One Last Kill

by Spenser Warren

  Alfredo shook his head. He had no idea where the mayor was going with this, but he wouldn’t be able to wait much longer before he showed him who was boss.

  “Superintendent Walker and I are well aware of the gang violence on the South Side, and I’d love to focus much more attention there. But for me to do that, we’ve got to come to certain agreements. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. I’m sure you get that?”

  Alfredo knew that game all too well. He was used to being the one in the threatening position and didn’t like the feeling of being at the mercy of Caruso. What had been a dull headache upon entering the mayor’s office was surging into an intense wave of pain heading for the center of his forehead.

  “Tell me what the fuck you want.”

  Caruso drained the last of his coffee, stood from behind his desk, and began pacing the room. “Historically, political officials have been in the mafia’s pocket. You bribe us, we look the other way when certain crimes are committed. But I think it’s time for you to be in my pocket. Instead of relying on the police to clean up the city’s crime, I can have you do some of the dirty work for me. Instead of killing for sport, you’ll take out the most-wanted criminals and gang members in the city. You’ll actually be doing good for once. We’ll let bygones be bygones. The Commission will never find out about you ordering the hit on your father, and Walker and I will be sure to turn a blind eye toward your activities. What can be more of a win-win than that?”

  Alfredo tapped his fingers on the armrests of his chair as he listened to Caruso. The whole thing smelled like dead fish. Caruso had a hidden agenda somewhere, and even if Alfredo agreed to help the mayor by having the mob serve as an enforcer of sorts, there was no guarantee Caruso would keep his promise.

  “I’m assuming in exchange for your ignorance, you’ll want a kick of our profits for yourself, am I right? It’ll only serve to enhance your next campaign. Whether it be for mayor or something else.”

  Caruso walked back behind the desk and pointed at Alfredo while giving him a thumbs-up.

  “Gosh, you’re a smart guy. It would only be natural for me to ask for a little token of appreciation for my silence. It only seems fair.”

  Alfredo was seething but restrained himself to save the violent reaction for later. He already knew what needed to be done. He simply needed to put a little more fear into Caruso to show him how powerful he still was.

  “Alright, hotshot. You want my help to get your crime under control on the South Side? If that’s what it takes, fine.”

  Alfredo paused, shot up from his chair toward the mayor, and grabbed Caruso’s suit around the neck before shoving him against the window. The mayor hadn’t expected such a quick reaction from the sixty-one-year-old.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Caruso asked, his voice rising in pitch. Alfredo could see the fear in his eyes as he held him against the glass.

  Alfredo took his right hand off of Caruso’s jacket, formed a fist, and punched him hard in the solar plexus. He was surprised at how firm the man’s stomach was, but Caruso still yelped in pain. Alfredo knew he’d have to make it quick before anyone came into the office. He decked him again, and the mayor yelped louder. Alfredo pulled Caruso toward him and gave the mayor a forceful shove, this time into the bookshelf near the desk. He thought he heard something crack in the mayor’s back.

  “Is this how you’re going to operate, Alfredo? By killing me in my own office?”

  Alfredo sneered at the mayor before ramming him back into the wall and punching him in the stomach again. He pulled the mayor’s face close to his and glowered at him. He could smell the coffee on the mayor’s breath, and swore he felt something wet against his leg.

  “If I were going to kill you, I would’ve blown your brains out when you came to greet me. But know this—regardless of what I do for you, know that I’m in charge here and I’m someone you don’t want to mess with. You better watch your back, Caruso, because next time you threaten me, my livelihood, or my family, I’ll kill you.”

  Alfredo kneed Caruso in the stomach and let the sad excuse of a mayor crumple to the ground. He walked back to his chair, where he put on the wig and mustache and took the hat from the coat hook.

  “By the way, Mayor, tell that ugly broad outside your office to learn how to make a fucking cup of coffee.”

