She looked up from her computer monitor. Her eyes said, but you just got here. Verbally she just thanked me for notifying her.
I drove to Salvatore’s Clothier, a designer fashion boutique with the wealthy man as its target, on the outskirts of the city. They only carried high-end items, with the lowest priced item likely being a belt at five hundred dollars. The effects of the downed economy weren’t seen here, and it would be easy to fall prey to the thinking that it held no impact. It was effortless to dismiss troubles when one wasn’t personally affected.
“May I help you?” The sales associate must have been a size zero. Her black hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, and she wore an Armani dress suit complete with stilettos. Her feet must have killed her by the end of the day. My wife bitched enough about heels after a four-hour wedding and reception.
“I need a tuxedo. Armani. Double-breasted jacket. Wing-tipped collar shirt and black cummerbund to match the suit. A bowtie, as well.”
The clerk’s mouth lifted. Her eyes read of calculating how much commission she’d receive. “Certainly. A size thirty-eight waist, am I right?”
I nodded. She did her best to impress me, but it would take more than that. These people were trained to visually assess a person’s measurements.
She came back minutes later, and I walked up to the till. “I want the finished suit to be ready for pick up at your Niagara Falls, New York location.”
The clerk’s eyes fell. “Sir, we don’t have a location there.”
“This was a waste of time.” I placed my Visa back into its slot in my wallet.
“No, no, sir. We do have an affiliate store. I can arrange this for you.”
Now she was starting to impress me. “Good then. I need it ready no later than June the eleventh, noon.”
“Of course. We can call you once it’s ready.”
“No calls. I will just show up, and I expect it to be ready. But you should make note of a new number for the files.”
“Go ahead.” She smiled. Our connection existing solely on the dollar signs she saw in me.
I gave her my cell number. At least if something went wrong, I would receive the call, not Brenda.
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Chapter 4
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
SUNDAY, JUNE 6TH, AM
ACCORDING TO GOOGLE MAPS, Niagara Falls, New York was two hundred and forty miles from Detroit. That equated to just over four hours one way and would have me driving through Canada. My innate fear was that Governor Behler would change her mind about the trip, and I would be left holding the gun, literally. Not to mention have the Russos after me for failure. The thousands I was out for the tuxedo was a small loss by comparison.
I waited until Sunday morning to tell my wife about the “business” trip I had to take the coming weekend. The kids had left the table and filtered back to their rooms for their independent means of entertainment.
I told her it was a seminar on changes in tax laws—a conceivable cover. She didn’t understand why I hadn’t provided more notice. She went on about how maybe it would have been nice to take the family and make a mini vacation out of it.
“Why not fly at least?” Brenda stood a couple of feet in front of me with arms crossed and one leg slightly forward—the stance she assumed when she was least impressed. The coffee she had been drinking prior to my announcement chilled on the table.
Flying commercial wasn’t an option when you were armed. “I can’t catch a flight this last minute.”
Her jaw tightened and her eyes fired. “Isn’t that why they’re called last minute flights? They’re normally even discounted.”
It was a jab at my frugal ways. Since my early days in the Mafia, despite the surplus of funds, I learned to appreciate the value of money. It held power, yet came at a cost.
“And you’re leaving me alone with that daughter of yours. She has no respect.”
I stepped closer to my wife and wrapped my arms around her. She dropped her head to my chest, and I kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled of perfumed flowers—some fancy designer shampoo that cost fifty bucks a bottle. She whined about the money for days after each purchase of it but said it was the only shampoo that made her hair shiny.
She only surrendered for a few seconds before her head shot back, and she scanned my eyes. “You’re having an affair.”
The sound escaped my throat.
“You’re laughing at me?” She pulled out of my arms; both of hers rose in a defensive stance. “You are!” The words spat out. “That’s why you went to the office late the other night. That’s why you were gone most of the night. I know you came in around three AM”
I knew the smile remained. Why was everything about that? Any time a man showed an interest in something other than his wife, he must be cheating. Maybe that’s why I never told her about gun range Thursdays. I preferred to avoid the confrontation and ensuing lecture.
I placed my hands on her arms and managed to neutralize her mood. As I made the connection, I felt everything rush in on me—my past, the people I had killed, and how they all had families as well. They never got to come home to their loved ones. I needed to shake the bouts of conscience before it weakened my resolve.
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Chapter 5
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
FRIDAY, JUNE 11TH, 6 AM
THE WEEK WENT SLOWLY AND painfully as I obsessed every hour, rehashing details I knew while collecting more. Brenda only spoke to me when she needed to about the kids, but she had no way of knowing that what I was doing, and going to do, was for us. Maybe once this was behind me, I would feel the need to cleanse my soul, but I didn’t put faith in that projection.
I had received my updated fake IDs from Christian and used the days to make calls to the hotels that could cater to the expensive tastes of the Governor. I finally struck gold when The Grandeur confirmed the reservation.
