One Last Kill

by Spenser Warren

  Cal wondered the same thing. That’s when the realization hit him that he’d have to kill his adoptive father to save Maria. He’d grown to hate Alfredo’s guts but had never desired to kill him and cause distress to the family he’d considered his own. He thought of Susan, how heartbroken she would be to see her husband slain by a man she’d considered her son.

  He hoped Vinnie wasn’t inside the warehouse too. The pain Susan would feel at Cal killing her husband would be nothing compared to the devastation she would feel if Cal had to take Vinnie out.

  “He must really want to make this personal. If he wants to kill me, he has to make sure it’s actually done and that no one fumbles it. Seems right.”

  “I guess if it’s that important to him. You see anyone standing out by the front?”

  Cal scanned the area again and couldn’t see anyone outside. He shook his head and handed Fonzie the binoculars.

  “How about the back?” Cal wanted to make sure both entrances were clear.

  “Sure don’t look like it. But if we go in together and you cover me, maybe I can sneak around to the back.”

  Cal shook his head. “You can’t go in with me. You’re the element of surprise. If we both go in together and they see you, they might get scared and do something drastic with Maria. I’ll go in. You can go to the back on your own.”

  Before Fonzie could argue, Cal lurked toward the warehouse, doing all he could to avoid detection. His senses told him someone was outside the warehouse looking for him, ready to hunt him down.

  Going past the front gate, he stopped at the first light post he found toward the rear of the parking lot. The beat of his heart pounded like a bass drum vibrating through his body. He set the duffel bag on the ground and considered whether or not to bring the bag closer to the door with him. Even with the five cars in the parking lot, he doubted more than a dozen men were inside with Maria.

  He glanced around once again and proceeded to the row of parked cars, deciding the duffel bag was too important to leave behind. Crouching behind the cars was his last stop before he entered the warehouse.

  Cal sat behind Alfredo’s prized Cadillac; the license plate read “BIGSHT1.” Alfredo explained it meant “big shot,” but Vinnie often joked with Cal that it actually read “big shit.”

  The humorous thought did nothing to calm Cal’s nerves. He tried to slow his breathing and lower his heart rate. Thinking about it caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to become more laborious. Never had he felt this nervous when he knew he had to kill someone. Never had the stakes been this high. If he failed tonight, not only would he likely not make it out of the warehouse alive but Maria would die along with him.

  Cal shook his head as he took one final glance at Alfredo’s license plate. He had to be the big shot now and take Alfredo down before the mob boss ruined any more lives.

  After catching his breath and listening for any sign of movement, Cal knew it was time to attack.

  He bolted from behind Alfredo’s car, duffel bag in tow, and rounded the other two cars parked beside it, forgetting how quiet he needed to be as he dashed toward the warehouse’s front door. Looking up, his eyes met those of a bearded man who’d just emerged from the front of the warehouse, his face forming the expression of a scream as the door closed behind him.

  Before the man could call for help, Cal removed the Beretta from his holster and blasted a bullet into the man’s screaming mouth. The lower half of his face exploded in a smear of flesh and blood before the rest of his body collapsed on the ground.

  Cal moved to the front of the last car and waited. He peered around the corner, his gun at the ready. There was no movement.

  Confident he could proceed, Cal marched to the door, avoiding the massive pool of blood spreading on the pavement beneath him. More blood would be shed before the night was through.

  Cal tried to pull the door open but groaned as it stayed shut.

  Fuck.

  He preferred not to break the door down; that would be far too noisy and would attract more attention than he wanted. He peered over his shoulder toward the bush where Fonzie was hiding, to see if his friend could provide any inspiration to solve his problem. He gave up when he realized he couldn’t see him. Fonzie was too dark to stick out against the black night and the dark green of the bush. The door opened and Cal snapped to attention, ready for conflict.

  “Shit!”

  On instinct, Cal grabbed the man’s neck and pulled him outside, squeezing hard as he tried to gain leverage on the man while shutting him up. The man’s leg was jammed inside the door, preventing Cal from dragging him completely out. While he had a pretty good grip on the man’s throat, he couldn’t prevent the man’s kicks against the door.

