Killer

chapter 15
1978

Vincent DiGrassi’s face looks older and grayer, as if he’s aged five years in the six months since I’ve last seen him. He appears stiffer also. His neck and back must be bothering him with the way he’s grimacing and the twisted off-kilter way he’s holding himself. He gives me two names. One of them is Joey Lando.

“That one you got a history with,” he acknowledges bluntly. “The same punk who sold you out to me after a five-minute beating.”

So he remembers. Christ, that was thirteen years ago. The guy’s mind is like a steel trap, nothing gets out of it. Even remembering every kid he ever ordered a beat-down on.

His grimace tightens, deep lines etch his face. “What the fuck the long face for?” he demands. “I thought you’d be chomping at the bit to pay that punk back.”

“What’s the reason for the hit?” I ask.

DiGrassi doesn’t answer, just tries to stare me down, his grimace turning into something menacing.

“You’re right,” I say to break the silence. “I’ve got a history with him. You can tell me the reason for the hit.”

The old DiGrassi would’ve been looking to tear my head off for asking that. This one, there’s something not quite right with him. His menacing look cracks, and he mutters something about Joey being a punk. “Is that good enough for you?” he asks sarcastically.

“I have my reasons for wanting to know,” I say.

DiGrassi’s eyes waver as he stares at me. He looks away first. “Your old rat friend is bringing special attention from the Feds because of his bank jobs. We asked him politely to lay off, and what does he do? The fucker hits five more deliveries to bank machines. And he doesn’t even offer to kick over any of it. He’s a punk, and a lesson needs to be made of him and his partner. Satisfied?”

“How come only two names?” I ask. “What about his inside person?”

DiGrassi’s scowling at me. “What do you mean inside person?”

“The one working at the bank who’s giving him the delivery schedules.”

“How do you know this?”

“I just do.”

At first his eyes blaze because I’m not giving him more of an explanation, but they slowly turn glassy as he calms down and accepts what I’m telling him. “Get this guy also.”

“It’s a woman.”

“Whatever. And Lenny, make these bloody. The bodies have to be recognizable for the Feds, but this still has to be a statement.”

It isn’t hard finding Joey, nor is it hard getting him into the back of a stolen van. In his heart he believes I’m crooked and can’t accept that I’m leading a clean life, so when I tell him I have forty cases of stolen booze that I want to unload cheap, he goes in willingly. Before he realizes what’s happening, he’s out cold.

I drive the van to a secluded garage where I have another stolen car waiting for me. Joey’s tied up in back. It doesn’t take much to get him to give up where his partner is holed up and the name of his inside person. No more than a couple of minutes of persuasion and only two lost fingernails. When I leave him he has this odd expression on his face, kind of a mix of hurt and validation.

I first go to Joey’s apartment where I pick up enough evidence so I can tie him to the bank jobs, then I find his partner where he’s holed up, and leave him sprawled out on the floor with a full clip from a forty-five in his torso. When I find their inside person I have a change of heart. She’s just a wisp of a woman. Cute in her own way with stringy red hair and this innocent baby face that makes her look even younger than her twenty-four years. I’ve never killed a woman before – all my hits have been men, and I decide I don’t want to start with this one. I end up making a deal with her instead. I have her type up a confession. I’m going to let her make a run for it. Maybe she makes it to Mexico before the Feds catch up to her, maybe she doesn’t, but I let her know what will happen if she ever mentions a word about me. I’m wearing a ski mask so she can’t identify me, and I show her Polaroids I took of Joey’s partner so she knows I mean business. As far as DiGrassi is concerned, the story I’ll give him is that someone must’ve tipped her off. He’ll find the confession curious, but in the end he’ll accept what I tell him. He has no reason to think that I’d go soft with a woman target. I watch as she packs a small suitcase and leaves. I’m not worried about her talking if she gets caught. If that happens, I’ll deal with it.

When I return back to Joey, he’s gotten himself a little more courage. Somehow he’s convinced himself I’m just trying to rip him off. I listen to what he says, then I make it bloody like I’m supposed to. I leave behind the evidence tying him to the bank jobs. Then I leave the van in a place where it can be found after an anonymous tip.

I had put on overalls so I could finish the job with Joey without getting any blood splatters. I take them off, also an old pair of sneakers, and bring them with me so I can incinerate them later. I’ve also brought a change of clothes. The ones I’m wearing are clean but they’ll be incinerated with the rest of the stuff. I know it’s crazy, some sort of a phobia I’ve picked up, but I just don’t want to risk my kids smelling death on me.

I slip on a pair of loafers that I brought along and I go to the YMCA so I can take a shower, change into my new clothes, and be clean for when I go home to Jenny and my two kids.