by Finian Blake
Rich walked to the steak house. He was wondering how he was going to get at Snark. He was on the opposite side of the street from the Steak house where he met Snark the other day watching the mime busking on the opposite corner. He crossed the street walking slowly past the mime finding that he was approximately the same size. He continued down the street to the next corner. He walked around the corner quickly timing his walk. It took less than two minutes. Rich walked into the steak house and walked back to the table where he met with Snark previously. He noticed a side exit marked ‘OPENING THIS DOOR WILL SOUND ALARM’. He walked back to his car calling Wanda next.
“I need someone that understands make up. Do you have anyone?”
Wanda volunteered, “I do some commercial shoots, and I know a little about make up.”
“Where can we meet?” Wanda gave Rich an address and hung up quickly. Rich was there by three o’clock.
“So, what do you want makeup for?”
Rich said absently, “I need to look like a mime.”
“They use grease paint. It goes on, stays on, and takes forever to remove.”
“I need to remove it quickly.”
“I have a friend that owns a costume shop. He would be able to tell you what to do.” Wanda took Rich to the costume shop deciding to wait down the block while Wanda talked to her friend. After an hour, she picked him up. She had a rubber mask and a black wig that covered the whole head.
“You use a little spirit gum around the eyes and mouth. Then you apply makeup to the areas that the mask does not cover. I have some red and white powder to match the mask. It will not last long, but you did not say how long you were going to wear it. It won’t stand up too much sweat.” Rich went back to Wanda’s place and tried on the mask. The rubber was thin, so he had to be careful not to tear it. He looked in the mirror, and it was a workable arrangement. He would be thrown out of a mime convention, but at a quick glance it would work. He gave Wanda a thousand dollars and left.
He next called asshole number one.
“How would you like to make five thousand for a mornings work? Steal a white Ford Econoline van Tuesday night and switch plates. I will call you, with the meeting place for Wednesday morning later today.”
“How long will it take?”
“You should be able to ditch the van and be back home by two.”
“Count me in.” George did not have to ask if it was illegal. Stealing a van was illegal. The Ford Econoline was one of the most popular vans out there and about a third of them were white. He went to work spotting a likely target. Rich went to the second hand store and bought an old top coat cutting both of the pockets out of the coat removing the lining also. Next Rich drove to an arms dealer, buying two sawed off shotguns. He attached a lanyard to the handle of each one and spent the rest of the evening putting together his hit kit. He went to bed early, and awoke early the next morning. Rich drove to the restaurant at which he promised to meet the street sweeper and gave the man the rest of the promised money, telling him to forget the deal. The street sweeper was more than happy to do exactly that. Next he drove the Nova to the corner that Mooney designated.
Mooney drove back to Oak Park. He turned the corner of the alley, driving past the stakeout. Mooney hit the button on the remote for the garage door. The large garage restricted the view of the back of Mooney’s home. Mooney handed Juan the key, “Go in the side door, and make yourself comfortable. I will be there in ten minutes.” Juan walked slowly to the house going inside without hesitation. Mike watched Mooney walk in the house. The walk was slow and Mooney looked like he was in great pain. Mike wondered if Mooney would be alive for any legal proceedings. He was surprised that for someone with a contract on their head Mooney was unconcerned. Ng shot would be a blessing when there was that much pain. The bastard probably didn’t care. Mike did not like working in the garage, but, at least he did not have to leave his post every half hour with the Port-a-potty. He was still scratching his flea bites and the dysentery was still with him. Mike was feeling sorry for himself when he heard the galvanized trash cans behind Mooney’s. Mike looked out of the garage to see Mooney slamming the lid on a trash can. He never saw the man leave the house. Mike knew he was going to have to sharpen up.
