One Last Kill

by Spenser Warren

  “Can we get serious for a minute? Save your arguing for later.”

  Frankie looked at Vinnie like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Meransky waved his hand forward as if it were nothing, and Melissa tiptoed carefully back to the couch with a fresh martini for her and a vodka soda for Vinnie.

  “What, you don’t bother to get me nothing?” Frankie asked.

  “Enough,” Vinnie said. “You all saw my father’s mood before he took that phone call. Imagine what he’s going to be like if it’s bad news. Frankie’s right, we have to find a way to keep him calm.”

  “I’ve never seen him like that in all our years together,” Frankie said, returning to his seat. “Yelling, screaming. I’ve seen that. I’ve never seen him do the damage he just did, though.”

  Vinnie glanced over at what remained of the small circular wooden table between the great room and the kitchen. A substantial bronze sculpture sat atop the table, most of which had been driven into the floor. Even for being expensive decor, the fancy table wasn’t able to withstand the impact of the decorative sculpture.

  Vinnie wondered where the chairs had gone before remembering they’d been flung across the room. Wood pieces lay scattered from the visible portion of the foyer to the door of Alfredo’s office. It had been a temper tantrum for the ages. Vinnie hoped that, unlike many of his father’s bursts of outrage, his next action wouldn’t lead to a rash and faulty business decision.

  “I mean, what can this possibly be about? I feel like I should know what’s going on with the mayor. C’mon, somebody hit me.”

  Vinnie glared hard at Meransky, and the capo wilted like overcooked kale into his seat. Vinnie smiled inside, knowing he had Meransky under his thumb. Frankie looked at Vinnie and shrugged his shoulders. Vinnie nodded, allowing Frankie to share what exactly was going on.

  “Cal’s going after a guy who used to work for us. Some guy I don’t remember. It was probably three or four years back. Maybe he was one of yours.”

  Meransky jumped forward, lifting his backbone off of the cushion with an authority that Alfredo would be proud of. “One of mine? One of my guys would never cause Alfredo to flip his shit like that.”

  “We don’t know for sure whose guy he was,” Melissa said. Her eyes were as icy as the cubes rising in Frankie’s scotch glass.

  Meransky sank back into the seat again. “Go ahead.”

  “Anyway,” Frankie continued, “one of the aldermen was at City Hall a few months back. Guy’s a good friend of ours. Has been tight with us for years. Says he saw this shady character heading to Mayor Caruso’s office. Superintendent Walker was going in with him.”

  “Wait, what? The chief of police was chumming around with an ex-mobster? Walker doesn’t like us one bit. He’s one fucker who can’t be bought,” Meransky said.

  “No shit, Al,” Melissa said. “Let Frankie finish the story.”

  Frankie picked up his empty glass and tilted it back, swirling some melting ice cubes into his mouth. Melissa slinked off the couch and grabbed the glass when Frankie put it down, giving him a pout as she walked away with it.

  “Aw, thank you, dear. I knew you were a good girl.” Frankie turned away from Melissa and back to Meransky. “Again, I’ll reiterate what the hell is going on. This guy and Walker go into the mayor’s office, and our alderman buddy starts chatting it up with the receptionist at the front of the office. They’re real good friends. Walker leaves after a few minutes, but the guy stays in there. It’s a half hour, then an hour, then an hour and a half.”

  “The alderman was chatting with the secretary that whole time?” Meransky asked.

  “No, numb nuts. He got her to call him when the guy left. Found out the name of the guy. George MacErlean. He called Alfredo and said he looked like a guido, might be one of ours. What’s a guido doing with Mayor Caruso? A guy who hates our guts despite all we’ve done for the bastard.”

  Vinnie nodded along with the story. It was a story his father had told him many times before. Why Meransky felt the need to know all the details when they had it under control was beyond him, but he knew it was his job as underboss to put everyone on the same page to talk some sense into his father.

  “Only it’s not a coincidence,” Vinnie said. “The mayor gave his state of the city speech and mentioned how organized crime, aka us, is responsible for the increased violent crime rate. He placed a target on our backs.”

