New York wasn’t my favorite place, but Manhattan did give me a lot of options as far as rooftops went. People didn’t really pay any attention to who you were, either, which made it a good place to be when you were looking to kill people.
The food was pretty good, too.
From the top floor of a hotel and through binoculars, I crouched down on a balcony and watched the crowd around Brad Ashton and his security crew. There were others there, of course – media people for the most part, but a few fans and other celebrities as well. Some chick who was bouncing up and down like she was on a fucking pogo stick was obviously annoying Ashton. His jaw tightened when he turned to her, and his shoulders would go stiff when she spoke or reached out to touch his arm. He was still smiling and putting up with her, so I could only guess she won some kind of contest.
Those things should be fixed.
I put the binoculars down for a moment and grabbed a sandwich off the room service tray. I chewed while contemplating which of the four guys around Ashton needed to die. Jim was out of the question, so that left one of the other three. They were all in my field of vision, which meant blocking Ashton. I had originally hoped I would get lucky, but found out soon enough Rinaldo knew what he was talking about – picking off Brad Ashton from a distance wasn’t going to work. They were all over him all of the time.
Besides, if I killed one of the guards right in front of Ashton, he’d be just a bit on the suspicious side. He’d increase security to the point where I wouldn’t be able to get close enough, and that just wasn’t acceptable. I needed to go with a lot more subtlety.
As I used my binoculars to scan around me, I could see various security people placed on at least two rooftops and likely on top of the building where I perched as well. They alternated looking around at the ground floor and checking out the skyline. Ashton knew he was a target, no doubt about it – even this far from Chicago. With him on the alert, I was going to have to do a lot more waiting. I didn’t really mind the waiting too much. If it all worked out, it would be well worth it, and I was used to being patient.
I followed his tour for two days in New York and then another day in Boston. From there he went to Orlando, which was a nice change of pace from the winter weather up north, and he finally boarded a plane back to LA. That’s when I returned to Chicago to study my notes.
There were some definite trends I could use to my advantage.
Once Brad Ashton was in the safety of his hotel, the security guys were free to do what they liked, more or less. Mostly that involved the bar and football, though talk of the upcoming basketball season was also prevalent. There was one guy who always stayed behind, but he seemed to be more of a PR guy or agent, not a security guy. He was probably just a manager with a thing for the little earpieces.
I knew which one I was going to kill.
Henry Jefferson. He joined the group about six months ago, which made him the least senior, the least tight with the group, and the least likely anyone would go looking for when he disappeared. He also lived alone, didn’t seem to have a lot of close friends, and would probably go a few days before anyone missed him.
In a week they would be in Cleveland, which was just about the right distance. The timing was also perfect – right before the holidays, a time when everyone would be busy with other concerns, which could buy me a little more time before his death was discovered. Three days after New Year’s they would head for Atlanta, which was where I planned to end Ashton.
Up close and personal.
Probably more personal than I cared to be, but I had to do what I had to do.
I hung out on a bench in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton in Cleveland. The bench was off to the side – near the gift shop – and an unlikely place for Jim or anyone else to notice me. I hadn’t gotten an actual room since I didn’t plan on staying long. I only needed to do a quick job and then get back on the road as early as possible. I wanted to be home before midnight.
I hadn’t picked up Bridgett recently, and I was in the mood to fuck.
Patiently waiting, I watched various people go by. Families on vacation, college-aged couples with Rock and Roll Hall of Fame T-shirts, and uncountable businessmen and women wandered through the lobby on their way to the elevator, the lounge, or to inquire at the front desk about their valet parking voucher.
None of them seemed to notice me in my business-casual Dockers and navy button down. I blended in, sat back, sipped at a bottle of Evian, and waited.
There he was.
Like he had most days, Henry Jefferson came back to the hotel around lunchtime to sleep. His was the overnight detail, and his shift officially ended at nine o’clock in the morning. He would go find a place for breakfast before going back to the hotel to sleep.
I stood and followed him into the elevator.
As he tapped his finger against the round button with the number seven on it, he blew out a long breath and grumbled. Taking a step back, he gave way for me to hit my own number, but I just smiled slightly and nodded at the already indicated floor.
There was something definitely off about his behavior.
Every time I had observed him before, he had the typical calm and quiet demeanor of a career security guy. He kept his hands behind his back except when he needed to put one of them up to his ear piece to look super cool. His suits were tailored, his shoes shined, and though it wasn’t in his history, he probably would have made a decent Marine.
Jefferson was either really tired or agitated. He rubbed at the corner of his eye once, sighed twice between the first and seventh floors, and stared at the elevator door as if he was expecting it to try to clamp down on his arm. He tapped his toe a lot, and his hands kept gripping into fists.
Something had pissed him off. Not part of my plan but rather handy. If I had the good fortune enough for him to have had some kind of incident either at work or with a coworker, my plan was going to be even smoother than originally intended. There was nothing better than a convenient patsy.
