Suddenly and without warning his left eye caught images of debris flying through the air. Lots of things; chunks of concrete, smoke, dust and Lord only knows what else. Shifting his head slightly and giving his full attention to the exploding building he watched as smoke and debris flew out windows of all six floors. Then the sound of the blast hit his ears; and it was loud, deafeningly loud. The entire side of the building facing him collapsed and flames soared high into the night air. Sighting on the motel he began to quickly scan both target rooms. A figure came into view at the center of the drape in the room to the left, and then another figure appeared next to him; both guards. The bulk of the smoke and dust was blowing past the north end of the motel, but a billowing cloud was making the view to the A.I. hazy.
Clay scanned to the right just as another figure parted the draperies at the left side of the right window. After a fraction of a second hesitation he was certain Dominick Michael Trezzini was in his sights. Without hesitation he slowly let out the breath he had just taken, adjusted the position of the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. His plan was to shoot slightly low, and as his prey fell down the bullets would run up his chest. The rifle butt kicked against his shoulder and he kept focusing and firing until the five shot magazine was empty; then he waited for an indication of a hit. The seconds seemed like minutes, but then Trezzini suddenly fell backward and down before disappearing from view as if he were a puppet on a string pulled behind the stage curtain by his puppet master. Glass immediately rained down from the shattered large window and the drapery fell back into place, once again blocking his view into the room. He shifted the scope to the left and saw one of the FBI agents pointing in his direction. He must have seen the muzzle flashes and was sounding the alarm.
Clay laid the rifle aside, stood up and slipped the sweatshirt on and zipped it. Then he pulled the ski mask on his head and rolled it up. Lastly, he put the pistol back in the pocket and zipped it. Glancing around the platform, he made sure only the rifle and pad were left behind. Quickly he began to make his way down the ladder. Reaching the end of the hand rail he turned and bent over, grasping the ladder rungs to begin the hand over hand decent down to the vertical section and then to grade.
When he reached the base of the ladder he was breathing deeply as he turned to exit through the gate. Walking quickly but not running toward the car he unzipped the sweatshirt pocket. He removed the pistol, held it behind him, and stayed under the branches of nearby trees, out of the open area around the tower. Across the street at least a dozen people had gathered on the sidewalk outside their houses to see what had caused the noise. They had surely heard the rifle shots. One of the men in the group had spotted him and was pointing in his direction. As he neared the car he exclaimed, Shit. The car’s tires were flat. Clay was trying to decide on a course of action when he saw a car pull away from the curb down the street to the right of him headed in his direction. As he was thinking about the merit of trying to stop the driver and steal the approaching car, it suddenly swerved to the left into the lane near him. Then he saw it was a red Monte Carlo. The car stopped abruptly at the end of his escape car, near where he was standing in the shadows. Across the street two people had turned in his direction when the car stopped.
A red head had the glass down and her left elbow extended through the opening. “You want a ride out of here!” she said. Clay was walking toward the car and hesitated only a split second before raising the pistol and squeezing the trigger twice. From twenty feet away the first slug hit the woman in the forehead and the second in the left cheek below the eye. At the sound of the two shots people started screaming and yelling and several headed for their houses. The red head jerked and thrashed and then slumped with her face coming to rest on the steering wheel. Tthe pressure on the brake pedal released and the car began to move forward slowly. Shoving the dead driver out of the way, he reached through the window for the console mounted gearshift and shoved it into park. Using his left hand he opened the driver’s door to pull the woman out of the car by her hair, and had a red wig come loose in his hand. Grabbing a handful of blonde hair he dragged the corpse onto the street and shot her again in the head. A small nickel plated automatic fell to the ground with her. With a smooth fluid motion he slid into the seat, shoved the gearshift into drive and was hurtling down the street before the driver’s door was closed.
As he sped down the street Clay was thinking; the bitch had a gun in her hand; she was going to shoot me when I got closer. Then she would have said we were partners and claimed the fee. In the rear view mirror he could see several people moving across the street toward his last victim.
Although he had made an initial escape he knew within minutes every on duty policeman in New York and the entire FBI detail assigned to the Allegheny Motel would be alerted to the description of the car he was driving. He had to assume the witnesses to the blonde’s murder more than likely got the car’s license number along with the description. If he had ten minutes without being spotted odds were even on eluding his pursuers. All of the on duty police would have been dispatched to the A.I. and would need to be redirected. He suddenly realized he was in the left lane of a main street doing over sixty five, weaving in and out of traffic to past cars and still had his ski mask on. Hitting the breaks he slowed until he was running with the other traffic and pulled the mask off his head. Up ahead, still three or four blocks away he saw multiple flashing red lights coming toward him. Flipping the left turn signal, checking the rear view mirror and hitting the breaks in succession, he made a tire squalling left turn through traffic onto another major thoroughfare. The urgency of the last fifteen minutes had forestalled his adrenalin rush, but he was in the midst of one now. He was positive he had pulled it off! Of course the collateral damage amounted to at least several million dollars. Clay wallowed in the delicious thought of telling Tony all about the hit. Tony will just shit when he sees the newspaper reports in the morning. He needed to concentrate on getting to the Gottlob Manufacturing Plant as quick as possible and put rejoicing out of his mind for the time being. Stay calm. Stay focused. Stay calm and focused. He had stashed the Wildcat there in the employee parking lot when he was finished with it. Hopefully it would still be sitting in the back of the lot and all four tires would still be holding air.
