Killer bgooj-3

by Dave Zeltserman

  He had earlier given me a business card with his contact information, just as I had given him my cell-phone number and address. As I was getting out of his car, I commented how for twenty-five percent of a seven-figure deal, he should’ve been giving me taxi service back to my apartment.

  “Let’s beat these lawsuits first, okay, Leonard?” he said with a half-smile.

  I watched him drive off, then walked over to wait for my bus back to Waltham.

  Later when I met Sophie she was radiant as she described the scheme she had come up with. “What we’ll do is sign a book deal under my name,” she told me, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll funnel your share of the money under the table. Fuck any lawsuit filed against you.”

  It was so damn childish. Any good lawyer would find the money and take it from us. But watching her so happy and proud of herself, I felt a lightness in my heart. She was just so damn beautiful, and in her own way, so damn innocent. I didn’t tell her about the contract I had signed with Brest. It didn’t matter. If he got rid of the lawsuits without too much damage, I would insist that Sophie be my co-author in any book deal. It would be a tough fight since a publishing house laying out seven figures for a book would want me teamed up with a professional ghostwriter, but I wouldn’t back down on the demand, and if they wanted the book bad enough to pay a million plus for it, they’d eventually give in.

  I told Sophie we’d do that, that we would write the book together, and then she could try selling it. I figured by the time we had a book completed the lawsuits would be finished with. At least it would give me more time to spend with her in the meantime.

  As soon as I agreed to writing the book with her, Sophie put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the mouth. There was no tongue involved, just lips, but there was also no disgust on her face when she pulled away. Only excitement.

  “This is going to be so much fun,” she said with a throaty purr. “And Leonard, you’re not going to regret this, I promise.”

  I nodded, already regretting this small deception with her, but unable to have done anything else. We agreed on where and when to meet next, and I sat mesmerized watching the swaying of her slender hips as she walked away. I was sitting on a park bench, and my stare stayed fixed on where she had walked off to. Even though she was long out of sight, it was minutes later before I could look away. A young woman pushing a baby carriage reacted with horror on walking past me. She didn’t recognize me – that wasn’t the reason for her horror. It was something about the way my face had hardened, a transformation that had come over my features while I had been staring after Sophie. After the woman with the baby carriage had nearly run off in a sprint, I got off the bench and headed back to my apartment. It was getting late and I still had a long night of work ahead of me.

  When I got back to my apartment building I found a note that had been slipped into my mailbox. It was from Eric Slaine. His paper gave approval for paying me ten grand for an interview, and he wanted me to call him right away.

  I took the note to my apartment and carefully read the contract I had signed with Brest. A week earlier I had bought a pair of magnifying eyeglasses, and used those so I could read all the small print. There was nothing in the contract concerning newspaper interviews.

  I didn’t want Slaine having my cell-phone number, so I waited until later when I headed off to work and passed a payphone before calling him back. I told him I needed a week to think things over, but I’d call him again. He didn’t like it, especially, he claimed, after going to bat for me the way he did. I hung up on him in the middle of his objections.

  At work, the same kid was back at the security desk, and like all the other times we didn’t say a word to each other when I checked out the keys, later when I checked them back in, or any time in between.

  chapter 25

  1992

  It had been four months since Fred Marzone slipped past me at that Lynn roadside motel. When I later gave Lombard a bullshit story about Marzone already being gone by the time I showed up I thought he was going to put a bullet in my ear himself. Fuck, he was furious. But he calmed down enough to instead poke me several times in the chest with a thick sausage-like finger and warn me that I better not fuck this job up again. That my only priority in life from that moment on was icing Marzone. Since then I’ve been sent on a dozen wild goose chases, including a week-long trip to Raleigh, North Carolina. It’s been getting harder to explain to Jenny why I’m having to take off at the drop of a hat like I’ve been doing, but I have no choice. Lombard’s losing patience, and at this point I don’t think he’s got much left. If this latest tip turns out as bad as all the others, I might have to change my plans fast and take Lombard out before he tries doing the same to me and my family.

