R. Ellory - A Quiet Vendetta

‘She… she wanted me to… wanted me to hurt her… you gotta understand she’s a crazy fucking bitch. She wanted me to hurt her…’

‘She wanted you to hurt her,’ I said matter-of-factly.

Ricardo was nodding furiously.

‘She wanted you to beat the crap out of her, wanted you to hit her so hard she couldn’t see straight for days, wanted you to whip her with a wire coat hanger until she’d screamed so much she lost her voice? She wanted you to do that?’

Leonard was looking over Ricardo’s shoulder at the photograph, his eyes wide and incredulous.

‘Ricky… Ricky? You did this to that girl?’

Ricardo turned suddenly. ‘Shut the fuck up, Lenny… just shut the fuck up?’

‘Yes,’ I interjected. ‘Shut the fuck up, Lenny.’

Lenny closed his open mouth and turned away. He looked like he was going to puke. I figured he wouldn’t want to fuck Richard Ricardo in the ass again.

‘So seems to me that whatever the hell went down between you and this girl, well she got a little more than she asked for… would that be somewhere close to the truth, Ricky?’

Ricardo didn’t move a muscle, didn’t say a word. I jabbed the barrel of the gun into his forehead. He winced with the pain.

‘You reckon that’s somewhere close to the truth?’

Ricardo nodded.

‘You sorry for what you did to her?’

‘Oh Jesus… oh Jesus God, I’m sorry. I never meant for it to be that way… I promise I never meant for it to turn out like it did… it was a wild night, it was crazy, there were all these people and we drank too much and took too much coke, and things just got out of hand-’

‘Ssshhh,’ I whispered. ‘Ssshhh now, Ricky, it’s okay… it really is okay.’

Richard Ricardo opened his eyes and looked up at me. There was a pleading expression in his eyes – pleading for understanding, for forgiveness, for mercy, for his life.

‘Never again,’ he mumbled. ‘Never again…’

‘Too right,’ I said, and with all the force I could muster I raised the gun and brought it down on the top of his head.

The sound was indescribable, as if his whole body had collapsed from within – ‘Nyuuuggghhhh’. He fell sideways and rolled off the edge of the bed onto the floor. Blood started to ooze from the split in his skull and soak into the carpet.

Lenny started screaming. I reached across the bed and grabbed him by the hair. I forced him face down into the mattress to muffle the sound, and then I warned him that if he didn’t shut the hell up he was going to get a bullet in the back of his neck. He stopped immediately.

I dragged him off the bed, and threw him to the ground next to his friend.

In my hand I held a pillow.

I looked down at Lenny, his tear-streaked face, his wide and horrified eyes.

‘When was your birthday?’ I asked him.

He looked at me in dismay.

‘Your birthday?’ I repeated.

‘Jan-January,’ he stuttered.

I nodded. I held up the pillow. I pressed the gun into it. ‘Last fucking birthday you’re ever gonna have,’ I said, and I pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him in the throat. His hands grasped his neck. He clawed at his own flesh as if believing that he could pull the bullet out. Blood erupted from the wound and spattered across his chest, his legs, across Ricardo, and then he fell sideways and lay on the floor. His body shook for some time. I stood there and watched him until he stopped.

Ricardo stirred.

I let fly with a mighty kick to his chest and he went still. I leaned down, pressed the pillow against the side of his head, and shot him through the temple.

An hour and a half later I stood in my bedroom looking down at the sleeping forms of my wife and my children. I leaned forward and kissed them – all three in turn – gently on their foreheads. I held my breath. I did not wish to make a sound that might wake them.

I left the room. I walked downstairs. I washed my hands and face at the kitchen sink, and then I sat for a while in the darkness smoking a cigarette. When I was done I went through to the front and lay down on the sofa. I fell asleep there, slept like the dead, and when Angelina woke me it was gone seven in the morning. I was still fully dressed apart from my jacket and shoes.

‘Come and have breakfast with us,’ she said quietly. She leaned down and kissed me. I rose and stood for a moment, and then I placed my arms around her and pulled her tight.

In the kitchen the TV was playing silently. I said nothing when Richard Ricardo’s face appeared on the screen, and also the face of his friend Leonard. I made no sound, I didn’t even flinch, and when the anchorwoman reappeared I reached out and switched it off.

I ate my breakfast. I talked to my children even though I knew they could not understand a word I said. I felt unsettled, anxious. I did not feel good.

An hour or so later, having shaved and showered, and dressed in a clean shirt and a different suit, I left my house and walked three blocks to a diner. There I sat in silence, and with a cup of coffee in front of me and a cigarette in my hand, I watched people as they walked by the window and out into their lives.

Two of those lives were closed last night. Two of those lives – people of whom I knew nothing – were terminally closed. I did not question what I had done, nor why I had done it. I was asked to do something and I complied. This was the way of my world; the only world I knew.

It was the following day that I saw the newspaper. It was a day old, lying there innocuously on a chair at the back of Michael Cova’s cousin’s barbershop where I had stopped to have a haircut. I picked it up and turned it to the front page.

TWO SLAIN IN BRUTAL HOLLYWOOD MURDER

Son of Los Angeles Deputy Mayor shot

My breath stopped for a moment.

I looked at the images of the two men I had killed in the apartment.

Last night, in Hollywood, the son of Deputy Mayor John Alexander was murdered in a double slaying that has rocked the city of Los Angeles. Leonard Alexander, 22, was found murdered at the home of well-known celebrity fashion designer Richard Ricardo. Police Chief Karl Erickson was present at the scene, and made the following statement-

I read no further. I closed the paper and tossed it back onto the chair.

I got up and left the barbershop, walked two blocks with no particular purpose in mind, and then I turned around and retraced my steps.

For the first time in my life I imagined people were looking at me.

I found a phone booth on the next junction, and I called long distance to New York. I reached Ten Cent with no difficulty.

‘Ernesto?’ he said, surprise evident in his voice.

‘You heard what happened?’

‘I did, yes… is there a problem?’

‘A problem? The other man was the son of the Los Angeles deputy mayor.’

There was silence at the other end of the line.

‘Ten Cent?’

‘I’m here, Ernesto.’

‘You heard what I said?’

‘Yes, I heard you… what’s the problem? Did someone see you at the building?’

‘No, no-one saw me at the building. Of course they didn’t. But the kid was the son of the deputy mayor. They won’t let this thing lie down.’

‘We know, we know Ernesto… but don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry? Whaddya mean?’

‘We’re gonna take you out and send you someplace safe.’

‘Take me out?’

Ten Cent laughed. ‘Take you out… yes, take you out of LA, not take you out for Christ’s sake! Don’t worry, Don Calligaris understands the situation, and he’s not gonna leave you there.’

‘He is upset about the other man?’

Ten Cent laughed again. ‘Upset? He’s as happy as I’ve ever seen him. You know what he said?… he said, “Two assholes for the price of one”. That’s what he said.’