by David Nees
The action grew increasingly heated as the music grew louder. The beat was insistent, overpowering you and forcing you to move. Dan tried to tune it out, but it was impossible. Two hours later, Guzim was acting much looser from the mix of drinks and drugs that he had been sharing with the women in his booth. The same could be said for most of the dancers on the floor.
Dan left the dance floor at a short break in the music, abandoning his dance partner. It didn’t matter to her, or anyone else. Dance partners came and went as people milled around on the floor engaging one another and then turning off, focusing inward, only to connect with another dancer for a few minutes before repeating the pattern. The only difference was that those who came in groups tended to remain connected to one another. He headed to the men’s room.
Now in the restroom, he waited for the correct stall to open and went in, locking the door behind him. He retrieved his weapons and put them in his coat pocket. Then he washed his hands and headed back out to the dance floor.
Upon leaving the relative quiet of the men’s room the music again assaulted him with an almost physical wave of sound. His chest vibrated with the ever-driving beat. The sound was impossible to tune out. He maintained the stance of a partygoer but, like a predator, he narrowed his focus to the arms dealer bouncing around on the dance floor with his hands in the air, surrounded by his women. Dan gave an occasional glance to the body guards. The guards were trying to keep Guzim in sight while he was being swallowed up by the crowd. One of the guards seemed to have given up and was drinking and flirting with another girl that had stopped by their table. Dan had not come to their attention; he still blended in.
Guzim was deep in the midst of the ravers with his three young women, all with the neon stripes on their clothes and faces that lit up in the ultraviolet light, dancing with him in a semi-circle. Dan maneuvered himself slowly towards Guzim. He used the surge of the crowd to bring him closer so he would not stand out. When the surge moved away from his target, Dan resisted the flow. And so, minute by minute, he “danced” himself closer to Guzim.
Then he was within reach, just like dozens of other ravers had been throughout the evening. When the crowd shifted, blocking the view of the bodyguards for a moment, Dan slipped the pistol out of his pocket. While still dancing he extended his arm towards Guzim, the pistol almost touching the back of his neck, and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.
You could not hear the sound over the music. Guzim’s head flung forward and his body collapsed to the floor in a heap. The two bullets had stuck him at the base of his skull destroying his brain stem and shutting his body down immediately. He never felt the shots. One of the guards seeing Guzim disappear jumped up and started towards the dance floor. Dan pulled the flash-bang grenade from his pocket and threw it in the direction of the guards.
After throwing the grenade, Dan dropped to the floor, closed his eyes, and covered his ears. The grenade went off with a flash of nearly seven million candlepower and a bang of over one hundred, seventy decibels. Those within ten feet were all knocked to the ground from the blast energy and many would suffer long-term hearing loss. The advancing body guard was knocked to the floor. The brightness blinded everyone not covering their eyes. People couldn’t see for some five seconds and the flash produced an after image on their retina that interfered with one’s sight for minutes afterward. The loudness not only produced temporary hearing loss but loss of balance. The combined effects caused severe disorientation within fifty feet of the blast.
Dan got up after the blast and started for the door. The crowd panicked, first in the vicinity of the explosion and then spreading through the club. People surged towards the doors thinking the club was under attack. The grenade halted the advance of the body guards and when they began to recover, the panic of the crowd made it impossible for them to make any coordinated advance. They only made it to Guzim’s body as Dan was leaving the club.
He maneuvered his way out of the stream of panicked ravers that spilled out of the doors. People were running, some were screaming, there was chaos at the door and in the street beyond. Dan turned to separate himself from the crowd and began to walk casually away towards some darker alleys.
Pietro sat across the street and watched the patrons rushing out of the club. He knew what had happened. The assassin would be coming out. He would not be panicked. Pietro expected the man would be acting in a calm, purposeful manner, wanting to fade away into the side streets before the police could respond. Out of the crush of people, he noticed a man, all alone, walking calmly away from the action. Pietro took a deep breath. This might be the man. It could be lethal to try to connect, but this could be the one chance to satisfy his boss. Besides, the assassin would not want to create a second scene; he would want to leave quietly. He got up to follow.
After making two turns through tight pedestrian walkways, Dan realized someone was following him, someone not too adept at hiding his movements.
He sank into the dark of a doorway after turning a corner and waited. The man following him came around the corner. Dan grabbed him around the neck with his arm and pushed the reloaded .22 caliber pistol into his back.
“Don’t turn around,” he said in Italian. “If you do, you die.” He pulled the man back into the deeper dark of the doorway. “You’re following me, why?”
“I need to talk to you,” the man said. His voice was low and harsh.
“You don’t know me. Why would you need to speak with me?”
“My employer wants to hire you. There’s a card in my jacket pocket. Take it and call the number. There’s a million Euros in it for you.”
“You are very close to being dead. This pistol I’m holding can’t be heard, especially over the sirens and noise coming from the club. So I can easily eliminate you.”