Mooney walked back to the house laughing. He had taken a bundle of old rags from the garage and walked them out to the trash cans next to the garage. He made it a point to slam the cans around to wake his stake out up. He walked in the house and looked for his double. Juan was on the couch. The pain was getting the better of him because any movement caused him great pain. Mooney was glad that this was going to be over soon. He stopped taking the pills that Rich gave him in Mexico. Keeping track of the changes was driving him nuts. The doctor at the clinic knocked forty pounds off his weight to account for Juan’s loss. Judging by the amount of pain Juan was in Mooney did not feel bad about shooting him. He changed the sheets, and had Juan sleep in his bed. Mooney spent the night on the couch in a restless sleep. Mooney awoke at five AM and looked out the window as the stake out team was changing. The same putz was on today. Mooney showered, dressed, and put some coffee on. He woke Juan up for breakfast. Juan came down with a robe on over Mooney’s pajamas.
“Juan, do me a favor and don’t let these sausages burn. I have to put on my shoes.” Mooney went into the living room slipping on his shoes and a worn Bears jacket. He walked up behind Juan and fired two rounds from the silenced twenty-two in to the base of Juan’s skull. Juan was dead before he hit the floor. He never knew that it was coming. Mooney rolled Juan over on to his back firing six more rounds into his mouth down his jaw line. Mooney removed the spent shells placing them in a plastic bag and reloaded eight more rounds in the gun. He fired into Juan’s face eight more times, to insure a closed casket. He felt bad about having to disfigure Juan, but it was necessary. Mooney removed the spent shells putting them in the bag. He looked out the window waiting for the Agent in the garage to close the door to take his dump. At six twelve the agent closed the door to use the Port-a-potty, Mooney left a window open turning the heat up to high under the sausages. He hurried down the side of the garage crossing the alley so that he could not be seen from the surveillance point. Mooney walked at an even pace down to the corner, and climbed in the Nova. Rich put the car in gear, forcing himself to drive slowly out of the quiet neighborhood.
Mooney looked at Rich as the car moved off, “Do you think that they will ever catch my killer?”
“I hope not.” Rich went back into the business mode. “I still need to do a few more things. I will drop you down at the Palmer House and I will see you when things have been completed.” When the Nova pulled up in front of the Palmer House, Rich offered his last piece of advice. “Laurita is in pretty rough shape. Be patient with her. She has all of the documents. Memorize your history, and I will be back tonight. Remember you are now Juan Garcia. Mooney is dead.” Juan got out of the car and went directly to the suite.
Rich drove to the coroner’s office. Everything was still quiet. He went to the receptionist and held out an envelope.
“‘Mercury’ messenger service, I have a message for Bob Baxter.”
“Leave it here. I will get it to him.”
Rich was taking no chances, “I am afraid that I can’t do that. I need his signature on the receipt.”
“He normally is not in this early. I will call his office.” To her surprise, Bob was in his office.
“He is in room 325. You are expected.” Rich went to Bob’s office.
“Here is the information that needs to be switched.” Rich handed Bob the envelope with a single card in it.
“That is all? You are paying ten grand to switch one card?” Bob slid the card out of the envelope. “Oh shit, you have to be kidding me.”
“Your bookie will be disappointed. The second that you get the job done, call me at this number, and I will pick up the original. You can do it Bob I have faith in you.” Bob sat down heavily as Rich left. He went to a hotel
just outside of the downtown area and settled in to wait.
Mike noticed smoke coming from the kitchen window calling Ken to give him a heads up. It was quarter to seven. Mike went in through the back door and Ken went in through the front door. The house was filled with smoke. Mike got to the kitchen first immediately noticing the body on the floor. Mike checked the body, deciding instantly that ‘Mooney’ was dead. He ran to the stove and shut off the burner removing the charred pan with the sausage from the burner putting a cover over the pan killing the fire. Ken opened a window in the front of the house to clear the smoke. Mooney was lying on the floor, with a pool of blood radiating around his head. With all of those bullet holes in his head, there was no doubt that he was dead. Both men held back from the body calling the Chicago FBI office, the Oak Park police, and the coroner while waiting for the smoke to clear.
