by Stan Mason
There was a short pause before a reply emerged. ‘You’re an hour early,’ muttered the man testily.
‘I’ve got some trouble with my watch,’ lied Danny easily. ‘I wasn’t sure of the exact time so I came early.’
There was a pause and the outside door opened with a buzzing sound as the release control was pressed from inside the apartment. Danny entered and looked around bleakly at a number of doors in the corridor. Where was Lorna Evans being kept? Which one was the right apartment? He climbed the stairs and his good fortune continued because a door opened and a plain-clothed policeman came outside to meet him.
‘Hey, you’re not my replacement!’ he retorted on seeing the violin case in the visitor’s hand.
Before he could utter another sound or raise the alarm, Danny swung the case wildly which hit the man squarely in the centre of his forehead, smashing his skull. He entered the apartment and locked the door behind him securely using all the security bolts to prevent anyone else from entering. The light was on in the lounge but all the other doors were closed. He turned the handle of the bedroom door slowly and peered inside. A wall-light had been switched on and he could see Lorna sleeping in the bed. She was a very attractive woman and he mused that it seemed such a waste of adorable human life to send her swiftly into the next world. There was so much a young attractive woman had to offer and there they were, just the two of them, all alone in the apartment. Without haste, he removed his clothes and edged into the bed beside her. She awoke with alarm, staring at him in disbelief.
‘Who the hell are you?’ she reproached loudly. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get out of this bed!’
‘I’m Danny,’ he returned gently. ‘Calm yourself, Linda. Vittorio sent me. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Get out of this bed!’ she demanded.
‘I will,’ he responded, ‘but only after we’ve made love.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’’ she rattled angrily. ‘I’m calling security. I don’t know how you got in here but there’s a man in the next room ready to protect me.’ She moved ready toleave the bed but he took her arm and held her firmly.
‘Not any more he ‘ain’t,’ he countered with a smile touching the edges of his lips.
She stared at him for a moment and then recoiled. ‘Oh, my God, you’ve come here to kill me, haven’t you?’
‘It doesn’t have to be like that, Linda,’ he told her. ‘I could let you live and you can disappear somewhere else... maybe abroad. It’s not written in stone. But you have to play ball with me before that happens.’
She pulled the sheet up to her shoulders and pressed herself back on the headboard thinking about his remark. ‘And what guarantee do I have of staying alive if I make love to you?’
‘It’s all a matter of trust, honey. But if you want me to get on with my job I can do just that. Alternatively, if we make love together, we leave here together and I help you hide away from Mario Buloni for ever. You don’t testify; you simply disappear. And, after a year or so, you can lead a normal life anywhere you want with no one the slightest bit interested in who you are. How about that?’
She huffed and puffed for a few moments. ‘Are you certain you won’t kill me if we make... ’
‘Sweetheart,’ he interrupted, ‘you’re far safer with me than you are with the cops. I mean, if I can find you so can a hundred other guys. You’re dead meat without me.’
‘You realise I don’t have any feelings for you,’ she retorted. ‘None at all.’
‘Who cares?’ he told her. ‘The main thing is that I lust for you. Just lie back and enjoy it.’ He ran his hand along her chin and neck and, in her semi-sleepy state, she responded slightly. After that, it was plain sailing. His technique was so perfect she could hardly believe she was being seduced. He was a master at the art and, what originally was going to be a horrendous act lasting just a few minutes, became a lasting joy she would remember until her dying day.
Forty-five minutes later, when they were both satisfied, they lay back on the bed panting and looking at the ceiling.
‘You really are something,’ she told him candidly. ‘I’ve never been made love to like that before.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he returned casually. ‘Most men are just ignorant animals. They’re stupid... only after one thing. They never think about how they can satisfy a woman.’
‘Well you can certainly do that.’ She turned and stared at him closely with a warm expression in her eyes. ‘Suddenly, Vittorio doesn’t mean anything to me at all. Not any more.’ She paused to reflect for a moment. ‘You did mean what you said about letting me go.’