  “Ah,” Meransky said. “And that’s when you knew that MacErlean tipped the mayor off.”

  “Precisely,” Vinnie said. “Only we aren’t sure what he told the mayor. My father’s been nervous about it for a long time. That’s why we met with Frankie and sent Cal on surveillance.”

  Meransky scratched behind his ear and jerked his thumb toward the office. “Okay. Something must have happened to cause him to go berserk. What do you think it was?”

  Vinnie shook his mane of hair again and tapped his palms on his thighs. “I’m not sure. Cal was going to grab him today. Maybe something went wrong.”

  “Cal went to find out what the little rat knows,” Frankie said, smiling as Melissa returned with his drink. “Let’s hope our man delivered.”

  “Cal’s the best. Of course he delivered.” Melissa tucked her legs beneath her and flipped her bleached-blonde hair in place behind her head. She batted her eyelashes, then rolled her eyes as the men stared at her. “Trust me, I know a stud when I see one. I’ve met a lot of big shots since taking on this gig, including spending more time with you boys. Outside of Cal, I haven’t seen too many studs.”

  A loud bang caused all four of them to jump out of their seats. Alfredo’s office door opened. The clanking sound of leather soles pounded the hardwood floor like a horse trotting on a cobblestone courtyard, riding to victory at the command of a king’s knight.

  “What is it?” Al Meransky asked. Even seated behind him, Vinnie could see Meransky’s scrambled-eggs-and-bacon expression, eyes and lips running down his face in all directions.

  Alfredo smiled like he’d won the Illinois Lottery. The room took a collective deep breath; even the broken furniture was able to exhale.

  “Good news, lady and gents. We’ve got him.”

  3

  After battling the evening traffic for half an hour, Tony Fregosi drove slowly down Mackinaw Avenue. The street was a dead end, and a brick wall stood off the corner of the vacant lot where Frankie Ramone had suggested they take MacErlean. An old cinder-block shed that hadn’t been used in years was barely visible from the dark street. It would be the perfect spot for Cal to get to work.

  Tony shut off the engine and opened the driver’s-side door.

  “Don’t even think about going in with us,” Cal said to Tony. “Stay with the car. You can take my gun just in case. Between my knife and Fonzie’s gun, I don’t think we’ll need it.”

  Tony’s confident posture slumped back in his seat before he could exit the vehicle. “C’mon, Cal. When am I going to finally be a part of some real action?”

  Cal placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder and stared into his eyes. “Look, kid, you’re not ready for this kind of stuff. Torturing and killing people isn’t for fun. You’ve already done more than enough.”

  Fonzie stood at the back of the car and struggled to pull MacErlean’s stiff body out of the back seat. He’d pistol-whipped MacErlean when he wouldn’t shut up on the drive over.

  Cal handed Tony his gun, a Beretta M9, and moved to help Fonzie with MacErlean. They needed to get him inside before he regained consciousness.

  Cal picked up MacErlean’s limp form and slung him over his shoulder. Fonzie’s mouth was agape at the display.

  “You lift, bruh?”

  “Something like that.”

  Cal carried MacErlean toward the small shed. It resembled a public park restroom rather than the small toolshed it had been. A house under construction on the lot had burned down, but the shed had survived the fire.

  “Could this place be any more rev
olting?” Cal asked once they were inside.

  The smell of the place was horrid. Broken vials of crack littered the floor and half-eaten McDonald’s hamburgers rotted around them. A rather large rat skirted the perimeter of the room toward a Big Gulp cup.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers. Let’s tie this knucklehead up before he comes to.”

  Fonzie started tying MacErlean to one of two metal folding chairs left in the shed. Cal meandered over to join him as he recalled his first kill. He was only twelve years old. His father had just been murdered, and his beautiful, loving mother had died a few months later.

  While Cal hadn’t mourned his father’s death, due to his drunken abuse of him and his mother, he discovered that day that he’d inherited his father’s rage. Rage that was blind enough to cause him to do something unthinkable, something he realized few people seriously contemplate doing—taking another human life. That kill was the event that had set his life as a hit man in motion.