Mike understood that they were in deep shit, “We need the regional director down here immediately. Ken, start figuring out how we explain this. How did they get a hit man in and out, unseen by us? When everybody gets here we better have some answers.”
“Mike, I thought you had the back.” Mike was not going to buy the grief a second time. He knew that this would end both of their careers.
“Ken, I thought you had the front. That looks like a twenty-two wound. He was shot sixteen times. Whoever it was, had to reload, and they were taking, their own sweet time.” Ken held up his hand.
“Who said that they left?” Mike nodded his agreement. “You stay down here and I will sweep the second floor.”
“What if he is in the basement?”
“With only two of us we need to hold down the exits, and wait for backup. This guy is an armed pro and probably has a silencer. This is not the work of an amateur. Embarrassed is one thing, but dead is another. I am not ready to die for a corpse.” Ken nodded his agreement.
The Oak Park police showed up in ten minutes. When the second car was on scene they started to sweep the house. The officers were happy to hold down the exits while Ken and Mike swept the house. A lieutenant from the police showed up with ten more officers to take charge of the scene. When the whole house had been swept, they started their investigation. Oak Park knew that a number of reputed mobsters lived in town and they were prepared for a detailed investigation. Forensics moved in and tentatively identified the body. This was a huge case and the first question was: Why the Oak Park Police Department was not notified about the FBI surveillance of a prominent figure.
The chief showed up and collared the lieutenant, “The FBI will take the lead on this case. Post officers to secure the scene. Nobody goes in without specific clearance from the FBI. The FBI forensics will handle this.”
The lieutenant could not believe his ears. “This is clearly our case they never notified us of the surveillance. They…”
The chief pointed to the house and his voice took on an ominous tone. “They can arrange for your name on this ‘cluster fuck’ if you insist.” The Chief’s idea struck like a thunderbolt allowing the lieutenant a moment of clarity.
“Enough said, we will secure the perimeter and await any requests. The FBI will receive our fullest cooperation with all of their requests.”
The chief gave his cheek a mock punch, “Good man, I will wait for the Local director to arrive.” Ken and Mike elected to wait for their supervisor. The FBI showed up in forty minutes. Things had broken down into a jurisdictional pissing match in reverse with the FBI finally taking charge of the case since it was their witness. It was almost ten o’clock before they officially decided that the FBI had jurisdiction of the case allowing the coroner access to the body.
Bob was one of the coroner’s assistants. He made arrangements for the body to be sent to Cook County Hospital for autopsy. The body was finally released for transport around noon. When it arrived finger prints were taken and the other information was logged. Since it was a critical case, Bob personally held the card in his office for the FBI to start a positive identification. There was a rush to insure the identity of the victim. Within a few hours the prints were verified. The doctor was pressed to do a preliminary autopsy quickly which was not a problem since determining the cause of death was obvious. The Medical Examiner counted sixteen gunshots to the head. They contacted the clinic in Houston for x-rays and dental records. All requests were promptly met, and a government jet brought the information to Midway airport and a helicopter finished the delivery.
By seven PM the x-rays were being compared. There was no doubt of the match. What surprised everyone was that Mooney had cancer. The tests at the clinic diagnosed it, and the coroner confirmed it. The cause of death was no problem. Sixteen gunshots to the head were the cause of death. The first two at the base of the skull were the fatal wounds. The other fourteen were all in the mouth and face as a way of signing a tab on a rat. Unfortunately, all of the teeth were damaged by gun fire. In all probability this was a mob hit. It was a professional hit with an unnecessarily, vicious signature after the fact. They would have to bury the victim, in a closed coffin funeral. The corner walked out, and talked to the Director.
“The cause of death is lead poisoning. There was a terminal amount of lead in his system.” The director did not appreciate the levity.
“Cut the clown act and give it to me straight.”
