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.

Title TBA

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 12^th 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.