The elevator chime went off, the doors opened, and despite the glare, Jefferson’s arm wasn’t captured by the machine. I still smiled a bit at the mental imagery and followed him quietly out of the car. He glanced over his shoulder once but didn’t pay any attention to me afterwards, so I stayed fairly close.
Some security guard.
Maybe he wouldn’t have made a decent marine after all.
I glanced up and down the hall and was pleased to see there was nothing but a single maid’s cart at the far end of the hallway. There wasn’t even a maid standing near it. Jefferson’s room was right off the elevator, far from the room where the cart was standing. He slid his key card in the slot and stepped through the door.
I was right behind him and followed him swiftly through the doorway. I stood just inside, listened for the click as the door closed behind me, and followed up with a bullet in the back of his head before he even had a chance to realize I was in the room with him.
The whole thing took about six seconds.
I loved silencers.
Grabbing the body quickly, I moved it around the corner of the bed to conceal it a little better before the blood started seeping into the carpet. I failed to be quick enough to avoid a mess, but it would be minimal. Kneeling down next to the body, my gloved hands went through his pockets and came up with his wallet. I pulled out a credit card and used the on-line app provided by the hotel to extend his stay an extra week.
That could buy me a little extra time or not, I didn’t really care. I hoped by the time he was discovered, I would be completely done with this whole assignment, but if he was found earlier, I didn’t think it would change much.
I stepped over by the door and looked into the room to see if I had hidden him well enough. Of course, anyone who peeked inside was going to see a decent amount of blood and brains on the floor, but it was slightly better than a body.
I put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door as I left.
Interstate 80 wasn’t
too crowded, and I made it back home in record time. A half hour later, Bridgett was in the car with me and headed back to my apartment. Ten minutes after we arrived, she was giving me head, and I was finally starting to relax a little.
That night I got some real sleep. It was a good thing, too, because the call came a lot sooner than I expected.
“Hey there, Marshall!”
“Who’s this?” I asked, knowing full well who had called this particular cell phone number. There was only one person who had it.
“Jim Conner,” he said. “We met at the Embassy and talked football.”
“Raiders fan, right?”
“Yeah! That’s me!”
We both laughed a bit.
“So did you ever find another job?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I answered with a convincing sigh. “I had an interview a couple days ago, but it wasn’t very promising.”
“Are you still interested in some security work?”
“It would be my preference,” I said. “This last one I applied for was more usher than guard.”
“Well, I couldn’t really talk too much about it before,” Jim said, “but I might have an opportunity for you.”
“Really?” I smiled as I leaned back in my chair.
“Yeah,” he said. “I work for Brad Ashton – you know, the actor?”
“Yeah, I know him. Well, I know who he is, anyway.”
“As it turns out, we need a replacement security guy for an event coming up, and when he asked if we knew anyone, I remembered talking to you about needing a job. It’s not quite in time for the holidays, but you could start the first week of January. You interested?”
Too fucking easy.
All right, it wasn’t – there was a lot of work to make it happen, but it always felt good when it all came together perfectly.
Before I hung up the phone, I had a job lined up in Atlanta for just after the first.
There was just no way it could have gone more smoothly.
Chapter 5 – Tense Situation
“Ten minutes.”
“On my way.” I dropped my cell phone into my pocket, grabbed my Beretta, and shoved it into the side holster under my jacket. Three minutes later I was in the car and heading to Moretti’s office for an impromptu meeting that was suspicious to say the least.
In fact, he sounded a little panicked, and the boss never panicked.
It was the day after Christmas, and Rinaldo had just received a tip that Gavino Greco and three of his goons were on their way to his office. Mario Leone had been unexpectedly called away on personal business across town, and there was no way he would get back in time. I was close, though I was going to have to hurry.
My tires screeched as I rounded the corner, ditched the car – door still open – at the back entrance to Rinaldo’s office building, and rushed inside. I took the stairs two at a time, and drew my gun out as I got to the fourth floor.
I paused, took a calming breath, and then quickly opened the door to the hallway.
Left.
Right.
Left again.
There was no one in the hall and no one besides me on the stairs. The elevator showed all cars on the first floor except for one, which was on the sixth. I listened intently, but the only sound was the usual noise from the heating ducts.
Walking backwards a few steps, I kept my weapon raised as I made my way to Rinaldo’s office. It was empty, but there was sound coming from the back of the room near the rear door, which was closed. I’d never been through it but always thought it was just a personal room for Rinaldo in case he ever needed a shower or a nap.
With silent feet I moved to one side of the door. I was about to knock on it, but it started to open slowly before I got the chance. The first thing I saw was the barrel of a gun, and my hand flew up on instinct.
The gun flew into the air, landed on the desk, and then bounced to the ground again. I grabbed the wrist that had wielded the weapon, twisted it, and shoved the body it was attached to against the far side of the door.
Which is when I realized it was my boss.
