PAID TO KILL: (AN ACTION SERIES)- CHAPTER ONE
One
Phewww.....a bullet whistled through the cold air, shattering glass, tearing through flesh and scattering bone fragments and blood around.
The assailed quietly dropped his head to his steering wheel, he was dead for sure and he knew it.
Screams of women and children were heard, wings of birds fluttered as they made their way to safety and screeches from car tires were heard as vehicles swerved and jammed their brakes in confusion in order to avoid an accident.
Suddenly, siren blares were approaching the scene, the cops had arrived.
A black Dodge Challenger sped down the road, maneuvering its way between the lanes of Avenue U and overtaking other vehicles at all cost.
Dean Huntler was seated uneasily in the Challenger as he clutched his side tightly with a green towel. He was in anguish as hot blood was dripping from his side unto the seat. Knowing fully well that the bullet had only grazed him, he kept ramming unceasingly on the gas pedal to avoid bleeding to death.
He had no plans to leave the world yet, he still had a lot of fun to encounter and whenever Mr. Death came knocking, and all he said in reply was simple,
"Not today bro".
Finally, he arrived at his bungalow on E26th Street being welcomed by the barking of the Alsatians in his neighborhood. He slowed the car into the garage and parked. He looked once more at the injury after taking off the towel, the sight made him groan like a cat in labor.
Two stitches were needed, one for his skin and the other for his precious denim.
Lieutenant Moore Elliot stood over the corpse of the assailed with his left palm resting on his waist and the other jingling a pair of keys. The sight of the splatter made him remember the noodles he took that morning and his tummy made noises like a cat purr.
He was a rectangular built man, broad face with little moustache and one could say he had already begun to favor a pot belly.
He stared at the splash of brains on the seat, dashboard and the windscreen and couldn't help but wonder why someone had notched so much hatred to the extent of killing Fred Walters, the Ex-mayor of the city.
The New York City Hospital had arrived the murder scene in their ambulance some minutes later after an emergency call had been made. The ambulance got into a reverse as the medics jumped down drawing out a stretcher. The NYPD homicide squad got into position as Moore dished out orders, pointing and waving his large hands frantically.
"Warner, move to the victim's car... I want you with the lab boys supervising them as they check for samples, bullet fragments or any goddamn evidence you can find, okay??"
"Yes Sir", Sergeant Tom Warner mumbled.
“You, John-Bruce, ensure no one gets a photograph of that body or else we are screwed"
"Yes Sir, my very best", he replied jovially.
“Connor, Vincent"
"Sir", they chorused.
"These barrier tapes, I want them completely around the scene, no one must get through and I mean, no one."
"Yes Sir", they saluted in unison.
“Eddie, the squad car, I need it parked exactly in front of the ambulance”
"Yes Sir"
The murder scene was completely crowded and noisy, with journalists and press men trying to get a photograph of the body and car and the cops kept wading then off.
Pat Weather, a renowned journalist at the New York Times arrived at that moment. His Porsche Convertible drifted round a bend and unto a sidewalk causing a few pedestrians to yell, cursing and hissing at him.
For a journalist to arrive that late meant that he wasn't really concerned with the job but he had been delayed, as he woke up late after getting into bed with a girl the previous night. He was goddamn good at his job and he loved it. His good looks and a sexy masculine figure drew a lot of ladies into his bed and he was more than perfect at handling them.
At twenty five years of age, he had already been awarded with a National Honor having been of assistance to the US Special Forces when on holiday in Tehran, Iran.
He had been roaming round the rubbles of the abandoned old museum destroyed in the extremists’ quake when he suddenly heard gunfire. He quickly crouched behind a large stone and peered around with his eyes searching keenly. He saw a van loaded with armed youths advancing while they rained ammo on a building the Special Forces had taken residence in. His journalism like art mind took over as he took out his mobile gadget capturing the whole shootout and airing it immediately on his blog.
Unexpectedly was an understatement for an explosion some meters away sent him reeling and shrapnel and gravels rained down on him. The effect had sent him sprawling to the ground as the deafening effect nearly damaged his eardrums. In pain and terror, he arduously struggled to get to his feet as a Special Ops soldier whisked him away and recognizing him as an American applied medical care. After some interrogation and his stability confirmed, he was handed a Glock 19 fully loaded. He joined them to an ensuing victory moments later and had been decorated with his honor after they returned to their country.
In hastened steps, Weather hurriedly made his way through the overpowering stench from the crowd to the barrier tape where Detective 2nd Grade Jack Connor stood, waving back the press men and yelling. When he was halfway there, a reef of tobacco from a lady's mouth stung him like a cobra and drained him of energy as he was nearly forced to sag down to his knees but managing to withstand it, he shoved her aside.