  Supposedly Marzone’s back in Massachusetts, and this tip has me at a warehouse parking lot in East Boston. It’s probably as much bullshit as all the other tips Lombard’s been feeding me, but I have to check it out so I am standing by the side of the warehouse shivering in the fucking cold, the wind whipping around and deadening the skin on my face and making the tips of my ears feel like they can be snapped off like icicles. It’s one-thirty in the morning, and Marzone’s supposed to be here buying a brick of heroin. At least that’s the bullshit tip I was given.

  I’m about to give up when I see someone lumbering into the parking lot who could be Marzone. He has the same hefty build as Marzone, but he’s got his back mostly turned to me so I can’t tell for sure. I walk out quietly, my 9mm Luger held at my hip. It’s dark, but there’s enough moonlight that I’ll be able to see his face once he turns around.

  When I get within ten feet of him, I yell out, “Hey, Marzone, my buddy, where you been?”

  Nine times out of ten that will get them looking behind with a stupid grin plastered on their faces. Marzone, though, takes off like a bat out of hell, faking towards his left then running to his right. My fucking gun jams. I can’t believe it. Even with his dumbass juke move I would’ve separated his spine. I’ve got another gun on me, a. 32 caliber revolver. I start pulling it out of its holster with my left hand, all the while running after Marzone and cursing the sonofabitch every step of the way.

  He’s gained some ground on me, maybe forty feet in front of me now, and he runs me across streets and through parking lots. I’m panting hard, my chest feeling like it’s going to burst, but I keep pushing myself, and Marzone, the dumbass, keeps zigzagging like he’s watched too many war movies. The way Marzone’s running allows me to make up ground. I’m maybe twenty feet away and am about to take out his right knee with a shot when I hit a patch of ice and my feet fly out from under me. Marzone hears my tumble and stops. When he turns around I can see the indecision in his expression – whether to go after me or keep running. He’s panting also, hands on knees, but he’s too slow in reacting, too late in making a charge at me, and I’m already scrambling back to my feet. He realizes his lost opportunity, and takes off running again with me following right behind him.

  He’s running slower now. I’m starting to make up some distance when he does a header on to the pavement, his face taking the brunt of it. A pistol he’s been trying to take out of his jacket tumbles out of his hand and clatters harmlessly away. I walk up to him slowly while trying to catch my breath. When I’m standing over him, he looks up at me feebly, his eyes dazed, a good chunk of the skin scraped off his face. I put a bullet in his forehead, then while he’s lying dead on the pavement, I put two more in the back of his skull for good measure.

  I’m still breathing raggedly, my chest aching, my leg muscles tired and sore. I first slip the worthless piece of shit Luger in its holster, then the. 32 caliber. I adjust my pants and jacket and look around quickly. That’s when I see her.

  chapter 26

  present

  When I met Sophie on Thursday, she smiled her amused shit-eating grin at me for a good minute or so before I raised an eyebrow and asked her what was up.

  “I have a surprise,” she said.


  “Yeah?”

  She pursed her lips as she studied me. Then she told me how she was able to arrange for us to borrow an isolated cabin up in New Hampshire for the weekend.

  “From a friend of a friend,” she explained. “But we’ll be up in the woods and we’ll be able to be like real writers. My friend’s friend can let us have it from Saturday morning until Monday. That will give us a chance to get started on this book and really concentrate on it.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said. “I have to work Saturday night.”

  She opened her eyes wide in mock surprise. We were sitting at a table in the same coffee shop we had first met in, and the other people there turned to stare as Sophie got out of her chair and walked over to sit on my lap. With her mouth inches from my ear, she said softly, “But Leonard, darling, how can you turn down a weekend alone with a sensual and somewhat attractive younger woman, even though all we’re going to be doing there is working.”

