Chapter 21
Rafael Rontego kept his eyes straight ahead and continued walking, his pace fast and purposeful, for several blocks before ducking into an alley with a distant view of his apartment building. Once more showing off his agility, he leapt atop a dumpster and then scaled a ladder leading to the low building’s roof. Stepping onto the gravel rooftop, the assassin lit yet another Sobranie. The nicotine comforted his nerves.
Nerves.
Rafael could not remember the last time he felt anything in his chosen line of work. Rontego took a deep drag off the familiar brand just as an explosion rocked the building and flames leapt out of his window.
He took another long drag and watched the myriad of orange speckles alight in the sky as scattered debris succumbed to the intensity of the heat that launched it into the night air.
He expected the explosion. His keen ears picked up the sound of screaming in the distance, or maybe it was a siren, Rontego couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t sure, until he heard a solitary pop rattle across the distance followed by abrupt silence. Other than the roar of the flames which were already dying lower as the gas vapor receded, the evening seemed serene.
The assassin stood there looking across the way at the burning building he once called home, a lone dark silhouette against the flickering orange backdrop amidst the midnight sky. He glanced at the cigarette in his hand, and saw for just a moment, a peculiar tremble, subdued. A lot happened to him in the half dozen hours or so since he followed orders and lay waste to Wizeguyz Billiards.
Orders.
Rafael glanced at his bag resting next to him on the rooftop. The culmination of a life of work. Rontego shook his head.
Muro.
He couldn’t believe how easy he dropped his old mentor. Was Muro trying to kill the Cleaner? Rafael couldn’t be sure. More likely, there was a follow up hit on Rontego for his actions at Wizeguyz earlier that day. That would explain the death scream that echoed from his burning apartment. Muro must have come in support of that operation and, in the darkness; he could have easily mistaken the Cleaner for Rontego. He would not have a reason to suspect another escapee darting out from the rear entrance of Rafael’s building.
Rontego smiled. Luck did indeed seem to be on his side.
Luck.
That was what was bothering the assassin. The thought struck him. The usually unflappable killer came to rely on superior skill and smarter planning. Everything was so messy lately. Too much seemed to be beyond the professional’s control.
Try as he might, he also was unable to get Aldo’s haunting words from echoing out of the deepest recesses of his brain. Why had Don Ciancetta and The Pope decided he was expendable? Why put him in the position of sending a message in a situation well beyond messages?
The sheer volume of unknowns assaulted the assassin. Then there was the circumstances surrounding Muro. The man had, at one time, been as close to a friend as Rontego ever knew. Until recently. Was it unavoidable circumstances that lead to the final showdown that ended with a bullet bringing down a legend among gangsters?
The word ‘unavoidable’ stuck at the front of Rafael’s mind. Until tonight, Muro stood as a solitary example that one could live the life of a killer, and survive the streets. Muro stood up as an example of how to navigate the dangers of the underworld. For years he seemed beyond the fray, but in the span of an unplanned ten seconds, he was gone.
Rafael took the last drag on his Sobranie and the distant wail of sirens rose up from the streets below. In a moment of clarity, the questions came to Rontego.
Do you want to rely on luck any longer? The answer came from Rafael’s lips in whisper.
“No.”
Do you want to take orders forever? Rafael spoke the word aloud.
“No.”
Do you want to end up like Muro, face down on a city sidewalk with your brains splayed across Walden Avenue?
With a growl, Rontego answered again, “No!”
The assassin flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed the gold foil against the gravel with the heel of his boot. Snaking around, Rafael Rontego spun toward the ladder and grabbed the side rail hugging the ledge of the building. With the ease of movement customary to the assassin, he grabbed the side of the ladder and flung himself over the lip of the building, entering a smooth slide down the ladder until he landed in the alley below. Rafael Rontego pushed his fedora into place against his head and with another twirl, snapping his jacket behind him, took off down the alley and into the night.
He knew now, that which must be done.
