"Dealing a Dark Death"

by Mark L. Stinson

I knew this scum once by the name of Luigi Montini. It was my all consuming quest to destroy this subhuman that led me to his office that night. Thunder and lightning and pouring rain shook my frame as I stumbled out of the taxi. I tossed a wad of money at the cabbie and told him to forget my face. He nodded and the look on his face told me he would. One less nobody I'd have to kill.

The stinging smell of car exhaust was over-powered by the stench of decay gracing the alley I stood in. The building, dark and ominous, stabbed at the night, stretching seemingly forever above me. No lights...not a sign of life. But I knew he was there. He was probably sitting in his stainless steel office, working his cold selfish deals, and being "an all around detriment to society"...and me. I lit a cigar and paced back and forth awhile. My hate-muddled mind concentrated on Luigi's final moment. That last look on his face, when I would separate him from his guts, was the only reward I sought. That was my goal and nothing could stop me.

I dropped my stogie and ground it into the pavement. Stepping from the alley, I ran a hand through my wet disarrayed hair.

I wondered, "Does he know I'm coming for him? Can he be waiting? Right now he's probably laughing at me. He thinks I can't find him. Kill him."

I reached the glass front doors. They were locked of course, but that wasn't a very challenging barrier to remove.

CRASH! I leapt through the glass, tearing chunks of flesh from my legs and arms.

"Damn!" The word escaped my lips with the unconscious rapidity of the proverbial "ouch." I picked myself up off the cold, marble floor, now red with my blood, and limped quickly into the shadows. There wasn't any sign of guards and no alarms went off. It all felt wrong...like a trap.

This was, by my estimation, a perfect time to pull my shotgun from under my shredded long-coat. It had two shells in it. Two shells that would empty their contents into anyone standing between me and Montini.

Creeping as silently as I could, I made my way over to the elevator. I was somewhat weak at this point. Loss of blood and the fact I hadn't eaten or slept in three days had taken its toll.

The dial above the double doors said the elevator was on the fourteenth floor. I knew at the time that it was a mistake, but I didn't have the strength to march up seventeen flights of stairs. I pushed the button. My foot was tapping on the marble. A drop of blood, or maybe it was sweat, dripped off my nose. It was at this point that I looked up an noticed the floor indicator dial was counting down at increasing speeds. A whirring sound and a noise like an engine over-revving reached me.

I had guessed right...a trap. I turned, ran, and dove behind some lobby furniture. BOOM! Fire and flying metal filled the room. The couch absorbed all the force and most of the shrapnel. I would be about a half-pound heavier until I could get the elevator parts removed from my body. Unsure of my steps on the rubble, I slowly approached the large cavernous opening that had once been the elevator doors and a wall.

The evidence told the story. Luigi had strapped some dynamite, with my name on it, to the bottom of the elevator and fixed the cables so they would fail when I pushed the "up" button. Quite a genius. A regular Al Capone if you asked me. He'd pay for this pain.

My overcoat (or what was left of it) stunk of sweat and blood. He'd pay for that too. The fact that my best coat was ruined didn't slow me down though. I retrieved my shotgun several feet from where I had dropped it, checked to make sure the double-barrels were clear, and headed for the stairs. I would have to find the strength, for at the top of the steps I would find his office.

I reached the door and realized this was the time to use my shotgun. Luigi wouldn't leave the stairs unguarded and he obviously knew I was on my way. So it was my bet that some hired guns were waiting in the stairwell for me. I leveled my 12-gauge about two inches from the door and pulled the trigger. BLAM! and then again...BLAM! The first shot had produced screams from on the stairs and the second had silenced them. I swung open the ruined door and one word describes what I saw...gore. Suffice it to say that two men died, and with a skill I mastered years ago, I ignored the sight.

Contrary to popular belief, a killer's favorite color isn't red...it's green. Preferably lots of green, and in small bills. But this job was more like a hobby. For free. On the house.

I slipped and almost fell on what had been the men, and then continued up the stairs. Up and up. It seemed like it would take an eternity to climb those steps. One elevator is all this building had, and I cursed the tight-wad who built it. All the way up I found at each floor there was a security camera. I dealt with them simply by smashing them down with the butt of my gun.

I had reloaded my weapon, ready for trouble...but nobody confronted me. I could hear doors above and below me open and close, but I didn't see even one guard. I suppose Luigi wanted me to reach his floor. "Maybe he won't even be there," I thought. But I knew he would be. And I knew he wouldn't have let me get this far if he didn't think my death was a sure thing.

