Honorable Assassin

by Jason Lord Case

  The truck driver that Lee Pierce had shot, just before succumbing to the Scotsman’s bullets, was an innocent man as far as Terry knew. He might have a wife and a brood of children left to fend for themselves. He might be supporting his aged mother in a nursing home somewhere or paying for the treatments of his Downs Syndrome brother. He might have… Terry brushed his teeth again and spit in the sink. He might have raped his little sister when he was young or tortured cats in the barn too. Nobody is completely innocent. Nobody is pure as the driven snow. He might have been cheating on his wife and not acknowledged a half a dozen illegitimate children. He might have been a serial killer himself.

  Terry lit a cigarette and cleared his throat noisily. He was getting sick of playing the game. It was time he took a more direct action. He had come to realize that nothing he did made any difference in the long run. It was just a short-term scarcity of supply and replaced in no time. He was doing the same work as the police. He also came to realize he was striking at the wrong end of the supply chain. The supply did not stop. He burned a truck load and another comes in right behind it. If he kills, or sets up a gangster for someone else to kill, there is another right behind him with his hand out and a hungry wallet.

  Terry was wasting his time attacking the drugs, he might as well try to stop the river. What he should be doing is going after the money. He had tried to hurt the Troy Brothers by destroying their shipments and then delivered more for them the next day. Somehow that didn’t make much sense to him any more. He was close enough now, or almost close enough, to inflict some real damage but as an insurance man himself, he didn’t want to do the wrong people any favors. He could not see torching a warehouse full of goods that had already been bought and sold once. That would allow the Troy Brothers a free ride to a massive insurance settlement. Plus, the Irishman was dead.

  The syrup in Terry’s head allowed him to think through all this but slowly, one piece at a time. The drugs had been an easy target once he knew where they were, but aside from a sense of moral righteousness that disappeared quickly, there was no payoff. But he hadn’t expected a payoff. He was not doing this to help himself to anything; he was doing it to hurt someone. But it was awfully tempting to take care of himself. After all there was cash in abundance and it was flowing to those he wanted to hurt. Why should he not take advantage of it?

  Action was always close behind decision with him, but without information he was swimming blindly. He needed to get closer to his target. He had complained to his uncle that he was becoming that which he detested but this did not seem so to him. Money has a way of blinding people.

  It took a few weeks after he broached the idea with Henry Cuthbert before he got a chance for a guard position. He had requested to be assigned to the clandestine cash delivery portion of the business. He had been told it did not exist. He was told it was all done with wire transfers and checks. He knew that was a lie. Drug dealing was always a cash business and always would be.

  Terry only got the position because one of the long-term employees on the cash run got prostate problems. He needed to piss every 10 minutes and it became a problem on the long runs between cities. That man was given a less restrictive position and his job was given to a younger man with a good record. Terry took the job as Thompson Barber.

  The van was not exactly armored in the traditional sense but it was reinforced. Steel plates and sand bags protected the passengers and there was a barrier between the driver and the back of the van. Terry would have expected to get the driver’s position but he got lucky. There was little protection for the driver and he would surely die in an attack. The main security of the run was in its anonymity. The labels on the van said “Proteus Armed Security” and for all intents and purposes it was a transport van for security guards. The runs were unpredictable as was the amount of cash transferred and it was not always in cash. The crew always knew what day to be ready but not always what time. One of the benefits of this position was that they never transported contraband of any sort.

  There were three other men in the van aside from himself; that included the driver. Sometimes one of the men from the back rode in the passenger seat and talked to the driver, sometimes all three of them sat in the back. They wore their Proteus Security uniforms to complete the disguise and the locked money bags were placed in a locked steel box welded to the inside of the van. It was a hefty affair but nothing that couldn’t be opened. Removing it would be more difficult.

  The position did not pay as well as some of the more dangerous driving jobs, but it did pay better than a regular security job. It was not exciting or challenging but it was right in the heart of the operation. The transport crew was not allowed to know how much they transported. The bag was locked when it went into the box and they never saw inside the bag. The only indication they had of change was the size of the bag itself and that could be very deceiving. The bag was always bigger the first week of the month and got smaller toward the end.

  It should be mentioned that Terry would by no means be the first to consider slipping the money from the van. There had been attempts from inside the organization before. Some of them involved others, outsiders, and some were just mavericks, cowboys. There had only been one such operation that had achieved any success and that was fleeting. A group of men had been rounded up and information was extracted from them. The trail led back to one of the guards and he was found, horribly mutilated, in a dumpster behind a restaurant. The trash was not picked up often, there, and the rats had made a mess of him by the time they found him. They also found his brother, killed but not mutilated, and his sister, raped and murdered. This had happened some years back and nobody had tried anything like it since. Being told about the incident was supposed to remind Terry what happens to those who cross the organization, it served to turn him in the opposite direction. Reminding him that the Troys would go after family, women and children, reinforced his commitment. It didn’t matter who replaced them as long as they were removed.

