A Killing Kiss

by B. R. Stateham

  “Tell me about the day Jacob died, Otto. How did it happen?”

  Again, the ever-so-slight shrug of massive shoulders. Followed by the big man’s quiet voice.

  “It was a Thursday. Mrs. Menten and Stu had been out all afternoon shopping. They returned home around eight... nine that evening. The boss watched the baby. Played with the baby like the doting father he was. But he didn’t look right. Didn’t sound good. He was white all over. Kept grimacing in pain whenever he sat down or got up from a chair. A couple of times I saw him put a hand on his stomach. You know. That sudden move you do when you have a sharp pain. I tried to ask him if he wanted me to take him to a doctor. But he kept waving me off.

  Stu and Mrs. Menton came back from their shopping spree and had dinner with the boss. Mrs. Menten always fixed the boss’s meals. She’s a good cook. More of a gourmet chef, if you ask me. That night she made something Italian. Big meal. The three of them and the baby all sat out here in the kitchen and ate. Around eleven... eleven thirty... the boss said he was tired, was going to bed. Stu left a little after that. The boss died sometime in the night between eleven thirty and six in the morning. That’s when Mrs. Menten woke. Five minutes to six. The boss’ body was cold. He’d been dead for at least a couple of hours before Mrs. Menten called me.”

  “That sounds odd,” the dark-eyed man said softly and frowned. “Unless they didn’t sleep together.”

  “They shared the master bedroom. But not the same bed. Twin beds, side by side. Not her idea I should say. His. The boss’s”

  “So he was sick all day. In pain. Sharp pains in the stomach. Did Mrs. Menten say anything to Jacob about the pain before he excused himself and went to bed?”

  The giant said nothing but shrugged his shoulders. Expressively.

  “So which one do you think poisoned Jacob? Mrs. Menten or Stu?”

  “I don’t know. All I can tell you is this. I was surprised when the boss got married. I was even more surprised when Mrs. Menten became pregnant. And I was almost floored to see the boss go nuts over the baby. The idea of him playing the father role this late in life brought a smile to his face every time he thought about it.”

  “Jacob was never married. Never had children.”

  “Confirmed bachelor. Liked women but didn’t trust them. Never kept one around for more than a month.”

  “How did Jacob find his wife? What brought the two together?”

  “I... well... uh... I think it was Stu. I think Stu brought the two together. They were a hot item before she met the boss. I got the feeling something happened, something changed in their relationship, when she was introduced to the boss. What, I don’t know.”

  Secrets.

  There were secrets hidden in the hearts of everyone. Secrets no one wanted revealed. Secrets best kept secret. Like Stu Sheppard and Charlene Connors knowing each other long before she met Jacob Menten. Like the obvious fact that Stu Sheppard loved Charlene Connors. Loved her the moment he laid eyes on her for the first time. Secrets like Jacob Menten knowing it – knowing the two young people were madly in love. And not bothered by it.

  Secrets.

  The secrets we keep to protect others. The secrets we keep to push away the pain of living. Sometimes the secrets wind up killing us. Secrets. Everyone has secrets.

  “Where you going?”

  “To find Mrs. Menten and Stu. There’s some questions I want to ask them. Where are they now?”

  “Wait a minute,” the giant said, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a cell phone. A speed dial number, a couple of grunts, and then slipping the phone back into his pocket before answering. “Dillards on the South Haven shopping mall. Want one of the men to tell them you’re coming?”

  “No. I’ll find them.”

  The unblinking giant nodded and stepped back from the kitchen door. The dark-eyed man walked past the giant and left. For a few seconds Otto watched the strange killer walk down the gravel path and then turn to head toward the driveway in front of the building. When Smitty disappeared from view he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Walked out of the kitchen and headed for the library.

  Secrets.

  All of us have some.

  #7

  “Yeah, who’s this?” Wil Marconi barked groggily from waking up out of a deep sleep.

  “Harry Bosley is dead,” the soft voice said over the phone.

  Marconi was suddenly wide awake. Sitting up in bed, sheets falling off him, he disregarded the nubile nymph lying in bed beside him, her ripe, youthful nakedness half-covered by the sheet.

