“Listen, we all know your motivation to catch these guys is great. We just want to direct that energy to not only catch the guy that took Jack from us, but also to get deeper into the Ciancetta family. With Ricky in with Joey Ciancetta, and you in with the Falzone crew, we can break this thing wide open.”
Elliot was getting excited as he spoke. No doubt promotions and medals were jumping around in that cranium of his.
“I won’t wear a wire, if that is what you’re asking.”
Alex was no fool. Wires got people killed.
“Not asking that, just want you to keep those eyes open, let us know what you know. Anything big comes your way, toss us a line. You can get to me through a secure line at the department. I will authorize them to put you through to me.”
“What is in this for me?” The idea of being a ‘Johnny-on-the-Spot’ did not sit well with Alex.
“For one, you won’t be acting without authority.”
They had him there. Alex nodded his head in agreement. It would be nice to be on the good guy’s side again, on the official record anyway.
“Also, you get some help as far as actually investigating this case. You have just been running around and frankly, you’re too deep in to get out and do real detective work. Things you think of but can’t get to, call into Hi-Def and Hambone. They will be on standby to do some of the investigative aspects regarding Jack’s death.”
At first Alex was offended at the notion that he hadn’t done enough investigating. But as he thought about it, he realized that Elliot was close to the mark. It took him days just to get to Inhaled Imports. Alex agreed to the terms. In fact, he liked them. He had his own ‘Johnny-on-the-Spot’, two of them. A nice turn of events.
“Good then.” Elliot extended his hand which Alex Vaughn shook in mutual accord. “I have to get going, but stay a few minutes and get the numbers for the secure line from Hi-Def. I think this will work out nicely.”
Hambone took a peek out of the blinds, and then motioned to Elliot it was clear to leave. Without hesitating, Elliot walked out of the room. Once he was gone, Hambone dead bolted the door and looked at Alex. “So, how do you propose we get the guy that killed my boy?”
Vaughn flashed an arrogant smile and sat down to get acquainted with his new crew.
*
Rafael Rontego stood in front of Aldo Marano; both of them looked at each other unblinking. The only sign of life between them was the slow burn of Aldo‘s cigarette and Rafael‘s Sobranie.
The assassin mused for a moment about this relic of a man. He was always old, as far back as Rontego could remember. The odd thing was he never aged. The white goatee he wore was in stark contrast to his brown and weathered face. He didn’t seem like much. A single punch to his face seemed like it would disintegrate him, sending him back to the dust from whence he came.
Rontego was scared of no man, so it must have been respect that stayed his hand. Respect or common sense. The connections that Aldo Marano had were strong and deep. The moment passed, and Rontego broke the silence.
“Surprised to see me, Uomo Anziano Aldo?”
The assassin let loose a thin line of smoke as he talked. He waited for Aldo to speak.
The old man was in no hurry as he took a prolonged drag on his cigarette. When he spoke, it came out slow and with purpose.
“No, I think not, my old friend. To be surprised I would have been forced to underestimate you. I fully know what you are capable of doing. Tell me why you are here.”
Rafael scoffed at the statement, “Do you not know? No, I think you do.”
Aldo slammed his fists down onto the table with a force that belied is age. “So then, are you here to kill me?” he yelled. Anger rimmed his eyes and he stood up halfway, leaning over the table toward Rafael Rontego.
As he stood up, Rontego shifted his feet to blade the target, years of experience coming together. His pistol stood between the two of them, dice looking up at the assassin as the barrel tilted downward forty-five degrees between the two men.
“I am but a frail, old man. What good is it to you to see my death?”
Rontego, unfazed by the outburst, put his cigarette out on the table in front of Aldo. “Frail in body, Marano. In body only. If I could unlock your brain from that ancient head of yours, you would already be dead. If I was here to kill you, I would not have spared them,” Rafael motioned towards the youths behind him. “Nor would I have taken my time here with you any more than a hunter would take his time with a cornered fox.”
