A Jar of Dreams

by Cartharn, Clarissa

  He let out a tired breath. Tomorrow he would come again. And he did. And also the day after and the day after that. For three months he followed her down the beaten pathway to the spot where he had first seen her. And in all that time, he never once spoke to her. But then one day, she didn’t come at all. He discovered her lesson with her tutor was over. He never saw her again. And he wondered if he ever would.

  CHAPTER 2

  Fifteen years later

  Loud music blared through the club. Eric slithered through the mass of bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music.

  Ten years ago, he would probably have been found amongst the drunken mob, dancing without a care in the world. But he was thirty-three now. He was a whole lot more mature and with a deadly agenda on his mind. Even as he maneuvered his way through the crowd, his focus didn’t shift from the short, pudgy man seated across the room, cavorted by two beautiful scantily dressed women.

  There was everything crass about Johnny Dimmick. Right from the twenty-two carat chains dangling around his neck to the diamond rings on his fingers. He was the epitome of the pimp from the ghetto who struck it rich.

  His eyes shifted to the three men flanking him. They would be a barrier to get to him. Had there been one, he would have managed him without much work. But three were a task.

  A young woman pressed her body seductively against him. He took the opportunity and placed his hands on her hips, moving in tune with her. He needed to stay close to Dimmick as much as possible and there could be no better cover than to pretend he was another punch-drunk patron of the club.

  The woman moved her hands down his pants and he frowned. Should he catch it before she went any further?

  “Wanna go to the alley?” she whispered into his ear.

  “How about a little later?” he said. This wasn’t the time to indulge in a free fucking session; not that he enjoyed it like he used to. He preferred women with a little more class, and more dress than the one rubbing against him. When had his tastes changed? In his younger days, he would have snatched up her offer and given her the fuck of a lifetime.

  She pouted her lips in disappointment and straddled his leg. He could tell she was eager for a fuck. Unfortunately, she would have to get it elsewhere.

  She rubbed her crotch against his thigh and she moaned. “Oh come on. You know you want it.”

  “I do, babe,” he pretended. “But let’s have some foreplay first, okay?”

  “I love a little foreplay. Oooohh, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” She quoted Mae West as she let out another moan

  He wished he could tell her that it was certainly not the latter sticking into her wet pussy. And for safety’s sake, he pushed her away slightly. He didn’t want her setting off the trigger in his pants.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Dimmick slipping out of his chair and he immediately made a move to follow him. But the drunk Mae West got in his way, trying to keep him from leaving.

  “Don’t go without me,” she pleaded.

  “I’ll be back, babe. Just give me a minute,” he said. He didn’t want her creating any attention. Once he was gone, he knew she’d latch onto someone else.

  “Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t,” he replied quickly as he leaped into the direction in which Dimmick had disappeared. He’s leaving the club. He moved as swiftly as he could. But no matter how hard he tried, there was always someone bumping into him or dancing in his way.

  Finally finding a clear path to the exit, he raced out of it and down the stairs of the club. He saw them strolling to the side of the club building and into an alley. He walked hastily towards them, making sure he wasn’t being noticed and then pulled his gun out of its holster and cocked it

  Standing by the corner of the building, he knew he had to be fast. Those three men were trained bodyguards. They were going to be swift and accurate.

  He grasped the grip of his hand gun tightly and pulled in a deep breath. He only wanted Dimmick. But if he had to hurt the others to get to him, then it was a step he had to take. In this game of death, he couldn’t allow anyone to recognize him. He was an unknown. A man without a face, without an identity- except to those who hired him to rid them of people they didn’t want.

  He swung around the corner, ready to fire if necessary. He froze, staring down at the dead bodies laying about the alley. Someone had taken all six down, including the two women. What had happened? He stepped carefully around them, checking to make sure they were indeed dead.

  He bent down to put two fingers on Dimmick’s throat. His pulse was faint and slow, indicative of fresh death. His breath was completely gone. He swore silently. Even though Dimmick was dead, he couldn’t claim any right to the contract money. Someone else had beaten him to it. But who?

  He noticed an empty bullet casing by Dimmick’s foot and instinctively leaned down to pick it up. A bullet whizzed past him, almost clipping his ear. He ducked for cover. The assassin was still around and he was deliberately aiming for him. That wasn’t just a rogue shot.

  Another silent bullet struck close to him and he immediately raced back towards the entrance of the alley. The man was a professional. Each shot was accurate and would have hit him had it not been for pure luck. Was he a rival contract killer? Whoever he was, he wanted him dead. And he certainly wasn’t going to stay to find out why. At least, not just yet.

  He raced over to the nearest public phone. He didn’t want to call through his cell. He didn’t know where Joe Cavallo stood with what had happened and he didn’t want to be tracked. No one knew of the Dimmick job except for Cavallo and the man who had hired Cavallo to get rid of Dimmick.

  His hands shivered with both frustration and anger as he reached for the phone. He needed to maintain some calm in order to understand what had happened. No good would come out of losing his temper with Cavallo.

