Ded Reckoning (34 page)

The two Russians sit in separate chairs in the lobby, table between the two, one smoking a cigarette and feigning relaxation after dinner while the other leafs through a magazine pretending interest.

The two Germans, believing the lobby is already too crowded, stand outside, across the street in a closed shop doorway hidden in the shadows of the night.  Drago, smoking, nonchalantly is leaning against his recently inherited off-duty taxi.  The driver in the back seat, neck broken, is forever off duty.  The Silent One simply waits for the plan to unfold.

Rocco has slipped inside the hotel from the rear alley and has found what he wants.  Two unlocked cleaning and storage closets.  One on the ground floor in the rear, and one on the fourth floor, just at the end of the hallway near the Queen Bee, Teresa Dee DeLuca's room.  Returning below he stacks rags, towels, face cloths, rolls of toilet paper and boxes of tissue in the closet, then douses them with lighter fluid.  Then empties a plastic bottle of tile cleaner and fills it with more fluid.  Using a cleaning rag, he fashions a long enough fuse for the bottle so it'll burn for a few minutes.  Rocco lights the cloth fuse, leaves the door ajar and dashes to the fire exit, then up three steps at a time to the fourth floor.  

He repeats the process on the fourth floor using less materials, and with a shorter fuse.  He leaves that door ajar as well and walks to the other end of the hall.  When he hears and sees the explosion at the other end, he breaks and pulls the fire alarm.  Starts down the hallway screaming "fire" and shouting for people to get outside.  He senses the explosion below hearing another alarm going off and people shouting.  Next are the announcements over speakers in the lobby and internal PA system ordering people to evacuate the building and not to use elevators.  The latter is emphasized again and again.  The hallway on the fourth floor comes alive with people rushing out of rooms, some screaming, some shouting instructions, all running for the fire exit after excitedly finding the direction to run.  Rocco struggles with the crowd's surge, but he shouts and creates as much panic as he can until he reaches Dee's room.  No one notices him stopping, picking the lock, and entering as opposed to following the herd.  He's just another panicked body at a room door.

All of the room floors are being evacuated as are the lounges, bars, and lobby.  Men and women in all forms of garb, pour onto the street in front.  Bartenders and hotel employees hurry people outside.  The fire engines, lights flashing, have begun to arrive.  Police cars screech to a halt, sirens screaming and their blue lights flashing adding to the eeriness of the night.  The guests, employees, and other people gather outside, backing away, to watch the building, inside and out.  Police cordon the street forcing the crowd backwards towards the shadows of the other side.  It looks and sounds like London, Tokyo or Berlin in the '40's, except there are no flames.  Merely a little smoke is visible which in itself creates more babble and hence a louder crowd din.

 

Drago backs away from his inherited taxi and eases over behind the two Germans who have inched away from the doorway, drawn by the events.  No longer in the shadows.   The two pops, each silenced revolver shots, are not even remotely heard over the sirens of the last few fire engines arriving or over the pandemonium of the crowd's shouting, talking and gasps.  No one notices anything happening behind them.  The Germans slump to the ground like flour sacks dropped from a truck bed. Drago has shot each twice, double taps, so quickly that the second of the two barely reacted.  One shot, up, in the back of the head, and the second at the base of the neck, angled downward. With the about simultaneous thuds of their bodies, Drago glances around, seeing that no one has seen or heard anything other than the commotion, jerks the bodies back into the doorway and darkness.  He leaves, walking close to the backs of the crowd to where the two Russians are standing, at the back of the mob scene at one end of the crowd, watching the people in front of them but more the entrance of the hotel.

Drago takes the same two quick shots each, same angles. They too drop.  The pops of the two double taps not heard.  However, the spray of blood and bone seems to float in the air above the back edge of the crowd.  Most dissipates unnoticed except for some of it that a few people seemingly wipe the dampness from their necks or shoulders as if it were a mist or spray of water.  They will determine otherwise in minutes.

Drago is gone like a ghost in a nightmare.  He melts away behind vehicles and crowd, moves unnoticed up to the corner, then around it as if a fleeting shadow.  Unnoticed except for one person, who follows at a careful distance.

