Payback: A sniper seeking revenge terrorizes the mob (Assassin Series Book 1)

by David Nees

  Joey had a full length cast covering his left leg. Vincent didn’t invite him to sit or join him in lunch. He took his time, eating his pasta. Joey stood quietly, leaning on his crutches, not sure what would happen next.

  Frank Varsa, a mob enforcer, stood to one side of Joey. The large man had a swarthy complexion with dark, humorless eyes that bored through you. He had black hair, combed straight back. He dressed in a dapper manner, with carefully tailored, dark blue silk shirt and black, silk dress pants. The elegance of his clothes did nothing to soften the sense of danger from his presence. Nobody was close to Frank. He rarely spoke to anyone other than Vincent. Joey hoped Frank would not play a part in whatever was going to happen.

  Finally, Vincent looked at Joey. “So, you made a scene and got yourself beat up outside Stone’s restaurant, in front of your guys. And they didn’t finish what you started.” Disdain dripped from his voice.

  “He surprised me. He moved so fast, my guys never had a chance to react and then the cook came out with a knife.”

  “Shut up. You’re supposed to be a tough guy. Frank, do you think Joey’s a tough guy?”

  Frank looked at Joey who, after a moment, dropped his eyes. There was no comfort in Frank’s look.

  “What do you think?” Vincent repeated to Frank.

  “No, he’s not a tough guy.”

  “That’s what I think. We’ve made him, he’s part of us, but he doesn’t seem to be a tough guy.”

  Joey started to respond, but checked himself.

  “Here’s the problem,” Vincent continued, “You started something you couldn’t finish. Now I’ve got a situation to deal with. I’ve got a punk out there who beat up a made man, one of my men. You’ve put me into a situation where I have to act and do something I don’t wanna do, because I can’t let people go around disrespecting my guys. If it weren’t for that, I’d take you back there and have him beat your ass some more.”

  “But I was doing what I’m supposed to do,” Joey protested.

  At that moment Frank reached out, grabbed Joey by his shirt and jerked him forward. He slapped him twice across the face with his huge hand, so hard Joey almost lost consciousness.

  Joey’s legs got wobbly; he struggled with his crutches and wiped blood from his lips and nose with his sleeve. He looked like a school boy who just got hit by the class bully.

  “Joey,” Vincent said, “don’t become a liability for me. Your job is to bring in money, not create problems. If you can’t get respect on the street, I got no use for you.” Those words had an ominous ring to them.

  “Now I have to discipline this guy; I have to knock him down a notch. What I want is for him to be making a lot of money. Money I can take a cut of, not getting his business interrupted because I have to teach him some respect, something you should have taught him.”

  Joey risked a question. “I’ll take care of it. What do you want me to do?”

  Vincent stared hard at him. “His restaurant has to have a little accident, something that will help him see the error of his ways. And then I expect you to become my top earner…or I’ll let Frank teach you a little respect.”

  Frank grabbed Joey and escorted him to the door as Vincent turned back to his pasta.

  Chapter6

  The call came in around 11:30 at night. Dan was asleep on the couch with the TV going, waiting up for Rita to return from her parents’. There was a fire at the restaurant; he should come down right away.

  Dan hung up the phone and shouted, “Rita.” He got up from the couch and ran into the bedroom. She wasn’t there.

  Where was she? He called his in-laws and woke them up.

  “Dad,” with his parents dead, Dan liked to call his in-laws “Mom and Dad”, even though they had not fully warmed up to him after two years, “is Rita there?”

  “Hell no. She left an hour ago. You woke us up. What’s going on?”

  “She’s not home and I just got a call. There’s a fire at the restaurant. I’m going there now.”

  Silence on the other end.

  Finally, “I’ll meet you there.”

  Rita was three months pregnant. Dan hadn’t wanted her to be out late, but she often would stop by the restaurant to catch up on paperwork after visiting her parents’, even if it meant getting home an hour later. Now in a panic, he raced to the restaurant.

