Manhattan Hit Man (A Tanner Novel Book 18)

by Remington Kane

  MANHATTAN HIT MAN

  A TANNER NOVEL

  Remington Kane

  Year Zero Publishing

  Contents

  1. New York, New York

  2. This Is A Joke, Right?

  3. Red, Fed, And Dead

  4. This Is A Joke, Right? – Part 2

  5. Meanwhile, Back In Killburry

  6. A Four-Letter Word

  7. Too Stupid To Live

  8. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

  9. We Meet At Last

  10. Bad Boys, Bad Boys

  11. Beantown

  12. First Contact

  13. Laundry Day

  14. A Favor For A Friend

  15. Let’s Talk

  16. I Spy

  17. Duke Of Love

  18. Like A King And A Queen

  19. Chirp! Chirp!

  20. I Own You!

  21. Do Me A Favor And Shoot Me

  22. Make A Withdrawal Without All That Messy Paperwork

  23. Hop In!

  24. A Case Of Mistaken Identity

  25. Distract, Deflect, Destroy

  26. You Drive

  27. Never Arrive Empty-Handed

  28. It’s For You

  29. That First Step Is A Doozy

  30. Manhattan’s Hit Man

  Also by Remington Kane

  About the Author

  1

  New York, New York

  Tanner slammed his car door shut, to avoid being struck by a red Corvette with numerous chips and cracks in its fiberglass body. As the car sped past him, its passenger gave him the finger.

  Tanner was on the FDR Drive and headed into Manhattan when the pickup truck in front of him bounced in and out of a deep pothole. That caused an old wooden sawhorse to tumble out of the pickup’s rear. The sawhorse broke into pieces from the impact and blocked the lane. Tanner had come to a stop to avoid running into it, while the cars behind him followed suit.

  Meanwhile, the driver of the pickup truck seemed oblivious to what had occurred and just kept driving.

  After putting his flashers on, Tanner told Sara he’d be right back and opened his door to step out and move the debris to the side of the road, to clear the lane, which was the right lane. Meanwhile, the left lane, which was free of debris, continued to move along at a steady pace, as did the traffic on the other side of the highway.

  The punk in the red Corvette, driving several car lengths behind Tanner, cursed the stopped traffic in front of him and risked getting in the path of a speeding dump truck in the left lane. Before the dump truck could collide with his rear, the Corvette driver dived back into the right lane, nearly sideswiping Tanner.

  Tanner had placed one foot on the roadway. Hearing the pitch of the Corvette’s racing motor, he yanked his foot back in the car and closed the door just in time to see the Corvette come within inches of hitting his rental. Had Tanner’s reflexes been any slower, he might have been struck and dragged along the highway.

  The punk driving the Corvette did not possess good reflexes. He stood on the brake pedal when he saw the broken sawhorse lying in the right lane, but it was too late. The Corvette ran over the debris, sending sparks flying from the nails in the wood, as they scraped along the road surface. Then came the sound of a blown tire, and the once proud but abused car skidded to a halt, blocking the lane. As he thundered by the scene, the driver of the dump truck blew his air horn and kept going.

  Sara placed a hand on Tanner’s shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m good.”

  Sara looked at the Corvette.

  “Are those the same two from the airport?”

  “That’s them,” Tanner said.

  They had first encountered the punks while at the airport. The two men, both in their thirties, were harassing every good-looking woman they came across by ogling them. Any females that didn’t meet their high standards were pointed at, whispered about, and subjected to their laughter.

  Most of the women, like Sara, just ignored the fools, but there was an overweight woman in the airport terminal who cried silent tears after they laughed at her. Their whispered, but still audible, comment about how she was a, “Fat chick,” was followed by the idiots making pig sounds.

  The fortyish woman in question was beautiful, well-dressed, and exuded intelligence, while the Neanderthals making fun of her wore ragged jeans and jackets that had seen better days. They were also far from being perfect physical specimens themselves, as both men had the beginning of a beer belly.

  The next encounter Tanner and Sara had with the fools occurred as they were leaving the airport. The driver of the Corvette, a man with dark hair and a bushy moustache cursed at Tanner and blew his horn in anger.

  Tanner had made it in front of a slow tractor-trailer, while the Corvette driver was stuck behind the huge vehicle. That was the last Tanner had seen of the Vette until it came close to striking him.

  The driver and passenger jumped from the car and sent a string of obscenities into the air when they saw what they had run over. Along with the flat tire, fluid was leaking out from beneath the vehicle.

  Both men looked up from the mess to stare at Tanner, then began walking towards him.

  Tanner smiled.

  “It looks like they want to play.”

  “Don’t kill them. They’re just idiots.”

  “I won’t even touch them unless they get physical first.”

  Tanner left his car and met the two punks in front of the hood. They were both big men, the driver with his bushy black moustache, and his passenger, who had long blond hair that was greasy.

  Moustache pointed at Tanner while scowling.

  “Why didn’t you warn me that shit was in the road? Look what happened to my ride.”

  “Shut up and go back to your car,” Tanner said.