  He dialed the number and then waited impatiently for Cavallo to pick up.

  “Hello?” Cavallo said.

  “Joe.”

  “Ricky, where… where are you?”

  “What’s going on, Joe?”

  “I… I don’t know. What are you talkin’ about? Did you get Dimmick?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Eric frowned. If Joe didn’t know about Dimmick, then who did? “Someone else did.”

  “What do you mean someone else did?”

  “Someone shot Dimmick and tried to kill me too. Would you have any idea why?”

  “No, of course not.” Joe snorted nervously. “Where… are you?”

  “I’m at a phone booth not too far from the club.”He swiped a frustrated hand over his face. “Joe, something’s not right here. No one knew about the Dimmick job.”

  “I know, I know.” Cavallo hesitated. “I’ll come and get you. Perhaps if we talked about it together, we may be able to figure it out.”

  Eric tapped his fingers against the glass in the phone booth, his mind racing vigorously over everything that had happened. Something pinched his guts, telling him to not trust Cavallo.

  “Ricky?”

  “Yeah, listen,” Eric said, deciding to go with his instincts. He had long learned that if there was anything he was sure of in his life, it was his gut. “I’m gonna go home and take a breather. I need to think things through. Could you meet me there in an hour?”

  “I’ll be there,” Cavallo said.

  Eric replaced the receiver, thinking deeply. What was Joe Cavallo up to?

  His eyes were pinned closely on his apartment as he opened a can of beer. Fifteen minutes had passed since he had called Cavallo. Immediately after he had finished talking to Cavallo, he had rushed over to the building opposite his apartment. It was eleven-thirty and a Friday night. This meant that the woman who lived in the apartment he had sneaked into would be out at least until the early hours of Saturday morning. He had a clear view of his living room and all the time he needed to make certain Cavallo could be trusted.

  He sat waiting in the dark in
the woman’s bedroom, sipping her can of beer. He wished he had grabbed her left-over fried chicken which he had spotted in her fridge as well. It was too late for that though. He didn’t want to miss anyone coming through his front door. The lights in his living room were on. So if anyone did decide to bust his door down, he would know exactly who they were.

  His night vision binoculars lay on the table by the window just in case the intruder switched the lights off. His eyes involuntarily glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. The minutes ticked by impatiently. Perhaps, he was wrong about Cavallo. Perhaps, the man who had shot Dimmick was coincidently hired by an unknown third person and he just happened to be in the way.

  Finally, he noticed his door open ajar slightly and he immediately straightened up. He picked up his binoculars and zoomed onto the intruder.

  “Cavallo,” he whispered to himself as he watched the man step carefully into his apartment. “What are you up to?”

  He could tell from his posture that he had a concealed gun in his hands as he scanned through the apartment searching for him. He was smart. He didn’t want people across the building suspecting him for a burglar.

  Discovering that it was empty, Cavallo walked over to the living room window and stared into Eric’s direction. Had Cavallo spotted him? Eric frowned. He couldn’t have. The woman’s apartment was pitch-dark.

  Cavallo waved his hands, signaling at someone across his apartment. Eric leaped towards the balcony doors. Who was Cavallo communicating with? What was with the signals? Why didn’t he simply use the phone? Questions zoomed through him as he tried to peer out the balcony doors as carefully as he could. But he saw nothing. Whoever Cavallo had been signaling to was concealed under the cover of darkness just as much as he was. His mind raced through the possibilities. Could it be a hitman readying to take him down in case Cavallo missed?

  Suddenly Cavallo turned, his eyes appearing to be peering directly into the woman’s apartment. Eric fell back against the wall. Cavallo must have figured he was being watched. It wasn’t safe anymore. He needed to get out of the woman’s apartment before he could be trapped by either Cavallo or the sniper, whoever he was.

  He grabbed his bag and dashed out of the apartment. He was in no mood to wrestle with an unidentified competitor. He needed to first find out who this mystery assassin was and why Cavallo had relinquished ties with him for this other man.

  He glanced over at the stairs and then the elevators. If he took the stairs, he’d probably have a chance to fight back. But then a group of late partygoers flocked into the elevator and he hopped into it quickly. The hitman would most likely not want to take down a bunch of civilians. Surely he would want to keep public attention to as minimum as possible. No professional contract killer vied for the attention of media and cops hunting him down like some over-crazed, trigger-happy idiot.

  He stepped off the bus and then watched it roll away down the street.

  He had caught the first bus out of the terminal. He didn’t care where he was going. All he needed was to get as far as away from New York. He had to think and he couldn’t do that if he kept looking over his back. A strange town with no connections to him might throw Cavallo and the hitman off any scent. Five hours later, he found himself in Boston.

  He walked along the sidewalk, paying close attention to the houses flanking the street. There must be one that could be vacant. He needed a place to lie low for a while and a motel room was definitely not a choice. Reception assistants could be bought; housekeepers could snitch at the smell of fresh cash. He trusted no one but himself.