  “Bosley’s dead. Most of his crew are dead. The situation is getting out of hand, Wil. We need to put a stop to this. Now, before he finds out about everything. The only ones left of the old gang is you, Mick, and Stu. I suggest you and Mick had better do something and save yourselves before he comes hunting for you. And he will come hunting for you. Sooner or later he will come after all of us unless we do something to stop him.”

  Wil Marconi felt sick. Physically sick. He knew Smitty. Knew how ruthless the black-eyed bastard could be. Knew the voice on the other side of the line was stating an absolute fact. He was as good as being dead. He and Mick. Dead unless the two of them found a way to stop Smitty first. But what the fuck would it take to kill this bastard? It was like this guy had the nine lives of a cat. He couldn’t be killed. Others had tried. Many had tried to put Smitty in the ground. Smitty wasn’t in the ground. He was very much alive. Alive and very dangerous...

  Still... better to die trying to take him out on their terms than to sit back and just wait for the black-eyed monster to come for them.

  “Where is he now?”

  “South Haven Mall. That’s where Stu and the woman are. If you hurry you might get to him before he finds them.”

  “Forget the hurry part,” Wil almost shouted, the palms of his hands suddenly wet from perspiration. “Hurrying gets you killed when you face a guy like Smitty. Relax. We’ll handle it. Mick and me. But listen, after we take him out, the three of us are sitting down and having a comin’ to Jesus meeting. If we have to take out Smitty the cut Mick and I agreed on has got to be renegotiated. Got that?”

  “I understand completely, Wil. Understand completely. But first get rid of Smitty.”

  The connection went dead. Wil, furious, threw the phone down on the bed and whipped the sheets off his nude body. Hurriedly, he dressed as the woman slept. Pulling out his wallet he slipped four C-notes between his fingers and tossed them on the bed. He let himself out of the apartment and stepped into an elevator. As the elevator’s doors closed all he could think about was Smitty. How to kill Smitty.

  Christ.

  How do you kill a fucking monster?

  How?

  #

  Through the moving mass of the mall he saw Charlene and Stu in the doorway that lead into the Dillards store. They were standing by a glass case filled with diamonds. Diamond rings. Diamond broaches. Diamond necklaces. Not the most expensive of diamonds. But expensive enough. At the woman’s side was the stroller with the baby tucked and strapped in safely and covered with a blanket. One of her hands rested on the stroller’s handle. The other was lying on the glass top of the jewelry counter. Lying underneath the much bigger hand of Stu Sheppard.

  Sheppard, for his part, had a large backpack thrown over one shoulder. A backpack filled with diapers and bottles of formula. Tall, lanky, with black hair and laughing eyes, Stu Sheppard played the part well. Played the part of a proud father spending a late evening with his wife and son in the mall. Dressed in tan slacks, a white shirt, wearing a tan fedora, the man looked like someone who kept himself in shape. Like an athlete. Just as Charlene Connnors kept in shape like an athlete.

  A good looking couple. Young. Beautiful. Obviously happy. The proud parents of a baby boy. Life was good.

  Dark eyes roamed the moving crowds in front of the couple and picked up the two men Otto had sent to protect them. A swift look behind the couple and he saw two more. F
our guards. In a heavily crowded mall. Lots of potential witnesses. Not the place to make a move. Not if you were smart.

  He turned and worked his way through the crowd and leaned against the counter of a specialty ice cream kiosk and ordered a double dip cone of rum raisin. Taking the cone from the teenage girl behind the counter he moved to one side and turned to watch the young couple across the way. Watched them and the crowd. Licked his ice cream casually and watched. And waited.

  Stu Sheppard had been Jacob Menten’s favorite. Made no bones about it to the others. Stu was the man. Young, smart, college educated... Stu was more of a businessman than a thug. He knew how to make money. Lots of money. Lots of honest money. True, if it came to playing tough Stu took a backseat to no one. He could be a hard man if hard times had to be endured. But that’s not why Jacob Menten had Stu around. Jacob saw in this tall, good looking kid a businessman. He saw the future of his syndicate.

