“Tim and I will visit Rachel. We haven’t seen her and Jean for a while.”
“Go ahead, but call first. Rachel’s my gatekeeper. She’s not allowing anyone to disturb me until the ‘Blood Beach’ is finished.”
“I’ll bet. I don’t know why you need to be there at all now. The gangs are in hiding from what we’ve been told. The Chicago Blue get trampled on every time they enforce the law there, so it will be an FBI task force coming after you.”
“Unless they’re hunting me down for writing novels, I’ll be safe. Bye.” Nick disconnected. He would have to speed things along. From past experience, he knew the FBI couldn’t catch a cold unless the entire case fell in their lap. Strangers doing random murders mystify nearly all law enforcement. Without connections, solving crimes done by strangers borders on almost psychic ability. Clint Dostiene was one guy a serial killer did not want on a case, Nick remembered with a grin. He called Rachel next.
“Abandoned and horny speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“Oh boy… hi Rach.”
“Great! It’s the mysterious hand grenade thrower, El Muerto of mass murder. I take it Grace called you the moment she realized I would give her nothing, huh?”
“She did indeed. Grace warned me about an FBI task force being sent on the trail of poor misunderstood Muerto. I have finished the novel and nearly all the editing. I’ll be sending it to Cassie after I reach home.”
“And that would be when? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Very soon, my dear. How are the kids?” Nick could hear Quinn fussing around by Rachel. “I hear Kong in the background.”
“Don’t you dare start calling Quinn that awful name, pinned on him by the daughter of darkness. He’s fine. Quinn’s mad because he failed in his attempt to scare the crap out of me, the little sneak. His sister sent him on mission and he gave it his best shot, but I’m on to the idjits now. John Harding’s daughter, Al, has been sending Jean movies of how well she’s doing with the bow and arrow. Naturally, Jean wants to start that hobby immediately. I don’t suppose you know archery too, do you?”
“Not nearly as good as John. He’s like Robin Hood. With a bow, I’m more like Friar Tuck. It won’t hurt for the kids to get into archery. I miss you.”
“I miss you too… damn it. I know you, and the stuff I’m seeing out of Chicago makes me wonder if you’ve taken a step off the cliff, Muerto. Do you plan on blowing the whole city into pieces?”
“It sent the city’s thugs into hiding for a weekend. If it weren’t for the multi-race coalition of citizens wanting to make Muerto into Saint Muerto, I’d be hunted down under the guise of being a racist serial killing monster.”
Rachel chuckled. “We’ve seen the citizen-on-the-street interviews from all races. They want to make Muerto into the police chief and give him a license to kill. I hear something in your voice bemoaning the fact your new project success won’t last long.”
“You know me all too well. It might last for a while, but drug buys and look the other way law enforcement, put into place by the authorities here, will lead to the same old extortion rackets. The gang violence will erupt shortly afterward. I have a crime kingpin named Tito, running the drug pipeline from Mexico. A majority of the districts’ gangs answer to him. Killing him won’t cure Chicago’s ills, but it could give the citizens a brief break in the gang violence for them to decide whether to defend their neighborhoods, or not.”
“I take it Tito decided not to send people after the mysterious Muerto then. Is he in hiding?”
“Sort of. He imported two cartel hitmen to ambush poor Muerto.”
“So, that’s why you did your signature intestinal cleansing the day after blowing up the ‘Disciples’ meeting.”
“I probably shouldn’t have used my extended ending for them, but once I learned their background exploits, I decided they deserved more than a bullet in the head. They tortured and killed men, women, and children in Mexico for the cartel.”
“Grace hadn’t heard of that incident yet, or the six guys you killed who were with them.”
“Wrong place, wrong time. It was kind of funny, really. I had Tito bugged so I knew about the hitters. They decided to go over the crime scene warehouse and took six of Tito’s guys with them. Heh…heh.”
“I hate it when you go heh…heh.”
“They walked in the warehouse. I waited for them. I kneecapped the two hitters with a burst, and took out the six mooks they brought with them at head level.”
“What’s funny about that? Are you reverting to past life psychosis?”