‘I always keep a promise, honey,’ he said slowly. ‘You really are safer with me than with the cops. How the hell did you let yourself get into this mess? I mean, squealin’ on the mob is a death-defying act to say the least. You know you should always keep your mouth shut.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do. But let me ask you something. Wherever I go, will you come with me.’
‘I may do for a while. But you know what I do. I’m a hit man. Doesn’t that kinda scare you?’
‘It would with anyone else but you’re different. Very different. I trust you.’
He leaned across to kiss her on the lips and she responded fully, throwing her arm around him for another round of sexual engagement. However, at that moment, the front door of the apartment blasted inwards as explosive was used to gain entry. Before either the assassin or the woman could rise from the bed, a man burst into the bedroom holding a pistol in his hand which was pointed directly at Danny’s heart.
‘Okay, just stay where you are!’ he ordered.
‘Harry?’ declared Danny uncertainly. ‘Harry Moreton? Is that you? Are you the guy who’s been following me?’ ‘Yeh, it’s me alright. Much the worse for you. You see the mob hired me to take you out after you did away with Miss Evans here. I don’t think I’m goin’ to disappoint them, do you?’
‘Hey, hold on a minute, Harry. This ‘ain’t right.’ He climbed out of the bed and walked slowly towards the window. ‘You know the cops are out there.’
‘Yeh, I saw what you did to the one who was in here.’ He moved the gun to follow the assassin. ‘Stop right where you are, dammit. I said don’t move.’ He glanced at Linda who was at the edge of the bed in the opposite direction.
‘Come on, Harry. We’re old friends,’ claimed Danny calmly. ‘I wouldn’t do you any harm.’
‘Not half you wouldn’t. If the mob paid you, you’d do away with me in an instant.’
Danny stared out of the window. ‘Hey, I think the cop’s coming over here. Look!’
Harry moved slightly towards the window keeping an eye on his quarry as he covered him with the revolver. He peered out screwing up his eyes. ‘I can’t see anyone.’
At the moment the man looked out of the window, Linda leapt from the bed and reached into the holster which lay on Danny’s clothing. She pulled the gun from its socket and pointed it at the intruder. ‘Okay!’ she yelled, ‘drop it! Drop it right now or I’ll shoot you straight through the head.’
Moreton thought about the situation for a moment and, after eyeing the pistol pointed at his head, he dropped his revolver.
‘Wow,’ declared Danny in admiration, picking up the other man’s gun, ‘I couldn’t have done it better myself. But all credit to you for realising what I had in mind when I went to the window. You know, you and me are gonna make a good pair. I feel it in my bones. Come on, let’s get dressed and get outta here! You cover him while I get my clothes on.’
Three minutes later, they moved towards the door to leave but halted when they came face to face with Maria Vedetti.
‘Who are you?’ asked Danny in surprise, staring at the gun, which had been fitted with a silencer, held in her hand which was pointed in his direc
tion.
‘She’s Maria Vedetti, employed by the gang to carry out the slot machine operations.
‘You’re wrong there,’ replied the intruder bluntly. ‘I’m Maria Cortonezzi, an undercover agent working for the drug squad. We’ve been following Mr. Buloni’s activities for a long time. I managed to infiltrate the mob and now I’m here to pick up the pieces. Lorna Evans must testify. It’s crucial to our case.’
At that moment, Harry Moreton bent down as if to do up his shoelace. Instead, he reached inside his left trouser leg and produced a small pistol which he raised and pointed at the other three. Maria Cortonezzi didn’t pause for a second. She fired two shots in rapid succession quickly ending the life of the unfortunate assassin.
‘Nothing must ever stop her from testifying,’ she spat obsessively. ‘Nothing!’
‘And what about me?’ The voice came from the hallway. They all turned their attention to find out the identity of yet another visitor. This time it was Vittorio. ‘I heard what you said Maria. It wasn’t very nice. I mean, you pretend to be my girlfriend but you really intend to put my father and me behind bars for a very long time. Okay, you can put down the gun now. I’ve got you covered.’ He emerged from the shadows holding a revolver in his hand and he wore an expression which told her he was ready to use it without further warning. Maria dropped her gun turning her back on him. ‘So you’re an undercover agent working for the drug squad,’ he went on dryly. ‘How very interesting.’ She turned slightly to stare at him but he reproached her immediately. ‘No, don’t turn round. Stay exactly where you are!’ He stared at the body of Harry Moreton raising his eyebrows slightly. ‘Who killed Harry?’ he asked.
