Burning Bridges: A Renegade Fiction Anthology
Page 9
He knew why Tony had called. Knew and understood the fear that burned in Tony’s heart. Tony was a father. Had a daughter living in another city. A daughter he had not seen in ten years. A daughter he loved more than life itself.
The problem was Bruno also Tony had a daughter. Knew it and was going to torture his rival with the knowledge before killing her. Bruno was that kind of guy. Kill your rivals. Your rival’s loved ones. Your rival’s pets. Eradicate everything. Make a statement for everyone to ponder just in case someone else might be considering taking over the family.
She was twenty five. With long black hair. Long, thin legs. A constant smile on her lovely lips. Her name was Annabel. And she hadn’t seen her father in ten years. She lived by herself in a small college town where she was attending a nursing school. Tony paid for the schooling. Made arrangements with the school to offer Annabel a full ride scholarship. She never suspected.
Sitting in a small SUV, dark shades covering dark eyes, Smitty sat at the corner of a semi-deserted street corner and watched the young girl with the flowing black hair dive into one small shop after the other. She was loaded down with shopping bags in her arms and not paying attention to anything or anyone around her. It was a Saturday and she wasn’t home studying. Wasn’t aware of the two big men following her. Big man with dead eyes. Needing a shave. With conspicuous bulges protruding from underneath their sport coats. Intent on following the girl. Unaware they were, in turn, being watched.
Nor was Bruno aware of also being watched. Bruno, a leer on his face, watching his men tail his rival’s offspring, sat in the back of a Lincoln town car and anticipated his men nabbing the girl and bringing her back to him. He was so going to enjoy himself presenting her to her father. So enjoy slowly working her over with an ugly looking boning knife as her father watched gagged and roped to a chair in a warehouse where no one would hear the screams.
Smitty glanced in the rear view mirror to see if any traffic was coming. Opening the door of the rental car he rolled out, closed the door, pushed a hand underneath the label of his sport coat and walked across the street quickly. From the rear of the white Lincoln he approached the left side rear door of the car. Opening it quickly he slid in, the Beretta and its suppressor attached in his hand, and fired twice. One bullet in the back of the head of the driver. One bullet in the forehead of the body guard in the front passenger seat.
Pffft! Pffft!
So fast. So incredibly fast.
The ugly business end of the Beretta aimed directly into the face of Bruno. Bruno, stunned, was as white as the car’s exterior. Eyes big as plates stared into the hole of the 9 mm and then turned to the cell phone that was in Smitty’s left hand.
“Call your boys off, Bruno. Tell’em its time to go home. Tell’em you’ll meet them back at the clubhouse tomorrow night. Call’em, Bruno. Call’em if you want to live.”
Bruno complied. Grabbing the phone he dialed a number frantically. Half a block away one of the thugs reached inside his sport coat and lifted a phone to his ears. Bruno gave the order. Twice. Hurriedly. Emphatically. Insistently.
The two thugs stopped in their tracks and looked at each other in confusion. One turned to look back at the white Lincoln. But made no effort to turn and walk back. Shrugging, the two stepped off the sidewalk, crossed the street, leaving Annabel completely, and walked into a local pub for a beer or two before leaving town.
“There. There, I did it! Now get the hell out of here! I did what you asked. You live up to your bargain!”
Smitty nodded and smiled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I misspoke. I should have said, make the phone call and you might live. Sorry about that. I’ll have to be more careful next time.”
Pffft!
Opening the passenger door quickly Smitty exited and started walking back toward the rental. As he did he looked over his shoulder to take a last peak at Annabel. She was kneeling now, the many shopping bags of her shopping spree scattered on the sidewalk. Arms outstretched he saw the small frame of a small female child, long black hair blowing in the breeze, running out of a building and gleefully flinging herself into her mother’s arms.
Smitty grinned.
Good news! Tony was a grandfather.
The End
B.R. Stateham is the author of the series of short stories and novellas featuring a hit-man known only as Smitty, the latest volume (SEE YOU IN HELL) has just been released. B.R. offers here an exclusive and brand new story featuring Smitty.
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