She’s sleepy and has that ‘where the hell am I’ look on her face, but then she waves slowly and gives me a weak grin. Damn.
I wave back and give her a big smile. For a minute I’m just like little Johnny boyfriend saying goodbye until another date tonight. Johnny, who can’t stand to leave his sweet Susie, not even for a second.
But hey, last night had been what I needed to get smoothed out and leveled up. Some athletes say that before the Super Bowl or a big game or whatever, they don’t have sex for two weeks. They say they are hungrier, angrier and meaner that way.
Well, I say bullshit. That may be good for them and all but this isn’t about playing no fucking football game today. I’m killing people today. She was exactly what I needed.
After about three mugs of coffee, three eggs and sausage patties at Campo’s, I’m good to go. And hash browns. Yeah, I had some greasy hash browns too.
I go back to my little shack apartment for the shit, shower and shave routine. I square my things away, pack what I want to take with me. Just a small gym bag. I’m taking some clothes, cash and some other stuff just in case I’m either on the move or hunkered down for awhile. You just never know with something like this, how things are going to go down and all.
I lightly clean my berretta although it doesn’t really need it. She always goes with me. I don’t care if I’m using their piece for the deal or not. I will have my gun too. That’s just the way it is.
A short drive and I pull into the hotel parking lot, going around to the side of the building. It’s just now eleven and I have an hour to spare. Sliding down in the seat a little, I look straight ahead at the concrete wall of the building and smile.
I’m getting that familiar early killing buzz, but it’s all about keeping that energy stowed until later. It’s low level right now and it’s good. I’m relaxed, calm and smooth but I can still feel that tension.
I look in the rear view mirror at myself and smile again, knowing this is the right kind of tension. Keeps me sharp, I see all and hear everything. I react and just do it.
I leave the bag in the car, light a cigarette and walk around to the hotel’s front door. I smoke and walk slowly with my hands in my pockets. Newspaper under one arm, casual, like I’m just another goof that stayed at the Marriott Courtyard last night.
Inside, there is mini lobby and a little breakfast nook for people to get a stale bagel and a banana or some shit. I walk to the coffee canisters they have setup over in the corner and get a cup.
I smile at the old Mexican gal that is busy cleaning up everything after the continental breakfast. Then I stroll over to the main desk clerk who is busily typing away at his little keyboard. He’s young, got his hair all slicked back and I can just tell he hates this place. He thinks he’s better than this shit. He should be downtown at the front desk of the Conrad, on the Magnificent Mile.
I stand there for a minute.
He types away, pulls out a drawer, looks at something, and goes back to typing.
I take a sip of my coffee and then lean over the fake marble counter.
“Could I get a late checkout? I know that it’s only eleven fifteen but can I have until twelve thirty?”
“Sorry. Checkout at noon.” Type, type, type.
“All right. Thanks, anyway. The room was nice.”
“Great, that’s good.” The phone rings and he picks it up. He finally looks at me as I’m turning, but not really. I’m just one more asshole that he needs to deal with, a faceless customer. And that is exactly what I wanted to be.
I go over and sit down in one of the chairs they have ringed around a big digital television. Some other stroke in a suit and tie is sitting on a small couch, watching CNN with his little roller bag and laptop next to him.
How do people do this? I mean seriously. How the fuck do you spend your life doing this kind of shit? Traveling, staying in hotels, or hell, working in hotels, whatever. I look at the business geek a little longer and can see he hates this, just like the desk clerk over there hates this. Poor fucks, but it’s their own fault.
I open the Tribune and flip to the sports page to read about how this is finally gonna be the year for the Cubs. I got the paper up but I’m listening to the elevators just off the lobby.
Andros, the big crew cut monster, and Dobry, I’m guessing, come down at about five till noon. I see them over the top of my newspaper and they walk to the edge of the lobby and look around. Only the two of them and they look like they’re supposed to, I suppose. Nice enough clothes and all but they can dress up all they want and two soldiers are still two soldiers.
The business geek is still sitting there and a middle aged couple is also watching the TV, all slack jawed and eyes glazed over. Patrik’s two men quickly see me and Andros gives me a small raised chin. There is a new desk clerk now and he’s on the phone. I get up, pat my pockets and find my pack of cigarettes. I get my cell phone out and look busily at its blank screen. Walking outside, I light up and wait for them.
“Mister Jerzy. It is good to see you once again.” Andros actually gives me a thin smile, then nods to his partner. “This would be Dobry. He will assist us.”
Dobry doesn’t say anything but instead gives me a short nervous nod. He doesn’t look at me. The kid is scared. I can smell it on him.
“It’s Jerzy. Just Jerzy, okay? No mister shit.” I smile at them both and put my cell phone away.
They wait like two big dogs at heel. Attentive and listening for the next command. Fetch, kill, roll over. Neither says anything more and they both just look at me. Andros could be waiting for a bus right now, emotionless and patient.
Never seen this guy Dobry before but he’s the short stocky type. When I say short, I just mean he’s not as tall as me and he, like everybody else, looks like a fuckin’ midget standing next to Andros. The kid probably goes five eleven maybe but he’s built like a wrestler, with the face to match. He’s really no kid, either. I’d say probably mid to late twenties. So, hey, he’s a tough shit no doubt but there’s also no doubt on this being his first time with this kind of deal. A kill, I mean.
I clear my throat and smile again, “So, what’s your room number boys?”
“Room number is 419, Jerzy.” Andros shifts to a casual parade rest, hands crossed in front of him.
“I’ll meet you up there in five minutes. Also, you guys better start taking this shit a little more serious. Quit jackin’ around so much.”
Dobry’s dark eyebrows come together. He shoots a look to Andros, who has actually gotten the joke and has a tight grin on his face.
At the room a few minutes later, Andros lets me in and then bolts the door behind me. He shows me the map of the park and it includes about a city block around the outside of the park. He’s got it spread out on the bed and points out several spots on the map. Dobry sits at the small desk in the room, watching from a distance but listening intently.
“Yeah, okay, we’ll get back to the map in a second. Show me the gun I’m supposed to be using.”
Dobry stands up and goes to the other bed, unzips a small roller suitcase and takes out a couple of shirts. There are three felt shoe bags in there. He brings over the bags, loosens the string ties and pulls the pieces out one by one.
They’re fucking beautiful. All three are identical, silver Ruger MK11s. Built in suppressors, ten round clips. If this is a throw away gun, I’d like to see a keeper. Great gun. I’ve never used one but definitely know of them. I pick one up, clear it, bounce it gently up and down in my hand. It has excellent weight and balance.
“Hey, Andros, while I’m thinking about it, turn the television on. Not too loud but loud enough, okay?” I don’t look up. I’m still studying the piece. “We just need a little background noise, is all.”
The pistols have no markings that I can see. Serials are gone. Nothing. I sit on the edge of the bed and spend a few minutes with it; clear it again, work the safety, pop the clip in and out, hold it in each hand and sight down the barrel.