by Mike Ryan
Malloy turned his back and started walking away as Recker stepped inside the restaurant. There was a small table to his left that had a white apron laying on it. He picked it up and put it on, hoping he’d blend in with the staff. If he walked into the restaurant in his regular attire, he thought there was a good chance that Bellomi’s men would identify him right away and be on guard. Of course, there was a chance of that anyway, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try it.
Almost immediately, Recker could hear the voices of Bellomi and his men chatting away, though he couldn’t hear the specifics of their conversation. He walked over to the swinging doors that led out into the restaurant, standing just behind them, looking through the glass at his intended victims. The restaurant manager saw the back of Recker standing by the door and rushed back into the kitchen area. Recker could hear the man whispering to his workers to get out of sight. He looked back toward the kitchen and saw a silver metal tray that had a couple things on it. He picked it up, holding his gun just underneath to conceal it.
The five Italians were deep in serious discussions, not paying much attention to anything else other than each other. Recker was still looking through the swinging door window, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He looked at the time, knowing he couldn’t wait much longer. It was 1:14. Vincent’s detectives should’ve been out front right about now, rounding up Bellomi’s men. He’d wait two more minutes before making his move. Hopefully they were on time. If not, they’d be coming through the front door when they heard the commotion inside. That’d mean a couple more men that Recker would have to eliminate. Two more minutes went by, Bellomi and his men still in the same position as they were before.
Recker had to trust that the men guarding the front of the building were already being taken care of. He couldn’t quite see the front door from where he was standing, and there were no windows by the tables for him to look out of. He figured it was now or never. There was no more time to waste. The table the Italians were sitting at was in the corner of the restaurant, so he had to walk across the length of the room to get to them. He had to hope that nobody recognized him or got suspicious before he got there. He gently pushed the doors open, trying not to cause any attention on himself as he walked out. He kept the tray out in front of him, both hands underneath it, one of which had his gun firmly entrenched in it. His finger was already on the trigger in case the shooting started earlier than he planned.
Recker slowly and cautiously walked toward the table, hoping nobody would bother to look up at him. He was about halfway there. Though he wasn’t nervous, he did feel a little anxious. He’d faced similar odds before so he wasn’t doubting his ability to get the job done. But he was well aware of the capabilities of the men in front of him. He walked a couple more feet before Bellomi disengaged from his conversation and sat back, looking at the unfamiliar server approaching them. Bellomi was a frequent visitor of the restaurant and never noticed the man before. He thought it strange the manager would have a new person working at a private function for him. With Recker’s low profile, none of Bellomi’s men knew him by sight. Even Bellomi didn’t know him by his face. Even though he ordered the hit on Recker, nobody in his organization had ever done business with him, so none of them would know him if he was standing next to them. They only knew his reputation. That was about to change.
As Recker got to within a few feet of the table, he tossed the silver tray aside and immediately started firing. Most gunman would’ve shot whoever was closest to them first. But Recker knew that the men seated with their back to him would have to take a few extra seconds to turn around. That’d give him enough time to mow them down. If he shot them first, the men facing him could get lucky enough to get a shot off at him. The two men facing him were the street soldiers that Bellomi wanted to have conversations with. Recker shot them both in the chest before they even realized what was going on. Once Bellomi’s lieutenants saw the others get shot in front of them, they jumped to their feet in order to face their assailant. It was no use though. Recker easily fired a couple more rounds before the men were able to reach their guns. They had just turned around when Recker fired a couple more shots, both men getting plugged in the chest. Bellomi usually carried a weapon on him just in case. He was initially a little stunned when the first two of his men went down and didn’t immediately reach for his gun. As his lieutenants were getting hit, Bellomi pulled out his gun, but Recker saw him just before he was about to pull the trigger. Recker beat him to the punch, shooting Bellomi in the left shoulder, causing him to fall to the ground.
Recker quickly glanced at the door in case more of Bellomi’s men were running in after hearing the shots. None were coming though. He figured Vincent’s detectives must’ve taken care of them by now as he was promised. Recker then turned his attention back to the victims in front of him. Bellomi was writhing around in pain, the only one of the group who was still breathing. Recker checked the others to make sure they were dead while still keeping an eye on Bellomi, just in case he had any other tricks up his sleeve. Once he was done checking the pulses on the dead bodies, he walked over to Bellomi, almost standing over top of him.
“Who the hell are you?” Bellomi defiantly asked.
“I’m the man you tried to kill…Mike Recker.”
Bellomi’s eyes widened, almost not believing what he was hearing. “They told me you were dead. They told me they killed you.”
“Not quite.”
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Tooth fairy,” Recker sarcastically answered. “Why’d you wanna have me killed? I never ran into you before that I know of.”
Still in a considerable amount of pain, Bellomi was clutching his shoulder, feeling a shortness of breath. “You got involved in a marital dispute a month or so ago.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You got into it with the husband, Tony. You roughed him up some.”