  The new position had more access to Randy Arganmajc. Although they had met once, Terry never spoke to him directly, for three reasons.

  Randy Arganmajc drove around in new luxury automobiles and wore expensive tailored suits. He was a member of at least two exclusive gentleman’s clubs and went sailing on the weekend. He rubbed elbows with the upper crust of society. Randy took those who worked for him for granted; they were invisible to him. Terry Kingston wanted to keep it that way.

  Randy was a sharp individual with a head for business. He calculated the angles of offers that crossed his desk and deals that approached him in the smoke-filled rooms of the clubs. If there was a possible benefit for him, he turned his attention toward it, regardless of who was making the offer. This was the one exception he made for his faceless subordinates. Terry had no offers for him and no deals to negotiate.

  Despite the fact that Randy was an arrogant child of privilege and a snob, he had quite a magnetic personality. Women were drawn to him and men sought his company. Randy was seldom alone and Terry did not like to be seen by people who might remember him. Moreover, he did not want to like Randy Arganmajc.

  When Randy had been forced to replace Mark Valentine and Bruno it had not taken long, but it had cost much in terms of revenue and connections. When he had the decision made for him that he would remove Victor Wellington from service, it had not been as costly. The man who replaced Victor Wellington, Gregory Spencer, was understandably nervous about making a decision. He wanted to check with Randy about everything and was desperate to display his loyalty. At first Randy had found it endearing but it got stale quickly. He knew Gregory was not real management material but his available workforce was diminished. The raids the police had done before the Olympics and the predations of the Irishman had left the younger candidates leery of a career in crime. There would always be men willing to join the organization, but real talent was scarce.

  Once Terry had been working within the organization for a time, he began to ask a
bout some of the legendary figures that had preceded him. The only one he was really interested in was The Viper. There was an aura of mystery about him and he had different people tell him different theories about who The Viper really was, but no one had any solid evidence of where he had gone or what had happened. He had simply disappeared. The more intelligent of the crowd knew he had been killed simply because “There’s no such thing as an old assassin.”

  There were no records of when men took positions of power in the underworld. Men’s memories were unclear and distorted but it seemed the consensus of opinion was that Randy had taken his present position in 1987. His predecessor, Felix Ribbaldi, had been in power for a long time but had gotten sloppy. He was lured into the cocaine trap and had been addicted to it badly. It was not difficult to look up the records on Felix. Felix had been indicted for trafficking in cocaine and had been offered a deal if he testified against his superiors and suppliers. Felix Ribbaldi had never made it to trial. He had been killed by a .50 caliber round while in custody. The case was still open since the killer had never been found.

  Terry’s eyes opened wide as he read the old news stories. He had no doubt about who had killed Felix Ribbaldi. The Viper had killed him. Pieces began to fall into place. The information had been there all along, he had simply not known what he was looking for. The answer to the question that had been plaguing him since he was eight years old was right in front of him. All his moral reservations and uncertainty were washed away in a white hot flash of rage and he saw, once again, his mother’s brains being blown all over the hospital wall.

  It took all he had not to make a mistake at this point. He wanted a drink but refused to go down that path. He wanted to barge into the Riggers Club and blow Randy Arganmajc’s brains all over the velvet upholstery but he maintained his seat. He had not done any drugs in a while, it was frowned on in his position, and he did not even consider that outlet. He sat and considered his options carefully. The library would be closing soon and the wrinkled old crone of a librarian was gently reminding the remaining customers of that.

  Terry’s head spun as he drove back to his apartment. He had been driving the Holden for months now and parking it a couple of blocks away in a rented garage. The walk to the apartment let him check to see if he was being followed. While some might have considered that paranoia, others would have seen it as a reasonable precaution.

  While the computer was a wonderful tool, Terry always wrote his letters by hand and mailed them at the post office.

  Uncle,

  I have discovered that which I sought. The problem came from Iran and was diverted here somehow. I would like very much to talk to this Iranian. If you could make that happen I would appreciate it. I will enlighten you as to the true nature of this business when we share a cup of tea.

  Sincerely,

  Terry

  The dreams that punctuated his sleep that night were horrific and violent. When he awoke the next day it was as if he had never slept. His co-workers commented on his condition but he told them he was hung over again. Being young and prone to tipping a few, his excuse was accepted out of hand.

  When Ginger got the letter, he became somewhat concerned. The Iranian diverted to Australia was obviously the .50 caliber Barrett. That rifle had not been employed in many years. The last time it had been used in an operation was when George had taken it for a job shortly before he had been killed and the only thing Ginger could think of was the assault on the Troy’s armored limousine. He hoped his nephew was not planning on doing something stupid. The cup of tea was a pre-arranged signal indicating the room in Orange.

