Killer

chapter 25
1992

It had been four months since Fred Marzone slipped past me at that Lynn roadside motel. When I later gave Lombard a bullshit story about Marzone already being gone by the time I showed up I thought he was going to put a bullet in my ear himself. Fuck, he was furious. But he calmed down enough to instead poke me several times in the chest with a thick sausage-like finger and warn me that I better not fuck this job up again. That my only priority in life from that moment on was icing Marzone. Since then I’ve been sent on a dozen wild goose chases, including a week-long trip to Raleigh, North Carolina. It’s been getting harder to explain to Jenny why I’m having to take off at the drop of a hat like I’ve been doing, but I have no choice. Lombard’s losing patience, and at this point I don’t think he’s got much left. If this latest tip turns out as bad as all the others, I might have to change my plans fast and take Lombard out before he tries doing the same to me and my family.

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.