“That’s mean, Rach. Here I am, sharing with you, and I get zonked with the psycho tag. I’ve barely killed more than half the people getting killed every weekend here. I may be a little more in my element than I should be here. That’s why I called you for perspective. When Grace finds out about the recent event, her head will explode.”
“Not to mention local law enforcement finding eight more bodies in the killing zone warehouse,” Rachel added with a sigh. “These killer vacations of yours make me worry about you, when I know better. Jean doesn’t help my mental outlook. She deciphers the news daily for Sonny. I guess you wouldn’t be surprised the news on the latest incident was suppressed to one line – ‘eight killed in prior crime scene’. Jean fabricated nearly the identical true life explanation you just told me.”
“I’d like to say look on the bright side, but let’s face it, she’s been around me too long.”
“Grace was right about one of her interrogation type tactics. You are the only one who can guide the daughter of darkness into adulthood. I think if I had to do it alone, she’d either be in prison or dead.”
Nick’s extended silence brought a quick reminder of why he called Rachel.
“We need you. I know who you are and what you do. Jean and I belong with you now forever. The dark-side pales in comparison to what we’d ignore or do to keep you with us. You know that, right?”
Nick’s hands unclenched. “I know. I love you too. There will be times, I’m requested to do things, where I remember what I am in reality, and embrace it. You and Jean represent everything I visualized when recruiting my supposed cover for what I do. Quinn’s with us now. We have the ‘Addam’s Family’ in reality, Tina claims we are. I pray I can always live up to what I need to do in order for us to continue with a normal life… at least part of the time.”
“You have… and you will. Come back to us, Muerto.”
“Count on it.”
* * *
“I’m through listening!” Tito Palentes stated with clenched fists in the back of his limousine. “Who do I have to hire to get this Muerto asshole dead. He killed the two fuckin’ cartel hitters I prepaid, and six of my best soldiers! How the fuck do I get this asshole?”
His bodyguards, two huge brutish and sullen black men, knew better than to offer advice. Tito’s lawyer, a nervous white man of half his bodyguards’ size, took out a sheet of paper to hand Tito. “After all that’s gone down so far in Chicago this past month, I can’t get an offer to sanction Muerto for any price on the ‘Dark Web’. We’ll have to hire an army locally, with a huge price on this bastard’s head, if you still don’t want to pull back for now.”
Tito nodded. “Agreed. I will keep a low profile on everything for a couple of weeks and try this bounty solution. If we get nothing, we’ll have to invite in some heavy hitters. What about Claude Chardin? He’s a top professional hitter. I don’t care what the cost, get-”
“I tried his drop already. He refuses to go against this Muerto. Claude refused to answer why. We need to retreat and stay quiet, Tito. These vigilantes have a short term of success, even when they are pros.”
“That’s easy for you to say. The ‘bangers we have under our thumb want guarantees for protection! This damn Muerto guy uses military hardware! That fuckin’ grenade he used on Leon disintegrated the poor fuck along with most of his crew! Have you found out if this Muerto is the same guy from
the ‘Unholy Trio’ videos?”
“Word on the streets is we’re facing the real Muerto. No one knows what the hell his beef is, or why he’s attacking gangs. He kills, Boss, and he’s damn good at it. I say back away. Let’s take a vacation for a year and then come back to reclaim the city. It will take time, but we have the money to make time. We don’t want to end up like Fuentes and Escobar. Jesus… God in heaven… our contact inside the department confirmed he shot their knees out, cut them surgically from chest to balls, and poured bleach over their intestines until their heads exploded in pain… his words.”
Tito leaned toward his lawyer with clenched fist. “We don’t run, Barry! We’ll take it slow, regroup in place, put people on the streets, and find this fuck!”
Barry Odoms leaned back in the seat. “Okay… Tito… we’ll do it just as you say. I’ll hire the best we can find locally to expand our info network. We should consider a retreat point though. I know how upset you are, but at least consider a retreat point.”
Tito shoved backward in his seat with a gesture of acceptance. “Fine… I’ll consider it. Let’s go on the offensive for now though.”
