Dave Zeltserman - Killer

Supposedly Marzone’s back in Massachusetts, and this tip has me at a warehouse parking lot in East Boston. It’s probably as much bullshit as all the other tips Lombard’s been feeding me, but I have to check it out so I am standing by the side of the warehouse shivering in the fucking cold, the wind whipping around and deadening the skin on my face and making the tips of my ears feel like they can be snapped off like icicles. It’s one-thirty in the morning, and Marzone’s supposed to be here buying a brick of heroin. At least that’s the bullshit tip I was given.

I’m about to give up when I see someone lumbering into the parking lot who could be Marzone. He has the same hefty build as Marzone, but he’s got his back mostly turned to me so I can’t tell for sure. I walk out quietly, my 9mm Luger held at my hip. It’s dark, but there’s enough moonlight that I’ll be able to see his face once he turns around.

When I get within ten feet of him, I yell out, “Hey, Marzone, my buddy, where you been?”

Nine times out of ten that will get them looking behind with a stupid grin plastered on their faces. Marzone, though, takes off like a bat out of hell, faking towards his left then running to his right. My fucking gun jams. I can’t believe it. Even with his dumbass juke move I would’ve separated his spine. I’ve got another gun on me, a. 32 caliber revolver. I start pulling it out of its holster with my left hand, all the while running after Marzone and cursing the sonofabitch every step of the way.

He’s gained some ground on me, maybe forty feet in front of me now, and he runs me across streets and through parking lots. I’m panting hard, my chest feeling like it’s going to burst, but I keep pushing myself, and Marzone, the dumbass, keeps zigzagging like he’s watched too many war movies. The way Marzone’s running allows me to make up ground. I’m maybe twenty feet away and am about to take out his right knee with a shot when I hit a patch of ice and my feet fly out from under me. Marzone hears my tumble and stops. When he turns around I can see the indecision in his expression – whether to go after me or keep running. He’s panting also, hands on knees, but he’s too slow in reacting, too late in making a charge at me, and I’m already scrambling back to my feet. He realizes his lost opportunity, and takes off running again with me following right behind him.

He’s running slower now. I’m starting to make up some distance when he does a header on to the pavement, his face taking the brunt of it. A pistol he’s been trying to take out of his jacket tumbles out of his hand and clatters harmlessly away. I walk up to him slowly while trying to catch my breath. When I’m standing over him, he looks up at me feebly, his eyes dazed, a good chunk of the skin scraped off his face. I put a bullet in his forehead, then while he’s lying dead on the pavement, I put two more in the back of his skull for good measure.

I’m still breathing raggedly, my chest aching, my leg muscles tired and sore. I first slip the worthless piece of shit Luger in its holster, then the. 32 caliber. I adjust my pants and jacket and look around quickly. That’s when I see her.

present

When I met Sophie on Thursday, she smiled her amused shit-eating grin at me for a good minute or so before I raised an eyebrow and asked her what was up.

“I have a surprise,” she said.

“Yeah?”

She pursed her lips as she studied me. Then she told me how she was able to arrange for us to borrow an isolated cabin up in New Hampshire for the weekend.

“From a friend of a friend,” she explained. “But we’ll be up in the woods and we’ll be able to be like real writers. My friend’s friend can let us have it from Saturday morning until Monday. That will give us a chance to get started on this book and really concentrate on it.”

“I can’t do that,” I said. “I have to work Saturday night.”

She opened her eyes wide in mock surprise. We were sitting at a table in the same coffee shop we had first met in, and the other people there turned to stare as Sophie got out of her chair and walked over to sit on my lap. With her mouth inches from my ear, she said softly, “But Leonard, darling, how can you turn down a weekend alone with a sensual and somewhat attractive younger woman, even though all we’re going to be doing there is working.”

“Not somewhat attractive,” I said. “No, not by a long shot. Let’s call you what you are, stunningly beautiful.”

She pulled back, grinning at me, her eyes sparkling brightly. “If you say so, Leonard,” she said, her tone deprecating. “But seriously, call in sick Saturday. What’s the worst that can happen? They fire you? Fuck them if they do that, you’ll be making more on this book than they could pay you in a lifetime for cleaning their bathrooms. So come on, what do you say?”

“How are we going to get up there?”

“I’ll find us a car,” she said.

I found myself nodding, almost involuntarily. “Sure, okay, let’s do it,” I agreed.

“Outstanding.” She played with her index finger lightly along my lips for a few seconds, then kissed me on the cheek. Moving her mouth so she was again whispering in my ear, she said, “I’m not getting you too excited sitting on your lap, am I, Leonard? Because we’re only going to be working up there.”

“Not enough yet to give me a stroke. But keep trying.”

She laughed at that, her head tilted back slightly, the soft curvature of her throat making me swallow hard.

“I guess I can be a bit of a tease,” she said. “I’m sorry about that, Leonard, but it’s going to be so much fun us working together, and the thought of it has put me in a playful mood.” She stopped as she glanced at a clock on the wall. “Shit,” she said, her smile fading, “I have to get going, but let’s meet right in front of this shop Saturday morning at eight. We’ll get an early start.”

I nodded, and she hopped off my lap and headed fast towards the door. Before she went through it, she turned to give me a short wave and a slight impish smile.*

Lombard’s boys showed up that night. I was vacuuming one of the third-floor offices when they walked in, the same two who’d been standing outside the courthouse Monday morning watching for me. One of them turned off the vacuum cleaner. The other one told me we were leaving.

“What’s the point?” I asked. “If you’re going to take me out, just do it here.”

He shook his head sadly. “Fuck, I’d like to, but orders are to deliver you alive. Get moving.”

I stayed where I was. I was deciding whether I had any chance against them when the one who had turned off the vacuum cleaner took a step towards me, violence in his eyes. “We can rough you up for convincing’s sake,” he said. “It would be a shame to get blood all over this nice carpeting, but if you need us to do that, sure, why the fuck not.”

I told him that wasn’t necessary and walked out of the room with them close enough behind for me to feel their breath on my neck and smell the sourness of it. I headed towards the back staircase, figuring they wanted to avoid the lobby and the security desk, but they indicated for me to take the elevator. When we got in there, they crowded me from both sides.

“Will it do me any good asking the security guard for help?” I asked.

“None,” the one on my right said. “Except for giving us an excuse to pop you in the mouth.”

“This has been the set-up from the beginning,” I said. “That’s the only reason I was hired here, wasn’t it?”

The one crowding me on my left smirked at that but didn’t answer me. When we got out at the lobby and they marched me past the security desk, the kid working there looked alarmed. He jumped out of his seat and started yelling, “Hey, hey, hey!”