  It was engulfed in flames when he arrived. Fire trucks blocked the street; hoses were running everywhere, water spraying on the blaze and water running through the street. A fireman was up on a ladder manning a hose that pumped water on the roof. Dan could hear orders being shouted over the roar of the flames. Flashing lights created a sense of confusion as the firemen scrambled to save the building.

  He was stopped at the police line. With the noise and confusion it was hard for Dan to be heard. It took a while for him to make them understand he was the owner of the restaurant. One of the cops led him to a fireman who took him to the captain in charge. He stood next to a pumper, alternately looking at the building and calling in directions through his radio.

  The captain shouted at Dan. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the owner of the restaurant. Was there a woman in the building?

  The captain led him away from the roar of the pumper, over to his car. “Do you know of anyone staying late?”

  “My wife may have stopped here on her way home tonight.” Dan felt a cold chill flow over him.

  “We recovered a woman from inside.”

  Dan sagged against the captain’s command car. “Oh my God!”

  “You know for sure she was here?”

  Dan shook his head. “She sometimes comes back at night to do the books.” He grabbed the captain and shouted into his face. “Where is she? I need to see who it is. Is she alive?”

  The captain held him off, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. Whoever it is was badly burned. They’ve transported her to Lutheran Hospital ER.”

  Dan started to turn to run to the intersection and hail a cab but the captain grabbed him. “I’ll get one of the officers to drive you to the hospital.”

  Dan raced into the emergency room and rushed up to the window. “Did you admit a woman who was burned? She was just transported here.”

  The woman behind the counter started looking at her records.

  “Please, I need to see her.” Dan was almost shouting now.

  “It won’t help to shout at me,” she replied.

  Dan turned to run towards the rooms.

  “Stop!” the woman shouted. A cop standing near the desk grabbed him.

  “Please, my wife may be in there. Let me go!”

  The officer who drove Dan to the hospital came up and explained to the desk clerk what had happened.

  “Wait here,” the woman said, “I’ll get the doctor.” She ran down the hallway.

  A moment later a doctor approached them. “Are you related to the woman that was brought in?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Dan. The anguish in his voice made the doctor wince. “My wife may have been at the restaurant. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Dan let himself be guided to a bench along the wall. They sat down.

  “The woman that was brought in was dead on arrival. There was nothing we could do, she was too badly burned. There was no chance to save her.”

  The breath went out of Dan. He bent over and put his head in his hands. “No, no, no,” he whispered over and over.

  “We need to identify her. I know this is hard, but it needs to be done,” the doctor said. “Are you up to it?”

  Dan nodded without speaking. Maybe it’s not Rita.

  The doctor motioned for the cop to come over. He helped Dan to his feet and escorted him down the hall to an elevator which took them to the morgue in the basement. Another doctor met them outside the room.

  “Remember, she was badly burned,” he warned. Dan just looked at him.

  The doctor led him into the room. A body lay on the table, covered wi
th a white plastic sheet. He took hold of the sheet and paused, looking at Dan. Dan nodded and he slowly pulled the sheet back. Her hair was burned off, her face locked in a scream of agony. She was hardly recognizable, but it was Rita. Dan cried out, a primal cry of anguish. He backed up. His chest heaved as he started to hyperventilate.

  “Rita, Rita,” he said over and over in a hoarse voice. Stumbling against another gurney, he almost fell to the floor, and crashed against the wall. He leaned against it for support. His legs felt like rubber. He put his face in his hands to try to slow down his breathing. His stomach heaved.

  “Rita, Rita, what happened?”

  The doctor helped get Dan outside and onto a bench in the hall. “I’ll make sure you get any personal items we recovered.” He spoke some more words that Dan didn’t hear. Dan sat there, staring ahead with vacant eyes. Words meant nothing to him.

  He had seen death and dealt death in Iraq, mostly at a distance but sometimes up close. He had grown a thick layer of protection against the shock of it. This was different; this was his wife, his life.