After winding his way through moderate traffic to the plant without picking up an escort, he pulled into the parking lot. The time was ten fifty five and the evening shift was just about to get off work. Following an employee who was reporting for the night shift, and would obviously clock in late, he drove at the same speed and stayed with the car until it turned for an empty parking spot. As he made a left turn onto the last row in the lot he spotted the black Wildcat where he had left it. He braked abruptly and backed into a parking spot two cars away from his new escape car. Before exiting the Monte Carlo he removed the rubber tipped gloves and put on brown jerseys; the rubber dots were fine for climbing steel ladders, but hell to drive with. Next he took a small round file from his sweat shirt pocket and ran it down the pistol barrel to roughen the rifling. The altered revolver was left in the car for the police to find.
He was again hot and sweaty, so after leaving the Monte Carlo he removed the sweatshirt. Staying behind the line of cars he made his way to the Wildcat while looking at the plant exit into the parking lot. People were beginning to run from the exit toward their cars. Hurriedly he hot wired the car, and when the 430 cube engine roared to life, headed for the exit and out onto the four lane street.
In another twenty minutes he was parked in a residential neighborhood behind his own car. After making certain nothing had been left behind he locked the Wildcat and put all his gear in his car and drove back to his motel.
Inside his room he stripped off all his clothes and put them in a plastic bag. The next morning he would distribute the clothing, shoes, cap and gloves to dumpsters away from the area. He filled a plastic cup with ice cubes and bourbon and headed to the bathroom for a long hot shower
. Jesus, he thought, what a day. This had been by far his biggest and most publicized hit. The precautions the authorities had imposed called for extreme measures. Now, maybe Tony would stop thinking of him as an amateur; a kid playing at a man’s job. He was sure he would be in demand after he was linked to this hit. The bosses who hired people like him required positive results and no loose ends. Someone might complain about the blonde getting bumped off, but they would have to agree her actions had warranted it. To relax before going to sleep he did an analysis of the entire job deciding what he could have done differently to improve the outcome. He was very pleased when only minor issues came to mind.
The next morning he slept late, getting out of bed after eleven. It was past noon before he made it over to the restaurant at the motel, bought a Sunday paper and settled in to wait for breakfast. He drank his first cup of coffee before reading the story under the banner headline, “Key Government Witness Shot and Killed!” The article stated Trezzini had been rushed to an undisclosed hospital in critical condition with a gunshot wound to his chest and had died en- route before surgery could be started. He hoped the reporter knew what he was talking about when he wrote “the FBI and local authorities have no clues as to the identity of the attackers.” They also didn’t have a confirmed positive identity for the blonde found dead in the street at the municipal water tower on Seiler Street, but surmised she was part of the conspiracy to kill government witness Dominick Michael Trezzini. Tentatively she had been identified as Irene Rizzo Calipio, wife of a deceased mob figure. She was reputed to have been involved in the brutal murders of several individuals linked to organized crime.
Another part of the article dealt with the destruction of a building under construction near where the witness had been interned and the suspicion of it being used as a diversion to cause the witness to expose himself. Clay thought, no shit, now that's brilliant reporting. A guard at the blast site was also killed when debris from the collapsing building buried him while he was inside a porta-john next to the building. Clay chuckled out loud as he thought about the guard getting the shit scared out of him when the bomb went off. At least he was in the right place at the right time.
After lunch Clay got rid of all the trash in the bag and put his own license plates back on his car. The rest of the afternoon was spent sight seeing, visiting local attractions listed in brochures displayed in the motel lobby. Monday was spent sightseeing in Manhattan; visiting the Statue of Liberty, riding the Staten Island Ferry and walking down Wall Street. At a local tavern near Wall Street he stopped for a beer and met an attractive woman. For three hundred dollars the prostitute took him to her nearby apartment and entertained him the rest of the afternoon and well into the night.
Tuesday morning he checked out of his motel and headed for home; resisting the urge to pass by the A.I. one last time.
He arrived home midday Sunday after stopping at antique shops in Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana; picking up good pieces of glassware at the right price. He found three French Cameo art glass vases by Galle, two cut glass pitchers in a pineapple pattern and seven hand painted R.S. Prussia plates and bowls of outstanding quality. In addition he had bought seventeen pieces of oak and walnut furniture and had to rent a trailer. With his newly earned fortune he could have bought ten truckloads, but of necessity he forced himself to hold back. But in the near future he would find ways to funnel his cash horde into his new business address and would locate a house in a good neighborhood. It was past time to move on, although he would miss his Mom and Walt more than his ego would let him admit.
Monday morning, after opening the shop and moving his newly acquired antiques into the display area, he reviewed the books for the period he had been gone and met with the help. In the afternoon he decided to visit Tony.