  Long hair moved closer and leaned in, while giving Tanner what he must have thought was an intimidating stare.

  “Who you talkin’ to, asshole?”

  “I was talking to your friend, but the same goes for you. Shut your mouth, turn around, and walk away.”

  Long hair glanced at Moustache, as a smile curled his lips.

  “You hear this shit?”

  “I hear it, and the fucker is looking for an ass-kicking.”

  Tanner smiled as well. They were two to his one, had twenty pounds apiece on him, and he had an arm in a splint, an injury still healing from a fight he’d recently had in Russia.

  To the left, in the other lane, traffic was moving along in a hesitant manner. The drivers of the vehicles were slowing down to look at them and the damaged sports car. Beyond that was the other side of the highway, which was bordered by the East River. The river looked gray and flat, as the day offered scant wind and an overcast sky.

  One of the cars pulled out of the flow of traffic and stopped in front of the Corvette. The vehicle had a tinted rear window, so Tanner couldn’t get a look at the driver. He hoped it wasn’t a friend of the two dolts standing before him, and doubted it was. The car was a late-model Mercedes whose owner had taste.

  Whoever was inside the car seemed content to just sit and watch the show.

  Moustache pointed at Tanner with a finger that was an inch shy of touching his chest.

  “I see you got a jacked-up arm. If you don’t want a face to match, give me some money to get my car fixed.”

  “Pay for your own stupidity,” Tanner said.

  The pointing finger jabbed at him.

  “Who you calling stupid?”

  Tanner placed a foot behind the man’s ankle, reached up, and yanked hard on one side of the moustache. The punk stumbled backw
ards several feet, lost his balance, and landed on his ass. Long hair watched his friend go down, then made a wild swing at Tanner’s face. Tanner ducked the blow easily and brought a knee up into the man’s stomach. That caused Long hair to bend over. Tanner smashed a fist into the side of his head, and Long hair fell atop the roadway like someone stole his bones.

  Moustache rose from the ground and charged at Tanner with his head down, as if to tackle him. Tanner waited until the last instant before stepping aside, then watched as Moustache tried to change direction. The attempt failed, and Moustache collided against the front of Tanner’s rental. Before he could recover, Tanner sent a booted foot into his face that broke the man’s nose. Moustache straightened as his hands flew to his face, but Tanner’s second kick caught the punk on the chin and sent him sprawling. Moustache settled on the blacktop beside his friend, and like his friend, he was unconscious.

  The door opened on the car that had pulled over in front of the Corvette. When Tanner saw the driver of the vehicle, he recognized her. It was the woman from the airport. The overweight one whom the men had teased and ridiculed. She walked over and stared down at the two idiots. There was a stun gun in her right hand.

  When she looked up at Tanner, he saw she was smiling.

  “Thank you for teaching them a lesson. I wish I could have done it myself.”

  “It was a pleasure,” Tanner said.

  The woman held up the stun gun.

  “I was going to use this on them if they hurt you, but I see I didn’t need it.”

  Tanner said nothing to that, nodded at the woman, and turned to get back in the car.

  “Sir?”

  Tanner gave her a quizzical look as he placed a hand on the door handle.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s your name?”

  Tanner answered her by using his assumed name.

  “I’m Thomas Myers.”

  “Thomas, my name is Martha Maglione. I own a restaurant in the city that my father started, it’s called Maglione’s. Have you heard of it?”

  Tanner nodded again. Maglione’s was famous for its Italian cuisine, along with the fact that many Broadway stars dined there. Tanner had eaten there once when his dinner companion had been Sophia Verona.

  “Come by anytime and I’ll feed you and your lady there for free,” Martha Maglione said.

  “Thanks, we might take you up on that.”

  A moan came from behind Martha. It was Moustache. He sat up and looked around with a dazed expression.

  Martha pressed the stun gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger. Moustache jerked, writhed in a spastic fashion, then fell onto his back and drooled.

  Martha smiled at Tanner.

  “That was fun.”

  2

  This Is A Joke, Right?

  Hours later, Tanner and Sara stood outside the new strip club named Johnny R’s.

  The club was built on the same property where once sat the Cabaret Strip Club. That club had been owned and operated by the late Johnny Rossetti, while the new club bore his name as a tribute.

  Joe Pullo bought the land where an abandoned factory had sat across the street from the old club. The factory was torn down and a restaurant and dance club were in its place. An enclosed pedestrian bridge over the road connected that property to Johnny R’s Invitation-only VIP section, while regular customers entered from street level.

  Purple and blue neon lettering announced the strip club’s presence and purpose. Their light reflected off streets wet from an afternoon rain shower. The sound of rock music came from the club every time a new patron entered, usually accompanied by the men’s laughter.

  Whether they realized it or not, the mirth was directed at themselves. They were grown men spending hard-earned dollars to ogle women while drinking overpriced drinks. The women made money, the club owners made money, but the men left the clubs poorer, inebriated, titillated, but feeling perhaps just a little sad. But then, all fantasies have costs, while most deliver little more than promises.

  Tanner searched Sara’s face and saw a look of apprehension.