  Cal blinked and forced the memory to evaporate as MacErlean began to stir. He saw the same terror in his eyes that Cal had seen in the young boy seventeen years earlier.

  “Help! I’m in here with two crazy bastards!”

  “Damn right you are,” Fonzie said. “And we don’t have time for any of your shit.”

  Cal watched as MacErlean tried to shake free of the ropes that bound him. It would prove useless. Fonzie and Cal weren’t Boy Scouts, but they knew how to tie a solid knot.

  “What do you people want? They don’t pay me nearly enough for this shit. Let me go, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Great. A man without a backbone who’ll tell you anything you want to hear just to save his own ass.

  Cal pulled his jackknife from the pocket of his slacks and released the blade. Better to show off the weapons early and prove he meant business.

  Cal strode toward MacErlean and held the blade against the side of his face. MacErlean’s entire body shook. Sweat trickled from his forehead, joining the dried blood caked under his nose and around his mouth from Fonzie’s pistol-whipping. Cal could smell the fear on his breath. He’d killed enough men to know that, even when someone knew death was imminent, they couldn’t fight their body’s own evolutionary instincts for survival.

  He made a small incision above MacErlean’s cheekbone. Just enough to leave a gentle cut. MacErlean screamed and would’ve jumped out of his skin had the ropes not been holding him down.

  “My friend Fonzie has told you that I’m one of the best. When the shit hits the fan, I’m the guy Alfredo Petrocelli calls to clean up. So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to ask you a few questions. How you answer those questions determines whether you walk out of here alive or not. Got it?”

  MacErlean’s voice trembled. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Fonzie smiled and shifted his head to the left. Cal took the cue and backed off from MacErlean, closing the blade and putting the knife back in his pocket. MacErlean exhaled a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. Cal stepped forward and fired a hard right hook into MacErlean’s cheek.

  The force of the blow was so strong, MacErlean would’ve hurtled backward had Fonzie not been there to hold the chair in place. Cal backed off again and paced in front of the chair. Fonzie had moved to the other side so Cal could strike the left cheek. Cal struck again, this time in the same spot Fonzie had nailed him in the car. MacErlean let out a shrieking cry that nearly pierced Cal’s eardrums.

  Fonzie pulled a second chair next to MacErlean. Cal walked toward it. He preferred dealing with his victims at eye level. It made it so they were on the same playing field.

  “MacErlean, you’ve seen I don’t play games. If I don’t like what I hear from you, there’s plenty more where those punches came from. Even if you do manage to get out of here alive, your face will be so bruised and battered that you’re gonna wish I’d killed you.”

  MacErlean sobbed. Cal wondered if MacErlean thought it was worth it to sell out the Petrocelli family to the mayor and break the law of omertà.

  “You said you weren’t paid enough to deal with this shit earlier. Who’s paying you? Who are you working for?”

  MacErlean sniffled and stared at the ground below.

  “Security guys. They work for the mayor. That’s all I know, I swear.”

  Fonzie eyed Cal. Cal shook his head. Fonzie liked to occasionally get in on the action and add his own brand of violence, but that wasn’t needed. Not now.

  “Are those the guys who tried to gun us down outside the theater?”

  MacErlean nodded. He fixated his gaze on Cal and his sobs ceased. “Those two protect the mayor. They’re his bodyguards.”

  “So why were they protecting you, dipshit?” Fonzie asked.

  Cal glared at Fonzie, unappreciative of the interruption. He looked back at MacErlean.

  “Answer the question.”

  MacErlean closed his eyes. “The mayor wanted to keep me around. He wanted to make sure nothing happened to me.”

  “Why would the mayor work so hard to keep you around? You’re a bad actor who couldn’t hack it driving cars for the mafia back in the day.”

  MacErlean appeared to hesitate. This was the point in the altercation where Cal knew he’d have to press harder. He knew MacErlean wouldn’t give up what he’d said to the mayor that easily.