I analyzed my knowledge of Behler. She was a single woman and had never been married. She believed in the sanctity of marriage and spoke publicly about preserving oneself for a committed relationship. Her concern wasn’t the broken hearts, but the taxed economic climate that took a hit when people couldn’t afford children, or they needed to place them into the system.
Behler had various lovers, none of them serious. I just hoped she wasn’t meeting one of them. But from the way she mentioned the getaway, when we were in a meeting, there was more to her getaway than a personal tryst, there was a political agenda. There was no public record of a conference or debate, but it seemed apparent to me that the Governor was headed to New York in some official capacity.
The sun hadn’t risen, yet my mind was fully awake. I had watched the ceiling in the dark for the last hour as if trying to derive answers from it. But the level of intensity didn’t matter. I still didn’t know what I was getting myself involved with being given so little time for research. In the past, I usually stalked the person for a while to ensure there weren’t additional causalities or collateral damage. I had been paid to kill one person at a time, and that would be the only person who died. This trip would be no different.
Behler would die alone. I would get in and out without being deemed a threat. I would return to my family and my association with the Russos put behind me. Again. This time for good.
My heart rhythm bumped off course every time I graphically envisioned pulling the trigger inches from her head. I wasn’t sure if it came from a buried high that wished to re-emerge or from fear that once it did return, it might be back for good.
Brenda was starting to move around more, and she yawned.
The alarm clock read six. She didn’t need to be up for at least an hour. I rolled on my side to face her and found her eyes open. My vision had adjusted to the darkness in the room, and hers must have too since she turned her face away when our eyes met.
“Don’t be
like that.” I moved over to hold her.
“I just don’t know why you have to go.” Brenda was a thirty-eight-year-old woman, but she could still conjure a decent whine.
I slipped an arm around her waist, slid my hand under her pajama top, and massaged a breast.
“Please don’t.”
“I love you.” I pinched a nipple between my fingers. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”
“Would you stop?” There was a teasing quality to her voice. Did her no mean no? I kept my hand in place.
“It’s only for today and tomorrow. I’ll be back on Sunday. I’ll make sure I leave early enough to return for brunch.” I wondered for a moment how many hit men had a woman they answered to for their actions.
Her head turned and she looked at me over a shoulder. “You better Mr. Hunter.” Her face was rigid, but a smile broke through.
I took this as a sign my hand was fine where it was. She rolled over to face me and wrapped her arm around me.
As our lips met, starting with small kisses and growing in intensity, I knew the passion I had for my wife of fifteen years would be the envy of most people. As we touched and moved together, despite the passage of time, it remained exciting; there was nothing boring or predictable about it. Her breathing deepened and caught; mine in turn. I took her, and we made love like newlyweds, but with the benefit of years of experience and familiarity.
Afterward, still over her, I brushed a strand of hair from her face. She looked up at me, vulnerability written on her features. It was time to reassure her. “You’re the only one I love. You know that.” I tapped her lips with mine and pulled back to study her eyes. She was crying. “What is it?”
“It’s just…” Her words broke through sobs.
Maybe she was tired? Brenda normally wasn’t emotional like this.
“I just have a bad feeling.”
“A bad feeling like what? I’m cheating on you?” I thought I’d beat her to the accusation.
She slapped my chest and laughed. “No. We’ve been through that.” She paused, and the silence held an uncertain quality.
What wasn’t she saying?
“You know I don’t like you on the road. I trust your driving, but other people…well, they’re idiots. They change lanes without looking, they swerve—”
I placed a hand on her temple and caressed it with the back of my hand. “I will be all right.” I sure as hell hoped I could come through on those words. But it wasn’t a car accident I feared, it was the possible repercussions if things didn’t go according to plan.
“You can’t promise that.”
Brenda worked with a woman whose life tragically ended when the bulk of a transport made one with her SUV. Since then, Brenda had an unhealthy fear of getting into a car accident. It had been a sunny August day and according to Brenda, people weren’t supposed to die on beautiful days. How I wished there was an exemption.
I moved back to my side of the bed; my eyes staring again at the ceiling.
“Well, you can’t promise that, can you?” Accusation and anger filled her tone.
“Guess not.”
I heard her continue to sob, and my heart ripped at the fact I had to leave her. But I didn’t have a choice. I thought of the money in the safe, Christian’s smug arrogance as he sat in my living room. Maybe I should have arranged to take care of the Governor in town. Maybe I should have picked another time. The questions rolled through my mind like a spinning Rolodex.
“Well, go do what you have to do.” The tears were drying up.
“I’ll come back to you.” I rolled over and kissed her forehead. “Now, I’ve got to go.” As I rose, a pillow hit me in the back. Turning to Brenda she was laughing, flirting with me as a teenager. I smiled at her and swooped down next to her.
She slapped my chest. “Go now. You must be going.” Brenda was laughing, and we kissed some more before she kicked me out of bed. “And you better be back for brunch on Sunday!”
She called out to me, minutes later, as I left the bedroom dressed and with my bag in hand. I had packed everything last night.
