Chapter 2

NICK STEPPED OVER the large lifeless body carefully avoiding the blood spatter after he wiped the gun clean and placed it in the dead man’s hand. He then walked to the door, took one final look over his shoulder at the scene, and was satisfied. Even to him it looked like a suicide. He skilfully injected the man with a paralytic when he foolishly opened the door for him. Of course he had to use a larger dose than usual because the man was excessively obese. The stupid look on the man’s ruddy face all but amused him. Although in the man’s defence, he really wasn’t aware that Nick was sent to kill him. The drug wasn’t to knock him unconscious, just render him helpless so Nick could question him. Despite the man’s size, he eased him down to the floor with a fluid grace like he’d done this a hundred times before. Terry obviously let his health slide from years of sitting behind a desk. It helped that Nick was built for the job. He was six foot three, had a hard earned body, and was well trained.

“Where are the books, Terry?” Nick crouched his tall form down next to him while dispassionately recapping and pocketing the syringe. He spoke casually just as if he ordered a cup of coffee. Terry ran numbers as a bookie for his boss, but couldn’t help skimming a little for himself and gambling it away. Soon he was in deep to Frank Castile and the only way out was to turn evidence and guarantee a witness protection program. However, Nick had some people on the inside and received a heads up on Terry’s recent confession to the feds. As far as Terry knew, their boss was unaware that he snitched. Nick passed the information on to Frank. That’s when Frank sent in Nick. Everyone in the organization knew that when Nick showed up at your door, someone would die.

Terry was only able to let out a rush of air, and his words were very slurred.

Hmm, maybe I overdid it, He thought. Regardless, Nick stared down at him unfazed. “Your eyes still work. Look in the direction of your safe. Now, before you try and delay, know this. The drug doesn’t dull pain Terry, don’t make me prove it to you. ”

Terry’s normally ruddy cheeks paled in fear as he guided his eyes towards a distasteful picture of “Dogs Playing Poker’. Nick walked over to it and lifted it off the wall examining it for a moment as if he had all the time in the world. People don’t realize that these paintings were done to advertise cigars. He smirked at the setting of dogs around a table play cards. They were meant to symbolize the working class man in the early part of the twentieth century. He never much liked this series of paintings from Coolridge. He thought them to be rather tacky. He set it on the floor. Sure enough behind the painting there was the safe. He went back over to Terry and crouched down beside him again, “I’m going to start saying numbers. You blink when I hit the combination. Blink once that you understand.” When Terry didn’t respond Nick gave him a sharp slap on the cheek, ”Don’t waste my time Terry. I can take all night to kill you.” Nick started counting by tens. When Terry blinked he started on the second digit of the number until he had the combination.

Although he wasn’t able to move, it didn’t block out the terror that flooded through him. He knew that if his boss sent Nick, he would die. No broken knees, fingers or teeth, only the certainty of death. Terry also knew that Nick would take his time as he promised if he didn’t do what he said. His reputation was well known among the organization and as he crouched over him with such eerie calmness and an unemotional icy look in his dark eyes, he knew the stories were true. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes.

Nick retrieved the books and took his time looking through them with no concern to the man lying on the floor, helpless and terrified, a short distance away. When he was satisfied that they were the originals, he tucked them inside his coat, closed the safe and replaced the repulsive painting. Then as promised, he placed the gun in the man’s hand with the barrel against his temple and fired. Gunpowder residue will be on his hand if there is a question of who pulled the trigger. Nick doubted they would find the needle prick in his neck. They never do. Carefully avoiding the blood splatter and brain matter, he stepped around the body and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. It wasn’t personal for him and he never got involved. He was trained by the best to remain detached and be skilled at a job.

He made his way out of the building and casually down to the walk in front of the apartment complex. Then he paused for a moment to pull up his coat collar to block out the fall New York chill. There was a slight breeze and he could smell winter in the air. Sounds of sirens in the distance reached his ears. Someone may have alerted the police over hearing the gunshot. He didn’t use a silencer for that purpose. He knew he wasn’t seen leaving that particular apartment. He was very careful. He always was. He turned and walked in the direction of his stolen Mercedes a few blocks down.

Normally he would have Mario pick him up, but he didn’t want to involve the kid so closely in a murder. He was still young after all and eager, he smiled, yes he was very eager. Nick on the other hand was seasoned at this. Emotionally, he was indifferent and it reflected on his face--Calm and emotionless. It was his job. He never got involved in a kill. First of all, it would be a sign of weakness, something never displayed. Secondly, he considered himself one of the best at what he did and concern for his targets would interfere, maybe even cause him to hesitate. He was trained to kill with assertion and confidence, not to doubt his marks or wonder why he was told to eliminate them. According to his superiors, that’s what made him perfect.