Getting to Connor, he drew him aside sliding a dollar bill into his hip pockets.
"Hello Jack, just heard about the shooting"
"Yeah, a clean shot indeed.....what's up with the tip?"
"Well, about that...I could add a few bucks if you would let me get quite a number of shots....body, murder vehicle interior, etcetera"
"Sorry Pat, Moore's given orders, no one's allowed in", he said blankly.
“Hey man, c’mon you know what I worth, just some information will do”, he pleaded.
"As I said earlier, sorry I can't."
Pat glared evilly at him, regarding him with steel gray eyes.
"Well, if you're so light headed, lemme speak with Moore"
"He's busy right now and I suggest you leave right now before you'll be sued for disturbing police work and here's your cash, good day!!"And with that he stomped away, leaving Pat circling in his own imaginations.
Pat was mad with rage as he clenched his fist swearing at him. He charged through the crowd pushing and shoving aside anyone in his way. This was the first time he was refused such and he believed it would be the last.
Lieutenant Moore stood at the door of the Chief's office at NYPD memorizing the words he would spew when in front of him.
The Chief was a hot tempered man with a cold stare which made his subordinates shudder when in his presence. At the age of sixty, he was still agile and hadn't let the good beer affect his stature. He had recently bought his wife, a Chevrolet Silverado as her birthday gift as it had fallen on the same day as his payday.
Tapping on the door wasn't easy for Moore but he did it anyway with shaky hands and a faint "come in" was heard from within the office.
He stepped in and greeted Captain Leo who responded with a nod and waving him into a seat without even looking up from the document he was working on.
Moore spoke first, trying not to make any blunder or omit details.
"Sir, I was at my desk this morning when I got a call from Officer Bradley who was the cop on patrol around Avenue Y"
"Okay, what was it about?"
"Well, I was in a hurry so I didn't come directly to you....I took the homicide squad down there to discover the murder of the Ex-Mayor, Fred Walters"
He paused to wipe out perspiration off his face with a silk handkerchief.
"We've recovered the body and it's headed for the morgue for autopsy. Here is the report", he said, handing over a file.
"That's okay, thank you.... When you're done, I want a full investigation carried out, we have a killer on the loose now and we the cops gonna suffer for that as all those rich bastards gonna be calling for protection."
"Yes sir, but if they....."
The desk phone buzzed in the corner distracting them.
"That will be all for now, Moore, you may take your leave."
"Yes Sir", he said gently and left the office.
"Oh shit me!! This motherfucker has really done me, I wanna choke him to death", Dean grumbled as he was seated on the chaise lounge, his favorite, dressing his wound. He had taken a pair of tweezers and was carefully removing bullet fragments from it. Luckily for him, it wasn't in his favor as the bullet didn't get into him but rather grazed him or else, a forceps would have been employed for a dig.
He picked up some adhesive bandages, soaked a portion of it in alcohol swabs and wound it round his waist. Nothing could be better asked for than the aspirins as they readily began to eliminate the pains after he had taken them for he had been whimpering like a woman in agony of child birth.
He hadn't slept the night before because he was surfing the net on available glazing jobs as he had just completed the last contract he was given. So on that fateful, he had gone to purchase some foodstuffs to stock his house with as he would be going to pick his sister from the Correctional Training Facility, California. It was an unlucky day for him as a murderous lad had mailed him a slug which missed his precious ribcage. Maybe an inch to the left would have granted him a journey to the hospital.
A sudden surge of tiredness swept through him as the desire to sleep resurfaced. He got up and staggered into his room welcomed by the sweet smell of purple lavender then mounted the divan and sleep ruled.
The medics huddled the Ex-Mayor's corpse into the ambulance and cleaned up the mess. After dismantling the barrier tapes, the towing van dragged the vehicle away and the cops got into their vehicles with Sergeant Warner dishing out orders.
"Eddie, Vincent and Connor, take the squad car and go with the tow van back to headquarters"
"Yes Sir", Eddie saluted.
“John, you join me in my car, we go with the ambulance. Now, move it...!”
While trying to move the corpse into the van, a camera man had slid under the tape, walked over to the corpse, lifted the white sheet and had a photograph. This was the most heroic and confident act, John-Bruce had seen and it was as though the Greek god, Hades had breathed his spirit on him.
He felt hot blood rush through his veins and he grabbed the camera and smashed it on the floor. The camera man still in his herculean act, grabbed him by the collar, rumpling his uniform in a bid to disfigure his appearance.