*
Water began to fall from the ceilings. The emergency sprinklers triggered due to the inferno that ate at the building. The fire was already starting to simmer down as the last of the gaseous fumes dissipated out of the reach of the multiple smaller fires that ignited.
Alex Vaughn slouched against the wall in the hallway and looked at what was left the apartment. Smoke drifted out of the shattered window in a thick stream and more smoke trailed in thinner columns to meet with the retreating clouds of ash. Blood was flowing down the side of Alex’s face and his eyes felt bloodshot and dry. The sting from the fumes and the remnants of the blaze bit at his eyes, water rimmed his lids as the body fought to cleanse him of the pollutants.
The smell of the place was assaulting the agent’s nostrils, but he hadn’t the strength to stand and leave. Still clutching his firearm, but resting the Berretta against the floor beams, Alex looked at the eerie scene. In front of him and face down, smoldering and quite unmoving, was Sal Pieri. To his left, Frankie DeRisio was lying in a heap and was unmoving. From the odd angle of his head, Vaughn assumed it was the neck that betrayed the large man to his end. Still, Alex, without looking at DeRisio, slid his left hand over and onto Frankie’s neck.
There was no pulse. Still staring straight ahead, Alex felt his eyes grow wetter.
It must be all the damned smoke.
Alex Vaughn felt what might have been more than cleansing tears well up in his eyes as he sat there surrounded by the carnage. Thoughts began to spring up in his head. Why was he here? Was any of this worth it? So Rafael Rontego, whoever that was, killed Jack. But why? At that moment, Alex Vaughn felt weak. He missed his Charlotte.
I’d give anything to be home.
Sirens became audible in the distance. It was over. His body wouldn’t let him leave, or maybe it was the will that was lacking. A piece of Alex was happy.
He tried. He failed. The plethora of laws, moral and ethical as well as legal, that he broke and disregarded, made Alex sick. He didn’t like who he became over the last few days. He witnessed more death in the last forty-eight hours than in an entire career.
Dull footsteps pounded up the stairs and Alex’s head fell forward to meet his chest. They were right on top of him, but still he did not open his eyes.
“Jesus Christ”, the voice was thick and familiar but it seemed like it was muffled and coming from a great distance. “Grab him up. I’ll check on those two.”
Alex felt someone grab his arm and yank him to his feet. He let himself be led toward the stairs and looked at his crutch as they struggled downward. Hi-Def was supporting him and muttering over and over about how he couldn’t believe it. Alex barely heard him though as they walked toward the exit.
A quick pop from up above drew Hi-Def’s attention for a moment and Vaughn almost hit the floor as the support faltered for a moment. Hi-Def recovered, however and caught Alex in time to lead him out of the apartment and towards the waiting van. Elliot was driving it and had the motor started.
As the duo struggled towards the van, Hambone came running out of the building and grabbed Alex’s other arm. The three of them made it to the van just as a pair of fire trucks came screaming along the avenue. Hi-Def and Hambone laid Alex Vaughn along the back of the van’s interior and then hopped into the double doors as Elliot, hardly waiting for the doors to close, hit the gas and drove in the opposite direction. The van rounded the corner m
oments before the emergency vehicles descended on the building.
Alex closed his eyes and lay back as Hi-Def pressed a cloth against Alex’s forehead. There was a general commotion around Alex and Elliot was yelling about something. Hi-Def was just listening but Hambone was yelling back as the van sped further from the scene.
Vaughn tried to close his eyes to shut them out, but all he saw was the screaming, burning vision of Sal Pieri. Caught in between a place of semi-consciousness and cognizant-shock, Alex just let the van take him where it would.
Chapter 22
Rontego ran down the alley. The wind whipping across his face found its way into his chest quicker than his lungs could heat up the air to a serviceable temperature for bodily absorption. He made his way toward downtown. He traveled west, parallel along Walden Avenue and turned south down Mulberry Street.
