If Louis the Frog had one indulgence, it was scotch whiskey. He was practically a connoisseur, and had in fact gathered bottles from every medal winning producer, from Scotland to North America to the more recent Japanese winners. Still, he had a favorite, forty year old Glenfarclas Scotch at over four hundred dollars a bottle. A single malt, he had once told me in an unexpected moment of introspection that he never went to bed without having a glass.
I found his bottle, which was only had a few shots left in it. Perfect, I didn't want somebody killing themselves by accident after Louis.
Taking the vial from my small pack, I emptied the contents into the scotch. I had crafted it from some of the nastier little tricks that I had been taught during my so-called education as a hitman, and knew that the flavor of the Glenfarclas would cover the chemicals I had used. The poison itself was totally colorless and odorless. I had, in fact, learned the basic recipe from a Japanese teacher of mine, whose family had developed it for mixing into Japanese shochu rice wine during the feudal period. With a few tweaks, I'd made it more powerful, and knew that as soon as Louis took even a small drink, he'd be counting the minutes to his death. There was no cure.
Still, I wanted to make sure, so I took up a position on the roof across the street. Using a periscope, I was able to see Louis' room while still staying behind the low brick wall that ringed the roof. I stayed there for hours, making sure to move around enough to keep myself from getting stiff, as the night wore on. Louis was a night owl for sure, and it was nearly three before he came home.
He was dressed in his trademark coat and fedora, which kind of made him look something like a comic book character or something. He just needed to wear crimson lensed glasses and be bald to really cross the line from frightening to nightmare inducing, in my opinion.
Taking off his coat, he hung it up on the hook behind his door along with his hat, rolling his shoulders. Without taking off his jacket, he immediately went to his scotch, pouring himself half a tumbler, no ice. I watched, a grim smile on my face as he tossed it back in two swallows, sealing his fate. Finding his bottle empty, he went to his cabinet and pulled another out. He cracked the seal and was pouring himself another tumbler before the first tremors hit his hand, and the rim of the bottle chattered against the glass.
Louis set the bottle down and looked at his hand, before looking down at his feet, which I was sure were also tingling and losing sensation. Staggering back, Louis tried to go to the door of his place, but his legs lost all feeling before he could reach the knob, and he collapsed on the floor. I turned away, not needing to see anything else. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my old cell phone, the one that Mark Snow had used, and dialed a number I hadn't used in a very, very long time.
As I expected, it kicked immediately to voicemail. "Sal, it's the Snowman. I think you and I should talk. How about the Park near the duck pond like last time? This time though Sal, you come alone. I see anyone with you, or even suspect it, and you'll be sitting on that park bench when the cops come to arrest you. You do, and we'll have a chat, and then go our separate ways. You have my word. I'll see you for lunch at noon."
Hanging up, I checked my periscope one last time. Louis lie on the floor, not moving. I knew from descriptions that the poison was supposed to be relatively painless, and that after losing control of his limbs Louis would have felt a creeping numbness spread throughout his body. While he would have been awake the whole time, in my opinion it was a gift for a man as evil as him to die the way he did. He'd done far worse to others.
Chapter 53
Mark
The duck pond was as quiet as it had been the day that Sal had told me I had to kill Sophie. I'd observed the bench for thirty minutes, since before Sal had arrived. He had followed my instructions, arriving alone with no bodyguards.
It was amazing how much a year could change a man. When I'd last laid eyes on Sal, he had been healthy looking, even if he had been older. His clothes had fit him well, although the stomach of his shirts swelled out a bit much for a man of his age.
A little over a year later, his pants hung baggy on his hips, and his shoulders were stooped and broken. His weight loss had been rapid too, from the jowly, hangdog way it looked on him. If I had to guess, most of it had come in the past six weeks or so. He looked like a sick man.
Making my way across the short distance between us, I kept my jacket collar turned up and my baseball cap on. I wasn't wearing sunglasses, but it didn't matter. In my left hand I carried a bag from Burger King, and my right was tucked in my pocket. For all the world I looked like a man just going to have some lunch by the duck pond.
"Hello, Sal."
Sal almost jumped out of his skin, and I knew in an instant his empire was crushed. The early daytime news had been filled with movements on all sorts of fronts. Bennie Fernandez was even more ambitious than I'd thought. Not only had the FBI already arrested Owen Lynch, as well as brought in over two dozen members of the city's police department for questioning, but members of the ATF, the FBI, and the state police had swept through much of the Confederation as well. Hell, even the IRS was getting a piece of the action, and once those buzzards were in on you, it was just a matter of time. I'd planned on them, at least, and was as secure as I could be.
"Hello, Marco. Well, as you can see, I'm here."
I sat down next to Sal and looked out on the pond. "You know why I did all this, don't you Sal?"
Sal nodded sadly. "I knew that the day would come where I'd be having a conversation like this with someone, Marco. I didn't think it would be you, honestly, nor did I think you would do as much damage as you have. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course. Like I said, we're here to talk."
"Was all of this because of the girl? The one that I sent those men after?"
