Dirty Deeds (16 page)

Harry wasn’t laughing.

I tried to think back to the case but it was so long ago. Ten years. Marisa knew more about it than I did. I imagined he wasn’t going to let me call her and get a refresher on the case.

“Why did you kill Jacques?” I asked, stalling.

“He knew too much. I’ve been very careful the last few months to tie up any loose ends,” Harry said.

“I’m not sure what’s going on but maybe we can go get a drink and talk about it. If I hurt you in any way, I’m sorry. I’d like to make it up to you,” I said. I wished I’d had the unloaded gun I sometimes carried so I could at least aim it at him and see how he felt. I was confident the .22 was loaded.

“It doesn’t work that way, James. There is no happy ending with us. We’re not going to throw a football in the yard together. No baking cookies for old friends. I’m going to kill you and take over the business. . . and do it the right way,” Harry said.

“If you submit a resume I’ll look it over, but right now I’m not taking on partners or interns,” I said. I was trying to act casual and even managed a smile but I was sweating inside. Had I unwittingly saved a teenager with mental issues, only to have him kill me ten years later as my thanks?

When he’d attacked and I’d fought back I’d inadvertently pushed Harry too far away from me and now I had two choices: rush him or run back to the elevator.

The elevator wasn’t really an option. Even if I beat a guy twenty years my junior in a foot race, I still needed to hit the button and wait for the doors to close. He’d probably be shooting me in the face the entire time.

“What if I told you I don’t want to die?” I asked. I was actually being honest. I was really enjoying the living and the breathing parts of my day.

“Any last words?”

“How come you sliced his throat but you’re going to shoot me?” I asked.

Harry laughed. “I’m going to shoot but not kill you. I want to cut you into a million little pieces and dump you in the Hudson River with the rest of the trash, where they’ll never find you.”

“All of that sounds tedious. I think you’d thank me for not killing you,” I said.

Harry frowned. I could see his eyes, even in the light cast by my phone, and he looked angrier than when we started this chat.

“You made my life a living hell. My parents – my real parents – were coming back for me. They’d made a mistake, and before they could undo what you did they were killed. I grew up poor and alone with abusive step parents who never did anything for me.” Harry raised the .22 and I thought he was going to pull the trigger at any second. “I went from being rich to being poor. I could’ve lived a great life but you took it all away from me.”

I shook my head. If I was about to die I at least wanted to get in a few words of my own.

“Your father paid me to kill you. Not take you away and give you to rotten new parents. Death. Don’t you get it? Sorry to be blunt, Harry, but your birth parents weren’t coming back for you. I met them. They were horrible people who only cared about themselves. You know why they wanted you out of the picture? Because your mother’s mother had an inheritance coming up soon and if there was a grandchild, he or she would get six million dollars. Six million reasons to get rid of you,” I said.

Harry closed his eyes for a second and that’s all I needed. I hoped.

I threw the phone at him with the light still on, marveling at how it spun through the air and lit up parts of the room each microsecond.

By the time it hit him in the shoulder, he’d opened his eyes and panicked, shooting wide.

I slammed into Harry, glad now I was overweight and had about fifty pounds on the guy. Maybe more.

My momentum carried me past Harry, however, and I hit into a mannequin and stumbled, trying to stay on my feet. When I stopped and turned he was spinning on his heels trying to find me in the dark.

I rushed Harry again, and caught him with both arms, trying to drive backwards into a wall or at least the doorway. Instead, we shuffled into the hall and he tripped over the planter I’d used to prop open the elevator.

Two shots as he fell went past my head and I fell to the hallway floor, hoping the doors would close long enough I could run away.

No such luck.

Harry stepped out, holding open the doors right before they closed, and stepped into the hallway with an angered look.

I scrambled to stand but only managed to crawl to the wall and pull myself up in a panicked attempt to not die on the ground.

“I can’t wait to have Marisa crying on my shoulder at your funeral,” Harry said.

“Stay away from Marisa,” I said and managed to pull myself up. I really needed to lose weight and swore to God if I got out of this alive I’d go to the gym. Maybe cut down on the chocolate.