“The victim’s identity was established by finger prints. We also have X-rays and diagnostic tests which confirm his identity. He was shot in the back of the head with a twenty-two caliber pistol, at point blank range. Death was instantaneous after which fourteen more rounds were fired into his mouth and face. The victim obviously knew his assailant. It is my opinion that this was probably a professional hit. This type of gun typically holds eight rounds so the shooter reloaded and emptied the gun a second time. It seems that the shooter was in no hurry.”
“Thank you doctor,” The doctor was not going to take the slam from the Director.
“Is it true that there were two FBI stake outs in front and back of the house at the time of the murder?”
“Fuck you,” the director stormed out of the conference room. He was pissed off that the hit man took the job so casually. He had to find a way to end the whole situation as quietly as possible this was the net result of months of investigations, over a million dollars in surveillance, and an international incident, but right now the whole thing had to fade away with as little fanfare as possible.
Rich received a call about six in the evening. He drove straight to the hospital’s office building checking in with the receptionist, and was sent up to room three twenty-five.
Rich dropped off an envelope, and picked up another checking it before leaving.
“There are no copies?” He watched Bob fingering his envelope. “Pull the cash out and count it. That way we will both know that things are right.” Bob withdrew the cash and counted out thirty, one hundred dollar bills as Rich closely examined the document. Rich smiled at him. “That’s right there is one thousand over. Spend it on your family, not the ponies. There are no copies?”
“No, I can guarantee that. What about Snark?”
“Tell him that you are still waiting to hear from me.” Rich smiled. “Snark will not be a problem. I already paid your bookie. I knew that you would deliver. Remember this never happened.” Rich left the room with the envelope in his hand. He was now clear to settle with Snark. Rich called asshole number one giving him the address of the hotel.
“Remember to use gloves. We are going to dump this on the street.”
“Do you think that I am a virgin? I will be on time. Just keep an eye out for me.”
“Rich reviewed his hit kit. The latex on the mask was thin. He did not want to try it on again. Everything else was ready he bought two pair of thin woven nylon gloves, one white pair and one black pair mixing the gloves, so that he had one white glove on his right hand and one black glove on his left hand. He tried to sleep, but it did not come. This was the boldest move that he ever thought of trying. He went
through the plan repeatedly in his head the whole night through.
Asshole arrived on time and followed him down Clark Street until Rich found a parking space parking the Nova on the street. As they drove to the steak house in the Econoline, Rich started filling Asshole in on the plan while he applied the mask in the back of the van. Rich finished off by applying white powder to the eyes and red powder to the mouth. He started out by slipping on the mixed pair of gloves hanging the shotguns around his neck. Next he put on the top coat, slipping his hands in the pockets of the coat to be sure that they went through to the shotguns smoothly. He checked his makeup in a mirror and had Asshole check to make sure that his makeup was right. Asshole took the van down Michigan Avenue to Randolph Street making a right turn on to State Street. Rich got out of the van, and ran past the mime to the corner of the building. He looked down the alley to make sure that it was not blocked and Asshole delayed as long as he could before make the turn. Rich walked through the front door of the restaurant walking straight back as if he were going to use the rest room. He spotted both of Snark’s bodyguards by the stitches on their heads.
Snark saw the mime walking through the restaurant to the restroom. It was bad enough that he had to deal with him on the street, but he would not tolerate this clown in his favorite restaurant while he was eating. Snark launched out of his seat at the mime. He thought it strange that the mime put his hands in his coat pockets. Snark was two feet away when he saw the barrels of the shotgun poking through the front of the top coat. Rich let him have one barrel in the face and one in Snark’s midsection sending Snark’s dead body across the table of two shocked diners turning it over and spilling their dinners on the floor. Snark’s bodyguards were out of their chairs, moving toward Rich before Snark landed. He leveled the other shotgun at them hitting them with a barrel apiece in the head at three feet. They both flew back on to tables of shocked diners splattering several people with blood. The whole restaurant erupted in panic. There was loud screaming as everybody pushed to the front door to get away from the mayhem with Rich having a clear path to the side exit. There was so much screaming that nobody noticed the alarm ringing.