I shook my head, and opened the bag. Sal flinched as I reached inside, but relaxed when I pulled out two Double Whoppers with cheese and bacon. I offered both of them to Sal, who took one, then waited for me to unwrap the other and take a bite. "Don't worry Sal, it's clean," I said, chewing my lunch. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it the same way I did Louis this morning."
Sal shook his head and took a bite of his Whopper. "I suspected it was you. The timing was too close to the time he died. Hey, how'd you pull of Petrokias? His shooting was too close to Han's for you to do it, and the clerk said you weren't there. Just a girl."
"I've had help, I'm sure you suspected."
Sal nodded and took another bite of his meal. "She really that good?"
"Better, even. She's a better person than I am, that's for sure."
We watched the ducks for a while, both of us finishing our burgers before I shared out Cokes and fries. Sal sighed, thinking. "I guess an apology is useless right now, isn't it?"
"A little late in coming."
"Marco, when I said 'was it all about this girl', you shook your head. What else?"
I took a sip of my soda and looked over at Sal. "I've always hated you, Sal. I respected you but I hated you, too. Not that I blame you, my father would have most likely ruined his life regardless of if it had been in your card games, or maybe Faoxin's father's gambling dens, or if he'd gone down to Atlantic City and done it legally. But he did it in your places, Sal. So as much as he screwed up, you get a good portion of my hate as well."
For the first time ever, I think I actually hurt Sal's feelings. Betrayal he could understand, even the killing of the other Confederation members. But to know that I hated him was somehow too much. The old man gaped, tears forming in his eyes, and he set the rest of his French fries aside. His throat worked, and he blinked a few times before looking out at the duck pond. "So what now, Marco?"
"You have a choice, Sal. The Feds might be kicking down your door any day now. Even I'm surprised at how fast this Fernandez guy is sweeping through down at DOJ. So, you can sit back and enjoy the last few hours with your family before they drag you off to prison."
"Or?"
&
nbsp; "Sal, I said I hated you, and that was no lie. But I've met your family. Your granddaughters don't deserve the hell this could be. Your children neither. You did that part right at least."
I saw a tear trickle down Sal's face, and he nodded his thanks silently. "Look in the bag, Sal. Inside you'll find something you could use. Let's face it, if you're dead, the DOJ is going to let it go. They're going to be too busy dealing with the living to worry too much about the dead. I assume you've hidden at least some of your assets out of their sight?"
"Yes. Not all of it, but about three million in what they'll think are life insurances. Tell me Marco, will it hurt?"
I shook my head. "Not much. If the coroner doesn't look very carefully, he won't even suspect a thing."
Sal nodded, and looked over at me. "Thank you, Marco. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it came to all this."
"Me too, Sal." I handed him the bag, then dusted off my hands and got up. "Go easy, Sal."
"Have a good life, Marco."
I walked away, not turning back as I heard the brown paper sack open up. I walked to the end of the duck pond, before turning and taking some crackers out of my pocket, feeding the ducks while watching Sal. He saw me, and nodded once before putting the two white tablets into his mouth and taking a sip of his soda to wash them down. I finished my crackers and walked away, Sal still sitting on the bench.
"Good bye, Sal."
* * *
Sophie
As Mark had planned, the news that Tabby Williams was taking over as head of MJT was lost in the chaos that was the news that day. For the next week, about the only thing that got more attention on the local news was the NFL highlights on Sunday night. Still, within three weeks, enough other local news had happened that Owen Lynch's face wasn't on the news every night.
While all that was happening, Tabby had kept herself busy, modernizing and taking the bare bones second floor office that Mark and I had used to something that actually was worthy of a real company. She hired staff, and even had a secretary.
Her transition was admirable. The first time she was mentioned by herself in a news story, the reporter had even made the comment that Tabby was a perfect blend between Marcus and Sophie Warbird. "Beautiful and brainy, in this reporter's opinion, MJT is in good hands. Kudos to Marcus Smiley, wherever he is enjoying his retirement."
In many ways, we were. During the day, we would take care of Mount Zion, with Mark saying his favorite thing to do was mow the lawn on the large riding tractor that Tabby bought for him for just that purpose. When he "accidentally" got cut on his temple and leaving an impressive scar that sort of pulled the corner of his right eyebrow upward a few degrees, I calmly bandaged him up while he sat in the kitchen. Afterward, it was enough of a change that we both agreed he didn't need another.
In the evenings and at night, the three of us had our own little family. Tabby insisted on finding a doctor who made house calls, so that she could be there for at least some of my prenatal appointments, and in the afternoons and evenings when she came home the three of us got the real work for MJT done.
The only real surprise came about two months after the body of Salvatore Giordano, a grandfather and suspected head of the crime syndicate known as the Confederation, was found dead of an apparent stroke near the duck ponds in the park. I was washing up the dishes, and Mark was in the home office reviewing some of the paperwork Tabby had left for him when the doorbell rang. Being the middle of the day, Mark checked the door suspiciously. We hadn't expected any deliveries.
"Hello, can I help you?" Mark said, opening the door. The man standing outside was wearing what I could tell was a decent but still off the rack business suit, and was Latino, maybe about thirty five or forty years old.