“Shit!” I jumped back, released him, and tried to come up with something brilliant to say. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know–”
“Shut up,” Rinaldo said. He reached over and rubbed his shoulder and wrist a little before he retrieved his gun and shoved it into the holster concealed by his jacket. “You got here quick.”
“You said ten minutes,” I reminded him.
“That was more like four.”
“I figured ten was more of a maximum.”
He laughed.
“I always liked you, Evan.” Rinaldo clasped his hand on my shoulder as he started to say something else, but I heard the distinctive ring of the elevator.
“Sir,” I nodded towards the door.
“Can you cover this?” he asked quietly. I glanced at the monitors which displayed the view from the security cameras back in the corner of the office. There were four of them, Gavino Greco included.
Greco was a man I had met on only a few occasions yet knew extremely well. His family had been around for a long time – back to the Capone days – and he had a lot more support overall in the mob world than my employer. Rinaldo Moretti had only arrived in Chicago about twenty years ago but had made quite a name for himself in a relatively short amount of time. He came from a well respected crime family back in the old country, as they say.
“This is a problem, Arden,” Rinaldo said as the four men moved swiftly down the hallway.
“I’ve got it,” I replied, hoping I sounded confident.
I felt confident…for the most part.
I usually did.
Of course, a lot of that stemmed from truly not giving a shit if I lived or died. The worst thing that could happen would be disappointing Moretti. Considering there was likely only two ways out of this – winning or dying – I wasn’t too nervous. If I disappointed him, neither one of us was likely to be around long enough to regret it.
Rinaldo nodded, placed his trust in me, and sat down in his high-backed leather chair. He rotated his shoulders and adjusted his jacket before placing his folded hands on the desk in front of him. I took the place to his right, since it would be easier for me to cover him from that area, and stood at attention with my hands behind my back.
“Greco, my old friend!” Rinaldo said with an overly enthusiastic smile. “You are all the way across town, out of your territories, and unexpected. I hope you bring me good news!”
I resisted the urge to glance sideways at my boss to get a better understanding of his words, and decided my eyes were best kept on my opponents.
My targets.
My potential victims.
Of the three surrounding Greco, I only knew one. His name was Craig Flannigan, and he used to be a gun runner in one of the smaller operations before Greco wiped them out. Flannigan was thought to have been the informant amongst the gun runners that made the hit easy for Greco. He was tall, redheaded, and had a thick beard to match his thick Irish accent.
The other two were dark-haired and dark-eyed with big muscles bulging out of their tailored suits. They could very well have been twins, but one had a scar across his cheek, and the other had a mustache. They didn’t speak but flanked their boss closely with their hands placed near their shoulder holsters. These two were Italian-descended and likely related to Greco in some way. Flannigan would rat them all out if the money was right or his life depended on it, but not these two. They would give their lives for Greco if it was necessary.
Loyal men.
Flannigan stood directly in front of me, blocking his boss from the known hit man. It was defensive, and though it made sense on some level, it showed weakness. It put a man between me and my target, blocking him from me, yes – but also providing me with a shield if I needed it. Flannigan wasn’t even looking at me, so he obviously didn’t consider me a major threat – not when they had numbers on their side.
He wasn
’t prepared for me to be here, and it didn’t fit whatever plan they had. He wasn’t a bright guy, and impromptu wasn’t his forte. This gave me a significant advantage.
“I bring news, old friend,” Greco said. He didn’t bother to hide the menace in his voice, which wasn’t a good sign at all. It meant he had already made a decision and there would be no pleasant negotiating before he intended to carry out his plans. “I do not consider it good.”
“Do tell,” Rinaldo said as he leaned forward on his desk.
I wanted to tell him to lean back – he would be able to drop to the floor much faster if necessary – but of course I couldn’t.
“A shipment of heroin,” Greco said, “a shipment with my hands already around it has gone missing from my docks. It is the third time in two months.”
“Unfortunate,” Moretti agreed. “Do you think these thefts of your property are connected?”
“I do,” he said. “I think they are connected to you.”
“That is quite an accusation,” Rinaldo snarled. “You speak without thought.”
“I speak with evidence!” Greco growled back. “Your own man found at the site with some of the goods still on his hands!”
“A mistake,” Rinaldo said. “Why would I do such a thing and spark war with my ally, hmm?”
“Because your supplier has been hit twice by the feds now, and you are losing money!”
“Why do you say this?” Rinaldo’s voice went calm, and he sat back in his seat, thankfully.
I tensed as Greco leaned forward slightly and placed his right hand on Rinaldo’s desk.
“Because your own man told me.”
“What man is this?” Rinaldo asked. “I would like to know who is claiming to be in my employ under such circumstances. Perhaps he had a Russian accent you failed to notice?”
The dig was definitely felt. Greco’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand clenched into a fist at the mention of the Russian spy who infiltrated his organization last year and killed one of his sons during a drug deal.
“There is only one mistake this time,” Greco said quietly, “and that mistake is yours.”