“Just take the card and call me. We can talk later. Here—”
“Don’t move!”
“My jacket pocket, the card’s in there. You can reach for it yourself. It’s worth a million Euros.”
Dan pulled the card out of the pocket. “If this has a microdot tracer or transmitter on it, I’ll find it and I’ll use it to find you and kill you.”
“No no, the card is clean. We want to hire you. Call me and I’ll explain the details.”
“Okay. Now you are going to turn around and walk back from where you came. You are not going to look at me. If you do, I will shoot you on the spot. I’m going to watch to see that you walk all the way down the alley. If you try to follow me, I’ll kill you.”
With that Dan turned the man around and shoved him forward. He watched him trudge back down the narrow alley and then turned and sprinted away. Upon reaching his car, he got in and moved into the traffic. After driving around Milan for twenty minutes to assure himself he was not being followed, Dan set out east on the A4 towards Venice, about three hours away.
Chapter 4
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A fter arriving in Europe, Dan needed a home base for his operations. His public persona was that of a security consultant for corporations throughout Europe. He represented an American company, SecureTech, which if anyone checked, had a website and looked legitimate, courtesy of the CIA. You could contact them, inquire about bids for work, and even seek employment.
He wanted the comfort of a home, not an apartment, and so had purchased a modest villa located in the Marghera district just outside of Venice. It was an incongruous home. A once luxurious residence left in place as the surrounding area had evolved into an industrial zone with canals for freighter ships coming in to unload their cargos. Apparently, the owners didn’t want to abandon the property and sell out. They had held on, trying to rent the property with little success. The location didn’t bother Dan; he liked the isolation it presented and offered a hefty price that changed the owners’ mind.
Dan had chosen Venice because it was generally a safe city with little crime. Most of the activities involved pickpockets preying on tourists.
Even walking around in the city proper at night was considered safe and violent crime was quite unusual. In order to get to know his surroundings, he spent a few weeks walking the streets of the Marghera district, watching the activity.
Since his anonymity might be compromised at any time, Dan knew he had to have some local help to alert him if any strangers came around asking questions. It was a risk to connect with locals, but one he needed to take. He set out to identify any local street criminals he could enlist to help him. He was determined to find someone or some group and get them on his side.
After two weeks, he had identified a loose group of pickpockets and scam artists. They worked mostly in Venice proper and did little in the suburb outside where they lived. Dan was able to locate a bar in the neighborhood where the group hung out.
He walked into the bar late one evening after all the activity in Venice had died down. The young men slowly stopped talking and stared at Dan, obviously not a local, as he sat the bar and ordered a beer. Dan could see, as he scanned the room, that he was the subject of hushed conversation. Wondering who I am, why I’m here. Finally, someone, probably the leader, approached Dan and sat down next to him.
“Buonasera,” the man said as he placed his drink on the bar.
Dan nodded.
“Parla italiano?”
“Sì,” Dan replied.
“Are you a tourist?” the man asked.
“No. I live in the area.”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from here,” Dan said as he turned to look at the young man for the first time.
“I mean before you came here.”
“It is not important. This is my home now.”
The man thought about that for a moment. “So you stop in this local bar and expect to be treated like a local?”
“No, I’m looking for someone,” Dan said keeping his gaze fixed on the man.
“Who are you looking for?”
“I think I’m looking for you.”
The man opened his eyes further. Dan’s gaze never wavered. His look was the look of a serious person, a hard man. Dan could tell the young local was evaluating what to do next. Was Dan a threat? How tough might he be?
“You don’t know me,” the man finally answered. “Why would you be looking for me?”
“I think you have some influence on the hustlers that work the streets.”
The man started to stand up. “I think you had better go before you get hurt.”
Dan put his hand on the man’s arm. His grip was vise-like. “You want to hear me out. You don’t want to do anything stupid.”
The man looked at Dan’s hand squeezing his arm so tight it cut off his circulation. He sat back down.
“I want to hire you to keep an eye out on my house. I need to know if any strangers come around or show any unusual interest in the place.”
“You are hiding from someone?” Dan had released his grip and he could tell the young man wanted to rub his arm but didn’t want to give Dan the satisfaction of seeing him do it.
“That’s of no interest to you. I just want you to arrange for what I just described.”
“We’re not going to get in trouble with this? You’re not in trouble with the piedipiatti?” He used the slang word for cops.
Dan shook his head.
“The mafia?”
Again Dan shook his head. “I just don’t like strangers nosing around my home or my business. Capiche?”
“Sì, how much do you pay for this work?”
“One hundred Euro a week.”
The young man thought that over and then shook his head. “Too low, make it two hundred a week.”
“I’ll give you one-fifty, and after I see how well you do the job, I’ll raise it to two hundred. Deal?”
The man considered the offer and nodded; they shook hands.
“What’s your name?” Dan asked.