“Clay, you are definitely number one! Those pictures of the building you blew were something. Who the hell would have thought some diesel fuel and fertilizer like I use at the farm would do so much damage?”
“A year ago I wouldn’t have believed it either.”
“I heard from my contact in New York, they got a confirmation on the guy you shot really being dead. The families were concerned he might not have died and the F.B.I. could be hiding him out while he recovered. They convinced both of the paramedics who responded to tell them about the ride to the hospital after they picked the patient up. The guys swore your target was dead when they picked him up. Three bullets hit him; two would have been serious and one was definitely fatal by itself. You're some marksman Clay.”
“Thanks Tony, but as much as I hate to admit it there was a lot of luck involved. I don’t think any lone shooter could guarantee a shot at the distance I had. But it turned out well in the end. I don’t like the fact of the old guard at the construction site getting killed but it’s the risk they take in their line of work.”
Chapter 21
Three months after his return home, on a Saturday afternoon when he was at the shop, Lizzy stopped by to see him.
“Hi brother, I need to talk with you. Are you free for a while?"
“For you, of course I’m free. What do you want to talk about?”
“It’s personal. And I don’t want to talk about it here. Would you mind leaving with me so we can talk in private?”
“Sure, we can leave if you’ll feel better talking somewhere else.”
“Thank you, I’d feel much better. I don’t want your employees or anyone, especially mom or dad walking in during what I have to say; I’m not even very sure you’ll understand. Hell, I’m just beginning to understand and accept it myself. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. I need to make a phone call before we leave.”
They drove to a gas station where he bought a large black coffee and she got a large soda. She asked him to drive to a small public park nearby where they could sit outside in the sunlight. By now Clay was very curious as to what Lizzy might have to talk about. Since Rocco had been taken care of what could be so big a deal she couldn’t tell Mom?
They walked to a park bench, twelve feet off the walkway and in the shade of a huge black oak tree with limbs stretching out at least thirty feet. Clay was thinking, Christ I thought girls told their mothers everything; not their brothers. What am I getting into?
Sitting down, he said, “O.K. what’s the problem?”
“It’s not nearly so simple or easy. I wish it were.” Lizzy took a deep breath and turned to him.
“When I was a little girl, six or eight I guess, I always felt different from the other kids. But of course, I had no idea why. When I asked mom about it she praised me and pointed out all my good qualities and said I’d outgrow the feelings as I got older. I’m twenty two and I haven’t outgrown them yet.”
“When I entered adolescence and started dating I wanted affection from the boys I went out with. Being immature I associated affection with sex and started doing IT with my boyfriends; anything to feel loved and wanted. But they didn’t care about me. They just wanted to get laid and I was easy, so they took me out. It wasn’t their fault; they were doing what young boys do at their age. I’m really thankful I at least had enough sense to be careful and not get pregnant, or contract some venereal disease.”
“Anyway, during the seven years I’ve been dating boys I increasingly came to realize I wanted someone, anyone to really care about ME. Not just having a sexual encounter, but having someone care about what kind of person I am, what I think about things and how I feel about myself.”
Clay spoke up, “Are you going to tell me you’ve finally found the right guy?”
“Sort of; I’ll tell you more about it. What I'm going to tell you is how something serious happened last October; serious enough for me to have contemplated suicide.”
“Lizzy!” Clay exclaimed and reached over to lay his hand on her shoulder. The month she mentioned brought back vivid personal memories she knew nothing about. He realized and hated to admit he should have anticipated such a reaction, but didn’t.
“It�
��s alright Clay. It’s in the past and I’m O.K. with it. I’d been dating a guy named Johnny. He was gentle and kind to me when we first met, but then he started talking kinky stuff. Instead of just being together he wanted to watch porno films, talked about group sex and a bunch of quirky stuff. I was at the point of breaking off our relationship when I went to his apartment one night last October. We had a drink and he must have put some kind of drug in mine. A little while later, I remember two of his friends came in and then the three of them raped me. The next day we had a big fight and broke up. I was very depressed over being attacked and used by them, but you were there to talk to me and showed me you really cared and were concerned about me. It was just enough to keep me from going over the edge. You might not recall the rest of the Johnny story, but about a week later the police charged him with murdering a policeman. I just saw on the news one night last week where the trial ended and he was found guilty. I guess I’m lucky he didn’t do something worse to me.”
“Now, on with my story. After last October, I avoided contact with men and turned away their advances. It wasn’t because I was afraid they would attack me too; I just realized I had never been with a man I could really love, and truly be satisfied with. So, instead of dating, I concentrated on my school work. And thank you for your support there too. Mom and Dad were very pleased when I told them my grades had improved, but it just meant more when you showed a genuine interest too. Thanks. I was spending more time studying, and actually doing research for my papers instead of winging it, when I noticed a girl from two of my classes was in the library a lot too. We got acquainted, started studying together, and have become very good and close friends. Her name is Irish Rose O’Conner; she’s twenty four and goes by her first name, Irish. I hope you’ll like her."
“Lizzy, if you like her, I’m positive I will too.”
Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy Page 26