  He stopped at one mansion. 147, he read. There was something about the house that caught his eye. Perhaps, it was the white washed walls or the vine covered veranda. But whatever it was, there was something about it that made it stand out from the rest.

  A woman bustled out of the front door, calling out for someone. “Jason! Jason!” and a man skipped out from the corner, presumably Jason.

  “The kitchen sink’s blocking again. Come see to it. Otherwise, get a plumber, will you? This is the third time it’s happened in a month. Really, how can…” Her voice trailed off as she marched back inside the house.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes, Mrs Rogers,” Jason mumbled quickly before rushing back to the back of the house.

  Eric strolled on. A pretty house. Too bad it was occupied. The hovering tree-line of the neighboring reserve and the dark drapes on its windows would have made it the perfect hide-out.

  He reached the end of the street and spotted a basket ball court in the centre of the sports grounds. This was nothing like the courts he had played on. The lushes green lawn, a primely situated tennis court and a fenced baseball field evoked every sense of the wealth invested in it.

  Jamal might know what it was like playing on those now, he thought, his mouth twitching into a small smile. After a basketball scholarship to college, his opportunities had flooded in to play professional basketball. Jamal was no longer the poor homeboy he had grown up with, although his heart remained the same. Loyal and faithful. He remembered how Jamal had wanted to help him out with college tuition, and if he had accepted, he might never have picked up a gun at twenty-one. His natural acumen in predicting economical patterns would probably have led him to a well-paid job in a corporation.

  He ran his hand over the baseball fence. But he hadn’t wanted to be burdened any more by the Irvines’ kindness. He already felt greatly indebted to Momma Leticia’s love. And then there was Jamal and the girls. They loved and accepted him like a brother. And even though he missed them, he knew he had to distance himself to not feel the guilt of being a strain on their finances in those early years of his life. If Jamal had never won that scholarship… He shook his head. He didn’t want to think of the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ that occasionally plagued his mind. The Irvines were well now. They were doing fine. He had to focus on the present and he needed to work himself out of this mess with Cavallo.

  He caught sight of a young woman sitting on a park bench facing the courts and he immediately froze, her features reminding him of another he had been mesmerized with as a young man. Her hair was swept up into an elegant chignon and her manner was more refined than hers… Anne’s. He studied her over his eyebrows. Was it possible that it could be her? What were the chances he would ever see her again?

  She rose up from the bench, and when she pulled open her white cane, his heart almost clamped. Was it her? She began to walk away and his pulse raced. Instinctively, his feet followed her. The cool breeze fluttered the hems of her skirt and a small smile tugged the ends of her mouth. He kept an eye on her as he walked by her side, maintaining a good measure of space between them.

  She turned around the corner and he rushed over to follow her. She was heading towards the bus stop. What was he doing? He should be focusing on the job. He had a target on his back and they had hired the very man he had worked for to kill him.

  Her cane tapped against the pavement, resonating through the silence of the suburbs. He just needed to be sure she would be fine. He felt uneasy leaving her alone at a lonely bus stop. She settled on the bench, her cane resting now by her side.

  Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait too long. The bus emerged from down the street and crawled up to the bus stop. Once she left, he could simply get on with his business.

  The woman stood up and walked towards the edge of the curb. The bus stopped alongside her and the door pulled open.

  “Hello, Anne,” the driver called out. “Going back home?”

  “Hello, Rod.” The woman smiled. “Yes, I was.”

  “Hop in then, Ms Mullen.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Eric stood riveted at his feet, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. She’s not my responsibility. She will be fine. I should move on.

  “Are you coming?” the driver called out to him.

  Eric stared at the man blankly.

  “Are you coming, sir?” the driver asked again.

  Eric s
tepped back and the driver began to close the door. He spotted her by the window. She was going to leave. He licked his lips indecisively. This is stupid!

  The bus cranked up to move from the curb and he immediately rushed up to the door and hammered on it with desperation.

  “Easy on there, man,” the driver said as he pulled open the door again. “You’ve changed your mind.”

  “Thanks,” Eric stuttered breathlessly.

  He stepped hurriedly through the aisle and settled into a seat behind her.

  What am I doing? He clutched the strap of his bag tightly. The scent of her perfume drifted over to him and he closed his eyes, his nerves titillated by the fragrance. He was playing with fire, and he would most likely be burned by his strange obsession for her.

  The bus came to a slow stop.

  “Here’s your stop, Anne,” the driver called out to her.

  “Thanks, Rod,” she said, standing up.

  Eric followed her quietly as she felt her way towards the door. She stumbled over a bag of shopping and Eric immediately braced her.

  “Oh, thank you.” She flustered with embarrassment.

  “I’ll help you out,” he said.

  “No, there really is no need. I’m sure I will manage.”

  Eric frowned, reluctantly letting go of her arm. He took a quick glance at the floor cluttered with bags of all kinds. He would be right behind her, he told himself, if she tripped again.

  “Oh, let him, girl,” a woman cut in. “A handsome fellow like that doesn’t show-up so often in this bus.”