Most of the minor cuts had scabbed up and the big ones were just oozing. One of my ribs had buckled and was now running rampant in my chest. Every time I took a breath I could feel its jagged edge ripping away at my tissues. Bleeding inside and out I reached the Montini floor.

I spared the monitor camera here because I wanted to shake up Luigi. "Hey, you Italian greaseball. I'm here for you! See this gun...," I pointed it at the camera,"...It was made for one purpose...to kill you!" I pulled the trigger and blew the cameral off the wall.

I took advantage of this new-made privacy and lit a cigar. Luckily my ankle flask was still intact and in place. I indulged in these comforts at this time, because I didn't think I'd get another chance. This Montini guy had a lot of men in his building and I felt, even if I kill him, there's no way I'll get out alive.

I realized that delaying here in the stairwell was getting me nowhere, so I put away the flask and moved towards the door, my cigar held tightly in my teeth. My gun was loaded and y mind was set.

I threw open the door and winced, expecting to get blown away. Darkness and silence struck me, but no bullets. The hallway stretched on in both directions, but Luigi Montini's office door was right across the hall from me.

Perfect block lettering on his frosted glass spelled out his name and "title:"

What a load! Luigi had never taken a case in his life. This was just a store-front operation. He'd never done an honest day's work. Buy and deal - that was his trade. If you can smoke it, pop it, drink it, inject it, or make love to it...he sold it.

He owned public officials from the lowest positions to the highest. The cops couldn't touch him - he golfed with the D.A. The Feds wouldn't bother him - he unified the other scum of our country. And the bigger its structure the closer a group's activities can be watched and controlled. I know it sounds crazy, but it was my responsibility...my job...to kill him.

I tip-toed softly across the hard tile floor. It didn't matter, he knew I was coming, but it made me feel a little more secure he didn't know exactly when. I checked my gun, lit a new cigar, and ran my hand through my hair. This was it. My goal.

KICK! SLAM! The glass in the door shattered when the door, busted from its hinges, crashed to the floor. The bright lights in the office blinded me and I crouched low, my gun pointed into the room.

"Luigi! You inhuman S.O.B! Don't even try to run, your ass is mine!" I hacked out, accidentally pulling cigar smoke into my lungs.

"Rand Crundall...what a surprise. Just in the neighborhood? How's your wife?" Luigi knew just how to hurt me.

"Shut up you greasy little snake. You know where my wife is. 'Overdose' I believe the coroner said."

Luigi was scared. I could feel it. "Settle down, Rand...I knew nothing about the heroin. Have a seat, please."

I remained standing. "I didn't mention heroin, Luigi. How did you know about it unless you sold it to her? Damn you're stupid. No one's gonna miss Luigi, the wonder-brain...are they?"

Sweat ran down Luigi's face. He stood up slowly. He knew now how this would end. He got reckless and mean. "Rand, I did that job on the kids, too. And that fire at your mother's. Perhaps you also remember how your brother died. It has been my goal for years to destroy you. Make you into a degenerate. Guess I succeeded."

"Shut up, Pasta-Breath." I wheezed out.

"And now my men will kill you. What happens to me is unimportant...but you will surely die." He lied about his death being unimportant. I could read in his eyes how much he wanted to live...how scared he was I would blow him away.

"Any last words, Luigi?"

"I can get you money, food, women, even kids if you want them. You give me my life...I give you yours back. Whatta ya say? Huh, pal?"

"Maybe...," When I said this, Luigi started to smile, a victory grin, you could say. "They again...why?" With two pulls of the trigger he was dead on his feet. His torso, now like an empty barrel with too few slats, collapsed, crumpling downward. That look on his face, I had wanted to see so bad, now made me violently ill.

Thud! Just seconds after the shots, his body hit the floor.

My dry heaves subsided. I turned to walk out, but when I got to the door, I swung my head around for a parting jab. "Nice do'in business with you, Montini. See ya in hell."

Ya know, its a funny thing. As I left, not one of his stooges tried to stop me. They just all watched me jerkily make my way down the stairs and out of the building. "Maybe they know the difference between right and wrong. Better yet," I thought, "Maybe they don't want to risk death. After all, dead men don't pay wages."

But then it hit me. Luigi hadn't ordered his men men to allow me to reach his office. They let me up, because they hated Luigi. No wonder all they did was stare at me then. They wanted to thank me. But one doesn't thank a hired killer. Especially when he doesn't work for you.

THE END