  Suddenly his father-in-law came running down the hall. He looked at Dan and stopped. He could see the reality in Dan’s face. “No, no, this can’t be! No! No!” He started for the door but the doctor and cop stopped him. “Let me in! I’m her father!”

  They looked at Dan.

  “No, Pop, don’t go in. She’s badly burned.”

  The older man struggled for a moment longer then collapsed against the cop, sobbing.

  The next few days went by in slow motion agony for Dan: visiting the hospital again to fill out forms, arranging for the body to be transported to a funeral home, filling out reports for the police, and going through the remains of the restaurant. He could barely focus on the tasks. It all seemed meaningless. Tommy was with him almost constantly, running interference for him, and helping with the details.

  Finally Dan began to function and question how the fire started. The fire department hadn’t completed their investigation and couldn’t say. They had no hard evidence of arson, so they assumed a gas leak. Neighbors spoke of a loud bang and flash, and then the blaze growing rapidly. The theory was that there was an explosion which stunned Rita, keeping her from fleeing the blaze.

  During this period, Dan visited his in-laws. There he received a cold reception from Rita’s father.

  “I don’t think I want you around here anymore,” the old man said at the door.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If it hadn’t been for you and your tough guy attitude, Rita would still be alive.”

  “I don’t understand, Pop.”

  “Don’t call me Pop. You refused the offer of protection from Vincent Salvatore’s men. Rita told me about it. Not only that, you insulted them. Beat one of ’em up. You wanted to be a tough guy, a big army hotshot. Well, you got my girl killed. This wouldn’t of happened if you had gone along and played ball. They would have seen to it that no one messed with the restaurant and my girl wouldn’t be dead now. And neither would my grandchild.” He started to cry and slammed the door.

  Dan stood on the stoop stunned. This was crazy. His heart was broken and now the only couple that remotely filled in as parents just shut him out of their lives. Dan turned to go. His world was crumbing; his wife was gone, and his in-laws blamed him for her death. He trudged down the street mindlessly, his thoughts all jumbled, and walked for blocks, finally ending up at Tommy’s repair shop.

  Dan walked into one of the bays. “Rita’s parents won’t talk to me. They think I caused Rita’s death.”

  Tommy came out from under the hood of a car and wiped his hands. “How is that?” He grabbed Dan’s arm and walked him outside.

  “Her dad thinks the fire was because I didn’t go along with Vincent’s guys. You know, Joey. He thinks I pissed them off. If I’d have paid for protection, the fire wouldn’t have happened.” He shook his head.

  Tommy put his arm around his friend. “That’s hard. But you can’t blame yourself. Her dad is grieving. He may not mean what he says.”

  “I’ve been thinking. It had to be the mob.” Dan looked at Tommy.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Add it up. I don’t pay their protection money, I break Joey’s leg, and our restaurant gets blown up.” Dan looked away. “But who would have thought they’d go that far? Broken windows maybe, but blowing it up? Killing Rita?” He shook his head.

  The official report that came out was that a gas leak caused the explosion, triggered by a vandal throwing a Molotov cocktail through the window. A fireman investigating the remains had quietly picked up all the remnants of the flash-bang grenade, which then disappeared. The police at various levels were not fully satisfied, but with new homicides occurring regularly, they soon had to move on to other crimes and this one, though tragic, had an explanation. They knew they would never track down the person who threw the bottle into the restaurant.

  The funeral service didn’t go well. Dan was a wreck, even with Tommy at his side. The service was too much for Rita’s parents as well. After the service Rita’s dad walked up to Dan. He had an angry look on his face, layered over his grief.

  He poked his finger in Dan’s chest. “You caused this. You acting like a big shot. We lost everything. We’re done with you. Don’t ever come around again.” He turned to his wife. “Come on.” His voice shook with rage and hurt as he pulled his wife away from Dan.

  Tommy came up just as they were stalking off. “I’m sorry they have to act that way. Sorry you have to deal with their grief on top of your own.”

  “Maybe it is my fault.”

