The Hitman: Dirty Rotters (11 page)

I reached behind the seat and yanked
out a hooded black sweatshirt. I had it crammed down to the floor.
It was all wrinkled up, dirty. I hadn’t worn it in a long while. I
put it on. I kept the hood on as well.

There was a knock against my window. I
turned quickly. It was the basketball guy. He looked amused. I
rolled down my window. Hand roller, not a button. Old
school.

He pointed to the box of donuts with a
grin. “You’re not a cop?”

“
What do you
want?”

“
You got a fake mustache in
there too?”

I grew irritated. “Done missing layups
for the day?”

“
Do yourself a favor and go
home.”

“
Can’t do that
yet.”

“
Why?”

“
Waiting. Just like you
said.”

“
Didn’t you hear me when I
said it wasn’t going to happen?”

“
I put a sweatshirt on.” I
pointed to my hood. “See?”

“
Who is it?” He was
agitated. He wanted me gone.

“
A man with a long
ponytail. Fast, white car. Know him?”

He looked like he was thinking
something through. He was debating something. “Sure, man. I know
who you’re looking for. You gonna take him to jail?”

“
No. I’m not a
cop.”

“
What’d he do?”

“
He killed my
fiancé.”

He didn’t look as surprised. He was
quiet for a moment. He gave me a serious look. “He’s bad news, man.
You better be a damn good cop.”

“
I’m not a cop at
all.”

Another pause. “Listen man, get out of
here for a while. Let me make some money. He doesn’t get through
here until later anyway. Maybe five or six.” He looked around
again. He was very curious. “Where’s everyone else at? Where’s your
back up?”

“
Just me. Like I said, I’m
not a cop. Buy some Q-tips.”

He smiled. “I hope you’re right. But
later on you might be wishing you were, man.”

He patted the top of my car and then
walked away. I waited a second, then turned the key and drove away.
I had a few hours to kill. No real place to hang out. I figured I
would get some real food and do some sightseeing. I came to the
intersection the block before Little B’s old house. It was red and
fixed up. I turned left and didn’t look back.

I drove out of the neighborhood. I
didn’t want word to spread that a black El Camino SS was just
driving around. People get suspicious really quick around there. I
went to the other side of town altogether. I went to a small
upscale burger joint and just relaxed. I had the Thursday special:
bacon cheese burger and seasoned fries. I tried to stay mean
enough, focused enough, to be able to do what I had intended on
doing this morning when I knew I was going to find the ponytailed
man. But I bought comfort foods. I was enjoying myself. I should
have eaten a hotdog. I always get mad having to eat a
hotdog.

I drove back to the park after driving
around for a while. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. It was
almost sixty degrees out too, warm and sunny, and I knew that meant
the park would be full.

I parked on the street a block away
and walked. I took my time. I wanted to seem casual. I wanted to
fit in. The park was full like I knew it would be. I saw my friend
from earlier playing basketball with three others. He was working
hard. I thought about standing courtside, but I had better things
to do. I found a picnic table near the center of the park and
slumped down on it. I could see most of the park where the action
was, with the empty river yards behind me and Dumpy asleep on the
couch. I watched the sky, the birds and squirrels, and pretended to
sleep, all the while keeping track of everyone there.

Ten minutes later a white ’08 Corvette
pulled in and parked by the court facing me. The engine was loud;
it was a fast car. It was clean, polished to a shine. I didn’t
move, but I stayed looking in that direction. The driver was a man.
He was staring straight at me. I looked away. I grew nervous to the
point where I thought I was going to be sick. Then I casually
looked back at him. He was still staring at me. No deviation. No
mistaking what he was looking at. Then his hand came off of the
wheel to where I could see two of his fingers wave at me, motioning
for me.

I swallowed hard. He made the gesture
again, this time with irritation, and there was no doubt. He wanted
me. I was shaking with nervous energy and pumping adrenaline. I
rose and walked toward his car. As I got closer, I could see him
clearer, ponytail and all.

This was it.

Justice
.

As I came closer, he leaned over and
opened the passenger door. I opened it further, got in, shut the
door, and sat next to the man who killed Pamela.

“
I expected another
Russian.” His hand reached under his seat and he pulled something
out, handing it to me. “Here. Take it.”

It all had caught me by surprise and I
just sat there for a second trying to grasp the situation. I stared
at his face. He was older than me, but not by much. He had black
hair, slicked back into a ponytail that ended at the middle of his
back. His face was bony, long nose, prominent cheek bones and a
chiseled chin with a dent in it. He had black stubble too. But he
wasn’t dirty. If anything he was fresh out of a shower with a dab
too much of the liquid cologne. The man was talking to me like we
knew each other. Eventually he was going to realize his
mistake.

His hand held a folded piece of paper.
His eyes told me to take it.

So I did.

“
This is demeaning.” He was
angry. He was bitter. He looked away from me and stared straight
ahead to someplace far away. “The first time in ten years that
something goes wrong and bam, I’m off the job. Just like that. It’s
disgraceful. It’s a slap in the face.”

I wondered if I should be opening up
the paper. I wondered what was in it. I wondered who he thought I
was. But he kept talking, distracted as he was, and he didn’t seem
to care if I just sat there.

“
So don’t think that by
taking my job that somehow you’re better at it. You ain’t. I was
the best.” He was working himself into a frenzy.

I sat there with the paper in hand,
silent.

He slammed his hands against the
steering wheel hard. “I told him that I had taken care of it and I
did! No one was ever going to find out! Everything was wrapped up!
Just like I do! Every time! Me! I’ve always taken care of it. This
just shows you how much respect he has for his loyals.”