The thought occurred to him as he traveled, that maybe this wasn’t the best course of action. Maybe he was being hasty. Each time he entertained that thought though, the sting in his neck reminded him of the pure and simple fact that you can’t remain ahead forever.
When the situation is beyond your control, leave the situation.
Muro told him that. The body count was getting higher. The way things were going, it was destined to climb still further. Not to mention the police. They were idiots, and the ones that weren’t were paid off. Even this cluster-fuck in the navy blues, touting toy shields and popguns, wouldn’t and couldn’t, stand by forever.
In the end, sooner rather than later, the good people of Buffalo were going to reach a boiling point. It was ever the outrage of the civilians that spurred the boys in blue to action.
Rontego zigged and zagged along several side streets, all the while making his way towards the epicenter of downtown Buffalo. Rafael exited an alley and pulled up along Delaware Avenue.
He pulled up and slowed his gait as he neared the Del Avant building. It was a modern testament to the architectural prowess of man. The assassin took his fedora off and a cluster of his normally slicked back, dark hair fell forward over his eye. With a brush of his fingers, Rafael shoved the hair back into place and rested his fedora on top of his head at its customary tilt. His grey eyes gazed up at the vast expanse of steel and glass that raised fifteen stories before him.
This was where Buffalo’s ruling class lived. The top three floors of this building were reserved to cater to the top one percent of Buffalo’s wealth. Rontego walked past the entrance to the building where a well-versed doorman was serving in a dual capacity as public relations official and guardian. At this hour, Rontego was pretty sure he couldn’t get in without an invitation. Besides, front doors were for suckers.
Rafael made his way along the back of the building to a service ramp for incoming truck deliveries. Thin plastic strands fell in front of the garage-type opening shielding the interior from public view. Rafael inched forward and crept from shadow to shadow. As he inched forward, Rontego took care to avoid the several cameras hanging over the lip of the first story ledge by hugging the wall way and rounding into the garage opening, barely disturbing the plastic covering as he whispered past.
He came into a large shipping and semi storage warehouse under the belly of the Del Avant. His eyes adjusted to the brightness inside the warehouse and, with a grin reflective of his fortune, Rontego glanced side to side, realizing he was alone. The assassin took his fedora off and tucked it under his arm. Rafael picked up a box and carried it toward the service elevator on the far right of the warehouse. Rows of trailers that hitched to trucks were lying at regular intervals throughout the front of the warehouse. The assassin couldn’t tell if they were fresh deliveries, or waiting to go out.
Coming around the last such trailer, the killer made a beeline towards the elevator. The assassin began juggling the box and reaching for the arrow indicating up.
All of a sudden, the assassin heard footsteps rushing towards him. Almost dropping the box, Rafael Rontego whirled around just in time to see the cause as a large black man with a set of worker’s overalls came upon him. A gloved hand reached past Rafael and pushed the up button.
“Let me get that for you,” the man said.
Rontego, his heart racing, nodded his ‘appreciation’.
The elevator doors opened almost at once, and it wasn’t soon enough for Rafael. Thinking himself in the clear, he let out a slow breath. The man climbed into the elevator with the assassin.
Thinking he recognized the source of Rafael’s sigh, the man muttered, “I feel ya. Long day. What floor?”
Rafael, unable to think, stared at this ‘X’ factor.
“Hey, what floor?” A sincere confusion came over the man’s face.
Coming back to form, the assassin cleared his throat. “Fifteenth.”
With a nod the man hit the button for the fifteenth floor. To Rafael’s relief, he also hit floor five. It seemed like an eternity as the elevator rose up two flights and stopped to pick up another passenger. Rontego didn’t even make eye contact with this one. Again he was relieved when no other button was selected.
When they got to the fifth floor, Rontego reminded himself to seem normal. The two men exited.
“Have a good evening,” he stated.
They nodded as the doors shut behind them. Rafael rode the elevator up the remaining ten flights in peace and came out into a side corridor in the fifteenth floor.
