Posted 29 September 2008 - 01:11 AM
Irish Mob, Lucky Winkles Bar, Chapter VII: Luck Of The Irish
Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep, screams my alarm as the designated time arrives on the clock. Itís a new day and I cycle through the things I need to do in my mind. Itís a struggle to pull myself from warmth and coziness of my bed and make my way to the closet to get dressed. I skip breakfast and decide to head out to Northwood, Algonquin to pick up my Vincent, fresh out of the paint shop, after the little vandalism incident. I hit the streets and waiting for a taxi to come near, signaling to the driver to pull to the side of the road and pick me up. Along the way I decide to call Allison and setup a date, which she agrees to. So far the day is going pretty good and it is the first time in, I canít remember how long, that I feel like a normal person. No shooting, fights, car wrecks, drug dealing, etc.
A short while later the taxi pulls up in front of the body shop and the driver prompts me for some money. As I exit the taxi I see my Vincent sparkling in the sunlight, showing off its new paintjob. I thank the owner, pay my bill and hop in the car to go look at some new apartments. Iím working with a realtor that knows the McReary family, so we spend the afternoon looking at places and reminiscing about some of the crazy things that have happened to the family in the past few years. The realtor shows me a penthouse near Middle Park, in Algonquin, that I just canít pass up. We finalize the deal later that day and I look back on how normal and uneventful the day has been, thinking to myself: ďThis must be what itís like to lead a normal life.Ē
It will be a few days until the sale is final and I can start moving into the penthouse, so I make my way home, to Bohan. My normal day is about to change as my cell phone rings, its Big Paulie.
ďHey kid. Looks as though we are going to have a problem with the Ancellotiís, as I suspected. They moved quicker than I thought they would and know you and Patrick survived. Itís been brought to my attention that they hired an assassin to take all three of us outÖyou first, then Patrick, and then, obviously, me. Iím not sure how they know who you are or what you look like, but I know that they doÖso be on your toes and live long enough to keep your cousin and me alive,Ē Big Paulie explains, over the phone, as I shake my head in disbelief.
ďSoÖthis guy is just gonna off me then go after you two?Ē I ask, as I try and get more info.
ďApparently soÖand I heard he is one of the best. Be careful kidÖfor your sake, Patrickís sake, and for my f*cking sake!Ē Paulie exclaims and ends the conversation.
With a price on my head I decide to stay away from my apartment, considering this assassin probably knows where I live, if he knows what I look like. The fear gets to me and I call to warn Patrick, who, I find out from my aunt, is still asleep at 3:15 pm. Annoyed and afraid for my life I decide to go to a diner in Hove Beach and grab something to eat, while I wait for Patrick to wake up around 4 pm, which is apparently normal for him. The diner is mostly empty, characteristic of this particular diner and the time of day. I sit quietly eating a burger and watch out the windows for anything out of the ordinary, when I notice a black PMP600 drive down the street. The man in the car seems to be staring right at me, nodding gently, as if to say: ďYou arenít going to be alive long.Ē
I have never seen this man before in my life, but some kind of primal survival instinct told me this way my killer, and I was in trouble. My attention was drawn to the car as it slowly drove by the diner, heading East on Bart Street, and rounded the corner onto Mohawk Avenue, heading South. I lost sight of the car and decided it was time to either make a move or die in a run-down diner in Hove Beach. My brain urged me to exit the building and get to my car, across the street in a little alley, where I had left my gun. My movements took me right for the front door of the diner and out onto the streets. The sounds of a V8 engine and tires squealing roared through the air. I turned my attention to the direction of the sounds and spotted the PMP600 coming back around the corner, right toward me. Faintly, I could see the man laughing to himself and holding something in his hand. My mad dash toward my Vincent was nearly complete when suddenly my car exploded in a giant fireball, which rose far above the building surrounding it.