  He went to twist the man’s neck but was jolted back by a sharp punch to the gut from his combatant, causing him to lose his grip. It wasn’t the pain that startled him; rather, it was the quickness of the punch.

  The man turned back toward the open door and yelled for backup. He was clearly an amateur and not prepared to deal with someone like Cal. His hesitation allowed Cal to recover.

  Cal shoved the barrel of his gun directly into the man’s stomach, and pulled the trigger, feeling the heat of the man’s blood splatter against his jacket as he fell to the ground.

  He opened the door fully and stepped around the dead body, more than prepared for the multiple footsteps he heard running toward him. A narrow hallway greeted him, with a reception desk and a row of offices and cubicles to his right. The doors directly in front of him led to the loading dock, while the doors to the left led to the shop floor. He wasn’t sure where the boots were coming from, but he knew they would reach him in a matter of seconds.

  Without further delay, he leapt over the barrier in front of the reception desk and huddled beneath it, bracing for the impact of the bulky shotgun still encased in the duffel bag as he crashed to the floor.

  Several footsteps entered the room. It would only be a matter of time before they searched under the reception desk and the nearby offices.

  “Fuck! Look at poor Nicky.”

  Cal heard the boots of one of the men rushing toward the front door where Nicky’s stomach had to have been bleeding out.

  “Don’t worry about that shit now. Some fucker’s trying to get in here and we’ve got to find ’im.”

  “You think it’s another family?” A third voice had entered the conversation. “A gang maybe? Trying to use this place to store drugs, guns, that sort of thing?”

  “Hell no. It’s Boyle. He’s coming to save his girl.”

  “Who?”

  “Jesus Christ. Callahan Boyle? Alfredo’s adopted boy. The toughest hit man around.”

  “I ain’t ever heard of him.”

  “You kidding? Let’s split up, see if we can find him.”

  The man who had rushed out to see bleeding Nicky raced back inside to join his two comrades. “Holy shit, they got Bruno too.”

  “Bruno? That ain’t Bruno. Bruno was back at the house. You mean Mikey?”

  “Oh right. Half of Mikey’s face is gone. We better find this guy before he finds us.”

  There was a pause as the men considered what to do. Cal heard a pair of boots march closer to the desk. He slowly lifted the shotgun out of the duffel bag, his fingers itching for the trigger. Once he got past these lowlifes, he knew he would be that much closer to saving Maria. He couldn’t waste time.

  “He couldn’t have got to the shop floor, we woulda heard him. He’s gotta be in the offices.”

  “Good call. Let’s take a look.”

  Cal had to make a choice as he heard the men draw closer. He could remain hidden beneath the desk and hope they wouldn’t find him or act fast and attempt to blow them all away.

  He settled for the latter, ever confident in his abilities after killing the two men out front and taking care of business at the Petrocelli house earlier in the evening. He wanted to use the shotgun to blast each of them away, but it fire
d too slowly to protect him. Cal watched as the men’s boots walked past the reception desk and toward the first row of cubicles.

  When the last man had passed, Cal set the shotgun down, prepped the Beretta, and tried to inch his way out of the underbelly of the desk.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” one of the men said. The last man in the group doubled back and looked directly at Cal. Before his hand could move to his weapon, Cal sprung up from the desk and fired two quick bullets into the man’s chest.

  He knew the other men would come running but hoped the silencer deterred any other visitors.

  “Shit!”

  Instead of running toward him, Cal heard the other two men scatter back to the offices. They wanted no part in engaging with him. He would have to hunt them down.

  Finding the two men and putting them out of their misery was part of the game of being a hit man that excited Cal. He leaned back against the cubicle wall at the back of the reception area and glanced over his shoulder to see if he could spot either of them. A bullet grazed his right shoulder before he could react, causing him to shout in pain.