“Marco, Marco Favero. What’s yours?”
“Steve.”
“Okay, where do you live?”
Dan gave him the address. “How do I find you to pay you?”
“Cash in advance. You can leave it here with Bruno, the bartender.”
“One hundred fifty Euros. You’ll get an envelope once a week. Use as few guys as you can. I don’t want a lot of attention drawn to me about this.”
Dan pulled out his wallet and handed Marco the first week’s fee. “Can I buy you a beer?” He asked.
“No. I have to be going.” Marco stood up. “Ciao.”
Later a couple of the hustlers that Marco recruited argued they should shake Dan down for more money by threatening to expose him. Marco shut that idea down firmly. Even though Dan was older he could see he was someone not to be fooled with. Dan was probably involved in much more serious things than the street hustles Marco played with and he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. If he wanted to be anonymous, then Marco would help. Maybe there would be more rewards along the way.
After all the hectic work of moving in, the purchasing of furniture, the setting up of the security systems, the furnishing of the kitchen and bathrooms, Dan finally had time to sit back. He now had something that had been missing for some years in his life, a home. But it was still incomplete.
Chapter 5
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D an sat in the breakfast room off of the kitchen late one morning. It had east-facing windows which allowed the morning sun to stream in. He nursed a cup of strong, Italian coffee. He couldn’t shake a feeling of emptiness, a loneliness that surrounded him and followed him through all the rooms of his new house.
Rita was not present. Rita, his high school sweetheart, the woman he had married and who had been pregnant with their first child, was gone. She had been killed, burned alive in a fire in the restaurant she and Dan had opened in Brooklyn. Their lives had been going so well. And then it had all come undone.
After getting out of the Army where Dan had served as a sniper in Iraq for two tours, he had come back to Brooklyn. The two of them took some savings and started the restaurant. They worked hard at it and were successful; life was good. The only off note was that the mob wanted protection money. Dan and Rita knew some of the mob members from high school and refused to pay. They just wanted to be left alone. But it didn’t work that way in Brooklyn. The mob torched the restaurant to teach them a lesson. Tragically Rita was there late that night, working on the books. She was caught in the conflagration and died along with their unborn child.
Dan was devastated. His parents were gone having died just before he enlisted in the Army. His only relation was his sister, Lisa, who lived in Montana. After the funeral he left Brooklyn to get away from the memories and hit the road, not knowing where he was going, finally winding up at his sister’s ranch. During that time, Dan had decided to bring retribution, payback, to the mob. That had led to his recruitment by the CIA. Now he sat, alone, in Italy, in a nice villa, but no one to share it with.
Wonder how Lisa would like the place? Probably too urban for her. He smiled at the thought. Lisa had been transformed from an Easterner, a city girl, into a western, ranch girl. She had married a cattleman, Bob Jackson, from Montana and learned to love his western lifestyle. She was comfortable working with cattle and pitching hay in the barn. Hunting elk and other game now came naturally to her as well. He and his sister were close, or had been. Bob and Lisa were the only family he had. While she had a husband and his family, she was still protective of her younger brother.
Do you wonder what’s happened to me? After his vendetta ended, Dan had told Lisa very little, just that he had been offered a job and a way out of New York. He was vague on the details and not sure whether Lisa understood what that meant. How would Lisa take knowing her brother was a professional assassin? His reflections only sharpened his sense of isolation. There was so much he could not tell Lisa. And Rita, the love of his life, was gone forever.
He still talked to Rita and sometimes thought h
e could hear her respond when he was in that state between sleep and wakefulness. The shaman he had met in Mexico had spoken of Rita. His name was Tlayolotl, and he had not only saved Dan’s life but introduced him to the spirit world from which Dan had learned to draw strength and assistance in his mission. What did Tlayolotl say? ‘She has a strong spirit and spoke loudly.’
Dan stood up and headed for the kitchen with his now empty coffee cup. Big house. Too big for one person to rattle around in. How in the world would I fill it? And with whom?
Just then the phone rang in the other room. It was his secure phone.
“Jane here,” the voice said after Dan answered. Jane Tanner was Dan’s boss back at the CIA. She had recruited Dan after he came to her attention while carrying out his vendetta on the Brooklyn mob. His attacks had been so effective that he had taken down a prominent capo of the Brooklyn family boss.
“When are you coming over to visit? I have a very nice villa and it’s pretty empty with just me in it. It’s in the industrial section of Venice.”
“Sounds like a mismatch.”
“It is a bit odd, but it works. The boat is an hour away in Porto Santo Margherita. If you come over, we could go out for a week; sail down to the Dalmatian coast…get away from it all.”
“Not sure I could be gone that long. Besides, Henry might not like me fraternizing with employees.”
“So I’m just an ‘employee’ now? Where’s my medical and dental plan? How many days of vacation do I get? I don’t remember reading any of that in the employee manual. In fact, I don’t remember any employee manual.”
