Apollo Road

by Cliff Roberts

  “I then proceeded to drive the asshole out into the Everglades. I forced him out of the car and then to swim across a canal to a small muddy island. To my surprise, he made it. And then the gators started to swarm. I was kind to him and even tossed him a knife with which to defend himself. I told him it wasn’t personal, just business.

  “The gators surrounded the little muddy island and then they gradually tightened their circle. I watched as the gators tore him limb from limb. He wasn’t declared missing until a week later when his ex-wife cried foul over the alimony check not arriving. If the mob were concerned, they didn’t show it, and that was when I went on the rampage.” Bill finally took a breath and a big drink, which drained his glass. He held up the empty glass and the bartender nodded.

  “I changed my appearance,” Bill started again, “by bleaching my hair white and by losing twenty pounds, getting into the best shape I was ever going to see. I then started hanging out around some of the lower level guys, and after a while, I got asked to join them in a small robbery ring.

  “Now, I knew they planned on using me as a patsy by ensuring the inside guy, the security guard, shot me. Then he would claim I was one of three guys he saw break in, while the other two got away. I was new in town without any friends, and as far as these guys knew, I would be hard to track down by the authorities, so I was their choice for a patsy.

  “Of course, I knew what they were planning, because I had bugged their corner of the bar and knew the whole plan. They would get twenty-five thousand each from the check cashing place, and I’d get dead. Case closed.”

  Our food arrived just then, and Bill got quiet. He eyed the waitress suspiciously as she set the plates down and then he smiled a huge, warm friendly smile at her when she looked at him. Damn, the guy was a chameleon.

  Once the waitress left, Bill continued his story in between mouthfuls of his Porterhouse. “I wore flexible Kevlar under my clothes the night of the robbery and packed a twelve shot nine mil., even though they said they’d supply the guns. The one they were giving me was to have the firing pins filed down. All I had to do was show up, so, show up I did. We took two cars—three of the gang in the first car, me and this dumbass Puerto Rican in the second car.

  “As we pulled up to the check cashing place, the first car stopped. The car I was in, the second one, rolled right up behind them and stopped. My job was to go to the door and open it, so the other guys could race in, but as I started to leave the car, I dropped the gun they gave me on the floor of the car. While the Puerto Rican guy was looking to see where I had dropped the gun, I pulled my own and shot him twice in the chest. My gun had a silencer on it, and I ducked below the dashboard so they don’t know what was going on, only that I wasn’t getting out.

  “Apparently, all of this was taking too long, and they got out, even though I still hadn’t left the car. They went right up to the door and stood there, waiting on me. This change in the plan startled the security guard who was standing with his back to the door talking to the cashier. She screamed when she saw all the guns, and the security guard, he spun around, which put him face-to-face with the three guys from the first car and not the one guy opening the door as planned. They all had their guns out and were pointing them in the general direction of the guard.” Bill stopped talking and looked at me. He had a smirk plastered across his face until he took another bite of the Porterhouse.

  After he chewed up the steak, he looked around, saw the waitress coming and started talking again. “I finally stumbled up to the door and pulled it open, real fast and hard. The door smashed into one of the guys, smacking his gun hard against the shatterproof glass, knocking it right out of his hand and startling the others.

  “At this point, I shot the security guard. As he fell, he pulled his gun and shot the guy who was supposed to be in charge. It was a lucky shot because it hit the boss right in the left chest, and he crashed to the floor like sack of trash as his buddy turned to run.

  “The guard was wounded in the upper thigh and was pissed and scared out of his wits. He shot the only guy he could see—one of the guys from the first car—catching him in the upper back, and down he went.

  “I had stepped back around the edge of the building the instant I had shot the guard ensuring I was out of the line of fire as the chaos broke loose. When the shooting stopped, I heard the guard crying out for the cashier, begging her to come out of the bulletproof cage to help him.

  “I waited a couple of seconds, then stepped out from behind the wall and shot the guard dead. I caught the cashier leaning out of the bulletproof cage with her foot jammed between the door and the sill holding it open. She was bent over trying to help what was now a dead man. She was crying and screaming but didn’t move when I entered the building, allowing me to rush in.

  “I pushed her back into the cage and forced her to empty all of the drawers plus the safe into a large duffle bag the boss had brought. Once I had it all, I told her I wasn’t going to kill her unless she didn’t cooperate. She was to tell her bosses and the police she thought there were six men, but she didn’t see anything because just before the robbery took place, the security guard forced her to get in the bathroom and lock the door. She was to tell them that she stayed there until all the noise ended. She was also to say she heard the guard tell them where to find the money and that shortly thereafter is when the gunfire started.

  “I walked quietly out the back and down the alley to my car that I had stashed early in the day and drove off. The total take was over two hundred thousand—all in small, unmarked bills.

  “The police questioned everyone in the bar including me but were never were able to find the other two men. I, however, through attrition, moved up the ladder of the mob’s low-lifes to become a bag man and a driver for the second level goombas.

