“I could swear I know you,” he said.
“Just one of those faces,” I said.
His forehead wrinkled as he tried to dredge out where he knew me from. As he and his partner turned to leave, I reminded them about how they were supposed to remove the old bed. I couldn’t blame them for the lack of enthusiasm they showed at the prospect of that – I wouldn’t want to have to pick up and carry that damn mattress out either, at least not without several layers of protective clothing on. As they removed the mattress, the lead guy called out to me to let me know that he was sure he’d seen me before and he’d remember later. I closed the door on him without saying a word, deciding that I didn’t want to ruin his surprise.
It was six o’clock. I felt bone-tired again, just like I had the other day. I wasn’t used to this type of activity and schedule yet, but maybe more than that, it wore me down worrying about people recognizing me and waiting for that look they’d give me afterwards once they did. It was harder than I thought it would be. All those years that I worked for Lombard as a hit man I operated in the shadows. As far as my wife and kids were concerned, I worked in a liquor store. As far as my neighbors went, I was just someone who blended into the background.
I almost lay down on the new bed. I wanted to badly, but I knew if I did I’d tumble into a deep sleep and miss work. It didn’t make sense for me to care that much about it since my expenses were basically covered for the next month, which was about as far ahead as I needed to worry about, but for some reason the job did seem to matter. Maybe it was the structure of it; giving me someplace to be, and in some small way allowing me to contribute to society. Or maybe it was simply finally doing something that my pop would be proud of. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to lose it.
I loaded batteries into the portable radio I’d bought earlier, and brought it with me as I left the apartment. Once outside, I navigated again to Moody Street and found a cheap restaurant where I could get something to eat and drink enough coffee to keep me awake.
chapter 9
1973
A week before I’m supposed to be marrying Jenny, Vincent DiGrassi meets me about a contract he needs taken care of. He knows I’m getting married, and I ask him how urgent this is.
“Very,” he tells me.
Oh, Christ. This is just what the fuck I need. With Jenny going nuts over all the wedding details, all the last-minute changes, her family coming in for the wedding, and all the other bullshit in my life right then.
“I am getting married…” I start to tell him.
“Maybe,” he says, interrupting me, his eyes little more than what you’d see in a dead fish, his lips wire-tight. “In a week you could be going to a wedding, could be a funeral, all depends on you doing a clean, quick job on this one, or maybe instead you being stupid and thinking you can give me some grief.”
He tries staring me down, but I can see the worry in his face no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it. I don’t know who this guy is that DiGrassi wants me to take out, but whoever he is he has DiGrassi worried.
We continue our staring contest for another ten or so seconds. DiGrassi blinks first. His rock-hard expression melting a bit, he tells me, “Lenny, if you have to postpone your wedding, you gotta do it. This has to take priority, and that comes straight from the top. But there’ll be a bonus in this for you, more than enough to make up for any inconvenience.”
I look again at the name DiGrassi gave me. I don’t know the guy. If he’s in the game, I’m clueless how.
“Who is this guy?” I ask.
DiGrassi regains his ice-cold demeanor. “Why the fuck does that matter to you?”
I shrug, tell him it doesn’t.
He starts to leave, stops himself to warn me to be careful with this one. Those little worry lines are once again cracking his icy exterior. After six hits all done without worry or fuss, this is the first time he suggests to me about being careful. I wonder briefly what’s up with that.
That was four days ago. I know Jenny is furious about me leaving town. I gave her some bullshit reason and I’ve talked to her a few times over the phone since then, and she’s not at all happy. If it wasn’t for all the travel arrangements her relatives had made, she probably would’ve called off the wedding. That’s how pissed she is.
This guy I’ve been after has been tough to get close to. He’s careful, cautious. Maybe he knows about the contract on him, maybe it’s just his nature. And to make my job even harder, I can’t leave anything behind. His body has to disappear, no trace, no evidence of a killing.
After four days I finally have my opening. Security on his house is tight, and he keeps a Rottweiler loose in his yard so the damn thing will bark up a storm if anyone goes near the property. Earlier I took the dog out quietly, the silencer muffling the shot, the dog dying before he could get out as much as a whimper. That was hours ago. Now it’s late and I’ve been standing in the shadows outside his home. Until twenty minutes ago I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to go in and massacre his whole family. It’s so much damn harder to make a whole family disappear.
I don’t have to do that any more. Twenty minutes ago he left the main house and entered a converted workshop in the back of an attached garage. Now he’s using a hacksaw on something, I can’t tell exactly what. With the lights off in the house it means his family is in bed. Yesterday evening when one of his kids had that Rottweiler out for a walk, I used the opportunity to tamper with one of the windows in the garage.
He’s had his back turned to me the last ten minutes, and I’ve opened the window enough so I can slide the barrel of the gun underneath. Two silenced shots is all it takes. I open the window all the way and crawl in, taking in with me the duffel bag filled with chemicals that I’ve brought.
It turns out he’s been using the hacksaw to cut off both barrels of a shotgun. That gets me curious. I start searching his workshop, and I find a false wall. Hidden inside is a large arsenal loaded with knives, guns and rifles of all different calibers, stacks of extra magazines, and even a few hand grenades. This makes me even more curious about my target.
I take some choice weapons out of the arsenal, then fit the false wall back in place. Then I go to work. He has his car keys on him which saves me from having to break into the car. I wrap his body with a plastic sheet that I had folded in my duffel bag and dump it in the trunk, then use the chemicals I brought to erase any forensic evidence. When I’m done I fix the lock on the window leaving it as good as new.
I open the garage door as quietly as possible so I can retrieve the Rottweiler’s body and dump it in the trunk also. Earlier I’d cleaned up the area where I’d shot the dog as best I could. If someone starts looking for blood there they’ll find it, but then again, why should anyone? What’s more likely, that the guy left in the middle of the night and took his dog with him, or someone like me is able to kill the two of them and scrub the garage clean without anyone hearing it? The chances of anyone finding that dog’s blood in the yard aren’t too likely.
The property is on enough of an incline so that after I roll the dead man’s car out of the garage I can coast it down to the end of the driveway, and only then turn over the engine. I have a long night ahead of me. I still have to dispose of the bodies, then have the car chopped up at one of Lombard’s garages, but once I’m done with it I’m finished. The car I drove over with is parked several blocks away. I had stolen it earlier and cleaned it before leaving, so I can let it sit where it is.
Yeah, I might have a long night ahead of me, but I can’t help smiling. By morning I’ll be driving home, and the wedding will still be on as planned. Jenny might be mad for another day or two, but by Saturday my taking off the way I did will be forgotten.