  “You don’t have to be here, Sara. I could talk to Joe alone.”

  “No, I owe Joe a personal apology for the damage I caused. Johnny’s death was my fault and I have to live with it.”

  “He may not accept that apology.”

  “I know, but I also want him to see that I’ve changed, and that we’re together as a couple.”

  “Why is that important to you?”

  “He’s your friend, Tanner. I want to get along with your friends.”

  “I would like that too. Let’s go see where we stand.”

  They entered the club, and an impressive sight met their eyes. The new club was larger than the old. There were huge monitors hanging from the ceiling, and they showed the dancers at twice their normal size. On stage, blonde twins danced for the patrons and the crowd looked on with rapt attention.

  Tanner tore his gaze away to take in another impressive set of twins. They were the bouncers who worked the door. The two black men were tall, wide, and packed with muscle. By Tanner’s estimate, they would each tip the scale at over three hundred pounds. They had been searching the club for signs of trouble, bouncers looking for prey to bounce on.

  The two men met Tanner’s intense eyes with deadpan expressions, but then seemed to tense as they gave each other warning glances. They recognized a fellow predator when they saw one.

  They wore their hair short, but their beards were full, below their hazel eyes.

  “Can we help you?” the one on the left said.

  “My name is Tanner. Joe Pullo is expecting me.”

  Smiles brightened the giants’ faces, and the one on the left stepped closer.

  “Mr. Pullo asked that we show you to the office, Mr. Tanner. You and the lady please follow me, sir.”

  The man led them past the dance floor where the other set of twins were showing how flexible they could be while hanging upside down. As they passed the bar, Tanner nodded to a familiar face that smiled a greeting to him. It was a bartender named Carl, who had worked at the old Cabaret Strip Club. Tanner liked Carl, but Carl’s smile looked more worried than pleasant. It likely meant nothing, as Carl was the nervous type.

  Tanner and Sara followed the bouncer onto an elevator that required a four-digit code to enter. Tanner saw that the rear wall of the elevator was another set of doors. It was likely how Joe came and went from the club. After rising a flight, they stepped into a posh, but small, reception area, where a desk sat devoid of its receptionist. The room was soundproofed, but you could still feel the vibration of the music that throbbed beneath you.

  Although the reception desk was unoccupied, there was someone seated on a sofa to the left of the desk, near a door marked, STAIRS. The man was so large that he dwarfed the bouncer.

  “Hello, Big Ralphie,” Tanner said.

  “Hey there, Tanner, long time no see, you too, Miss Blake.”

  “See you around,” Tanner said.

  A knock on the right side of twin oak doors was answered by the voice of Joe Pullo.

  As the bouncer opened the door, Tanner reached over and took Sara’s hand. Her palm was moist, indicating her nervousness.

  Sara gripped his hand, offered a smile, and the two of them walked into an office with a glass wall made of one-way mirrors that looked down on the club.

  There was a wooden desk gleaming before the window. The desk was as long as a car and likely as expensive. The chair behind it was thickly padded and covered in leather, while the right wall contained a wet bar, along with four stools.

  Joe Pullo, Don of the Giacconi Crime Family, was seated on a long black leather sofa that took up the left side of the room. Joe’s wife, Laurel, was with him, and Tanner displayed his surprise when he realized she was pregnant, and well along by the size of her.

  His hosts wore their own surprised looks, although, a better description might be to describe their expressions as shocked. They
were staring at Tanner and Sara’s entwined hands.

  The bouncer ended the growing silence.

  “Is it all good, boss?”

  “Yeah, Robert, and thanks.”

  “I’m Michael, the good-looking one.”

  “I should make you two wear nametags,” Joe said.

  The bouncer left without comment after Joe rose from the sofa. Joe was grinning as he approached Tanner to shake his hand.

  “You’ve become a damned legend since the last time I saw you,” Joe looked over at Sara. “And I see you’re still full of surprises.”

  Laurel got up from the sofa with a touch of difficulty and approached them with a mouth opened in shock. Seeing her expression, Sara released Tanner’s hand.

  Laurel gaped at Tanner, then Sara, and shook her head in disbelief.

  “This is a joke, right, Tanner? Please tell me that you and this witch are not involved.”

  “Hello Laurel, I see you’re keeping company with someone new as well.”

  Laurel relaxed as she looked down at herself.

  “Yes, Joe and I are having a baby.”

  Tanner raised an eyebrow as he looked at Joe.

  “A boy?”

  Joe beamed with pride.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have a son.”

  Tanner smiled, but it faded as Laurel moved closer and stared up at him.

  “Are you and Sara Blake together?”

  “Yes, Laurel.”

  “Tanner, the woman stuck a gun in my mouth and threatened to pull the trigger, now you’re sleeping with her?”

  “Sara’s different now.”

  “Laurel,” Sara said.

  Laurel looked at her with eyes filled with venom.

  “What?”

  “I apologize for everything I did to you and I truly am sorry.”

  “I don’t want an apology. I want to never see you again.”

  “Are you saying we’re not welcome here?” Tanner asked.

  Joe put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  “She’s not saying that, are you, Laurel?”