  15

  Cal and Maria lay in bed, exhausted after an afternoon of lovemaking. It’d been some of the best sex they’d ever had. Coupled with his recent promise to be more open about his personal life, Cal felt their relationship was better than ever.

  “Can we lie like this forever? I feel perfectly content,” Maria said.

  Cal was cuddled behind her with one hand on her taut stomach and the other on her soft right breast. Everything was right with the world. He agreed with her desire to lie in bed forever. It would sure beat anything forthcoming with the mafia.

  He knew Alfredo had gone to see the mayor earlier that afternoon. It would only be a matter of time before the boss called him in and ordered a hit on Caruso. But he also had his own life to worry about. What if Caruso acted on his threat to target him for the murders of Marco, Phillip, and MacErlean? He could claim he’d killed Marco in self-defense and doubted a case could be made for Phillip, but he had admitted to killing MacErlean in the hospital room. Once they found the body, they could arrest him and put him on trial.

  They were the only bodies even remotely tied to him. Over the years, he’d lost track of how many people he had killed. It was at least twenty, possibly closer to thirty. Given that he hadn’t turned thirty years old yet, Cal wondered how many more he would kill if he kept this life up.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to me? Or are you going to lie there and fall asleep like you usually do?”

  Cal yawned and reluctantly moved his hands off of his lover’s body. “I’m not gonna fall asleep,” he said in a half yawn. “Let’s talk.”

  “Okay. I have an important question for you, then. Have you ever killed anyone?”

  “Jesus! What a question to ask right after sex.”

  “I know, but you’ve never told me what you do for a living. In movies, it seems like everyone who is in the mob kills people.”

  Cal settled a hand back on Maria’s stomach and placed another on her long black hair. He gently stroked it, almost in an effort to calm her as he prepared to tell her about his dark career.

  “Promise me you won’t repeat anything I tell you.”

  “I won’t. I’m not a fool, Cal.”

  Cal sighed as he prepared the best way to broach the subject. “Technically, I’m not even in the mob. You have to have Italian heritage to be considered a made man, and I don’t have it.”

  “Even with the Petrocellis adopting you?”

  “Yes. I think Alfredo would love for it to happen, but the Chicago mafia answers to a higher power. All of the major cities’ mafias do. It’s a group of people called the Commission, made up of the mob bosses. They set the rules for everyone else.”

  “I see. What does that make you, then?”

  “I guess you’d call me an associate. Sort of like a hired hand who does grunt work. I’m a mercenary in a way.”

  Maria turned her head toward him. Cal stopped stroking her hair. Even though her brows were furrowed and her lips curved into a frown, Maria still looked beautiful.

  “You never answered my first question. Have you ever killed anyone?”

  Cal’s heart ached as he tried to form a response to Maria’s question. He didn’t want to tell his girlfriend the truth but knew he wouldn’t be able to form the relationship he wanted with her if he kept any more secrets. He swallowed before finding the words to respond.

  “Yes. I’ve killed many people. Far too many.”

  Maria lifted her head from the pillow in a jolt. “How many?”

  “I’m honestly not sure.” That was the truth. Admitting to her that he was a killer made his stomach twist in knots.

  “Oh my God, you�
��re a hit man?”

  Maria bolted from the bed, her naked body glistening with sweat from the sex. Cal couldn’t gaze upon her with admiration and lust like he usually did. Maria was clearly upset. She began to shiver, the chattering of her teeth growing louder the farther she moved away from him.

  Cal rolled onto his back and scratched his three-day stubble, as if that would inspire his response.

  “Are you?”

  Maria stood over the bed with her arms crossed. Cal saw a sense of sadness and disappointment in her eyes. He hadn’t meant to lead her on, but he realized that, in the period they had been dating, she’d never consented to dating a hit man. The revelation would’ve shocked most people. He couldn’t blame her if she wanted to leave him.

  “Yes.”

  The word took all of his strength to utter. His body sunk farther into the mattress. He instinctively reached for the sheets to cover his torso, as if he were covering up the sins of his profession by concealing his body’s nakedness.