“Yeah, I remember. What was it to you?”
“He’s one of my men. He worked for me. He asked me if I could take care of it.”
“Very accommodating of you to help,” Recker told him.
“Considering the guards in front and back aren’t bursting in here, I’m assuming you’ve already taken care of them?”
“Oh, they’ve been neutralized.”
“So what’re you gonna do with me?” Bellomi worried, though he was quite certain of his fate.
“Well, looks like your organization’s taken a hit here today. If I could be assured that you’d never come after me again, we might have something to discuss.”
“We both know if I get out of here that I’ll come looking for you.”
Recker nodded. “I know. That’s why there’s no other way.”
Recker aimed his gun at Bellomi’s chest and pulled the trigger, ending the Italian mob boss’ life immediately. Recker took one more glance around the room and at the bodies on the floor, just to make sure there was nobody else there, or nothing else he was missing. With his work there done, he scurried out of the seating area and back through the hallway leading to the back door. He took a quick look in the kitchen to see if the workers were there and saw anything, but they were still out of sight. Recker then bolted out the back door. While it was in the back of his mind that he might catch a bullet from the sniper out there now that the job was done, ending any possibilities of the hit being laid at Vincent’s feet, he was still relatively certain that he was in the clear. As he came out of the restaurant, Recker looked a few buildings down to his right and saw the car Malloy promised him would be there. He ran over to it, getting in the front seat as Malloy jumped on the gas pedal, flooring it.
Malloy rushed through the narrow streets, narrowly missing a few cars and what surely would’ve been a bad accident. But after a few minutes, they were safely on their way after taking out Bellomi’s crew.
“I take it there were no problems?” Malloy asked.
Recker shook his head. “No. No problems. Everything went ac
cording to plan.”
“Just as we assured you it would. Nothing that happened in there could be traced back to any of us, could it?”
“Not unless they can talk from the grave.”
“Not likely.”
“Or your staff workers decide to talk about what happened.”
“Won’t happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Only the manager knew what had to be done,” Malloy said. “And he’s been generously paid for his help. He’s got a four hundred thousand dollar mortgage that was recently paid off by an anonymous benefactor.”
Recker grinned, amused by the lengths they’d go to.
After twenty minutes of driving, Recker asked Malloy to drop him off at the corner of Broad Street. He didn’t want Malloy taking him to his own car, just in case he tried to follow him back home or to the office. Though he didn’t know if Malloy had any plans of doing so, Recker knew he could easily lose him on foot if he had to. Once he was secure in knowing that Malloy, or any other of Vincent’s men, weren’t following him, he’d call Jones to pick him up. He figured he could go back and get his truck at a later time.
Recker wound up walking for over an hour before he was absolutely certain that he was in the clear. He called Jones to meet him at his location, the corner of a Chinese restaurant, to take him back to the office. Half an hour later, Jones showed up, Recker quickly getting in the passenger side of the vehicle. Jones was anxious to know what happened and instantly started peppering his guest with questions.
“You were very vague on the phone in relation to what happened,” Jones said.
“Everything’s been taken care of,” Recker replied, not eager to share the gruesome details.
“Everyone is…”
“They’re all dead,” Recker tersely responded, sending Jones a rather evil stare. “Bellomi, four of his men…all dead.”
“Mancini?”
“He wasn’t there.”
“Are you OK? Hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“You seem a little tense.”
“I just killed five people. There’s nothing to be joyous or happy about.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Jones stated as he drove.
“Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it. Just because you do something that has to be done, even if it’s against people that some would say deserved it…doesn’t mean you should feel good about it. There was no other way.”
“And what about Mancini?”
“I’ll have to get him another time.”
“I’m sure once he hears about this he’ll fly the coop relatively quickly.”
“No doubt about it. And he’ll hear about it soon. I imagine word’s just starting to get out right abut now.”
“The press will have a field day with this story.”
“Most likely the lead story on the six o’clock news,” Recker theorized.
“This won’t come back to you somehow will it?” Jones worried.
“No. The only way it’d come back to me is if Vincent or his cronies give me up.”
“Is that something we need to be concerned about?”
“Vincent wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t operate that way. If he gives me up, then I give him up. He wouldn’t chance it.”
“Well that’s good.”
“Kill me, maybe…not turn me in.”
“Well that’s not very reassuring.”
“Relax. Everything will be fine.”
“So what do we do now?” Jones asked.
“Now we get back to work.”
“I’ve got the list down to the three most urgent.”
“That’s fine. But first…first I gotta take care of Tyrell’s problem.”