“So you are not here to kill me. I am lucky then. Perhaps not as lucky as Sonne Pieri? Why are you here Angelo Della Morte?”
Aldo eased back down. He waved off the teen that was lurking in the background. Each of them was okay to let the matter between them and Rontego pass, as the uninjured one tended to his wounded compatriots.
Rafael almost smiled at the nickname “Angel of Death.” As bad as it sounded, it was a sign of respect. Rontego took great pride in being able to strike fear into his enemies, but Aldo, just like Muro, was not always so. Aldo coined the phrase “Angelo Della Morte”, in regards to Rafael after he did a hit for the old man at the beginning of his career. There was history here, but Aldo and Muro chose their side in this civil war.
“Listen careful Aldo. Don Ciancetta wants to have a sit down with Mr. Falzone. There has already been a lot of bloodshed. Something needs to be hammered out.”
The assassin knew that it was useless to suggest a meeting between the two factions this late in the game. He had his orders though and he assumed that the advice of The Pope must be at play somewhere in all of this. Rontego felt that the pride of Ciancetta would never have allowed for the thought of anything but total annihilation of the enemy to enter his mind.
Aldo Marano must have had a similar thought, as he laughed. The old man’s eyes twinkled in amusement at the statement. “Why does he think we would want to work out a deal with him? There is no ability to go back on what has happened, and we would not want to, Rafael. Or have you not noticed that we are winning this little war that Don Ciancetta perpetuates. Go back to your little boss and tell him that if he wants peace, all he has to do is step down. I am sure Falzone would allow Leo to retire peacefully.” Aldo’s voice was sarcastic and he developed an air of superiority that disturbed Rafael Rontego. He had the look of a man claiming checkmate.
Time to take him down a notch, Rontego thought.
Chapter 16
Marcus leaned over his wounded friend. Tony was bleeding from his shoulder and Marcus couldn’t get it to stop. He glanced behind him and saw Aldo Marano talking, deep in conversation with the bastard who just shredded his buddy’s shoulder. There was blood everywhere.
It wasn’t that Marcus was scared of this guy, he told himself. Someone needed to make sure the wounded were tended to.
Fuck, Marcus thought.
Tony was shivering and looked pale. The blood was pooling around him now.
“Marcus, remember…remember when we were in ninth grade and we were in Ms. Salidina’s class?” Tony was moving his legs from side to side and his lips were looking blue.
“Yeah Tony, I remember.”
Marcus just wanted to keep him talking. If he was talking, he was alive. What he didn’t know was that a fragment of bone separated itself from the torn clavicle and shot through Tony’s lung. Each breath he took was drowning him. The question was whether he would bleed to death or drown first.
“Man, she was hot. I should have asked her out. I should of, I should of….”
Tony’s voice trailed off into a gasp and his legs stopped moving. Marcus looked at his hands. There was blood all over them. A rage built upside of him and he looked back at the two men talking and then at the floor. He saw what he was looking for, a better weapon than his tiny blade.
There was Tony’s pistol.
Marcus’ face twisted into the steel visage of resolve. He scooped up the pistol, saw his target, and began to sneak up on the man who murder
ed his friend. Marcus made a name for himself as of late anyway. Being a gun for Aldo and Muro had been life-altering.
*
Rontego dropped his back hand into the pocket of his coat.
“You would be wise to consider such a kind offer from the Don, lest you wind up like other adversaries of his.”
As Rontego spoke he threw the contents of his pocket onto the table in front of Aldo. It was a waded handkerchief.
Aldo glanced at the cold stare of Rafael Rontego and then down at the handkerchief. His old hand reached forward and unfolded the unexpected package. As Aldo unwrapped it and the contents came into view, his face turned a shade of ashen grey and he paused.
There in his hand was the finger of Sonne Pieri. The family crest was still on the finger which turned pale with no blood to give it its normal color.