He got in the car, flipped open his cell phone and called a familiar number. The blue light from the screen reflected off his muscular jaw. When the man on the other end answered, he said, “It’s done. Send Mario for a pick up.” He then hung up and drove toward the dock.

Nick wiped the wheel and door handle clean before he got out of the car. Mario arrived in a Black Hummer and was able to help him push the car off the pier. He then got in the passenger side of vehicle while Mario assumed his regular seat as the driver.

Mario got in the driver’s seat. “How did it go?”

Nick spared him an indifferent glance, “Fine.”

Mario inwardly groaned, he’d been driving for Nick for two years now and he still rarely speaks to him. He’d tried his best to get acquainted with him, but Nick was still a mystery. He knew about as much about him today as the first day he started driving for him. Even though Mario usually talked non-stop around him, you’d think he’d have something to say, like maybe “shut up”. Although he wasn’t rude, he only gave the simplest responses when asked a question and his facial expressions were always indecipherable. Mario always thought the silence was disturbing and that is probably why he talked so much, just to avoid the tension. Originally, he thought he could gain the man’s trust and he would confide, or even speak to him a little more. That never happened. After all, he wasn’t the type of person to invite you out for a drink after work. If he did, you’d be sure not to go, because there would be something else planned besides a drink at a bar. It would probably turn into a drive through Jersey where your body wouldn’t be found for months if at all. Although he felt apprehension around Nick, he really didn’t have any reason to be afraid and despite his nervousness he actually admired his steel composure and rare talents.

Initially he was hired by Frank Castile, who gave him the job driving for Nick. He used to drive taxi until one day he met Frank. Dispatch called him to pick a fair one night a La Grenouille a famous French restaurant. A well dressed, distinguished, handsome man with salt and pepper hair got in the back seat with two beautiful women that could’ve have been right out of Playboy magazine; a voluptuous blonde and the other a sexy brunette. Frank told him to head to a popular nightclub on the Upper East Side. He’d only been in that job a few months, but you learn how to drive really well on the streets of New York in such a short time. Although Frank had been drinking, which he could tell from the odour of strong whiskey that radiated from the back seat through the perforated Plexiglas divider, his eyes and voice were steady when he spoke to Mario.

“Mario Puzzo?” Frank read the driver’s identification posted in the back seat.

Mario glanced at him in the rear-view mirror at the sound of his name to find him staring steadily back at him, “Yes sir.”

“You are Italian.” The man’s eyes didn’t waver from his in the mirror.

Mario smiled, “One hundred percent.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty this fall.”

“You are young. You should be ambitious and be in college.” He moved his arm in an explanatory gesture, “Not driving cab.”

Mario stared at him for a moment through the mirror wondering if he was just making small talk or if he was really interested in his life, “You have to finish high school. My father died when I was young, I had to help out my mother. I quit school at sixteen.” Mario had told the story many times, when he was asked that same question about his age. So it didn’t bother him to repeat it. He actually liked to talk to his fares. His mother told him time and time again that he was credited with the gift of gab, and that he could charm just about anyone with his boyish good looks.

“You don’t say. A boy who loves his mama,” Frank chuckled, “is ammirevole.” Admirable

“Grazi.” Mario replied, thanking him.

Frank was surprised, “And you speak Italian!”

“A bit, my mother insisted.” Mario pulled up to the curb in front of Frank’s destination. The club was just starting to form a crowd. Two big Bouncers stood at the entrance picking the privileged guests from the crowd that were allowed to enter.

Frank told the women to go ahead and they got out of the car. He then turned back to Mario and leaned forward in the seat, “Listen kid, how much money you make a night?”

Pushing a lock of his thick ebony hair out of his face, Mario turned around in his seat to look at his fair. He studied him for a moment wondering if he should tell him. He was a handsome man richly dressed in an Armani black cashmere overcoat and grey slacks and appeared to be in his mid forties. It was obvious that the man was wealthy. He was surprised that a man of his privilege was interested in his life. It was the first time anyone of that calibre inquired about him. So he thought, what difference would it make? He shrugged, “sixty or seventy bucks.”

Frank tsked, “Not much of an income. What is that? About twenty grand a year?”

“Around there.”

Frank paused for a moment before speaking, “I have a proposition for you.”

Mario’s eyebrows went up, “A proposition?”

“I’ll pay your shift wages for today, to just accompany me for the rest of the night.” Frank was impressed more than he thought he would be with this kid. He knew he could use him and in turn the boy would be loyal because every question he asked him he received an honest answer. He even knew exactly where he could employ him.