He hit the steering wheel in a rapid
session. He was sweating then. Huffing and puffing. He’d cry later,
I was sure of it. I said nothing.

“
You think this can’t
happen to you? Think long and hard about it. You’re not even one of
them.”

He stared at me. I felt like I had to
say something.

“
What did you do,
exactly?”

Oops.

He turned his head towards me nice and
slow with an incredible look in his eyes. Suspicion and wonder. I
knew I had said the wrong thing. I knew he must have realized that
I was the wrong person.

“
What did you just
say?”

“
I was making
conversation.”

“
You wearing a wire? You a
cop?”

“
What?”

“
Take your clothes
off.”

I looked down and he had nine
millimeter pointed at my side, just an inch away. His eyes held a
wild look, like a wolf discovering a wounded hare.

“
What? Why?”

“
Do it. Right now or I’ll
blow your insides out through that door.”

I believed him. “Listen-”

“
Now!”

I slowly did as told, starting with my
sweatshirt, then shirt, then shoes, then pants, then socks. I sat
in my new underwear. “I’m not a cop.”

He looked me over, checking for a
wiretap, then told me to get dressed. He somewhat apologized,
telling me that he’s all worked up because he thinks The Bear is
out to get him now.

“
I don’t trust that
Russian. Watch your step with him.”

I nodded. I was dressed, my hand still
clutched the folded paper. I wasn’t about to initiate any further
conversation. He still held the gun.

“
That guy took the fall,”
he began his rant again as if nothing had happened between us, “and
everything was going to just fade away like it always
did.”

Angelo Garboni.

I shifted my body, facing him now. I
could feel my temperature rise. I could hear the paper in my hand
begin to crumple as I made fists.

“
And what’s my job?” He
said to himself.

I had no idea.

“
They want someone, they
come to me. They need someone to disappear, they come to me. The
girls get out of line, I’m the guy.”

I was getting hotter. I could hear my
breathing deepen, almost with a growling exhale. All other sounds
were drowning out. It was just the two of us left on the
planet.

“
So I did what they pay me
to do. I took care of it like I always do.” He paused. “Then the
skinny blond went nuts. I mean, she went crazy. She tried to stab
the fat man with a plastic spork, you know? So instead of shipping
her to Moscow, fatboy told me to get rid of her. I was taking her
to a warehouse when she went nuts on me in the van. What choice did
I have? I had to shoot her. Me or her, right? So she ate a bullet
before I had planned. No big deal. Then I figured I’d do the others
too. Why keep driving? Do it all then and go ditch the van.
Business as usual. Just another day.” He paused, thinking. “Feisty
as hell, that girl. Pamela, I think her name was. Blondes always
fight though.”

His voice faded away. A wash of light
came over me, filled with Pamela’s innocent face. So beautiful. So
bright. So full of life. I missed her so much then. Her eyes
twinkled as if she was trying to tell me a secret. She came closer
to my face. I could smell the vanilla lotion she used. It was
soothing. It calmed the anger I had been filled with a second ago.
She brushed her lips past my cheek, moving towards my ear. Her
touch gave me goose bumps. I felt relaxed and excited at the same
time. I could hear her voice begin to whisper…

The car’s horn was loud enough to wake
me from the dream. I moved away from the man, who was now slumped
lifeless against the steering wheel. Blood was dripping from his
head down to the floor mats, droplets were running down the
windows. I jumped back in shock. My hands were wet, red and
slippery. Something had happened.

I looked outside, thinking of help,
but the basketball court was empty. The entire park was for that
matter. It was dead silent. Everyone had fled.

I wiped the blood and strands of hair
from my hands onto the seat and frantically opened the door. My
heart was pounding. I was having trouble breathing. I had done it.
I was to blame. I was shaking. I was getting sick.

I exited the car and backed away,
still staring in disbelief at the mess inside, still trying to put
the missing piece in place. I had killed a man. My mind had drifted
to someplace nice while my body did the deed. I felt cold. It was
nearly sixty degrees outside with no wind. I should be sweaty. But
the cold grew overwhelming. Freezing. Numbing. Not across my skin,
but deep inside me. My core. It was a sensation like I had never
felt before. One that I didn’t imagine possible.

I turned to get out of there, when I
saw the black Rolls-Royce. The car of Death itself. It was parked
just feet away, facing me. It had seen everything.

The driver was a tall, fit man, who
got out and then opened the back door. He stood beside the door and
motioned for me to get in. I was in shock still. I wanted to turn
and run, to obey all my senses screaming in warning. But I didn’t.
I walked forward to the car, past the driver, and slid onto the
black leather seat with my hands stained red.

“
I see you must be an
impatient man. We agree to kill him on Saturday.” The big Russian
said, then turned to look at me with cold grey eyes. “Palo was
right. I do like you.”

Chapter 9

I was shivering.

The coldness growing inside me was
freezing me inside out. Organs were smothered in frost, encased by
Arctic air far below zero. I couldn’t get warm. I couldn’t stop the
trembling. It was a horribly unpleasant sensation.

I moved my hands together for friction
and looked over to the Russian who held a red box of crackers and
ate handfuls casually. I could only think then that none of this
was real.

The big Russian smiled at me. He was
probably a foot shorter than I was, but at least three hundred
pounds heavier. His bulging form owned most of the backseat. His
skin was grey like old meat, and his hair was shaved really short
as if he were in the military.

I still had not said a word. He ate
crackers while I stared at him. He had the largest head I had ever
seen, oval shaped like a football, like a Ninja Turtle but not that
pleasant. It was more toad-like, with brown splotches everywhere.
Everything about him suggested that he wasn’t capable of physically
harming anyone. Save for his eyes. I could feel them burning into
me. I knew he was dangerous.