  “Bullshit. Rita wouldn’t let you wimp out. She was against going along with Joey as much as you were.”

  Dan turned to his long time pal. “Seems like you’re the only friend I’ve got. My parents are gone, Rita’s gone, and my in-laws blame me for what’s happened.”

  Tommy put his arm around his shoulder as they slowly walked away from the grave.

  Chapter 7

  A few days after the fire, Joey sat in the car next to Frank. Another of Vincent’s men, Roy, was in the back seat behind him. No one had spoken since they had picked him up at his home in Brooklyn.

  “Vincent wants to see you. I’ll pick you up,” was all Frank had said when he called. It was after midnight which did nothing to ease Joey’s anxiety.

  When Joey came out of the front door, Roy was standing by the front passenger door. He opened the door for Joey. After Joey got in, Roy opened the rear door and sat down directly behind him. Joey sat still; the hair on the back of his neck bristled. He felt exposed and tried not to fidget. Were they going to kill him? Roy could slip a blade in the back of his neck and he’d be dead in a second. He could fire a silenced .22 into the back of his head with the same results. He could slip a garrote around his neck and finish him slower but cleaner.

  “Frank, what’s up? I thought we were going to the Gardens.” Joey’s voice trembled as they headed southeast, away from the restaurant. Frank didn’t answer.

  “Frank, talk to me, what’s going on? Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  Without looking at him, Frank said, “The meeting’s not at the restaurant.”

  Joey kept quiet, trying to remain composed. They could whack him just as easily at the Gardens as somewhere else. This had to be because of the mess at Dan’s restaurant. How could he have known the flash-bang grenade would start such a fire? They had used one to ignite the five gallon jug of gasoline they had thrown in moments before. Maybe there really had been a gas leak. It wasn’t his fault. He had been trying to do what Vincent had asked.

  They drove in silence, finally getting on Brookville Boulevard and heading through the marshes towards Rockaway Boulevard. The mob owned a cement plant near the intersection. They pulled off and stopped at the plant making sure they couldn’t be seen from the road. When they got out Roy yanked a hood over his head as Frank grabbed him. Joey tried to fight, but a sharp blow to his stomach bent h
im over. They weren’t suffocating him, just blinding him. They tied his hands behind his back, led him across the road, and walked him stumbling and dragging into the marsh. Joey’s feet squished in the soft ground. He could smell the pungent stink of the seaweed and mud; the smell of life and death and decay. Joey shivered as he shuffled along. Roy had a tight hold on his arm, leading him forward and holding him when he tripped. When they reached a slightly higher piece of ground, Frank took off his hood, untied his hands and thrust a shovel into them.

  “Dig.”

  Joey just stood there staring at him. “Frank, don’t do this. You don’t have to do it. I’ll do anything you ask.”

  “Dig, or I’ll start beating you.”

  “I didn’t know the place would blow up like that. I just wanted to be sure the fire would start. I didn’t know she was in the restaurant. If I had known, I wouldn’t have done it that night.”

  Frank punched Joey in the face, knocking him to the ground. “Dig.”

  Joey struggled to his feet and began digging.

  An hour later Frank stopped him, took his shovel and told him to sit in the hole. Joey was whimpering, “No, no.”

  Frank took out an automatic and pointed it at Joey. “You want to say anything before I do this?”

  Joey looked up at Frank’s impassive face; there was no mercy, no compassion there. Just his cold, dark eyes that told Joey this was simply another chore. Joey was just a problem that needed to go away, and Frank would not think about it for an extra moment after he was dead. He would just go on to fix the next problem. Joey slumped against the wall of dirt. His bladder let loose and a wet stain spread over the front of his pants.

  “Look at me,” Frank commanded. “Look at me.”

  Joey barely raised his head. Frank pulled the trigger. The blast hit Joey at the top of his forehead and he fell to one side, screaming. As he screamed, he realized that he was still alive. His screams collapsed into sobbing. When he was able to, he opened his eyes.