Marnee, hugging building walls, thinks.  
This is the Italian's work and this man will lead me to him.  And to Pisces.
 

 

 

Rocco, confidant that Drago has dispensed of the Germans and Russians watches from the window of Dee's room.  A table lamp lit as it was when he entered, as well as the door being relocked so it too will be as she left it.  He sees that the circus is ending outside.  Nothing damaged he's sure except inside of the hallway janitorial closets, and a little smoke on two floors.  He hears the stomping of firemen's feet and their shouting as they ensure all is well on this floor.  The alarms have ceased.  The hotel night manager is on the PA system encouraging people to come back inside, and return to their rooms or take advantage of free drinks for all in any of the bars or lounges.  Rocco goes over his plan in his mind.  He will wait in Dee's clothes closet and when she returns, kill her quickly and quietly thus getting rid of the last of those that can hold a hammer over his head.  The last that can ruin his and Pisces' retirement ...  and Drago's, maybe.  He would like to take his time and make it hurt, but he still has the Jews to terminate.

 

 

The two Irishmen, Sean and Danny, are quick to return to the bar and claim their reward for the inconvenience.  The hotel's offer is being taken advantage of by a staggering number of guests.  Fire officials are still roaming the building.  Some police.  Staff has returned and all are busy cleaning up, serving, with a few foolishly running about with little direction, jabbering about the events.    

The Israelis, Itzak and Namir have returned to the lobby.  They stand in a far corner, not interested in the mollifying beverages.  Itzak whispers, "The Irishmen are back inside.  Not the Russians.  And I don't see ..." He stops as both spot Dee reentering.  She and the well dressed American gentleman that was with her earlier enter the elevator.  Itzak continues, "Well, I do now.  As I said earlier, that escort has CIA written across his back like American footballers."

Namir replies, "Yes, and watch.  It'll stop on four.  This is getting interesting, and also for our two Irish friends.  We and they are the only ones in here who seem to be watching that duo."

"You're correct, friend.  It's stopped on four and I sense..."  For the second time within minutes, Itzak's comment is interrupted.  This time from screams and shouting from outside the hotel.  Guests are now surging to get inside, while other curiosity seekers fight their way out.  The few policemen inside race toward the entrance.  The circus has erupted again and the clamor inside is momentarily silenced when a guest races in shouting, "There are dead men all over the street.  A murderer is loose."

The surge both ways continues along with dozens of screaming women, and the shouts of police warning, "STAY INSIDE.  PLEASE.  STAY INSIDE, " over again and again.

Itzak and Namir calmly fight their way through the crowding, shoving and pushing flow.  They arrive outside, ignore the police shouts and work their way to the edges of now both frightened and excited guests, passersby, and lingering curiosity seekers.  They nod to one another, splitting up.  Each goes to the crowd gathering around each site despite police warnings and cordoning.  Moments after each has seen the Russians and Germans, they find one another.  Itzak shakes his head, "It's the two Russians.  Assassinated.  Professional."

Namir replies, "Same for the Germans, and I suspect more than a routine problem with the taxi.  The police found what is probably the driver in the back seat.  His neck, snapped like a chicken."

Itzak orders, "We've got to get back inside and check the woman.  The Italian has to be responsible for this.  Everything.  The fire, and all this."

Namir adds to this assessment. "He's got help. Possibly one, or more."

The two Israelis fight and claw their way through guests, the curious onlookers, the police and firemen into the lobby.  Itzak says, "They're gone.  Where are the damn Irishmen?"

"The hell with them.  Where is that big fucking Italian?  We better check on the lady.  And watch our own ass."  Namir tugs at Itzak's arm, "And where the hell is Marnee?"

He  replies, "I would suspect outside.  And on to the person responsible out there."

 

CHAPTER 25

 

"Use cover and concealment

as much as possible."

A gunfighter's rule

 

 

Rocco hears the room door open as he squats, waiting, in the room's clothes closet.   He has his M951R Beretta with suppressor in hand, elbows resting on his knees, weapon pointing up and out.  His head is slightly canted so his ear is nearer the closet door.  He hears a man's voice say, "I better go in and just check around."