Harry pointed the .22 and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

I didn’t want to dwell on it too long so I ran at Harry, attempting to barrel him over again. When I slammed into his torso he didn’t move more than a few inches, set with his feet apart and waiting for the attack.

My mind went to pro wrestling I’d watched as a kid and wondering what big finishing move I could use to polish Harry off. A body-slam? Super kick to the jaw? Figure four leg-lock? I was losing my mind.

The first blow to my back hurt but I tried to pull back and throw some punches into his stomach and knock the wind out of Harry. At least. . . that was the plan.

When I moved back he did the same, and connected with my forearm when I threw it up and blocked a blow aimed at my glass jaw.

“Can’t we talk about this?” I asked between breaths. There was no way I was this winded this quickly. I added Coke and potato chips to my list of things to swear off if I survived.

Harry wasn’t in the mood to talk. He punched me in the side of the head but I nailed him back with a left cross. I guess for all his research he had no clue I was a lefty, but now my one trick was done.

The next blows came in a flurry and I stopped counting at four when I felt my lip and eye split. I’d love to tell you I fought back fiercely and overcame like I was actually in a pro wrestling match and my adrenalin pumped me up to finish the match.

I’d be lying.

You know when you realize too late all those late night fast food drive thru trips haven’t been helpful? It all caught up to me in a flash.

“Get up, old man,” Harry said.

I tried not to grab my face and will the pain to go away as I looked at Harry. He was bobbing and weaving back and forth like a prize fighter, ready to knock me out in this round.

“Old man? That hurts.” I spit blood onto the carpet, at this point hoping the cops would be able to match my DNA when my body turned up in a dumpster somewhere. Hey, looking ahead at this point was a solid move.

Inappropriate jokes and thoughts filled my head to keep me from falling apart and losing what little nerve I had left. I put my hands up and rolled my shoulders to loosen up. And waste time.

“If you’ve done your research you’ll know I’ve studied karate extensively,” I lied.

Harry smiled. “I missed that. See? You learn something new every day. I guess telling you I’m well-versed in
Krav Maga
, arguably the deadliest martial art in the world, won’t impress you, then?”

I knew he wasn’t lying. I made a mental note to look
Krav Maga
up on Google if I survived and I could still use my fingers.

“I’m a bit impressed. Not going to lie,” I said. “I guess there’s no way to simply work this out? Shake hands and accept an apology from me? Go grab a beer and laugh about this misunderstanding over a game of darts?”

“Enough stalling. I’m going to enjoy hurting you. If you can feel even a portion of the pain I’ve felt over the years I’ll be satisfied,” Harry said.

My mind yelled to charge him again and bring the fight, getting on the offensive before he had time to club me into a bloody pulp.

I stood still, feet planted, hating myself right now. I wasn’t a fighter. Heck, at this point I wasn’t even a lover. I needed to seriously think about retiring.

Harry had no qualms about fighting, and he took his sweet time coming at me, one step at a time. I wanted to wipe the grin off his face but knew I’d never be able to.

I thought about turning and running down the hallway. I was sure there was a stairwell and freedom, but Harry had youth and weight and speed on his side. The best I could hope for was prolonging the beating.

His first punch was wide and I ducked the other way, easily avoiding it. I realized too late he’d suckered me with his left and his right glanced off the side of my head. That would leave a mark the size of a grapefruit.

I tried in vain to recover but the next two strikes knocked the wind out of me.

Insanely I wished he’d had another bullet left, because I didn’t relish the amount and length of pain heading my way.

Just when I thought I’d hit the floor, Harry actually grabbed me by the shirt so he could do more damage to my face. He connected four times in rapid succession, his fist a blur as it bounced off my head. I didn’t have time to take stock on what was broken or would never work the same again, but I knew if my nose wasn’t broken he’d soon find a way to do it. Both eyes would be black and blue, and my ears were ringing like I’d gone a round with Mike Tyson.

I’m not sure if he was growing bored or tired, but he let go of my shirt and I slumped to the carpet, wanting to close my swollen eyes and take a nap. I was exhausted and I’d really done nothing except take a violent beating. My throat was sore and I hoped it wasn’t from screaming like a baby while he was punching me.