  Maria searched Cal’s dresser for clothes that she kept at his place. She eventually pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and slipped them on.

  “I can’t believe this. I’m dating a fucking murderer. What happened the other night at dinner? Did Alfredo ask you to go kill someone else for him while you left me there? To have some strange guy ogle me while he drove me home?”

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Cal shouted.

  He felt a heat rising through his chest, similar to when they’d argued after eating the tamales. “You wanted me to be honest with you about who I am and what I do. You can’t freak out when I try to talk to you.”

  “Oh, I can’t?” She was shouting now. “Most people don’t go a full year without telling their partner what it is they actually do for a living. And now that you’ve finally told me, don’t you think I have a right to be more than a little shocked that you’re a hit man for the Chicago mafia? Jesus Christ, Callahan.

  “Do you know how much can happen in a year? People can fall in love. I fucking love you, Cal. How do I tell my parents that I’m dating a man who kills people for a living? How can I stay with you after you’ve admitted that?”

  “Maria,” Cal began. He tried to keep his voice calm. He couldn’t respond with his usual defense mechanism of anger and shouting if he wanted to show her how much he was trying to change.

  “After we fought the other night, I came to realize that I don’t want this life anymore. I’d rather be with you and not have to kill people.”

  “Okay,” Maria huffed, “then why don’t you quit?”

  “It’s not that simple. I can’t walk up to Alfredo and say I’m out. What else could I do? I’m not a college graduate. You think I can provide for you by bouncing for the rest of my life?”

  “I don’t know, but I know if you’re going to keep doing this, I can’t be with you.” Maria walked backward, preparing to leave the room. Cal threw the covers off and stood, hoping he could convince her to stay.

  “I understand it’s a shock, but I’m trying, Maria. I’m going to try to make this right for you. Please don’t go.”

  Maria shook her head and threw the bracelet he’d given her to the floor.

  “I need some time, Callahan. I need to feel safe. I’m not sure how safe I am with you anymore.”

  Maria ran out of the bedroom, and Cal heard the locks unlatching as she exited the door to his apartment. He knew there would be no stopping her. He sat down on the bed and felt a tear forming for the first time in years.

  16

  Alfredo Petrocelli sat in the booth end of a small table at Trattoria Dieci. Despite being angered by his meeting with the mayor, Alfredo was determined to enjoy a meal with his wife at one of his favorite restaurants in the city. He heard his cell phone vibrate atop the table for the third time during the dinner.

  He made it a point not to answer his phone during dinner, but with Susan in the bathroom, he accepted the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Signore Petrocelli. How do you do?”

  Alfredo couldn’t identify the source of the sophisticated Italian voice.

  “This is him. Do I know you?”

  The man laughed a throaty chain-smoker’s laugh.

  “Yeah, you better know who the fuck I am. It’s Leo Bertucci.”

  Shit.

  Had the mayor squealed to Leo already? Alfredo cracked his knuckles and wrinkled his forehead at the thought of Caruso going back on their agreement.

  “Oh, Leo, I knew I recognized your voice. How the hell are you?”

  “I’m doing alright. Better than you, from what I hear. Sounds like there’s lot of police pressure on you guys right now.”

  “Yeah, that’s certainly true. Hey, I hate to rush this, but I’m actually out to dinner with my wife. Do you think I could call you back later?” Alfredo winced as he spoke to Bertucci. Even for a confident and powerful man, Alfredo knew his clout paled in comparison to the head of the largest New York family and the leader of the organized crime Commission. Bertucci made sure the entire show ran without a hitch, and things were unraveling in Chicago.

  “Alright, I need to make this quick anyway. I’m coming down to Chicago on Monday. The bosses from the other New York families are coming with me. Can you meet us in the lobby of the Palmer House Hilton at seven o’clock Monday night?”

  Beads of sweat began forming on Alfredo’s forehead. The temperature in the room felt like it’d been turned up to ninety degrees. He reached for the handkerchief he kept in his suit coat pocket and started to blot at his forehead.

