family. Dermot and I drove in silence as we exited the city and drove past the ancient oaks that lined the road leading into ‘The Woods’.

                Dermot pulled the Pinto off to the side before we reached the gate of the community. we wouldn’t get past the guard without killing him and since I didn't plan on killing any innocent people we had to formulate a different entry plan.

                “We don’t want to leave the car here, let’s pull it out of sight. There was a dirt trail a little further back. Put it there and we can cut through the woods and approach the compound from the back.”

                Dermot turned the car around and parked on the dirt road out of sight from traffic. We stepped out into the snowy woods. Dermot called me to the back of the Pinto.

                “Ya gonna need more fire power than those pistols ya be carrying.”

                He opened the trunk of the hatchback and lifted up the floor which had two TEC-9 machine guns and a 12 gauge Remington 870 pump action shotgun hidden where a spare tire would be normally. I grabbed the Remington and loaded up my pockets with extra ammunition. Dermot grabbed the two TEC-9s.

                “Do ya know where we be headed to?”

                “Vaguely,” I smiled a bit, “Just follow the scent of spaghetti sauce.”

                “I'll lead then,” he said without even cracking a smile at my joke. The Irish don't seem to have a sense of humor.

                We headed through the woods past multi-million dollar mansions inhabited by the who's who of Salem Bay. We trekked around a large frozen pond where deer stood staring at us and crows squawked in the trees as the snow began to come down in large clumps and the sky turned orange with the approaching sunset.

                Dermot lifted his hand in the air as a signal to stop; he took a seat in the snow behind a fallen tree. I took a seat and joined him on the frozen forest floor leaning the Remington against the tree trunk.

                “Tha next home is tha compound. Are ya sure ya want to do this? No turnin back boy-o.”

                “I don't have much of a choice in this. If you need to head back I'll understand.”

                We sat in silence for a moment as Dermot peered over the fallen tree looking at the rear of the compound where two men stood guard about fifty yards away standing at the rear entrance of the Devoni compound which was surrounded by a eight foot stone wall.

                “Ya got a smoke?” I handed Dermot a cigarette and lit it for him, “I'm with ya through this. I have me own reasons for this mission. I'm afraid I'm not just bein' a nice guy.” He cracked a smile and took a long drag from his cigarette. I lit one of my own.

                “I'll take the help regardless of your motivation and I truly appreciate you saving my ass back there.”

                “No problem laddie. Any friend of Patty is a friend of all tha Irish in this fair city.”

                I pulled out my silenced Walther PPK from its holster and turned around and stabled my hand on the log and pointed the barrel down at the guard closest to me.

                “Can ya hit them with that from here?”

                I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth and tossed it into the snow and put my hand back onto the trigger, I stabilized my breathing and waited for the right moment before pulling the trigger. The guard dropped to his knees holding his throat trying to prevent blood from spilling out: it was too late. He dropped face first to the ground. The other guard turned and ran toward him getting down on one knee to check his partner's pulse. Once he saw that the other guard was dead he stood up and I pulled the trigger again. He dropped on top of his fallen comrade.

                “Aye, I guess I'll keep me mouth shut next time.”

                I stood up, grabbed the pump, and started toward the stone wall. I leaned my back against it. Once I was flush against it Dermot followed. We slunk along the wall until we reached the gate. I squatted and peered my head around to see into the compounds yard.

                “We got about two on the patio by the back door and at least one on the top deck, but he is on the phone so we should be able to take out the two on the patio before he can notice.”

                I gave the gate a shove with my right hand without exposing myself to the Deovni muscle.

                “Locked?” Dermot questioned, I nodded, “Maybe one of them has a key.” Dermot motioned toward the dead guards. He laid on his stomach and crawled over to them. I waited as he searched both their pockets. He crawled back to my position. “This remote may be our ticket.” He held up what looked like a clicker for a car, but instead of a car maker's logo it had the Devoni family crest.

                “Let's hope that opens it. I am in no condition to be climbing walls.” I felt small drops of warm blood against my cold skin.

                “Aye, lets get this done so we can get ya over to the doc.”

                I peaked around the corner of the wall and put a bullet from my PPK into each of the guards on the patio, as the second one hit the ground I signaled to Dermot and with a push of a button the gate swung open. I grabbed the Remington and snuck into the yard: Dermot followed. The sliding glass door onto the Patio began to open, so I took a position behind a bench near a small garden and Dermot ducked behind a bush to the right of me. Three men walked outside laughing until they spotted the two corpses bleeding on the imported Italian stone patio. Two of them pulled out small sub machine guns and the other one checked the bodies. After seeing that they were dead he blew a whistle. The two with the sub-machine guns began walking toward the open gate. I looked over at my Irish partner as he was making the sign of a cross and kissing a rosary bead he kept in his pocket.

                Shots started hitting the bench I was hiding behind: the man on the deck was paying attention to us. The attention of the three goombas in the yard was fully on us. Dermot lifted one of his Tec-9s over the top of the bush and fired blindly at them. They ran and took cover on the patio behind two large marble columns. The bullets from above stopped as the goon changed clips. I took it as an opportunity to move my position. 

                I darted over to the left of my current position hiding behind a small shed in the furthest corner of the compound's vast back yard. I now had a better view of the patio and of the two guards hiding there. Dermot continued to fire blindly over the top of the bush hitting everything but the targets. Planters on the patio shattered and bullets ricocheted off the bullet proof French doors that led into the home. I took each opportunity I could to try and take out the person on the deck, he had the best vantage point to get a shot at Dermot, but I couldn't get a clean shot because he ducked behind the deck fence which was also lined with bullet proof glass. The whole fucking house was bullet proof.

                Two more Devoni Thugs came out onto the deck. I was able to take one of them down with a beautiful head shot that impressed even myself. I knew then if this whole assassin thing doesn't work out I could become an Olympic Biathlon athlete: I just need to learn how to ski.

                Dermot finally was able to take out one of the targets on the patio with his wild shooting. I wondered how much ammo he could possibly have left, but he just kept reloading clips and firing. He was a lunatic. I whistled for him to join me behind the shed. It seemed like a better place to hide and we could discuss some sort of plan. 

                He nodded and fired over the bush once more, but this time a bullet from above ripped off his hand. He screeched in pain and clutched his wrist. He fell into the snow as blood spouted from where his hand once was.

                “Mothafucker!”

                Leaving the Remington behind the shed I ran back to the bench and slid behind it through the soft snow which was splotched with red dots. I ripped off a sleeve of my jacket and tied it around Dermot's wrist to try and slow the bleeding. I stayed low enough to not give any enemy a clear shot at me. Once the tourniquet was tied I stepped back out from behind the bush leaving Dermot there. I rushed back to my safe spot behind the shed, holstered my Walther PPK, and picked up the shotgun. I turned and fired toward the patio and ducked back before they returned the favor.

                I looked over where Dermot was lying in the snow, but just his blood his was there. He was rushing toward the house firing his TEC-9 with his one good hand. With the two people on the patio distracted I went around the shed and approached the patio from the side putting shotgun bullets into the remaining goons. Dermot met me on the patio.

                “Aye, it could be worse.” he winced as he spoke, “I hit the bastards up stairs.” Dermot collapsed to his knees dropping his gun next to him, “Go in without me, I'll be here when ya done.”

                I picked him up and propped him up against one of the columns and returned the gun to his working hand. I opened the door and headed into the compound.

                “Good luck boy-o.”