  “Not somewhat attractive,” I said. “No, not by a long shot. Let’s call you what you are, stunningly beautiful.”

  She pulled back, grinning at me, her eyes sparkling brightly. “If you say so, Leonard,” she said, her tone deprecating. “But seriously, call in sick Saturday. What’s the worst that can happen? They fire you? Fuck them if they do that, you’ll be making more on this book than they could pay you in a lifetime for cleaning their bathrooms. So come on, what do you say?”

  “How are we going to get up there?”

  “I’ll find us a car,” she said.

  I found myself nodding, almost involuntarily. “Sure, okay, let’s do it,” I agreed.

  “Outstanding.” She played with her index finger lightly along my lips for a few seconds, then kissed me on the cheek. Moving her mouth so she was again whispering in my ear, she said, “I’m not getting you too excited sitting on your lap, am I, Leonard? Because we’re only going to be working up there.”

  “Not enough yet to give me a stroke. But keep trying.”

  She laughed at that, her head tilted back slightly, the soft curvature of her throat making me swallow hard.

  “I guess I can be a bit of a tease,” she said. “I’m sorry about that, Leonard, but it’s going to be so much fun us working together, and the thought of it has put me in a playful mood.” She stopped as she glanced at a clock on the wall. “Shit,” she said, her smile fading, “I have to get going, but let’s meet right in front of this shop Saturday morning at eight. We’ll get an early start.”

  I nodded, and she hopped off my lap and headed fast towards the door. Before she went through it, she turned to give me a short wave and a slight impish smile.*

  Lombard’s boys showed up that night. I was vacuuming one of the third-floor offices when they walked in, the same two who’d been standing outside the courthouse Monday morning watching for me. One of them turned off the vacuum cleaner. The other one told me we were leaving.

  “What’s the point?” I asked. “If you’re going to take me out, just do it here.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Fuck, I’d like to, but orders are to deliver you alive. Get moving.”

  I stayed where I was. I was deciding whether I had any chance against them when the one who had turned off the vacuum cleaner took a step towards me, violence in his eyes. “We can rough you up for convincing’s sake,” he said. “It would be a shame to get blood all over this nice carpeting, but if you need us to do that, sure, why the fuck not.”

  I told him that wasn’t necessary and walked out of the room with them close enough behind for me to feel their breath on my neck and smell the sourness of it. I headed towards the back staircase, figuring they wanted to avoid the lobby and the security desk, but they indicated for me to take the elevator. When we got in there, they crowded me from both sides.

  “Will it do me any good asking the security guard for help?” I asked.

  “None,” the one on my right said. “Except for giving us an excuse to pop you in the mouth.”

  “This has been the set-up from the beginning,” I said. “That’s the only reason I was hired here, wasn’t it?”

  The one crowding me on my left smirked at that but didn’t answer me. When we got out at the lobby and they marched me past the security desk, the kid working there looked alarmed. He jumped out of his seat and started yelling, “Hey, hey, hey!”

  One of the wiseguys gave him a confused look, and the kid told him he needed the office keys back. They searched through my pockets, found the keys and tossed them on to the security desk. The kid then picked up his magazine and went back to reading as they took me out the door.

  There was a black Cadillac sedan waiting at the curb. I got in the back seat with one of the wiseguys while the other one took the wheel. We drove in silence for a while, and once I realized we were heading back towards Boston I asked them where they were taking me.

  “Shut up,” the one next to me ordered.

  “What’s the big deal, why not just tell me?” I asked. “Wait, I got it, this is some sort of surprise party you Revere guys have planned for me and you don’t want to ruin it, right? Christ, I’m touched by the sentiment.”

  The driver snickered, said, “Funny guy you got back there.” The wiseguy sitting next to me glared at me for a long moment before warning me again to shut the fuck up, already.