  Was the Commission about to have a scheduled meeting? In person? It would be the first in decades.

  “Listen, Leo, I can assure you that I have everything under control with the cops. If you want to bust my balls, I’m sure we can find a time for that over the phone. You don’t need to come all the way down here for that.”

  The deep, throaty laugh resumed. Alfredo wanted to laugh himself, if only to ease the tension in the pit of his stomach. He saw Susan walking toward the table and knew he’d have to end the conversation soon.

  “This has nothing to do with the police. Someone else suggested I call this meeting. I’m merely calling to make sure you’ll be there. Bring Vinnie and that bitch niece of yours along.”

  “Don’t call Melissa a bitch!”

  Susan stared at Alfredo like she’d seen a ghost as she sat back down, burying her face in her hands at her husband’s outburst.

  “Look, Leo, forget that I raised my voice. I’ll make sure we’re all there on Monday at seven.”

  “Good answer.”

  “Wait a second, Leo,” Alfredo interjected. He wanted to find out who had called the meeting. If it was Caruso who’d tipped Bertucci off, the meeting would only have one purpose: his execution. “Who asked you to come down?”

  “Enjoy the night with your wife, Alfredo. Good night.”

  Alfredo clicked the phone off and dropped it with a clang on the table. He continued to dab at his forehead with the handkerchief.

  “Is everything alright?” Susan asked.

  Alfredo couldn’t answer. He swallowed and then drank an entire glass of water before he felt capable of breathing normally. If Caruso had gone against their agreement and spoken to the Commission, Alfredo knew it would be all over for him as boss of the Chicago mafia.

  He wondered if Bertucci wanted Vinnie and Melissa dead too, which would leave Alfredo with no living relatives to take over. Otherwise, Bertucci would’ve had no reason to bring them up.

  Either way, Caruso would have to be eliminated. Immediately. And someone else would have to take the fall.

  17

  Cal awoke on Friday morning with a jolt. Vinnie called to invite him to a meeting, interrupting his nightmarish sleep where he dreamt of losing Maria forever. Cal didn’t need to ask Vinnie what the meeting was about—he already knew what he’d be asked to do.

  It wasn’t often that Alfredo let his enemies linger for too lo
ng, allowing them to do serious damage. The reality of potential involvement by the Commission must have pushed the boss over the edge.

  On the way to Alfredo’s place, Cal considered the offer Caruso had laid out for him the other night. More of a bribe, really. If he refused the offer and his crimes were exposed, he knew his days with Maria would be over. She would never feel safe around him again. Plus, he would be facing a lengthy prison sentence.

  Cal was tempted to accept the offer. Part of him couldn’t care less about being exposed for his murders. He just wanted to escape. He wanted to escape the life of constantly being on the hunt for Alfredo’s enemies. He didn’t want to be known as a killer for life. Maybe he could talk Caruso out of being strictly a killer for him.

  The thoughts spun around in his head like the merry-go-round he’d once ridden at a carnival in the city. His mother had taken him there as a young boy before she was murdered.

  Murdered. He let that sink in. Was Alfredo really capable of ordering his mom’s death? Had the car crash been staged? He had his own father killed after all; surely he’d be capable of such a thing.

  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that Caruso had the better offer. But what if Caruso asked him to be a killer too? Go with the devil you know or the devil you don’t?

  After what seemed like hours, Tony pulled up to the outside of Alfredo’s building. He glanced toward the back where Cal and Fonzie were seated. They all looked at each other and nodded.

  Time to go in.

  They entered the building and took the elevator to the top floor, where Alfredo’s penthouse was. Cal hadn’t been there many times, but he remembered it was an awesome display of luxury. Upon entering, Cal saw impressive floor-to-ceiling tapestries, lush golden rugs atop cherry-stained hardwood floors, and leather furniture so stiff that even his jackknife blade would be unable to slice through. The unmistakable scent of freshly printed money filled the air.