The Hitman: Dirty Rotters

by Sean McKenzie

  It was 3:15 a.m.

  The drive across the city was not as long as it seemed. Everything was well lit. Not a lot of traffic. I hit every yellow light and stopped for none, until we reached the expressway. We drove east, passing through some hard neighborhoods. We were on it and off it again before a full ten minutes was up. I was tired and now hungry. Conversations had been nonexistent. My thoughts were on Anna. Palo didn’t share her thoughts. I had looked over at her every now and then, almost a casual you awake? look. If she had slept, I would not have cared. We didn’t both need to be awake. But we were anyway.

  My God she smelled good.

  I looked again at the paper with the address on it. I found the street. A knot began to form in my gut, knowing our destination was mere minutes away. Whatever drowsiness had clung to me died instantly.

  “It’s down this street,” I said.

  Palo shifted, sitting upright, looking more alert. Looking great.

  “It was a long way,” she said quietly, then yawned. “Not easy to find.”

  I yawned too. No bother fighting it.

  Palo told me earlier that Anna was smart. As we ventured into the area she picked to hide out I agreed that she had made a good decision. First I had pictured the place to be more of a desolate surrounding where she wouldn’t be bothered. Mistake. Anna knew better. Anna wanted witnesses. Anna wanted someplace where there would be people out and about. Not just anybody, but smart bodies. Minds that would be alert, drawn to things out of the norm. People who would hear a gunshot and know right away that something was wrong.

  I had to park on a one-way street facing east. I checked the address again then killed the engine and the lights. We were a block away from the main strip of bars where the college kids spent time between books and class. Nice area. Lots of businesses. Lots of apartments. Plenty of eyes. Heavily trafficked. Even this late there were young men and women walking in small groups. Heads turned in our direction, eyes looking curiously. I noticed a few sweatshirts with symbols on them, Greek letters or something, fraternity and sorority names I knew nothing of.

  The street was full of parked cars. I found a gap and had to parallel park—not my strong point. I managed okay. The address we were looking for was ahead of us, down four houses. I could see the house numbers right next to the front door. Black numbers in a diagonal line angling down to the right. The porch light was on. It was a fat two story house, probably a hundred years old. Most of the houses were old. Most of them rented out to the college kids. Most of them had lights on, inside or out.

  Friday nights around here didn’t respect sleep the way I did.

  “This is it,” I said. “Are you ready?”

  Palo’s slender left hand reached over and took my right hand into hers. “Thank you, Hitman. I feel safe with you.”

  I said nothing. Neither of us did. We stared at each other for a long moment. She squeezed my hand tighter and shifted her body around, leaning closer towards me.

  Then I saw the look.

  I had only seen it once before, when Pamela had kissed me for the first time. Palo shared her look. I felt my heart explode. It was the look in her eyes, her lips separating in preparation.

  I froze.

  A deer in the headlights.

  Palo wasn’t.

  I swallowed hard. I looked down from her deep blue eyes to her soft pink lips. Her right hand reached around to my left shoulder, embracing me firm. She moved in closer, drawing me to her like a magnet. I was helpless to fight it.

  My face turned hot. I felt beads of sweat shoot down my back. My breathing turned quick and uneven. My thoughts raced in panic. I wasn’t ready. Palo was gorgeous, but the only other woman I had ever kissed was my Pamela. I just wasn’t ready.

  Pamela.

  Then it all hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a lead ball tied to my chest as I sank underwater. Pamela. I wanted her in the car with me. I wanted to breathe in her scent deep. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair and down her neck. I wanted Pamela. I wanted my best friend back. Right then the pain came back and suffocated me.

  I turned my head just as Palo came in contact and she kissed my cheek. It was innocent. It wasn’t her intention. I brushed the tears off my cheek, but I couldn’t stop them from watering.

  “I can’t, Palo. I’m sorry.”

  Palo pulled away. She saw it in my eyes. “I am sorry.” She gave me a moment to gather myself, which I did quickly, shaking it off, pretending that I was fine. “She was a lucky woman, Hitman.”

  “She was more than that.”

  “I hope someday you will heal.”

  I took a deep breath and remembered why I was there. Why it all began.

  “Let’s go.” I opened the door feeling my face turn hot with anger.

  I stood outside and shut the door, hearing Palo’s door shut a second afterwards. The air was crisp with a late spring chill. The morning hours were still alive with the sounds unwilling to find rest. Two young women in bright pink sweatshirts and flannel pajama bottoms walked past us. Blocks away someone yelled in celebration. Cop sirens were fading in the distance. Crickets chirped from the shadows. House parties were alive with music blasting and people singing.

