“No evidence?”
“None. He is meticulous in his task. The Polizei believe he uses drugs to subdue his victims first,” the older man shuddered and coughed again. “Before he begins.”
“He’s compulsive,” said Stahl. “Addicted to his work – it’s his passion.”
“There is nothing passionate about raping a young woman, Herr Stahl.”
“Of course not. I’m not implying what happened to your daughter was anything but the most heinous of crimes.”
“Thank you.”
“Still, to capture prey, you must first understand them. You must be able to see the world through their eyes. Only when you see their world will you know how to catch them.” He nodded. “And kill them.”
The man pointed at the pistol Stahl held. “You’re sure it will not be heard?”
“If the tubing is fashioned correctly, the washers inside will break up the gases and the wadding will dissipate the noise. This small a caliber doesn’t sound like much more than a firecracker anyway. The tubing will cut the noise down to a vague muffled pop.”
“We must leave as soon as it is done. You understand that?”
Stahl’s eyes narrowed. “I have no intention of staying around.”
***
Frank grunted.
Across the street, the maroon door opened. “Heads up.”
Bobby straightened, alert now. “He’s early tonight, huh?”
“He’s early every night,” said Frank. “He stops by the bar, has a drink, takes that dame up to the Tailwind Hotel on Route One for an hour, bangs her brains out – or as best he can manage – and then heads home to tuck his kids in bed by nine. Real family man, this guy.”
“Not after tonight,” said Bobby with a grin.
Frank watched Vespucio walk through the slush. The blonde ornament clung to his arm like a wet newspaper.
He fixed Bobby with a hard stare. “Wait until I cross the street. When I get behind him, you drive around. Let him hear the engine. See the car. Long as he sees you, he won’t see me. Not ‘til it’s too late.”
Bobby nodded.
Frank stared at him for another second mentally willing the young gun not to screw things up. Then got out of the car. His shoes slid into the muddy slush, sinking two inches into the grime. He ignored the sudden cold biting through his cotton black socks and stinging his feet. He’d learned to shut off discomfort a long time ago. He checked for oncoming traffic and hurried across the street.
Vespucio walked leaning into the blonde. She must have hydraulic jacks for arms, thought Frank, being able to support that much flab.
The parking lot sat twenty yards away, surrounded by a rusty chain link fence that bowed out in certain sections.
Frank closed the distance. Readying his mind.
Vespucio wasn’t a big fish. He was a small-time bookie working for the Patrisi family. But Vespucio thought that since he flew under radar the Don wouldn’t care if he skimmed a few grand from the books.
Vespucio thought wrong.
***
“There. That is he.”
Stahl nodded. He looked just like his photograph. Perhaps forty years of age, thin, balding on top with thick glasses. He didn’t look strong but Stahl knew that appearances deceived. A weak man could explode in strength if the situation called for it. Stahl himself had adopted the guise of a weak nobody many times in the past. And each time such instances had ended terminally for those who had underestimated him.
“This won’t take long,” said Stahl. “Crack your window. As soon as you hear the first shot, start the motor.”
“I thought you said I wouldn’t be able to hear the shots.”
“You’ll hear something, for God’s sake. Not much, but something. Now do as I said.”
Stahl pulled the door handle and slid out of the car.
The cold night air embraced him.
***
Ten yards.
In the zone now, Frank fell into step behind them.
His hand - still in his overcoat pocket - gripped the pistol.
Sights and sounds registered like simple check marks in a type of staccato log.
Bobby’s car engine slid into drive.
Headlights bounced over him.
The engine gunned as Bobby stomped the accelerator.
A loud bump as the car jumped the divider and came down with a scrape.
Ahead of Frank, Vespucio turned.
The headlights drew parallel with the sidewalk.
Frank walked faster.
Vespucio looked at the car.
Frowned.
He knows, thought Frank. He knows it’s on.
Vespucio turned.
And saw Frank.
Frank drew his hand from his pocket, already thumbing the safety off and leveling it on Vespucio’s head.
Vespucio’s eyes went white.
Blood sank out of his face.
The blonde screamed when she saw the gun.
But Frank didn’t care about her. He only cared about Vespucio.
He took a deep breath and exhaled it slow, starting to squeeze the trigger.
***
Stahl covered the distance quickly. He bounced into the side of the alley, stumbling as he walked. He giggled.
The man looked up, suddenly hurrying to open his door. He fumbled with his keys.
“Excuse me,” said Stahl. “Is there a pub around here that’s open at this ungodly hour? I need a drink in the very worst way.”
The man looked up. Stahl could see the tension in his face.
But Stahl kept smiling. Always smiling. He was just an innocent drunk after all. Just a foolish man who’d had a few too many and wanted a few more before calling it a night.
The man hesitated but then grinned. “I think there’s a place around the corner.”
Stahl put his hand out to the man’s shoulder. “I cannot thank you enough, my friend.”
And then he shoved him back against the doorjamb, twisting the man’s body as he did so. His keys skittered to the ground.
Stahl’s hand came up aiming the Beretta between the man’s eyes.
***
Frank squeezed the trigger.
Stahl squeezed the trigger.
Again.
Again.
Even as their bullets found the heads of their respective targets – something rocked both Frank and Stahl. An explosion of pain surged through their skulls; a roar like standing next to a jet engine filled their ears; their vision blurred and then blackened.
Then the roar faded.
Frank opened his eyes. A dead bald guy with two entry wounds in his skull looked up at him with vacant eyes. Blood and bits of brain splattered the nearby doorjamb.
Where the hell am I?
Stahl opened his eyes. He saw the fat man dead at his feet, blood already mixing with the cold rain that coursed along the gutter. Next to the body, a scantily dressed blonde screamed.
In…English?
Stahl frowned.
He was in Germany – wasn’t he?
Another explosion roared in their heads; another wave of pain crashed down.
Frank’s eyesight clouded.
Stahl grabbed his head.
***
It cleared then. Frank saw the terrified tart on the sidewalk before him.
He saw Vespucio.
Dead.
Two tiny holes punctured his forehead.
Frank took a shaky breath and trained his .22 on the blonde. “You know me?”
She shook her head like a rattle. “N-n-no.”
“If you ever do, I’ll find you.” He stared at her once more for effect.
He pocketed the gun and slid into the car.
Next to him, Bobby whooped and jumped on the gas pedal. “Wow!”
The car shot away from the curb. Frank took a breath. “Slow down. I don’t want any cops pulling us over for speeding for crying out loud.”
The pain in his head lingered, but diminish
ed quickly.
In the rearview mirror, he could still see the blonde screaming for help. Vespucio’s body filled a large portion of the mirror, but it kept getting smaller. Like the pain.
Bobby took a corner and the image vanished.
What the hell happened to me back there?
***
Stahl’s vision cleared. He was back in the alley. The rapist lay dead at his feet, a long trail of red blood scarred the white entryway. The bullets had exited the rear of the man’s skull, jetting bits of gray matter about. Odd that the .22 rounds had exited the skull. They usually stayed inside and danced around the cavity. No matter, the rapist was dead.
He heard the car come up.
Stahl turned and slid into the front seat. The pain in his head subsided. He nodded at the older man. “Let’s go.”
“He’s dead?”
“He won’t be raping any more children in this lifetime,” said Stahl.
He glanced at the doorway one last time.
That pain. Those images. That roar.
What had just happened to him?
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