"Hi, I'm Bernard Fernandez, of the Department of Justice," the man said, "tell me, is Miss Williams around?"
"No, she's at work right now," Mark replied. I set down the plate I was washing, wiped my hands, and joined them at the door. "Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Fernandez?"
"I've been working a case recently, I'm sure you've seen it on the news. You mind if I ask you guys a few questions?"
"Not at all, please come on in," Mark said. It was safe. After all, the main part of the house was cleaned of anything involving our activities involving Mark's history. "Would you like a drink, Mr. Fernandez? And yes, my wife and I have seen you a lot on the television. How is your investigation going?"
"We'll see how it plays out," Fernandez replied, playing it cool. "By the way, can I have your names?"
"Sure, I'm Matt Bylur," Mark replied, "and this is my wife Joanna."
"Hi," I said, holding out my hand. Fernandez shook, then shook hands with Mark. "So would you like a drink? Sorry if I missed what you said."
"No, I only have a few minutes, I'm due at the federal courthouse in forty five minutes," he replied with an easy smile. "It was just, in the course of the investigation, Miss Williams' name came up. One of the businesses we got details on was an HVAC contractor. When we questioned the owner, well, there were some interesting things he had to say. Something about his son being brainwashed, and someone that he and a few of the others called the Snowman."
"The Snowman? Sounds like a nickname to me, I hope," Mark replied, his voice calm. I kept my own cool, even though on the inside my heart was trip-hammering in my chest. "What's this have to do with Miss Williams?"
"Well, when we questioned a Scott Pressman, the owner's son, he said that he was told by this Snowman that he worked with Miss Williams, and that she was under his protection. Tell me, how long have you worked for your boss?"
"Only just over six weeks now," I replied. "We came to the city just before this whole scandal broke. Let me tell you, it is not a good way to be introduced to the city where you want to raise your family, Mr. Fernandez. Corrupt politicians, dirty cops, and gangsters all over the place? Yeah, I was a little worried at first."
"I understand. I have a son myself, so I can understand your concerns. How far along are you, Mrs. Bylur?"
"Joanna, please. And I'm just about two months along."
"Ah. Hoping for a boy or girl?"
"We're split, really. I keep hoping for a little girl, I think Matt is secretly wishing for a boy, even though he says he's happy either way."
Fernandez chuckled and nodded. "I was the same way. Guess I got lucky. In any case, we just wondered if Miss Williams could help us with identifying this Snowman character. It's not a major issue if she can't, but I'd like to be ready in case the defense tries to pin all of this on some sort of gangland ghost."
"I see. Unfortunately we can't help you, but I'm sure if you call Miss Williams at MJT, she'll be happy to make an appointment for you two to chat," Mark said. "I have one of her business cards around here somewhere, she told us to give them to anyone who stops by."
"Oh, that'd be great," Fernandez said. Mark went and got one of the MJT cards from the magnet clip on the fridge, coming back a moment later. Handing it over, Fernandez took a look before tucking it into his suit inner pocket. "Thanks. You know, down at the office, we're kind of having a pool as to if this Snowman is real or not. Some of the guys think he was, some of them think he's just a figment of the Confederation's imagination, a boogeyman created to pin all their bad luck on. Me, I have no view either way. I will tell you one thing, though."
"What's that?" Mark said, still calm and collected.
Fernandez got up and buttoned his jacket. "If even half of what I hear is true, he did a lot to help me out. And if everything they say about him is true... well, I know there's some things in his past that have to be accounted for, but I'm not the man to do so. My office is concerned with making this a better city, not an urban legend. Hell, if I had the chance, I'd probably shake the man's hand, I don't think I'd have gotten a start on this investigation if it weren't for him. In any case, I'm due at the courthouse. Judge Carter might be a good judge, but she eats late attorneys for lunch, regardless of which
side they're on. It was nice meeting you guys, I'll give Miss Williams a call later."
Fernandez walked to the door, and Mark opened it for him. He walked out, turning at the door to offer his hand to me again. We shook quickly, and then Mr. Fernandez held out his hand to Mark. "Thank you, Mr. Bylur," he said, a small smile on his face. "For everything."
Mark shook his hand, his own smile coming out. "Any time, Mr. Fernandez. It was good to meet you."
Fernandez nodded and turned around, leaving. After he got into his government Chevy and pulled away, I turned to Mark. "You think he knows?"
"He suspects," Mark said, "but he's not going to do anything. He knows that, at least in this city, sometimes justice takes indirect methods, sometimes."
I nodded, and we closed the door, going back inside. Mark got his phone and sent a text message to Tabby, telling her what had happened, then set it down. "So are you going to go on patrol tonight?" I asked as Mark headed back to the office. "It's been a few days."
"I might," Mark replied, stopping at the door. "After all, our baby's coming, and the city's not clean . . . yet."
The End…
There is now a spinoff trilogy of Mr. Dark! Tabby and her new love interest, Patrick, are the main characters. However, Mark and Sophie of course are back and still kicking ass! Check out Book 1 of Ambition today.
You can also get the entire Ambition Trilogy HERE for only 99 cents. LIMITED time offer.
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