The blast sent me backward, landing on the hard tarmac of the street. My body ached and my ears rang from the explosion, I was finding it difficult to peel myself from the road and avoid my death, at the hands of a madman. Struggling to gain my balance as I rose, I heard the all too familiar sound of a clip being loaded into a SMG, which now had my full attention as I looked in the direction of the hitman. The adrenaline kicked in and my focus shifted from my aching body to the need to survive. I ran for the front door of the diner and burst inside, yelling: ďEveryone, get down!Ē
A spray of bullets followed my entry into the little diner. Glass shattered and holes were formed as the bullets pelted the front of the establishment. Crouched down, sheltering myself behind the dinerís counter, I contemplated my options as light poured into the room, through the round bullet holes in the wall. My only options were stay and fight or try to get out through the side door of the diner and get to a phone. The only weapon I had was a knife I had tucked into my boot, and I knew that would be useless against the assassinís SMG. It was too dangerous to try and make a call from the diner and I was pretty sure the phone was destroyed in the gunfire. There were two places nearby that I could go, the Russian Clothing store or Comradeís Bar. My choice was Comradeís, since it was directly east of the dinerís side exit, across Mohawk Avenue.
Moments later, I sprang to my feet and broke through the side door and onto the sidewalk, steps away from Mohawk Avenue. My legs were moving as fast as they could, aching in pain from my previous impact with the street. I made it into the middle of the avenue when my attention was directed to my left, as tires squealed again and the black PMP600 launched toward me. The front of the car struck my left side and sent me flying onto the hard tarmac of the street, for a second time. I knew I was in trouble this time, I couldnít move my left leg and the hitman was exiting his car. He made his way toward me, SMG in hand, and laughed a little as he aimed the gun at my face.
ďGuess you arenít as good as they suspected you were, punk,Ē said the assassin.
I grabbed the knife from my boot, not knowing exactly what I was going to do against a SMG held in the hands of a trained killer. The hitman laughed at the sight and said:
ďDid I knock the sense right out of you? You brought a knife to a gunfight!Ē
The SMG was still pointed right at my face and as the manís laughter subsided, he pulled the trigger. Itís funny how everything slows down, moments before your unfortunate end, allowing you a chance to think of all the things you care about and everything you will miss in life. Click, Click, Click, surprisingly, the clip was empty, a result of his prior assault on the diner.
ďSh*tÖlooks like Iíll have to go grab my backup pistol. Donít go anywhere nowÖha-ha-ha,Ē he laughed, ďnot like you can anyway, right gimpy?Ē joked the man as he turned to walk back to his car.
Itís amazing what the body can do when it has to, because I blocked out the pain of my possible broken leg and made a move for the assassin, as his back was turned and attention was not on me. I could only manage to walk a few steps and my body began to collapse right behind the assassin. I had one chance to end this and I took full advantage of him letting his guard down. As I fell, the arm holding the knife wrapped around the assassinís right shoulder and placed the blade of the knife square with the front of the throat. The falling motion, and my body clinging to the man, completed the gruesome task, severing open the flesh, spilling the warm, red liquid onto his chest and the ground.
An eerie silence filled the street as the commotion finally came to an end. My leg sent shockwaves of pain to my brain and I began to feel nauseous. I knew the cops would soon show up and I was definitely not in any kind of condition to deal with them. The dead assassinís car was only a few feet away, left running after he hit me. I managed to hobble to the vehicle and briefly looked over where my Vincent was parked. The car was burnt a dull brown with a small fire still burning the last pieces of the interior. A familiar sound of emergency sirens marked my departure. I knew I couldnít keep the PMP600 as a replacement for my Vincent, but it would at least get me out of Hove Beach and to help. Rummaging briefly, I found the pistol the assassin was trying to retrieve, and decided to hang onto it, just in case. My cell phone managed to survive the incident and I dialed Big Paulie to let him know what had happened.
ďPaulieÖĒ I groaned, ďÖits Zeke. Iím hurt pretty badÖĒ I groaned again in agony, ďÖthe Ancellotiís assassin tried to kill me, but he didnít succeed. I need a doctor, but you know I canít go to the hospital.Ē
Öto be continued
*Pistol purchased as part of the story, $100.