  Cal decided to try one last time. He knew Fonzie had a knife on him in addition to the gun. He nodded at Fonzie and mentally prepared himself for the scream as Fonzie pulled out his knife and slashed MacErlean across the throat. It wasn’t a particularly deep cut—Fonzie was sure not to cut the carotid artery—but it would do the job just as well. MacErlean’s eyes bulged in horror as blood rushed down his neck, staining his white dress shirt even further.

  Only air escaped MacErlean’s throat as he tried to scream. It was time to make him spill his guts before his imminent death. Cal readied his own knife, preparing to make one last cut should MacErlean remain silent or deny the truth.

  “MacErlean, you are going to die. I’m going to ask you nicely before I cut you in a more sensitive place. Why was the mayor protecting you?”

  MacErlean gurgled as more blood spurted from his throat. Cal felt like ending it now and putting him out of his misery.

  “I…I spoke to the mayor. Told him…told him.” MacErlean coughed some more, so violently that Cal was sure he would pass out before he faded into death.

  “Told him what?” Cal’s voice growled in anger. He should’ve taken more time to think this through. Despite MacErlean’s admission of the mayor’s bodyguards, Cal had nothing to go back to Alfredo with. It could cost him.

  MacErlean fought the pain and spoke up again. His words were softer, and Cal and Fonzie had to lean closer to hear him. “I shared Alfredo Petrocelli’s grandest secret with the mayor. It wasn’t about business. It wasn’t about the drugs, the prostitution, the loan-sharking…Caruso doesn’t give a shit about that.”

  MacErlean kept coughing. “The mayor knows…he knows how to put an end to Alfredo Petrocelli once and for all. And it’s all because of me.”

  The informant started laughing now. Blood continued to pour out of his throat. He was transforming from a man doomed for death to a man filled with life.

  Cal couldn’t let MacErlean laugh at him like he had won. It reminded him of the young boy talking shit about his father after his death. Anger welled up in Cal and he began to move the knife toward MacErlean.

  One final look from MacErlean caused him to stop. This look was much more serious, almost sympathetic.

  Maybe he’s slipping into death after all.

  “I know a few secrets about you.”

  The color drained from MacErlean’s face. It was only a matter of time.

  “Oh yeah, dead man? What’s that?”

  MacErlean coughed profusely. His eyes were beginning to roll to the back of his head. How he’d made it this long, Cal didn’t know.

  “It’s your mother… Died in a car accident, right? W
ell, her…death…wasn’t…an…accident.”

  4

  The next morning, Cal and Fonzie were called in for a meeting with Alfredo. The fact Alfredo had called Cal, and not Vinnie or one of the capos, told Cal that this meeting was serious business. Cal wondered if the MacErlean hit was too messy for his liking or if a video clip of him and Fonzie grabbing MacErlean at the theater had surfaced on the news. The mob boss gave no indication and just said he would see him soon.

  Cal and Fonzie arrived at the Petrocelli compound in the northern suburb of Evanston. It was a large redbrick house with a driveway that circled around a giant oak tree and was packed with black vehicles of varying makes, all shimmering as if freshly washed. Perpendicular to the circle drive was a longer driveway that led to a garage farther back on the property.

  Fonzie parked at the back of the drive, blocking in the cars ahead. Bruno, one of the low-level soldiers who guarded the house, was standing on the front lawn smoking a cigarette. Cal couldn’t understand why people enjoyed those cancer sticks. They stepped out of the car, and Bruno nodded as they walked toward the front entrance. Fonzie stopped midstride to turn back toward the soldier.

  “You out here washing all these cars, Bruno?”

  Bruno removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled smoke with a huff.

  “Hell no. That’s what those hood rat kids like Fregosi are for.”

  “Hood rat? You talking shit about Tony?” Fonzie reached toward his belt.

  Bruno dropped his cigarette butt and jumped back. “I didn’t mean Tony, but kids like Tony. They’re all the same anyway.”

  Cal glared at Fonzie. It was best not to stand outside and make small talk while Alfredo was waiting for them.

  “Nice catchin’ up with you, Bruno,” Fonzie said as he followed Cal through the front door.

  “A real pleasant character, that Bruno,” Cal said.

  “How long you think he lasts?”

  “Maybe a few months. He’s been here longer than some of the others.”