  A rapid succession of bullets rang out at him from one of the offices. The man shooting at him had an automatic weapon. They were bringing out the big guns now. Cal stayed static behind the cubicle wall, cursing in pain. Given he was at least partially hidden, he grabbed the shotgun and placed the quicker-firing Beretta inside its holster.

  He waited until the automatic ceased firing and then lifted the shotgun, the stock buried into his left shoulder. Emerging from behind the cubicle wall, Cal waited for the man to step out of the office. Just as he stepped forward to shoot, he felt a thumping pain at the back of his head.

  Someone had hit him with something. A hard something. His vision became blurry and his entire surroundings started turning black. He fought to remain standing, to hold the bulky shotgun and fire upon Alfredo’s goons. The blurry vision rolled into his brain like the spread of a hazy fog.

  As he slumped toward unconsciousness, he hoped he hadn’t lost Maria.

  51

  The first thing Cal noticed when he came to was a sharp pain radiating through his head. His jacket had been removed and his shoulder bandaged with gauze. He tried to lift his head to see what was in front of him, but all his eyes could register was a hazy fog of stars.

  Cal knew he was seated in a metal folding chair and that his arms were tied behind him to a railing. His feet felt the grating of a metal floor. When he heard sounds from below, he knew exactly where he was. He was on the catwalk above the shop floor of the warehouse.

  “Who would’ve thought I’d be able to catch Callahan Boyle? They’re gonna be making me a made man any day now.”

  Cal recognized the voice. It was the leader of the pack of three he’d encountered in the lobby. He wasn’t sure if it had been him or someone else who had knocked him out. The last thing Cal remembered was dropping the shotgun. He had no way of knowing whether he’d been able to get off a shot.

  Cal’s vision cleared enough for him to see there was another man next to the ringleader. He sensed a familiar scowl plastered on the tall man’s face, which was becoming clearer by the second.

  “Remember me, Mr. Larson?” It was Captain Blutarski. The tough bastard’s face shifted into a smile.

  Blutarski walked toward Cal holding a baton. He brought the weapon forward in a swinging motion, aiming for Cal’s head. Cal crumpled lower in the chair in anticipation of the painful blow. With the baton just inches from his face, Blutarski stopped his motion at the sound of a throat clearing. Blutarski and the ringleader immediately fell in line.

  Alfredo Petrocelli, the man Cal had long considered the father he’d never had, rose from the stairs and entered Cal’s view with a tight grin on his face. Everything else about his appearance signaled he was at ease with the events of the evening. His thick mane of hair was neatly combed back; intermingled with his brown locks were a scattering of gray hairs, representing the souls of the people who’d been killed under his watch.

  “I hate to do this to you, Cal, but I have no choice. I couldn’t have you killing all of my soldiers in one night. You came by a lot earlier than I expected, but I know you’re a fighter and you want to get your girl back. I respect that. Only that’s not the way things are going to happen.”

  Alfredo smiled at Cal and walked closer. He put his large palm on Cal’s face and pinched his cheek.

  “You thought you were invincible, didn’t you? You thought I’d let you leave this all behind and go away with your girlfriend to find more freedom than you could ever imagine? No, sir.”

  The heat from Cal’s wounded shoulder raced to his face in a blood-filled flash of rage. He was disgusted that he’d let himself get in this position. Being touched in such a condescending manner pissed him off even more.

  Blutarski and the other man pointed and laughed. The once-powerful hit man was relegated to nothing more than a whipping boy.

  “You recognize where you’re at right now?” Alfredo asked, pacing away from Cal on the catwalk before circling back. “You’re in the very spot where you pushed that little boy over the railing seventeen years ago.”

  The smirks on the men’s faces opposite him turned sour, the soldiers surprised by Alfredo’s revelation. “Yes, boys, that’s how the legendary Callahan Boyle got started killing. He pushed an innocent little boy over the edge of the railing. All because his feelings were hurt that I shot his asshole daddy.”