  I walked around to the sidewalk to join Palo. I took her hand into my own. She gave me a surprised look. I gave her hand a firm squeeze, just as she had done to mine moments ago. We walked the sidewalk, passing underneath the candy-cane shaped street lights, which pregnated the streets for as far as I could see. Then I noticed we were not alone on the sidewalk.

  A man in a hooded sweatshirt like mine knelt down beside a woman a few yards ahead of us. The man looked up as we approached. He gave us a smile and a nod as he held his arm around the woman, who appeared to have either been puking her guts out, or was about to.

  “One too many,” the guy said. He gave an unconvincing smile as we walked past. I gave him a sympathetic smile as if I understood. I heard him whisper to his wife or girlfriend. I assumed he wasn’t pleased with her. He sounded annoyed. Embarrassed maybe. Maybe it was an all too familiar scene. Maybe he was just tired and wanted to get home to bed. I sympathized.

  “This is it,” I said a few moments later, standing before our location.

  Leading to the house was a cement path, directly to the large front porch. I squeezed Palo’s hand and kept her close as we continued. The old house had been painted a dark green color a few decades ago and was in need of a fresh coat. The structure was in no means deteriorated. Nothing in the neighborhood was. We went up the steps and onto the porch. It slanted towards the yard with narrow boards and a faded grey paint job. Nothing I would prefer.

  Palo produced a key as we reached the door. There was a screen door first, which wasn’t locked. By the looks of it, it wasn’t even able to close. I held it back while Palo slid the key into the keyhole. The door was old like everything else. But not old enough to not latch properly. Not when the door had been compromised.

  Which it had.

  I saw it before Palo had tried to turn the key. There was busted and splintered wood on the doorframe around the handle. Bright strands against the dark green. I held Palo’s arm in place. Then she saw it too. She backed up behind me. Her eyes were wide. I grabbed the door handle and before I could turn it, the door opened inward.

  “Anna?” I said firm.

  Nothing.

  “Hitman?” Palo pressed close against me.

  I pressed my index finger against my lips—the universal sign for quiet. I removed the nine millimeter from my sweatshirt pocket with my right hand and gently pressed the door open with my left. I stepped inside carefully. It was quiet. Eerie.

  The house layout was simple. The front door opened into the living room, then the dining room, then into the kitchen. One straight shot. Simple. A bathroom was off to the side. Classic set up. I’ve seen it a few times before with old city homes. There would be a couple of bedrooms upstairs and an unfinished basement below. Nothing fancy.

  Wi
th light spilling out from the bathroom we had a clear look of everything. Nothing was amiss or damaged. No sign of a struggle. I called out again but nothing came back.

  “Be careful,” I said to Palo.

  We checked the house out, room by room. Anna wasn’t there. Aside from some take-out boxes in the refrigerator, I would have guessed that the house had been deserted for a while.

  No one upstairs.

  No one downstairs.

  “Did she kick it in herself?” I said.

  “She had a key.”

  “Forced entry and no one home.” I thought for a moment. “Should we wait?”

  “No. I have a bad feeling.”

  I agreed. I didn’t want to stick around. Especially with Sally back home alone. I wanted to be there for her too, but we had to be sure about Anna. We decided to sit in the car for a half an hour and see if she returns.

  We walked out onto the porch, back into the chill of the early morning. Something was wrong. I knew it. Palo knew it too.

  “I am worried,” Palo said. She clutched my arm tightly.

  I put the Glock back into my sweatshirt’s hand warmer pouch.

  As we walked from the porch to the path I noticed someone watching on the lawn next door. A solitary figure. I froze for a beat.

  “It’s not going to be a habit, is it?” an old scratchy voice asked. I made out the scrawny shape of an old woman in a faded white nightgown next door. I believe she was scowling at us, but from twenty feet in the dark I wasn’t sure.

  “What was that?” I asked politely.

  She was anything but polite. And she was scowling.

  “In and out all night! That’s what!” she growled. “One thing I can’t stand is all you all-nighters! Blah! House sat empty for over a year and all of a sudden you decide to party. I hate you young partiers!”

  She had yelled the last part out to the city, damning everyone around, probably with good reason. She turned and began back towards her house. She kept her mumbling low and to herself.

  Palo tugged on my arm. I looked at her. She gave me a look that I understood. I said to the old bag, “Excuse me, mam?”

  Grouchy, she turned back to me. “What do you want?”

  “Did you happen to see anything over here today?”

  “That some kind of joke?” One frail arm pointed to her house. “I live right here for crying out loud, detective!”

  She was so little. So angry. I almost laughed.

  “Can you tell us what you saw or heard?” Palo said.

  The old woman kept walking. She made it up her porch and sat down on a rocking chair that was probably constructed the day she was born. Creaking and grinding, its sounds were anything but delightful. A nice pair, I thought.

  “Please.” Palo pleaded. We walked across the lawn onto hers.