Then the reply from the lady.  "Really?  I like the sound of the first part but why the latter?  We left with all the others and it was locked."

"Yeah, I know.  But Mister MacBeer would kill me if I made a mistake and let something happen to you."

"Oh, that's warm and enticing.  What can happen?  Kerrigan has vanished.  I don't know where he is and could care less at this stage.  Besides your boss is a long way off."

The agent shakes his head side to side, eyebrows raised and mutters, "Right."  Takes in a breath, drones, "Nonetheless, checking is in order.  In here first."

A pause, the sound of a shower curtain rustling, then, "The bathroom is clear.  Hey, stay away from the window."

Rocco feels the vibration of footsteps on the floor coming toward the closet.  The man's voice, closer now, agitated and more pronounced, issues another warning.  "GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW.  NOW. Please."

The agent grasps both knobs of the double-door closet and swings them open as if using a chest exercise cable. Rocco stands and fires.  "Pfssst."  The first round hits the agent in the chest as Rocco rises.  Then with the pistol's suppressor one inch from the agent's forehead, "Pfsssst."  The back of the man's head explodes spraying blood, brains and bone toward the inside of the room.  Part of the spray splatters on Dee as she nears the foot of the bed from the window.   The sagging agent is blown backward from the two 9mm hollow point rounds and drops like a felled buffalo.   Rocco steps over the body quickly and fires a shot into Dee's chest.  She staggers to the foot of the bed, falls backward on the bed.    Her face is splattered on her right side with a portion of the agents head.  Blood surges through the center of her sheer blouse.  She tries to speak.  Rocco quickly looks around to check the room door.  It's closed, but not locked.  Several quick steps there, snaps the lock and fastens the security chain, and back again at the foot of the bed. Dee lays, face up, gasping for air.  The sound of the sucking chest wound is distinctive.  She struggles to raise herself on her elbows.  Mouth trying to form words.  Eyes bulging with terror and senselessness.  

Rocco leans over, inches from her nose and says, "Angelo was a good man.  A good Italian man.  Too fucking good for you, but orders were orders.  Just business."

Dee's face exhibits shock and confusion.  Her vocal gasps and the wound's sucking sounds are interwoven into the murkiness of death. She drops from her elbows to laying flat on her back, legs dangling over the end of the bed.  Blood pulsing from her chest, running through the sheer white blouse, and seeping down her side to the plush decorative green and beige bedspread.  More blood oozing underneath from the exit wound.

The huge Italian leans over even closer.  Kisses her forehead.  Hisses, "I wish I could make it hurt more but I don't have time.  So, this is for Angelo.  For loving and trusting a whore."  Rocco lifts Dee's skirt, shoves the Beretta up between her legs and fires a round.  Her body shudders, flopping up and down like a fish's final effort on the wooden planks of a dock.  Rocco smiles, snarls, "And this is for mea and my bossa, and his
amico
in Washington."  Another silenced pop.  A single 9mm round between her eyes.  Her body completely limp now, eyes cold and lifeless, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing.  The bed spread now a soaked and splattered coppery-smelling canvas of blood like a contemporary artist's rendering of death at sunset.

Rocco stands and scans the room.  Moves to the closet, takes out his handkerchief and wipes the door knobs clean.  
That's all I've touched.  Except the room door.
 

He quietly steps over the agent's body and moves to the room door and his exit.  
Got one more job to do tonight.
 

He is stopped by a tapping at the door, followed by a voice speaking Italian, "Ma'am, this is room service checking to ensure guests are safe and secure?   Are satisfactory?"

Rocco stands motionless.  
The Italian is good, but not native.  Shit.
 

The tap is repeated, but louder.  The question is also repetitive and louder.   However, there is another voice whispering, indistinguishably.  Then the original voice again, "Ma'am," not in Italian, "we know you are in the room.  Are you safe?"

The door handle rattles as it's tried from the outside.  The other voice speaks, not in a whisper, but louder, in a grimly, hushed tone.  "I know she's in there.   This is her room.  They came back up."

"Yes, but possibly to his room."