  Summer was over and it had been a hot one. The sky was overcast and all the farmers were hoping it would rain once or twice before harvest time. The trip to Orange seemed to take forever and it was dark when Ginger carried the crate containing the rifle into the room. At the last second he hesitated and then he took the ammunition back to the truck. He was very concerned and wanted to talk to Terry before allowing him to use such a unique weapon. “Do not call attention to yourself,” was his thought. Death from afar would call attention to the job.

  Terry did not make it to Orange until Saturday. He noted that Ginger had left the weapon and not the ammunition. He knew he had to visit the farm but felt he needed to clear his head a bit first. He called Linda Pierce and got a cool reception. They had not been in contact much after the scheme that had ended her ex-husband’s life. It had been a necessity that they stay apart for a while.

  By the time they saw each other in person, however, Linda had gotten over being angry. They enjoyed each other’s company the rest of the day and Terry left in the morning to visit his Uncle. Linda went back home knowing subconsciously that she had been used and not caring much.

  Sunday was rainy, though not rainy enough for the crops. Ginger was welding some equipment back together when his nephew pulled in the driveway. Hercules went mad until he realized it was Terry. After a few minutes, the two men went inside and had some lemonade. They made small talk for a while, talking about the crops and the dogs and the sheep. Then Terry asked why there had been no ammunition with the sniper rifle.

  “I know you’re a grown man and capable of making your own decisions,” Ginger said slowly, “but I’m afraid you’re about to go into an operation of a personal nature. That rifle has not been used on anything but trees for a long time.”

  “It works perfectly. There is nothing wrong with it.”

  “I am not so concerned about the gun, as the man. Nobody uses a weapon like that outside of combat. Your father only used it once and I’m afraid the police will make the connection instantly. More than that, I’m sure the men you are currently consorting with will know. Whatever your father did with that rifle probably caused his death.”

  “I know that. That’s why I wanted it. I want them to know.”

  “You’re not using your head. They knew who your father was. They knew his real name. If his weapon suddenly surfaces, they will make the connection instantly and will come looking for me. And you. It’s going to take more than a big dog to stop them. I’m not telling you not to do this thing, I’m suggesting that you use a different tool.”

  “I thought it would only be right if I used the Barrett.”

  “I won’t forbid you from using it, I’m only saying it is too risky. If you do this thing, you’ll be signing my death warrant and yours as well.”

  “You may be right. What would you suggest?”

  “What happened to the SP66?”

  “I left it in the Irishman’s trailer, well, Linda did, actually. It was the final bit of evidence proving his identity as the Irishman.”

  “Oh… Good move.”

  “Right. Even the coppers were happy with that one.”

  “Well then, the Irishman’s been retired. He was useful while he existed and now he’s dead. I suggest we use a new approach. Tell me, is it the Troy Brothers this time?”

  “No. I think it was their number one contact in Sydney that gave the order to have my father killed. Randy Arganmajc took control right after Felix Ribbaldi was shot through the chest with a .50 caliber round.”

  “Now I understand. Your father did the man and they had him killed for it. Did you find out why your father was contracted to kill the man?”

  “He was turning state’s evidence. He had been caught and was squealing like a pig.”

  “There is still something missing. I don’t know what but there is something missing.”

  “I thought so too, but I can’t find it.”

  “Stay the night and we’ll formulate something.”

  “I can’t, I have a job of sorts. It involves guarding and transporting money rather than contraband and it gives me a proper in, as well as an alibi.”

  “All right then. I urge you not to use the Barrett.”

  “I guess you’re right. I will take a few of those sticks of dynamite, then, and a detonator.”

  “Oh, a detonator. A fuse is not good
enough for you any more?”

  “Come off it, Uncle. You’re teasing me now.”

  Before he left, Terry got a canvas bag full of explosives and .50 caliber shells.

  When he had first taken command of the Sydney underground, Randy Arganmajc had been a very cautious man. A security team had covered him constantly. He not only used them for protection against assassination, he used them for proof that he was not in contact with any one from the other side of the line. He felt, back then, that a little bit of suspicion would get him the same fate Felix Ribbaldi had earned. Over the years, the need for the constant protection had waned but then the Irishman problem had cropped up and he had been forced to replace his subordinates repeatedly. He wanted to reinstitute the protection squad but now he was too short on men. Sydney had been hit hardest by the recent events. The courts had released some of the men rounded up before the Olympics but there were others that had been sentenced to long terms in prison. Many of the new men came from outside of the Sydney area and, while some of them had skills, they did not have contacts and they did not inspire faith.

  In the 14 or so years that Randy Arganmajc had been in charge of the Sydney area, he had never been arrested or assassinated. His secret was simple; he distanced himself from the business and ran it from afar. He did not do the street drugs that brought in so much money. He did not gamble ostentatiously, though sometimes he needed to show some excess to out of town clients. He had certain women that he consorted with and he kept them in fine style as long as they were available to him when he desired them and did not bother him when he did not.