It took Aldo a moment to center himself. The air of superiority shifted to Rafael and he relished the moment. His grey eyes danced with the inner fire of victory. It was not every day that a mental victory could be claimed over Aldo Marano.
Then, just as fast as he was taken aback, Aldo regained his composure. Rafael could see the wheel turning in the old man’s head. Aldo seemed to settle on some thought or another and then his lips curled upward into a knowing smile. A small laugh cracked forth from his weathered lips.
“Oh Rafael, you serve a small master and his victories are even smaller. So, you flaunt that you have killed a young man in our organization. Let me ask you, Rafael Rontego, Angelo Della Morte,” his voice was now dripping with sarcasm and Rontego did not like the nickname very much at all, “where do you suppose Don Ciancetta’s other soldiers are? Why is it that you seem to be doing all the work alone? Do you suppose it is because you are the best? My dear Rontego, you are very good at what you do. So why is it that your boss would so misallocate his resources? Why are you here in this dangerous situation instead of some goat ripe for slaughter? Perhaps you are the only one left. Perhaps you know too much and your death would not be so greatly missed?”
Rontego gripped his pistol as the old man rambled. He wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in his brain and end his reign of mental domination. The assassin looked down at the finger sitting next to Aldo’s glass of water. As he listened, he saw a slight flicker of movement in the glass. It seemed that one of the youths gathered up some nerve after all, during Aldo Marano’s motivational speech.
Let him come.
The kid sporting the facial hair seemed to have grown a set of balls. He was stealthy. If Rafael had not seen him in the glass, the kid might have gotten the drop on him. It is amazing what someone’s back to you can inspire.
“If only Muro and I collected trophies this week, we might be able to compare fingers with the great Rafael Rontego.”
Aldo’s eyes shifted to Rafael’s left as he spoke and that was all the indication the assassin needed to turn and get the drop on his would-be ambusher.
The youth carried a pistol in his clenched hands. It was leveled at the back of Rontego’s head. Rontego didn’t hesitate as he whirled around. The youth did, however, as he did not expect Rafael to be aware of his intent. Marcus’ eyes widened as he realized the miscalculation.
The skilled assassin swung his left hand around as he spun, knocking Marcus’ weapon from his grasp. Without slowing down his motion, Rontego’s right hand followed through and up, smashing the butt of his pistol against the left side of Marcus’ head.
Usually a hit like that would knock an opponent out at once. Instead, the youth seemed to roll with the hit, crashing sideways into a dive. It was Rafael Rontego’s turn to register surprise as the youth flicked his switchblade out. It wasn’t that this youth was still awake, though that was surprising enough, but the quickness with which he snapped his blade out and to the ready that troubled the assassin. This kid had some ability.
Chapter 17
Marcus shook the stars from his head and flipped his blade open. He was recovered now from the surprise of his failed ambush. More important, he was motivated by absolute anger at the death of his friend. He was going to taste the blood of this killer if it was the last thing he did.
Marcus sidestepped the barrel of the murderer’s gun and caught the killer’s arm between his body and his own arm. Marcus lifted his free arm up and smashed an elbow into the neck of his adversary. He was satisfied as he heard a gasp escape the man and was even happier when he heard his opponent’s pistol drop to the floor.
Marcus released the man’s weaponless arm and brought his blade towards the killer’s throat. Perhaps this wouldn’t be the last thing he did after all.
*
The assassin felt the full force of the blow on his neck and a gush of air escaped his throat. Through the pain, he realized that in these close quarters, his gun would be useless. Rafael dropped his piece to the floor.
Just as Rontego intended, the youth released his arm and went for his opportunity at the assassin’s neck. Just in time, the assassin caught the blade-wielding hand at the forearm. This kid was strong. The blade inched closer to Rafael’s neck as he backed against a pillar standing alone next to Aldo’s booth.
The youngster brought his second hand up and pressed it against the tangled arms, using the leverage to gain an even greater strength advantage on the assassin. He wanted the kill.