  But the older boys in the syndicate, especially Charlie Rich and Harry Bosley, saw in Stu a rival. An upstart. An interloper. A smart ass who showed up one day with a bright idea and dazzled the old man with brilliance. And the moment the kid showed up the limelight shifted away from them and straight onto the shoulders of Stu. Charlie and Harry became, in a blinking of an eye, also-rans. Gophers. Lackeys who now had to answer to either the old man or to Stu.

  And he had it on good authority that this was what broke the friendship between Jacob and Greg Tarkanian. With the arrival of the wunderkind Tarkanian saw the changing of the old guard. Saw the writing on the wall. The good old days he and Jacob had in their youth as up and coming hoods were gone. Dead. A new era was being born. A new era Tarkanian wanted no part of.

  Of course Wil Marconi and Mick O’Toole weren’t happy about the new dynamics of the syndicate either. On the other hand they weren’t that ambitious. They readily admitted that they were more the lackey types than the leader types. Give them their piece of the cut, let them do their own thing for the most part and they would be happy. Didn’t matter who the boss was. Sure, they resented Stu. Resented the fact the boss gave Stu authority over them. But whatever. That’s what the boss wanted. That’s what he got.

  But the boss was dead. The king had died leaving the throne empty and his queen lonely in bed. Who said they had to remain being lackeys? Where did it say in stone that Stu Sheppard automatically became the new king? Maybe someone else could step in and lead the syndicate.

  From his vantage point he watched the couple and their bodyguards start moving slowly down the mall’s concourse. The two were laughing and chatting away like a couple in love and not paying attention to anyone around them. The crowd was heavy and mobile and not paying attention. His dark eyes took it all in. Took in the crowd and their movements. Took in the sight of children darting back and forth through the crowd eating cotton candy or munching on bags of popcorn. Took in the sight of one of the bodyguards reaching inside his coat pocket and pulling out a cell phone. Watched with interest as the big guy nodded his head and then dialed a number. A guard in front of the couple reached for his phone and threw it up to his ear. The second man said nothing but listened. And slowly turned to look at the lovers behind him. Look at them in the way a shark might look at his next meal.

  Smitty came off the wall he was leaning against, tossed the ice cream into a trash bin and started walking. Something didn’t look right. Something was wrong. Someone had made a decision that didn’t look good for the love birds. Walking away from the strolling lovers and their guards Smitty stuck a hand into his slacks pocket and wrapped fingers around the heavy but comfortable feel of a switchblade. As he moved he stayed well back from the four guards. He didn’t want them to see him. Not yet. Deftly, he moved like a hunting cat making his way up through the African veldt toward prey. Except the tall grass of his veldt was the crowd.

  It didn’t take long. In moments he was four steps behind the rear two bodyguards following the love birds. Directly behind the one who first took the phone call. Every time one of the bodyguards half turned to look Smitty hid himself behind someone or stepped into the entrance of a store front for concealment. The four kept moving in front of him. Moving toward the wide concourse that led out to one of the parking lots. Dark eyes on the two guards who had changed – changed from being bodyguards to being the foe – made Smitty almost smile. Almost smile at the thought some kind of action was about to happen. Something was going to pop open like a jack-in-the-box. All he had to do was follow along and wait.

  It happened sooner than he anticipated.

  Something very hard – hard like the working end of a gun – pushed into his left rib cage just as a hand gripped his right arm in a painful vice grip.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Wil Marconi’s voice sounded close to his right ear. “I’ve got six men surrounding you. Make a move and I guarantee you Mrs. Menten and Stu go down first. With you right behind ’em.”

  The dark-eyed man half turned his head and looked at the frowning image of Marconi’s hard face only inches away and just behind his right arm. Turning to his left he saw the second man in this smoothly operated snatch. Of course. Mick. The big Irishman was standing close to his left side and slightly behind him. A hand was in the pocket of the sport coat he used to conceal the gun. The gun rode Smitty’s rib cage menacingly.

  “We’re taking a walk out to the parking lot, boyo. And then a ride. Your last one,” Mick grunted behind him, the American-Irish brogue stronger than normal coming from his lips.

  The smile of a killer flashed like the flare of a camera across Smitty’s lips. It wasn’t so much that he liked surprises. Surprises in his line of work usually meant a deviation from his original plan. But in a fluid situation like this plans had to be nebulous. Adjustable. Had to allow for the unpredictable. The unpredictable like Mick and Wil suddenly developing back bones.