He put the box down and headed on his way. There were four suites on this level. Rontego knew the one he needed to get to and started off in that direction. It was a straight walk of about a hundred yards. Then, there was a final turn up ahead that would bring him to the door.
This one wouldn’t be unguarded. Rafael eased his head around the corner, he saw the door. Next to the large oak door was an empty chair. The plush, thick grey carpeting trailed down the hallway and in the distance, maybe another thirty feet, Rafael saw the reason for the empty chair.
A small man, with a bulge coming off of his hip revealing the heat he was stacked with, turned his back and to talk to a cute little lady with a cleaning cart.
Rafael steeled his gaze and pulled out a small lock pick from the inside fold of his jacket pocket. Heart beating, he scurried forward; he was doing his best to remain innocuous to the peripheral vision of the lovely lady distracting his chief obstacle.
Sidling up to the door, he slipped his lock pick in the deadbolt key hole, crouching to align his ear with the lock. These were always the easiest to Rafael Rontego. With a click, the bolt lifted.
With a great deal of caution, and a fair amount of apprehension, Rafael looked in the distance and saw the two potential lovers deep in conversation. Readjusting his lock pick, and stooping even further, aligning his eye with the hole, Rontego began sliding and shifting the three piece set. In a moment, the entry device was calibrated, and Rafael felt the grooves give way to another satisfying click.
The assassin turned the door knob. With one final glance down the hallway, Rafael disappeared into the private residence of Chris ‘The Pope’ Biela. The door shut behind him and he leaned against it in relief.
*
After a few minutes, the yelling died down and the foursome rode on in silence. Hi-Def leaned over Alex Vaughn and was trying to say something, but whatever it was, Alex couldn’t understand. His voice was still muted, and Alex figured the blast temporarily blew out his eardrums.
Vaughn was pretty sure he could hear just fine if the damned constant humming in his ear would just go away. Hi-Def asked another question, as evidenced by the quizzical look etched on his face.
Alex tried to sit up and said, “I can’t hear you, it’s the humming.”
He thought he said it normal enough, but he must not have been able to control his volume very well, as both Hambone and Elliot turned to regard him.
They shared a glance and Hi-Def turned Alex to face him and yelled, loud enough for Alex to hear, “It will go away soon, it’s from the explosion!”
Vaughn l
eaned backward against the side of the van and closed his eyes.
No shit, he thought to himself.
As the van bumped along the Buffalo streets, the tall downtown buildings morphed into the low level buildings that defined much of the older part of the city. There were not many pedestrians out at this hour and the few that were out were up to no good.
There was a lady selling her feminine wares on the corner of one street, her skirt hiked up and a pair of leather boots indicated her intent. The van came around another corner, slowing down as rundown housing lined the street on either side. The houses in this part of town were in varying degrees of disrepair. Paint peeled from the sides of buildings and overgrown lawns threatened to swallow the sidewalks.
If Alex didn’t know better, he would have thought several homes had late night garage sales, judging by the amount of personal effects littering the lawns and driveways.
As the vehicle drove onward, Alex noticed that his ears began to crackle as if someone was folding a piece of paper near his ear, but with each crackle his hearing began to return to normal. The van bounded down the uneven pavement until it got to a seedy looking home with a detached two car garage. The white paint was peeling on the sides of this house and it looked like it was a two story home. Its colonial style build was dilapidated, but Alex could see that once, maybe fifty years ago, this house was quite nice.
The two-car garage set back behind the house was equally as old, but looked like it’d painted of late. It was not your traditional, modern garage however, as the twin doors that opened outward were more akin to a barn type doorway than the mechanized garage doors that lifted to allow entry.
As they approached, the van slowed down and Hambone exited in order to pull open one of the garage doors. Alex noticed that he unlocked and removed a padlock in order to lift an iron hatch to allow for entry. When the latch was raised and the door swung open, Hambone disappeared into the side of the garage that remained shut.
For Nothing Page 16