  “You’re trespassing!”

  “Can you just tell us whether you saw someone there or not?” I pressed.

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  “And get off my lawn!”

  The amusement was gone. Maybe I was just tired, but I really didn’t have the patience for the woman. I stood in place until Palo took my hand and led me back a few feet.

  “Keep going. I own right up next to that shack of hers.”

  We backed up further, all the way to the cement path. We stood waiting. The air was cold. I saw my breath. The old woman said nothing, just rocked and glared. I was cold and tired and hungry. I wasn’t in the mood. I said with a tone, “Okay, now will you talk to us?”

  “I’ll talk to the girl. I don’t like you. I don’t trust you either. Never have. Never will.” She spit.

  I stood confused. The woman knew nothing. She was just nuts.

  Palo said, “She is my friend and I need to find her. Please, I am afraid that something bad has happened to her.”

  “That so?”

  A few blocks away people yelled. Dogs barked far in the distance. Old wood creaked and groaned a few feet ahead of me. The woman remained silent for a moment, rocking slowly.

  “Her life may be in danger.” Palo added grimly.

  The old woman appeared to be considering something. Then she asked very quizzically, “You mean the other girl? The tall one? Right?”

  Palo nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Her name is Anna.”

  “Right. Anna.” The old woman seemed humored. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me about her, this Anna. You’ve been in there with her all night. You should know more than I would.”

  Palo looked at me. I gave her a raised eyebrow. I kept quiet. It was a dead end. The old woman was nuts.

  Palo said, “What did you see?”

  “Well, I saw you and her enter the house this afternoon. I sat right here drinking my morning coffee.”

  More exchanged looks of disbelief. I tipped my head towards the car, motioning to Palo that it was time to go.

  “Did you see when she left?”

  “What? You think I sit here all night?” The old woman spat.

  “Palo, let’s go.” I said.

  “Is there anything else?” Palo urged desperately.

  Now it was the old woman who sounded confused. “You mean beside the jerk?”

  “What jerk?”

  “Him.”

  “What did he look like?” Palo pressed.

  “Are you on drugs young lady?” She leaned towards us. She was serious.

  Palo and I were dumbfounded. We just stood in silence for a moment.

  The old woman said nothing. My patients ran out. I growled, “Who are you talking about?”

  “You. You idiot. And I’m done talking to you.”

  “Me?”

  The old woman nodded.

  “When did you see him?” Palo asked.

  “Well let’s see…” she stared to the floor. “Jeopardy had just started so… About an hour ago the jerk showed up.”

  “Me? I wasn’t here an hour ago. You need to start wearing your glasses.” I turned to Palo, irritated. “Let’s go.”

  “Jerk! You looked right at me, said you lost your key, then sent your foot into the door! Don’t you even try to deny it!”

  “You’re nuts.” I grabbed Palo’s arm and began to walk her away. Palo stopped me. Her face turned pale.

  “She’s right.”

  “She’s senile!”

  “Think of how it would look to her.” Palo looked right at me. “The woman she thought was me could have been Ivana.”

  “What about me? I wasn’t here an hour ago. I was with you.”

  “Not you. A man looking like you. The man on the street. The one caring for his sick wife. He wore a sweatshirt. From her porch, he would look just like you.”

  I felt the air leave my lungs. None returned. I pictured him in my mind. We did look alike. I had missed it before. I hadn’t thought anything of it.

  “But it wasn’t his wife. It was Anna.” Palo stared blankly. “We walked right past her.”

  I replayed it all again slowly. I saw the man kneel down to the woman. I saw him turn to her and whisper something as we approached. He had told her to stay down, to stay quiet. His right hand was around her. I had missed it too. It probably held a knife or gun to her throat. Her hair blocked it, as well as all of her face. And she wasn’t vomiting, she was gasping because he punched her in the gut once he saw us coming. Maybe to keep her from talking. Maybe to keep her unable to see who we were.

  But he knew. Just as we got to him, I saw the look in those dark, beady eyes. He was surprised. A bit of concerned. Then they filled with relief as we swept by.

  My mind clicked then on something I had forgotten all about. The list. Ponytail had given me a list and at the bottom were letters that were faded and I couldn’t read them. But I knew right then without any doubt what they were. Two letters, used twice.

  ANNA.

  Another thing clicked then. My skin ran cold. I grabbed the gun out of my pocket and held Palo close to me. I was aiming ahead at the
parked cars, at anything that moved. I was scaring Palo, but I didn’t care.

  I was scared too.

  I realized why Ponytail had called me over to his car. I realized why he thought I was their hitman. Because we looked alike.

  And we did.

  And then I knew that Jeff Dimeglio had Anna and that Andrik knew I was a phony.

  Chapter 17