It was the youth’s ambition that was his undoing. He forgot about Rafael Rontego’s free hand, which pulled a small blade of his own. At the last second, Rontego rolled to the side, sending his young opponent’s head smashing into the pole behind the assassin.
Simultaneously, he slashed with his knife across the young man’s chest and sidestepped the collision. He crashed to the floor, bleeding from a long diagonal gash stretching from his right shoulder down past the left side of his belly. The knockout blow to the forehead was a blessing in disguise. If he’d been awake, that gash would be the most searing pain he experienced in his short life. Rontego knew it.
Not short enough, thought the assassin as he walked toward his fallen victim.
He lifted his blade to finish the deed when he felt it. There was blood trickling from his neck.
Little bastard got closer than I thought, he mused.
The blood was trailing down his neck in a thin line and Rafael felt his knees getting weaker. Aldo was eyeing Rafael’s gun on the floor at his feet. He went for the pistol but Rafael halted the old man in his tracks as he brought his second pistol to bear.
The assassin stumbled forward and scooped the hand cannon off of the floor, holstering it. His companion pistol still trained at Aldo, he offered a few parting words.
“Think long and hard about having a sit down. You think you know what I am capable of, but you have no idea old man.”
With that, Rafael Rontego, still bleeding, walked through the back kitchen into the alley outside. His legs were getting weak as blood was still flowing unabated from his neck. He knew he was on borrowed time if he did not get some pressure on his wounded throat.
Moving fast, the assassin pulled out a set of keys. There was a safe house nearby.
Damn the daylight, he thought.
The last thing he needed was to get pinched. He lifted his collar up, hiding the bloody wound as best he could. Then, without further delay, he half ran, half stumbled down the road.
Just a couple more blocks, feet don’t fail me now. Rontego heard the remote sound of an ambulance down the road. The two blocks seemed like an eternity but he forced himself onward. The will to survive sustained him and he slammed into the door to the apartment building he used often as a hiding spot.
He unlocked the door and starting pulling himself up the three flights of stairs to his room. Blood was dripping down his pant leg now and leaving a speckled trail behind him. Then, as Rafael reached the fourth floor, he fell down, his legs abandoning him.
Rontego took his jacket off and pulled his shirt over his head. Pressing the shirt against his wound, he forced himself to stand. Stumbling fo
rward, he fell towards his room and unlocked it. As the hit man fell inside, he tied the shirt around his neck. It was hard to breathe but at least it was tight. Rontego fell to the ground and rolled over on to his back. Mustering his last bit of strength, he kicked the door shut behind him and drifted into the familiar oblivion.
Chapter 18
Alex Vaughn shut the door to the hotel room behind him. The snow let up a bit and the sun was peeking through for a brief moment, making the day feel a bit warmer. The snow on the ground though, and the occasional gust of wind reminded Alex that it was still winter.
Vaughn thought about what just transpired in the hotel room behind him as he walked towards Wizeguyz. It was good to know that he had some allies. Alex had not realized it but he was feeling very much alone in all of this.
The plan for now was to go back to the pool hall and see what transpired. Alex asked Hi-Def why the recording went to static. There must have been some useful information missed due to the untimely end of the device. But Hi-Def told Alex that they did not even have a bug in the pool hall. They used a long distance microphone and once the van was out of range they lost the ability to eavesdrop on the conversation.
Hi-Def gave Alex the phone codes to the secure lines for each of the men in the unit along with a nifty radio transmitter that looked like a button on the sleeve of his jacket. He would be able to transmit to Hi-Def’s laptop and he would get a notice on his Blackberry in real time as the message came in.
They also worked out a plan where Hambone and Hi-Def would be on the tail of either Alex or Ricky at various times. It would provide at least a measure of security for Alex who, up until now, had no backup. Ricky was going to go back to Joey Ciancetta’s house and go to a wise guy party that night and see what he could discern.
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