“I’m going to finish you,” Harry said. He pushed my body over and sat on my torso with a smile. “My face will be the last thing you see in this world.”

His next two blows landed squarely on my mouth and I knew he’d broken at least a couple of teeth. They weren’t going to heal and grow back, either.

The elevator dinged and Harry stopped pummeling my face.

He swung to punch me in the face again but I managed to turn and the blow only slammed into my ear, which felt like he’d ripped it off.

Harry jumped up and ran down the hallway.

Two hulking masses had stepped out of the elevator and I knew it wasn’t Marisa and the National Guard swooping in to save my life.

I closed my eyes and tried to pass out but I was rudely lifted from the carpet, my head swimming.

“Don’t die on us just yet. Chenzo wants to have a word with you,” one of the goons said.

Chenzo didn’t look happy.

I tried to adjust on the chair but the ropes were too tight around my wrists and ankles, and even if I could stand up and stretch I was sure the three goons standing watch wouldn’t let me do much.

I needed to figure out how to play this without getting killed. Since getting involved in Chenzo, his long-lost son and Harry, I’d been out of my element.

Pretty bad when your element is kidnapping children and making them disappear. I wasn’t built for all this work, and when my stomach growled and one of the goons glanced at me I couldn’t help but smile.

“You know you let him go, right?” I asked.

Chenzo looked at his men. “Who’s he talking about?”

One of them shrugged his cinder block shoulders. If he had a neck he would’ve moved it, too. “Some guy was beating him to a pulp.”

“He was trying to kill me,” I said.

Chenzo grinned. “Then you should be thanking the boys for chasing him off. By the damage on your face he was getting the best of you. I’m a little put off, though. . . breaking your nose or giving you a black eye would be redundant.”

“Maybe you should let me go. I think I’ve had enough for one day,” I said. I genuinely believed it, too.

Chenzo got close to my bloody face and grinned. He had perfect white teeth. I envied him for it right now. My teeth had always been a little yellow from too much coffee, and now a few of them were chipped or loose.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mister Gaffney. There are so many other places on a man’s body to hurt. So many bones to break its nearly unfair,” Chenzo said.

“I’m trying to come up with something witty to say right now but my face hurts,” I said. It did. I didn’t know how much more pain I could actually take before I broke.

Instead of beginning the torture, Chenzo pulled over a chair and sat down across from me. Knowing at some point he was going to get up or snap a finger and have one of his goons begin to hurt me was also a form of torture.

“What’s the chance, once you’re done, we can go upstairs and have a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs? I can’t remember the last time I ate,” I said.

Chenzo shook his head.

I sighed. They say, in times like this, you see your life flash before your eyes. I’d been in this basic spot a few times now and all I could think about was my grumbling stomach. I think I have an eating problem.

“Whatever you had was your last meal, I’m afraid. I just need some information from you before we end your life. I’m not going to lie: this is going to be painful. You crossed me. You lied to me and you kept this lie perpetuating for many years. I cannot have this. What kind of message would it send through my ranks if the son I thought was killed all those many years ago wasn’t dead after all? But now he’s gone, right? Washed up on a beach.” Chenzo stood. “I missed all of his birthday parties. His Little League games. Teaching my son to ride a bike and how to shave. How to run numbers and fixing a horse race. Things my father taught me.”

I decided not to point out the obvious: Chenzo had paid me years ago to kill his son.

“I suppose I should be mad at you for not killing my son. I paid you a lot of money,” Chenzo said and began to pace.

He pulled a small pocketknife from his expensive suit pocket and flicked it in his hand. The guy was the walking cliché of a mob boss: Italian suit, soft black leather dress shoes, a pinkie ring and slicked back dyed black hair. Freshly shaven. Eyes like black holes sucking in the light. His smile was pleasantly unfriendly. Chenzo exuded power and fear.

“But. . . you actually didn’t kill my son. My flesh and blood. You gave him another life somewhere else. Did you, in essence, steal from me? I don’t like a thief,” Chenzo said.