The driver arrived at the building housing Tito’s penthouse suite. He parked the limousine in the designated space. One of the bodyguards exited to open the door for Tito, while the other opened the door for Barry. The two men exited, walking briskly toward the elevator. A dilapidated sleeping bag covered a heavy breathing figure leaning against the wall near the parking lot elevator. Brown bagged bottles lay strewn near him in haphazard fashion.
“What the fuck is this?” Tito pointed at the sleeping man. “What the hell do we have security for if they allow bums using our parking garage for a flop-house?”
“I don’t see Ernie in the lot office,” one of the bodyguards answered, gesturing at the security room with windows built inside the garage. “Want me to call management, Boss?”
“Fuck that! Kick the shit out this idiot until he crawls his ass to the street.”
The bodyguards moved near the bum, hesitant to touch him. The one who had spoken before Tito’s order kicked the leaning man, only to trigger a flurry of motion as the sleeping bag dropped to the side. A silenced MP5 shot four bursts from ground level, kneecapping all four men. The blinding pain overcame defensive reactions to the assault completely. Four screaming men fell, hugging their wounded extremities. Tito watched the black masked man leap to his feet, weapon in gloved hands, through squinted eyes of misery.
* * *
“I don’t need you,” Nick stated, shooting the lead bodyguard in head. “Or you, or you.”
Nick calmly shot the second bodyguard and lawyer through the head. He crouched near the gasping Tito, the man’s features scrunched into a pain filled mask of horror at the executions of his men. “Hi there, Tito. I’m Muerto. I heard you were looking for me. Here I am, buddy.”
Nick injected Tito with a syringe before securing the man’s hands behind his back. “This will keep you quiet until I clean things a bit.”
After dragging the two bodyguards and lawyer to the limousine, Nick recovered the key fob. He opened the trunk and carefully plopped each corpse inside the trunk. “Damn… you guys weigh a ton. I’ll bet weight watchers and maybe a Jillian Michaels’ workout disc could have done wonders for you.”
Returning to Tito, Nick shuffled him to the limousine’s driver’s side, rear passenger door. Easing him in so he could be belted in place, Nick finished with a tight wrap of Tito’s wounded knees in duct tape. With a container bottle of cold water retrieved from his equipment bag, Nick soaked the sleeping bag and the blood trail. Using the heavy sleeping bag as a mop, Nick soaked up the blood trail. He deposited the saturated sleeping bag over the corpses in the trunk along with his brown bagged bottle props. A final wiping with towels from his bag and Nick finished with a walk around. Entering the security shack, he took the restraints off Ernie, the security guard he had drugged.
Nick placed the guard in a chair at the security desk with hands and arms on the desktop. “Sorry about that Ernie, old lad. It’s warm in here though. I needed to disable your security feeds for a time.”
Nick patted the shoulder of the unconscious guard and hurried out to the limousine. A moment later, Nick drove toward where he left his car in the Chicago suburbs, on the corner of Clinton Avenue and 41st Street in Stickney. After parking in a snow drift at the curb, during another heavy snowfall, Nick entered the rear compartment with Tito, bringing along his equipment bag. After injecting Tito with a wakeup shot, Nick settled into opening his satellite laptop, and watching the snowfall cover the limousine surface. Tito began groaning into consciousness.
Images cleared into view on his screen. Johnny and Gus waved at him. “Oh look, Kabong, there’s our long lost, masked leader, El Muerto. Isn’t he handsome?”
“Don’t be hatin’, Payaso,” Johnny admonished. “Muerto has been very busy… too busy to say hello to his best friends and partners.”
Nick sighed. “It’s about five degrees in this car, you rogues. Cut the comedy act. I’ll bet you two are sipping Bushmills on my deck, aren’t you?”
In answer, Gus and Johnny huddled near the screen, with smiles and clinking glasses. “That’s what I figured. My buddy Tito is awake now so I’ll set you guys on the seat. Are you ready for some account numbers, Kabong?”
“Fire away, Muerto. It is very entertaining listening to you with your Vader voice.”
Nick moved to Tito with a chuckle, he knew would sound ominous through his voice altering mask. He slit Tito’s clothing down the middle from neck to groin, causing a thin red blood path. The shock wore off quickly from Nick’s prisoner. “We have to start somewhere, Tito.”