‘She did,’ replied Lorna sharply. ‘She shot him!’
‘Naughty, naughty!’ commented Vittorio casually.
Suddenly, without warning, Maria turned towards him with another gun in her hand which she had hidden in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She fired point-blank at Buloni whose finger pressed the trigger on his own gun. He sank to his knees momentarily shot through the heart and then fell face downwards dead as a doornail. Unfortunately for Danny Frost, when Vittorio pressed the trigger on his gun it was aimed directly at his head. Subsequently, he fell to the floor having already passed on to the next world. In a moment of panic, Lorna fired her gun at Maria, killing her instantly. Suddenly, there were four bodies laying on the floor and she was the only person standing with a gun in her hand. With presence of mind, she wiped her fingerprints off the handle and dropped it on the floor. This was the moment she would disappear from the world to adopt an entirely new identity in a place where no one would suspect her. The police would believe she had been snatched by the mob and was most probably standing in the deepest part of the river wearing cement boots. After putting on a headscarf which covered most of her face, she left the apartment and walked down the street practically unnoticed by the policeman sitting on the park bench opposite. After that, she took a train to a distant city and became lost in its rush and bustle for ever.
Mario Buloni sat alone in his office with his head in his hands. Life was very cruel. It seemed that fate had accorded him the honour of being left all on his own in his old age. It appeared to him that everyone who mattered in his life had left him. Firstly, there was his wife, Bridget, who had deserted him some years earlier. Then his two daughters had left home because their views elevated them to the high moral ground and they could not bear to live in the same house as drug-dealers and racketeers. Now his son, Vittorio, had disappeared. No doubt he had run off with the voluptuous Maria Vedetti which was a double blow to the Godfather who had now lost his slot machine operations director as well. And there was a letter from the Court telling him that the Writ had been cancelled and he was not being charged as previously recorded. What was all that about? He presumed that Lorna Evans had changed her mind and decided not to act as a witness against him. He tried to ring Danny Frost, the assassin sent to kill her, and then Harry Moreton but there was never any answer on either of their mobile telephones. Filled with self pity, he carried on with his illegal activities, upgrading lower staff to the positions left by the previous occupants. However, the thing that stuck in his gullet was the fact that he had a prosperous empire in his grasp with no one to leave it to. No one!
Praise Be The Lord
George Callard was not a religious man, not in any sense of the word. He would avoid going to church like the plague wincing whenever he was forced by his wife to attend the service. So firm was his resistance that he even disliked going to the temple on weddings and funerals. Throughout a very uneventful life, he had often tortured his mind concerning the possible existence of God or of some higher supreme authority who had formed the universe and shaped man himself. Over the years, he had changed his mind more often than he cared to admit. For most of the time, he teetered on the edge of atheism denying the very existence of God. Occasionally, he believed himself to be an agnostic, taking the philosophical view that it was impossible to know whether or not God actually existed. Alternatively, he reluctantly accepted in principle the possibility of the existence of a powerful deity overlooking the whole of the firmament, However, uncertainty continued to pervade his mind so effectively that he bordered mainly on the belief that there was no such entity as God. After all, he reasoned, how was it possible for a spirit to exist in space... supreme or otherwise? After all, if there was, what was he, she or it doing up there for the benefit of humanity? And what did he do all day long? The possibility of a grand spiritual deity worshipped by most people in the world seemed very ludicrous to him. Furthermore, he was vexed by the fact that there were so many divisions in each religion. For example in the Islam religion there were Sunnis and Shi’ites. In the Christian religion there were Anglicans, Catholics, Baptists, Presbyterians, Seventh Day Adventists, and a whole host of others. And they all resented each other. Surely all that was evidence that the religion was man-made and had no real bearing on whether there was a God or not.