  Cal felt the sudden urge to yell, like vomit that was rocketing up his esophagus, ready to be unleashed. It hadn’t been an angry coworker who’d killed his father as the police and his mother had suspected. Alfredo had killed him, just like Cal had killed Alfredo’s father.

  Anger consumed Cal to the point of speechlessness. He tried to strain against the ropes that held his wrists to the railing, wishing he could break free. Instead, a stinging sensation sliced against his right wrist, almost as sharp as a knife.

  “Fuck!”

  Alfredo laughed. “You see it now, Cal? You kept a secret for me for so many years, but you have no idea about all the secrets I’ve kept from you. Shooting your father was an accident, but it opened up a great opportunity for me. I saw the anger inside of you. I saw what you could become. It was such a convenience that you and Vinnie were good buddies. He wanted me to help you since your mom was struggling. It didn’t take much effort to set up her death either. All so I could bring you in and train you to be the killer you’ve become today. And look where we are now? I’m the chess master, you are my pawn. Only the brightest among us can control where each piece on the board moves, and I’m about to sacrifice some of my pieces for the grand strategy of winning the game.”

  Cal’s teeth clenched together, his jaw hardening in anger. What MacErlean had said to him before his death was true. Alfredo had sent men to T-bone his mother’s car only months after his father’s death. It had all been for Alfredo’s gain.

  Cal’s entire life was nothing more than helping a sadistic ruler build his empire. He couldn’t despise anyone more than he despised Alfredo. He’d become a worse man than Cal’s father had ever been. Not only was Alfredo angry and violent like his old man, he was ruthless. His cunning and the ease at which he could get away with his crimes made Cal feel like a small boy again in the pantry closet. A helpless victim. There was nothing more Cal wanted to do than tear him apart.

  “All this time I knew you were only interested in yourself and keeping your precious power. I should’ve been the one to go to the Commission. If only I’d joined up with Caruso, you’d be dead right now.”

  “Is that a fact? You killed someone dear to me too. The way I see it, we’re even.”

  Alfredo turned to the stairway leading up the catwalk, then faced Cal with a smile.

  “Vinnie, bring her up.”

  Cal spun to his left. He felt faint at the sharp movement of his head, his skull hammering from the blow he’d received in the lobby. The twist caused the sharp met
al piece from the railing to pierce his right wrist again.

  Cal let out another yelp of pain. He had no idea what was taking Fonzie so long. Unless there was an army of men outside, he should’ve found his way through the back door by now.

  “That’s right, Cal. Scream for her,” mocked the ringleader.

  While Cal couldn’t see the “her” that Alfredo was referring to, he knew he was talking about Maria. He couldn’t stand the thought that she was suffering at the hands of Alfredo’s men.

  He remembered the wailing scream he’d let out as a boy when he’d found out his mother was killed in that car accident. The bitter acid tears that he’d forced back upon seeing the pictures from the crime scene were finding their way back to the surface. He felt like crying and screaming for Maria, wishing the force behind his sorrow would take the place of any suffering she had been dealt.

  Yet, being tied up, there was nothing he could do about it. Alfredo would try to take her away like he had both of his parents.

  Cal felt the pain in his wrist once again. He figured the piece of metal from the railing would be sharp enough to break his right wrist free from the ropes.

  He’d still have to find a way to free his left hand. Surrounded by three men, plus the oncoming Vinnie, it would be nearly impossible for him to take them all out alone. He had to believe Fonzie heard the chaos and would barge in soon.

  Before he could think of breaking free, Cal saw Maria and wondered how much she’d been hurt. Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks red and puffy, and there were deep scratches on her arms. He scanned down her body and noticed the bottom of her shirt was torn.

  What the fuck have they done to her?

  Cal let out a low growl, fearing they had violated her. There was nothing more that he wanted than to end his hit man career by ripping everyone in the warehouse to shreds.

  Vinnie walked toward him, holding Maria’s arms behind her. A familiar cheesy grin made his face glow. Cal couldn’t care less about their childhood friendship; he wanted to pulverize Vinnie’s smiling face. First he had to break free.