  I sat back and watched as we sped down the Mass Turnpike. I stayed quiet until we had gotten off of the Turnpike and navigated down several side streets on the way towards Revere.

  “This is a hell of a comfortable ride,” I remarked. “When I was working for Sal Lombard I had to keep a low profile and was never able to buy myself anything like a Cadillac. Damn nice car, though.”

  “You like the ride, huh?” the driver said, half under his breath. “That’s nice.”

  “Why’d the two of you wait until now?” I asked. “I’ve been out almost a month.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to shut your mouth?” the wiseguy next to me said. Then, to the driver, he said, “Can you believe this old fuck? He must have Swiss cheese for brains.”

  The driver got a laugh out of that. I ignored it, said to the wiseguy next to me, “For Chrissakes, you can answer a few questions. I’m going to be dead soon anyway, right?”

  “Not soon enough. So just shut your damn ugly piehole already!”

  I shook my head sadly at him. “What a couple of fucking embarrassments Lombard’s family’s hiring these days,” I said. “You can at least be civil. Especially since I was about to tell you how you fucked things up.”

  The last few minutes his face had slowly been reddening. With that comment of mine his color dropped to a harsh icy white. He stared open-mouthed at me for a moment, then pulled a big piece of iron from his shoulder holster and brought it up with the idea of striking me with it. I moved a lot faster than he probably thought I was capable of, blocking his gun hand, and at the same time punching him in the throat with my other fist. He was useless then. Fear flooded what had moments before been dead, hard eyes, and he sat paralyzed, making choking noises.

  The driver looked over his shoulder, worried by what he was hearing. “Joey, what the fuck’s happening back there?” he asked.

  As he tried to see what was going on in the back seat, enough of his face showed from behind the headrest for me to kick him, and I caught him hard enough in the jaw to bounce his head off the driver’s-side window. The car crashed into a utility pole seconds after that.

  I was still holding on to the other wiseguy’s gun. It wasn’t hard pulling it out of his hand. He was panicking too much about whether he’d be able to breathe again. I craned my neck forward so I could look over at the front seat. The driver was breathing but out cold.

  The wiseguy next to me was still struggling to breathe, his face having turned a dark purple. All at once he gasped in a frantic breath, then he was back among the living. His eyes were fearful as they turned back to me. He must’ve remembered stories that he had hea
rd about me. I was no longer just some old cadaverous-looking has-been.

  “You’ve got two choices,” I told him. “Either I blow you and your partner’s brains out right now, or you answer every question I ask you without hesitation. If you do that I’ll leave the two of you alive in the trunk. You’ve got five seconds to decide.”

  I slid the safety off a. 40 caliber automatic and pushed the muzzle hard into his ear. He winced at that, and told me he’d tell me anything I wanted to know.

  “Who are you doing this for?” I asked.

  “Nick Lombard.”

  I was surprised by that. I had never met any of Sal Lombard’s sons, but I knew Nick was the youngest, and from what I’d heard, the softest.

  “Nick’s running things now?”

  The wiseguy nodded, his eyes clenched shut.

  “Where were you going to take me?”

  He was trying hard not to shake but it was a losing battle. “Winthrop. Terrace Avenue,” he said.

  That brought back memories. They were taking me to the same house where I’d had my initiation all those years ago. I pushed the gun barrel harder into his ear making his grimace tighter.

  “Who’s waiting for me there?”

  “Nick.”

  “Just him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One more time, and answer this as if your life depends on it. Because it does. Who’s waiting for me in that house?”

  “Just Nick, I swear.”

  He was telling me the truth. He was too scared to be doing anything other than that. I pulled the gun from his ear and had him help me lift the driver into the trunk. There was some rope back there which I had him use to tie up his unconscious companion, then I had him crawl in there also and lie on his stomach while I tied his hands behind his back.

  “You know how you fucked up before?” I asked. “You never should’ve brought me in the back seat with you. You should’ve put me where you and your buddy are right now.”