Jonas Saul - The Kill

Vincenzo Fuccini reached inside his Armani jacket and gripped the butt of his weapon, which hung suspended in his shoulder holster. No one would die tonight. Not if he had anything to do with it.

Vincenzo turned in his seat and looked back at Ronnie and Frankie. Both men sat ramrod straight in the backseat, staring out at the passing countryside as the sun dropped below the warm July sky.

“Ronnie, Frankie, you both know what you’re supposed to do?”

Ronnie turned to face Vincenzo. “Yeah, Boss. We got it. Anybody who is not supposed to be there, we take them out. Any sign of trouble toward you, we take them out.”

Frankie nodded his understanding and then said, “We got this, Boss.”

“Good. Don’t let it get fucked up, because if it does, we won’t be going home, even if we walk away tonight. There are powerful men at this meeting.”

“Ahh, Boss,” the driver said. “Don’t talk like that. Your dad would kill us in the worst way possible if anything happened to you.”

Vincenzo turned back around in his seat, let go of the weapon he’d been gripping, and placed his hand on the armrest of the door. He could never remember the driver’s name. They changed so often that he stopped caring who they were.

“Nothing is going to happen tonight,” Vincenzo said. “Believe that. We make our deal and we leave.”

They continued on in silence, racing along the back-country road, heading to an abandoned airplane hangar in their brand new black Cadillac, each man lost in his thoughts.

Lights in the distance alerted Vincenzo that they were close.

“Slow down,” he said, “and cut the headlights. Here is good.”

The driver slowed the Cadillac and pulled over to the side. He flipped off the lights.

“Okay, Ronnie, do this and do it right. When the deal is over, we can’t pick you up. It’ll be too obvious. Just do what you gotta do and when everyone leaves, fall back and wait. We’ll come for both of you an hour later. Got it?”

Ronnie nodded and looked at Frankie. He nodded too.

“I want to hear it. Got it?”

“Yeah, Boss. Got it.”

“Frankie?”

“Got it.”

“Wait for my okay, and then go,” Vincenzo ordered.

Vincenzo opened his door and slowly stepped from the car. He stood by his door, placed both hands near his crotch and pretended to take a piss as he scanned the woods on each side.

After a moment, he tapped the roof of the vehicle and whispered, “ Go.”

The back door on the passenger side opened, and Ronnie jumped out, followed by Frankie, who shut the door softly enough that Vincenzo heard the click as the lock snapped in place. Then both men, staying low, hustled off into the woods.

Perfect.

Vincenzo shook his hands near his dick for effect in case someone was watching. Then he leaned back in, sat on the front seat, and closed the door hard.

“Go.”

The driver pulled away and flipped the headlights back on. In moments, they covered the last mile and pulled up to a makeshift checkpoint.

Two men holding machine guns stood on either side of the road.

They had been hard to see as they were standing behind a pair of black vans parked on either side of the gravel road.

The one on the driver’s side motioned with the tip of his gun — what looked like an M16 — for the driver to slow up and open his window. Vincenzo’s driver came to a stop and rolled his window down two inches. “What’s this?”

“Open the trunk,” the guard said.

The driver flipped a button and the trunk popped open. The guard on the passenger side scanned the backseat with a flashlight. After a minute, the man at the back of the Cadillac slammed the trunk shut and walked back to the window.

“Names.”

It wasn’t a question as much as an order.

The driver looked at Vincenzo. “Is that okay, Boss?”

Vincenzo nodded.

“This is Vincenzo Fuccini,” the driver told the guard. “I’m Alex.”

The guard leaned down and looked in at Vincenzo. “I’m sorry, sir. Precautionary measures. Pull in and stay to the right.”

The guard stepped back. Vincenzo’s driver eased the car down the lane and pulled in behind a line of three other Cadillacs. He cut the engine.

Vincenzo collected himself and stepped from the car. The driver would wait in the vehicle, the windows rolled up. The guards would allow all the drivers to lower their windows an inch for air in rotating shifts after the meeting started. Vincenzo wasn’t comfortable with all the details, but he was here and he had two men hiding, watching his back. If anything went down, he would walk away and the bosses of the other families wouldn’t.

A part of him wanted shit to go down. What a power play that would be. Three Eastern Canadian crime bosses in one building at one time, plus him. Wicked shit could happen.

Vincenzo stepped around the Caddy and stopped as two guards walked up close to him.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Everyone gets patted down before entering the building.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right? I’m Vincenzo Fuccini.”

Neither guard said a word as one stepped back to give room for the other to do the pat down.

“Get on with it then,” Vincenzo said.

He raised his arms straight out. The guard started at his shoulders and worked his way down, pausing when his hand touched the gun in Vincenzo’s holster.

The guard eased it out by the butt end and handed it to his colleague who emptied the ammunition and dropped the weapon in a leather satchel.

When the frisk was completed, the guard said, “You’ll get your gun back when the meeting is complete.”

Vincenzo grunted and started for the open door. He knew the pat down was more about hidden wires than weapons. In this business, there wasn’t any trust. He smiled to himself, knowing they had allowed him to keep his keychain. On it was a Kubaton with a nice hidden surprise if he needed it.

Having three Canadian crime bosses in one building was exactly the reason his father said he wouldn’t attend. Too much power in one room. If any one of them lost his temper, or one of their guards got trigger happy, a major war would be on everyone’s hands, and no one wanted that.

Vincenzo had argued that he shouldn’t go either. But his father said this was a peace deal. It was a long time coming and, since Vincenzo would be taking over as Captain in the coming year, he needed to be there. The other bosses had reluctantly agreed that Vincenzo could stand in for his father.

He reached the door and stepped into the bright interior of a remodeled airplane hangar. Guards were interspersed around the perimeter, standing by every door, each with an M16 in his hands. They were armed for war, with thick Kevlar vests, spare bullet belts, and radios, along with other junk strapped to their belts. A large rifle-like gun leaned against the wall beside each guard. The huge weapon reminded Vincenzo of the elephant gun he’d fired a year ago at an African Safari. It had enough stopping power to kill a charging pachyderm.

What the fuck is all this for? I thought this was a peaceful meeting.

“Vinny, come join us,” Phil, the Boss for the Montreal area called out.

The three family leaders sat in leather armchairs situated around a circular coffee table in the middle of the hangar. One chair remained empty. A bottle of booze sat on the little table, an empty glass placed in front of the unoccupied chair.

Vincenzo walked over, leaned down to the table and grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walker to pour himself a shot. In all his years of running errands for his father, he had only met two of the men sitting at the table. The third man was hardly seen by anybody.