Chapter 7
Recker and Jones had just gotten back to the office and Recker immediately went over to the couch and plopped himself down on it. He let out a sigh, exhausted from the day’s activities. His heart was still thumping hard and his mind was still racing going over the restaurant’s events in his mind. Though everything went smoothly and according to plan, he didn’t take much satisfaction in it. Though he still believed what he did was necessary, it was the first time he could ever recall that he felt bothered by a killing. He was actually beginning to question his methods, his profession, everything he’d ever done in life. He replayed the events over and over in his mind for the next several minutes. After it was finished, his thoughts turned to the faces of some of the other people who fell victim to his hands. A montage of faces passed by in quick succession, the final one being Carrie’s.
Jones walked by the couch on his way to the desk. Once he finally settled in at the computer, he looked over at his friend and could tell he was troubled by something. Recker had an unfamiliar look to him, one that Jones had never seen before. It was almost like Recker had a restlessness about him, like he wasn’t at peace with himself. Even though no words were coming out of Recker’s mouth, his face did all the talking that Jones needed to see.
Recker didn’t notice a thing going on around him. It was a tired feeling that had suddenly come over him. He’d never felt it before. When he was in the CIA, he’d heard about other agents who suddenly went off the deep end, tired of their role. He’d even seen it himself in a couple of others, when a mission required him to partner with others. He looked into their eyes and saw an agent who no longer had the fire to keep on going. From what he’d heard, most times the feeling came on suddenly without warning. Recker wondered if maybe all the killings were finally starting to catch up to him. He’d always hoped it never happened to him, but if it did, he hoped the reason behind it would be something that deeply moved him. Like saving an innocent person or something. Losing his luster over his profession from killing Marco Bellomi and his thugs wasn’t how he envisioned it happening, if it ever did.
Jones tried saying something a couple of times to try and break Recker free from his trance, though he had no luck in actually doing so. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, hoping the additional noise would help in awakening Recker. It made no difference though. It would’ve taken an F-15 dropping bombs on the office to get Recker back into the moment. The local news started playing and the lead story was what happened to Bellomi, just as Recker had suspected it would be. Though Jones hated to snap him out of his doldrums, he figured Recker would want to hear what was being said about the incident. Jones quickly got up from the desk and walked over to the couch. Jones was careful in how he awoke Recker, hearing stories about how violent men reacted after being snapped out of whatever world they were currently dreaming about. Jones gently shook Recker on the shoulder, barely moving him, hoping it was enough to get his attention. Though Recker didn’t feel Jones’ touch at first, a couple more shakes was enough to finally snap him back to reality. With a glossy look in his eye, Recker turned his head toward Jones and just looked at him without saying a word. Jones still wasn’t sure if he was really there but started talking anyway, hoping it was seeping into his head.
“The news is on,” Jones informed, pointing toward the TV. “They’re leading with your exploits.”
Recker slowly turned his head toward the TV, finally snapping out of his funk. He intently listened to the news anchor’s words as they talked about the situation.
“Though the police have not confirmed reports, we have learned that the bodies of reputed mob boss Marco Bellomi and four other members of his organization were found shot to death at an upscale center city restaurant roughly half an hour ago,” the anchor reported. “From what we understand, there were no witnesses to the event and the police do not have any suspects in custody at this time. This is a developing story and we will give you more information as it comes in.”
Jones walked back to the desk and picked up the remote, turning the volume on the TV down to a barely audible level. He kept the TV on just in case they came back to the story and reported new information. He wanted to be ab
le to quickly go back to it in the event that they did.
“You were right,” Jones said. “They led with it.”
“It’s big news,” Recker replied, slumping back into the couch once more.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“It seemed as if you were somewhere else for a few minutes.”
Recker struggled for a minute to find a reply, eventually managing to do so. “Just, uhh, thinking about some things. Nothing important.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Recker shook his head, “no.”
“So what else do we do about this situation?”
“There’s nothing else to do,” Recker answered. “It’s done and over with. Now we move on.”
“But…”
“Nobody knows it was me. Even if they did, they don’t know where I am,” he shrugged. “We move on and continue doing the job we signed up for. Nothing else to it.”
“Should I continue to try and monitor police communications on the issue just in case?” Jones wondered, not able to shake the worry from his mind.
“I don’t think it’s necessary, but if it makes you feel better.”
“I do believe it would.”
“Then by all means.”
“Do you anticipate hearing from Vincent again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’ll wonder the details, but he knows the job is done. I don’t know,” Recker responded.
As the night wore on, Recker started formulating a plan to deal with the Darnell Gibson situation. By planning, his idea was basically to tell the gang to stop or suffer the consequences. He fully expected he’d have to shoot at least somebody, maybe even the entire group that was there. Even though he was having the mixed emotions from his earlier killing, he knew he couldn’t let that interfere with his assignments or what had to be done. He had to keep plugging along. If he didn’t, if he let those other emotions slow him down, then he knew he wouldn’t be in the profession much longer. His hope was that once he got a good night’s sleep, assuming he could, that he would wake up in a better mood.