The latest advance in his thinking was to throw himself deeply into the abyss of atheism... not to believe in God at all... and he considered that he had good reason to think that way. One morning, he had awoken with a sore throat and felt two small lumps protruding from the side of his neck. He visited the local surgery where the doctor immediately told him the bad news. He was suffering from cancer of the throat and needed treatment as soon as possible. Why him? Why cancer? Surely, if there was a God who had formed mankind in his own image, he would not allow diseases, ailments or suffering to affect people in this world! But the evidence was there for all to see... he did! He allowed it to happen! And there was no answer to the logic of it all unless, in reality, people were fooling themselves because there was really no God in the firmament or anywhere at all. The scientists always had a ready answer for matters which related to the universe. They were quite clear in their deliberations on how the universe was formed and how mankind eventually developed. They were absolutely certain it had happened by natural events. Of course, there were a few missing pieces in the jig-saw puzzle of life but that was understandable as a result of the passing of millions of years with no one around to record what was occurring in the environment. However, they were very positive about scientific data and human development. And what about all the diseases which plagued people throughout the world? They were caused by either bacteria, spores, or viruses which could, in time, be countered by antidotes... even snakebites! And then there were diseases such as cancer... various malignant tumours caused by abnormal division of cells which invaded surrounding tissues and often spread to other parts of the body through the blood. So what was God doing about it and how did he fit into such a scenario? The answer to George Callard’s mind was that he didn’t fit in at all because he didn’t exist!
His wife, Irene, was a God-fearing woman in her own right. She made a great effort to attend the church service every week but for one reason or another
eventually slipped back to go only once each month. Now, on a very cold late-November Sunday, she managed to induce her husband to accompany her to the church. After all, there was every reason for him to pray to the Lord now that he had contracted cancer of the throat. He needed all the help he could get... both medically and spiritually. Not only that, but she had always hoped in her heart that one day he would accept God to enjoy the satisfaction of believing in the religion as she did. They sat in a pew near the rear of the church, near to the place where the font was located, and shivered in the bitter cold. The great grey stone walls seemed to absorb every vestige of warmth permeating through the building and, on that particular day, for reasons of its own, the oil-fuel boiler had refused to light, plunging the building into wicked iciness.
‘I’m freezing!’ complained Callard bitterly to his wife, pulling his coat more tightly around his body. ‘The vicar just told us that Christ suffered for me. Well I think the boot’s now on the other foot. I’m sitting here in this blasted freezing morgue suffering for him.’
‘Shut up and concentrate on your worship,’ advised Irene curtly, although she felt just as miserable because of the coldness which seemed to consume her body.
‘I would if I believed in all this rubbish,’ exclaimed her husband in a whisper. ‘The place is full of old people. Just look at them! What happens when they all die? No one will come to this church. What’ll happen then, eh? The young haven’t any time for religion these days. It’s not an in-thing. Especially when it’s so damned boring.’
‘Watch your language!’ chided his wife angrily. ‘The service will be over in less than an hour! Then you can go home and look at the television all day long! That’s what you want to do. But while we’re here, I ask you to respect my wishes.’
He fell silent for a while and contemplated his condition. It had been a terrible shock to him when the doctor revealed to him the seriousness of his ailment. Within two weeks, he had been granted an appointment to attend the local hospital for chemotherapy and radiation treatment. Unfortunately, the combined effects of the cure had a deleterious effect on his health causing him to suffer badly. The doctors used a transparent mask to cover his head, allowing only a small part of his neck to be subject to the radiation. Subsequently, his face swelled up like a balloon and his apetite vanished almost overnight. All his taste buds were destroyed and he found it exceedingly difficult to swallow. His life had been unexpectedly turned upside down in a matter of a few weeks, yet here he sat on a pew in his local church ostensibly praying to a supreme deity who was quite happy to allow such an awful thing to happen to him. It was quite unbelievable to have to suffer such punishment when God, if he existed, could have prevented it. But then, if the scientists were right, there was no God and his condition was natural... suffered by millions of people every year all over the world. His condition had bordered on the edge of passing from this world to the next through an awful disease and, in effect, he was not out of the woods yet. So why did he have to pray to a non-existent God? He didn’t want to suffer cancer in the first place. Now he was forced to endure the cure which was even worse. It was all rather inexplicable to him.