  “A couple of weeks after the robbery, I was asked to drive a couple of middle management guys to a drug deal. They told me it was their regular routine, and they’d been doing this once a week for years. They weren’t fooling me. I knew better. I still had the bar wired, and I was listening when no one thought I was. I knew the guy they were meeting with was always trying to scam them, and he was only days away from getting whacked for his troubles.

  “The whole thing was to take place at a hangar out at Homestead General Aviation Airport. When we got to the hangar, I was told to wait in the car, so I did, kinda. After they went inside, I stepped out and walked over to a side door, which happened to have a window in it—one of those kind that open outward, awning style. I pried on it a bit and it opened right up, and I could then hear everything these guys were saying. The shipment was supposed to be ten kilos, and that appeared to be just what the guy had brought. But then, one of the middle management guys, he started bitching at the guy about how he never brought them any ‘juice.’ That’s slang for extra product to ensure that they get a taste of the profits as well. The guy claimed that he was told by the big boss himself that he would kill him if he did, and he believed him.

  “That’s when one of the middle management guys pulled his gun, shot the bastard in the head and they started laughing. They started talking about how they could blame the whole thing on this guy, saying that the guy showed up with some Colombians and forced them to turn over the cash and the dope at gunpoint and then flew away.” Bill stopped and took the final bite of the Porterhouse before he continued.

  “It seemed like it was going to work until two other guys showed up and started shooting at the middle management guys, pinning them down in a corner of the hangar as they tried to get away with the dope and the cash. So it was a setup. It just wasn’t timed very well for the first guy.

  “I ran around to the front door and, with the Uzi they gave me and my own gun, I burst through the big hangar door behind the two new guys and shot them both dead. This got a round of cheers from the middle management guys, who started carrying on about how I’d get a big promotion for this. Leaving the bodies just lying on the hangar floor, they st
arted to leave, taking the money and the drugs with them. Just before they reached the big hangar door, they spun around and found I wasn’t there. They were pointing their guns at open space. I’d moved off the far side of the hangar and at this point, I had the drop on them, which I took full advantage of. I wasted no time doing them in. It seemed fair; after all, they were going to kill me. As I drove away, I could hear the police sirens wailing in the distance.

  “I waited two days to go back to the bar. They were very skeptical about where I’d been and why, but when I produced the drugs, they jumped for joy, and I was in. I kept the half million cash and put it in a Grand Cayman bank earning ten percent.

  “Once they accepted me, I confirmed the attorney’s story very quickly and started to inflict the same type of pain on them as they had on me. I started by eliminating the family members of the top man. I flew to New Jersey and stalked them. When I got the chance, I killed them quickly, one after the other, over a month and a half. I was an animal and a machine at the same time. Then, I started on the young asshole’s old man and his family. I shot the old man while he was making love to his mistress. From the look of her, she was twenty to twenty-five years younger. He’d paid to get her fun bags enhanced, and they looked pretty darn good. Anyway, I then followed the Young Turk’s kid sisters to college…”

  I interrupted him here and asked, “Did you kill the mistress?”

  “I hadn’t intended to, but the shot went right through the old man, and she unfortunately was the next object the bullet encountered.” He actually looked unhappy about that.

  “Anyway, before I was interrupted,” he gave me a dirty look that said don’t do it again, “the Young Turk had two sisters. They were a year apart in age, although they looked and acted like twins. I think they were at Dartmouth.” Bill stopped for a brief moment, looked to his left, a sign he was searching for a memory at least according to the police crime novels I’d read, then shook his head and continued. “One night after they had been out partying, I slit their throats while they slept. They shared an off-campus apartment, so it was easy. I killed every relative the Young Turk had up there and a few old friends, as well. After I had finished them all off, I came back down here.” Bill took a big swig of his drink and waved at someone I didn’t see or at least they didn’t wave back.

  “Yeah, I think I remember seeing something in the paper about a major crime spree up there,” I mumbled, not believing any of it. I never saw any news coverage of any major New Jersey anything.

  “It made National Headline News for a week until a plane crashed somewhere and then they forgot about it. Now, when I got back, the guys wanted to know where I’d been for the last month and a half. I lied and said I was shacked up with a supermodel down in St. Kitts. They tried to tell me I couldn’t just take off like that; I’ve got responsibilities; and they had to okay anything I did before I did it. It was bullshit, and I told them so. They tried to act tough, but I acted tougher and pointed out that I wasn’t part of their crew. I was just a hired hand when the job called for it. I told them that until I got a regular share of things and not just scraps, I would come and go as I pleased. I put my gun on the table to enforce the point.” Bill stopped and looked at me hard then said, “You still with me?”

  “Yeah, that’s a great story!” I stated enthusiastically. Man, this guy was totally full of shit.

  “It’s coming to the end, so bear with me,” he stated and took another drink before he went on. “I continued to try to work my way up the chain of command. I had to get close enough to the old man, so I would have access to the Young Turk. They deserved to die for what they did to my parents, and I was sure as hell going to see to it they did.”

  Bill continued as I finished my dinner and took a big swallow from the third Beam and Coke. “One day, a year after I had gone to New Jersey, the old man’s chief bodyguard asked if I could drive the old man up to West Palm to some charity function or other. Seems his regular driver was laid up in the hospital with appendicitis. So I said sure, I could handle the job.