  “You’re idea, Wil? Or someone else’s. I know it can’t be Mick’s. No offense, Mick. But you’re too stupid to think of something like this.”

  Marconi shot a glance the dark-eyed man and frowned.

  “Shut up and keep walking.”

  “Just asking, friend. Just asking.”

  Again – the flash of a killer’s smirk on his thin lips.

  “I’m gonna enjoy working you over some before I put a slug in your brain, boyo. Really enjoy it,” Mick said behind him.

  The lovers and their trails walked past the concourse leading out to the parking lot and kept walking down the mall. The two on either side of the dark-eyed man turned and started walking to the wide sliding glass doors of the exit. Out in the humid night the three picked up the pace. Four rows down in the crowded parking lot sat a black Ford van. As they approached, the side door of the van slid back and two men jumped out. Grabbing Smitty by his arms they threw him into the van, pushed him into a seat, and slid the door closed. The two unknown thugs sat down in chairs on either side of Smitty with guns in their hands and pointing at the dark-eyed man’s chest.

  Up front Wil slid into the passenger seat on the right and Mick hopped in behind the wheel. He threw the gearshift down into Drive and hit the gas. The van lurched forward and started moving rapidly down the packed lanes of the parking lot toward the nearest exit. As Mick drove, Wil twisted around in his seat and with a smug look on his face.

  “So the grim reaper has finally been caught. The man that can’t be killed is finally gonna go down himself. How does it feel, Smitty? How does it feel to know you’re going to be meeting old friends in Hell in about an hour or two?”

  A smirk played across the dark-eyed man’s lips as he looked at Wil silently. The pleased look on Wil’s face beamed brighter.

  “Tell me, before Mick makes it tough for you to talk. What the hell did you do with Greg Tarkanian? I mean, the guy’s gotta be dead by now. I know Dutch put a slug in him and one of those giants who worked for Dutch put two of ’em in the old fucker. How he got up and walked away is beyond me. But he had to have help. He had to have someone
to hide him. The only person capable of doing that is you. So what did you do with him?”

  “I didn’t do anything, friend.” Smitty’s soft whisper sounded in the darkness of the van. “I found the dead lawyer. I found some blood in the kitchen leading out into the garage. But I never found Tarkanian. He may be dead. But then, he may be still out there, Wil. He may be alive and waiting to come back and pay you and Mick a visit. Gee, won’t that be a pleasant surprise.”

  The smile on Wil’s mug disappeared. Replaced by a look of concern. A pleasant surprise? If the old man wasn’t dead Wil knew he and his buddy had a real problem on their hands. Knew they had to find Tarkanian before Tarkanian had time to find them.

  “He’s got the discs, doesn’t he. Tarkanian. He’s the only one who could have them,” Wil went on, the grin returning to his face. But not so brightly. Not so sure of himself.

  “How the hell should I know? Jacob asked me to come and protect his wife and son if something bad happened to him. He didn’t say anything to me about a couple of computer discs.”

  Wil frowned, glanced at one of the thugs sitting beside Smitty and nodded. The thug nodded and holstered his gun. Reaching behind his back he pulled out two white nylon straps. The kind of straps used by police departments instead of handcuffs to subdue a suspect. Grabbing Smitty’s hands the big man pulled the strap tightly closed around his wrists and then bent down and threw one around Smitty’s ankles. Finally, pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster, the thug aimed it at Smitty’s chest and sat back in his chair and grinned.

  “Sit back and take it easy, Smitty. It won’t be long now,” Mick growled from behind the wheel, eyeing the dark-eyed man in the rear view mirror.

  A half hour of fast driving down freeways and then over city streets in the industrial section and the van pulled into a parking lot. It stopped in front of the large garage door of a vacant-looking warehouse. Sitting between the two large thugs holding guns on him Smitty watched Wil roll out of his seat and walk to the front of the van, fumbling with a set of keys in the process. Bending down, the handsome Italian used his keys on a lock hanging from a hasp on the garage door. With a heave from one arm the garage door went rocketing up into the night as Wil walked back to the van and got in.