I went down the hallway to rouse the sleeping bears. They needed to be up for school anyway. The fact that it was earlier than normal was something they would have to deal with. I went in to see Max first. I found him curled up on the bed on his side, his arms wrapped around his legs.
“Hey, Champ.” As I sat on the bed beside him, I wondered how many fathers called their sons Champ. I liked to think of myself and my family as different, special, but didn’t everyone think that way? “Max.”
He let out a moan, followed by a yawn. The NASCAR logos on his sheets were skewed and bunched up. My son tossed a lot at night.
“I’ve got to go Buddy.”
“Bye.” He rolled on his back and placed his arms under his head.
I smiled. I would be back in two days. To him, I could understand he wouldn’t see it as a big deal. I repeated the thought myself, everything would be fine. I bent over to kiss his forehead.
“Oh gross!” Max shot upward to a seated position. “Don’t kiss me, dad!” He was wiping erratically at his forehead. “What’s wrong with you?”
I started laughing.
“It’s not funny.” He flopped back on the bed. “It’s early.” He wiped at his eyes.
They grew up too fast. “I’ll be back Sunday.”
“Yeah, yeah. Nite dad. See you then.” Max let out a large yawn, fluffed his pillow, and rolled back to his side.
He would need to get up for school soon enough. I stepped out of the room backward, studying it as if I would never see it again. Brenda had a bad feeling and it sought to ratchet my paranoia.
Max’s fascination with NASCAR made itself evident in every piece of furniture and accessory in his room. He had the car-shaped bed, the desk lamp, the wall switch cover, and a binder for school—all of which had the logo imprinted on them.
His school backpack lay on the floor by his desk as if it was just dropped there on his way by. It even had an NASCAR logo on it. For the commitment he showed to the sport he should have received royalties for the sponsorship.
He told me his favorite driver was that not just because of winning many championships, but because of his good sportsmanship. I never saw racing cars as a sport. When I had time to pass, I’d rekindle the underlying debate, and the kid would go on for hours. As I left the room, I smiled. He was a good kid.
I flicked the light switch on as I backed out of the room.
“Dad!”
I knew I was the bad guy, but the kid had school and the instilling of responsibility started with regular attendance. At least that’s what I told myself; really it was a selfish reason. I wanted some time with the kids.
Down the hall, I knocked on my daughter’s door. I had made the mistake of walking in once and got the lecture about how inappropriate that was, and how I needed to respect her privacy. The argument that I paid for her privacy didn’t carry any weight.
“I’m coming!” I could tell by her tone, she assumed her mother came around for the wake-up call. She watched her attitude with me.
“It’s me, honey.”
“Oh, Dad.” Yvonne opened the door and walked back to her bed. She dropped heavily and sat there with her legs crossed in front of her as one would around a campfire. She started pecking at the small keys on her phone. Apparently, texting with friends started early. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me—”
“Yvonne, get out here!” Brenda called from the hall.
Yvonne let out a huff of air. “With mom.”
“I’ll be back Sunday—”
“You better be. I can’t handle her any longer.” Her eyes went from mine to the screen of her cell and link to the outside world. She closed it only after hitting the send key and bounced up off the bed. She wrapped her arms arou
nd me. She was at a vulnerable age. The decisions she made now would affect her for the rest of her life. I held her, recalling all the years when she needed me to make her decisions. Now she made a lot of them on her own.
Yvonne pulled back. “Be safe.” She kept the phone in her hands and shuffled her slippered feet along the hardwood.
Brenda stood in the kitchen doorway, a fresh mug of coffee in her hand. It smelled great. “You have your cell phone?”
The question was the same one she asked every day. “It’s on.” I came to her for one final hug and kiss.
“Here, I made you a to-go.” She extended a travel mug to me.
“I couldn’t have a better wife.” I kissed her on the lips and pried myself away from her.
“Remember that!”
I had convinced myself over the past week, it would be better to place distance between the kill and my family. But I hadn’t even left the driveway, and I couldn’t wait to get home to them. They needed me, but even more so, I had become dependent on them. My family—they were my life. Now I needed to get to Niagara Falls and get this mission over with.
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Chapter 6
EN ROUTE TO NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
FRIDAY, JUNE 11TH, 8:30 AM
THERE WERE A LOT OF things I needed to take care of once I got to Niagara Falls. I needed to familiarize myself with Behler’s itinerary, the hotel, its security, and the building’s alternative exits.
At this point all I knew for certain was where the Governor was staying. I still had to obtain a floor and room number, but that would be easy enough once I got there.
As I thought through the scenarios, I knew some factors were irrelevant. The Grandeur had a platinum suite—their version of a presidential suite—and knowing the Governor’s taste, she likely had that booked.
My feet slammed on the brakes when a minivan cut me off. Most people would swear and speak of blowing the offender off the road with a rocket. It didn’t elicit that reaction from me. Maybe it was because I knew I could shoot the driver from a range of a thousand yards and hit the target accurately, that it didn’t hold much appeal to me? Whatever it was, the road rage impulse had abated years ago.
Assassination of a Dignitary Page 3