  “That was my in. After that, the old man and his chief bodyguard found all sorts of errands for me to run. I drove his old lady around town. I dropped off the dogs at the kennel, picked up their fucking dry cleaning, whatever they needed. I was their boy Friday or any other day their wanted.

  “Finally, the night came that the regular bodyguards were given the night off. Even the big boss guard, the old man’s best friend for thirty-five years, took the night off, and they left me in charge at the old man’s Key Biscayne Estate. I had been wearing the plastic gloves since I had first arrived back in Miami from El Salvador. At that time, it had been six years since I’d been down there. During that time, I had learned martial arts and had studied how to kill a man slowly, without leaving any marks, so I was ready for my opportunity.

  “I made a big show of saying goodnight to the old man’s wife as she disappeared into her private quarters. They hadn’t slept together in years. I then slipped into the old man’s study where I found him looking at old pictures.

  “At first, he was pissed I had just walked in on him, but after I showed him my gun with the silencer attached, he practically shit a brick. He literally sat there quaking as I walked across the room.

  “I asked what he was doing, and he got snippy. Said, why did I care? I was there to kill him. He demanded I just do it and get it over with. I was a smart ass and told him in due time.

  “Again, I asked about the pictures, and finally he said they were pictures of old friends, friends that he’d lost along the way. Plus, he had some pictures of his family that had been murdered the year before. I told him that was a shame and that I could relate to his feelings of loss. That was when I sprang it on him.”

  Bill then stopped to take a drink, and I found myself wondering what happened next, so I asked like some dumbass, “Sprang what on him?” I leaned in closer, expecting him to whisper a secret to me or something.

  Bill grinned. “I told him I knew one of his old friends. Someone from the old days, when condos were king and land speculation was the rage. At first he sat there looking at me, not saying anything. I thought for moment that maybe he had a stroke or something, but then he spoke.

  “He said he had lots of friends back then, but I reminded him of a man who had the Midas touch with foreign currency and how they used to spend days playing poker at the North Miami Golf and Country Club. Suddenly, he got a strange look on his face and then smiled.

  “He smiled. Can you believe that shit? What he was smiling about, I hadn’t a clue, but he was. Then he said, like I was an old friend or something, ‘Why, your Vincent’s son, aren’t you? You’re Eddie.’

  “I was happy he had recognized me, and I didn’t have to tell him. After all, I wanted the old, sick son of a bitch to know who was about to blow his brains out. I once again told him that I knew just how he felt about losing loved ones and how it was heartbreaking every time I thought about it. He then surprised me and said, ‘We should have whacked you at the same time. But no, that asshole, Ventinalli, the attorney, convinced us that you would be fine. Your old man had hidden from you the fact that he was in the family. He wanted you to be something different, and I bought it. So was it you who made Ventinalli disappear?’ I admitted I was the one. Then he asked if I was the one who killed his family. I just grinned as I confessed I was the one. I even shared with him how I killed the Young Turk’s family as well, and that I had sex with his two little sisters and then I slit their throats. He was really getting agitated at this stage, and his whole face was flushed with anger.

  “Suddenly, I sensed there was something I was missing, and I quickly stepped around the corner of his big desk. Sure enough, he was struggling to pull a gun from under the desk. It was stuck in the holster he had tucked up under the desk top. Seems the clasp had gotten stuck after all the years of it sitting tucked away and never having to be opened.

  “I yanked the old bastard out of his chair and threw
him on the floor where I was going to shoot him in the back of the head; but then I thought better of it. I kicked him over onto his back, that withered up piece of shit, and as he lay there, staring at me menacingly, I shot the asshole in the balls.

  “You should have seen the old man fold up. I mean, he hadn’t moved that fast in twenty years. Anyway, he was rolling around on the floor holding his crotch, and I stepped back a step or two and crouched down. I just sat there on my haunches, watching as the guy slowly died. Between his heart and the massive blood loss, he only lasted maybe ten minutes. He tried really hard to say something at the end, but he just couldn’t get it out. He was probably trying to curse me or something. You know how the old Italians are.” Bill grinned and his face took on a satisfied look as he gazed off to the left again obviously enjoying the memory of that night.

  “Well, that was creepy as hell,” I blurted and instantly regretted it. It sounded real. But he had to be playing me. Nobody kills that many people in the mob and lives to tell about it. Nobody! I’ve seen the movies and TV shows. Damn, and I fell for it again. How stupid was I?

  “There’s a little bit more,” he stated, and after a quick look around the restaurant he went on. “That left just the Young Turk to whack, as they say in the biz.” Bill was trying to act all cool now, and it had the desired effect on me, I think. I was completely creeped out now.

  “I rifled through the old man’s desk drawers and found the address for the Young Turk,” Bill continued as that same wicked grin I’d seen on his face last night crept across his face again. “He has an estate in Bal Harbour overlooking the ocean. Some little place he had bought with my father’s money. While searching the old man’s desk, I also found a key to a safe. After a half-hour of looking, I found it behind some books in the bookcase and inside were a bunch of diamonds in small a pouch and a hundred thousand dollars. I took it all.