“Why are you doing this? I’ll pay you ten million dollars to leave me the fuck alone!”
“I plan to confiscate everything you have, old buddy. I think you already know what I did to your two hitters. Believe me… you do not want to give me what I need the hard way.”
“You can’t torture me!” Tito shut up as both Gus and Johnny laughed long and hard over that declaration.
“Sorry about my friends. They’re not very compassionate with murderous crime kingpins. It’s getting cold in here, Tito. I’m sending you to hell one way or another. During your ride into hell, I will extract what I ask for the easy way or the hard way. Start telling my friends your account numbers where we can confiscate your ill-gotten gains, or I’ll extract them from you with my intestinal cleansing formula.”
Tito recognized the merciless stare he looked into, Nick’s unblinking eyes projected. “I don’t want to die. I can turn state’s evidence against everyone I’ve ever been in business with.”
“My bad. I’m not the regular federal authorities. I’m not prosecuting anyone. I will get all that info along with your account numbers. As to your dying… everybody dies. You don’t want to die screaming with the blood vessels in your head popping. Begin with the account numbers now or I show you where all your food flows through before I make it squeaky clean.”
“You sick bastard!”
Nick pinched off his prisoner’s nose until he gasped for breath. He then inserted a rubber ball gag before pinning Tito to the seat, and ran his scalpel along the faint red path from before, deep enough to allow the intestines to bulge. Palentes screamed in great gulping, terror stricken mewling noises, muffled by the gag.
“That’s just to let you know I mean business.” Nick showed him the bleach bottle in his hand he pulled from his bag. “Want me to show you the next step in the process?”
Tito shook his head violently in the negative, his eyes wild with fear.
“One warning, pal… hesitate or mouth off and I get serious.” Nick removed the gag.
“I…I don’t know the numbers. Take me to my-”
Nick pinched off Palentes nose and inserted the gag again, with Gus and Johnny groaning for Tito. “Slow learner. I know you big bosses very well. You know all the numbers. I don’t care if you do
or not though. I’ll just torture you to death. Here’s a sample.”
Nick poured bleach over Palentes bulging intestines, glad the seat belt held tightly to the bucking figure. After five minutes, Palentes passed out. Nick splashed cold water on his face to get him back in the game. As the ten-minute mark of agony passed, Nick doused the wound with cool water. By then, Tito frantically moved his head, indicating cooperation. This time, nothing short of a slap on his face could slow Tito down. Johnny and Gus checked and transferred amounts so large, even they gasped during the process.
“Very well done, Tito. Let’s get to everyone and everything you know about this awful criminal venture of yours. I’m especially interested in your informants.”
Over the next forty-five minutes, Tito worked painfully through his contacts in the Zeta Cartel, his informants in political positions, and other ringleaders within his network. Nick gave him an analgesic truth serum mix to ease his pain at the twenty-minute mark, allowing the former crime boss to ease into oblivion at the end. Nick injected him with an eternity shot, gathered his tools, utensils, equipment bag, and signed off from his Unholy Trio partners. He placed an incendiary device on the seat with Tito, triggered by a cell-phone signal, locked the vehicle and walked to his car down the block. It snowed steadily, with Chicago type gusts of bone-chilling wind escorting Nick along the way.
The explosion, muffled by snow and ice on the limousine, pitched the huge vehicle on its side for a moment, teetering and then slamming down on the tires again. Nick watched the contained blaze for a moment before driving away. He then made another call to Johnny when reaching the Chicago city limits.
“How does it look in text form, Kabong?”
“Good enough to pass on to Grace and Tim, Muerto. We transferred over forty million dollars into our coffers, brother.”
“I’d donate it if I thought, after my brief stay here, I knew of any entity I trusted. Let’s get the info to Grace and Tim. Let them work the crime stopping crap for a while. I’ll figure a way with Paul’s help to create a foundation his step-daughter can run. She’ll be able to keep from being killed in the street while satisfying her craving to change Chicago. We’ll also use a tidy sum to enrichen the lives of my helpers.”
Cold Blooded Assassin Book 7: Hell on Earth (Nick McCarty Assassin) Page 10