John-Bruce was a no-nonsense cop and this was nonsense to him. He felt like a bunch of slaps had just been administered to his face and in a flash, he let out a well driven and directed punch which sent his adversary sprawling to the ground landing on the wet floor and soiling his clothes.
He had rammed his fist in his face so well and in a manner that he had loosened a tooth or two then he looked up at the crowd.
"I said....... No goddamn photos!!"
John-Bruce left the ambulance and walked to his car with broad shoulders raised high as the reporters and pressmen made a clearing for him. No one wanted to be next and the damage the punch had instilled made it clear to them that he was in no mood to joke with anyone.
Alas, the ambulance engine roared into life as they made their way for the hospital with Warner's Chevrolet Impala in close escort.
A phone rang in a nearby building displaying the caller's ID.
"NO IMAGE
PRIVATE NUMBER
NO ADDRESS"
A man in a three piece suit walked to the table and picked up the call. A shrill voice spoke from the other end making him pull it away from his ear and hold the phone at some length.
"Hello Boss, it's all done. Where do I pick up my dough?"
"Yeah, you did a very splendid job as the 13:00 TV News program has testified to. The reporters are also doing well in spreading fear to their hearts and you ought to be paid handsomely but first...."
"There are no buts Boss we had deal, after I gun him down, we're straight. I take my three grand and I'm off."
"Hey, you gotta chill, I'm gonna pay you four grand for the next mark, then we say our goodbyes if you still wish to go"
"Fine Boss, you sure about that?"
The Boss shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Yeah, I am"
"Fine...who's the mark?" He questioned.
"Let's leave that for later, now I'm sure you have some celebration to toast to...Go to the pub called 'THE RICKIES', tell Joe to hand you my briefcase"
"Thanks Boss, it's a pleasure working with you"
"No, the pleasure is mine", and he hung up.
The Boss relaxed back in his chair sipping whisky from a mug as he grinned evilly to himself.
"With this smart guy, I will achieve all that I desire"
He had been Vice President of the New York Glass Corporation, a million dollar firm that supplies glassware and materials to construction companies. Massively built, towering seven feet with balding head and contracted pupils, sent shocks down his colleagues and juniors spines as he ranted always about their insolent behaviors which was half true.
Before Fred Walters had been Mayor, he had been involved in a car crash which claimed the life of the Boss' wife and there was a court hearing.
Having conspired with a few witnesses and the judge, he was vindicated.
The Boss stood like a broken doll in the witness box as the judge pronounced the verdict. There and then, he swore an oath in his heart, he would ensure their safe trip to the world beyond.
Walking into a court room was one thing, being victorious in your trial was another.
As the witnesses strolled out of the courtroom exchanging pleasantries and chatting, he took a careful look at each of them making a mental note. He would come at them and in full momentum.
The medics just wheeled the Ex-Mayor's corpse into the lab with Warner and John-Bruce paving way. The surgeons took up positions and began the process of autopsy. They were two surgeons that had been given the task. A Negro and an Arab. One could see the Arab in the possession of a hook and skull chisel while the Negro was at his best with a bone saw.
Few minutes later, the internal part of the head was visible. Skull cracked open, brains, blood and all messy nerves made a horrible sight.
Warner stood beside John-Bruce as they were behind an observation glass watching the postmortem unfold. The sight sent shivers up Warner's spine and goose bumps appeared on his skin. He was quite a shooter and had seen blood in tens but this, he felt drained. Taking a step backwards, he headed for the rest room to answer a friendly call from Mother Nature.
The doctors had been meticulous in their job. It was past an hour now as they emerged from the surgery room with a DD container which had been given to them by Warner.
John-Bruce who had been fiddling with his I-phone looked up and they approached him with the samples. Warner had been away to grab a cup of coffee and just returned in time to see them handing it over.
"Hey doc", he called out." That's our stuff?"
"Yes Sir, the samples are in there"
"Very good". He turned towards John-Bruce.
"John, shall we?"
"Right away Sir", he shrugged his shoulders.
After exchanging pleasantries, the two cops dragged themselves out of the drug-smell infested hospital as they were glad to be out. They walked across to where the Impala stood and got in. John-Bruce turned the engine on, got it into a reverse and zoomed off for the NYPD Headquarters.
Their journey to the NYPD wasn't a smooth drive as the roads were congested with heavy traffic but alas, they reached. Warner got out of the car looking weary and all drained up. Turning to John-Bruce, he addressed him in the calmest possible manner.
"John, I need you to go fuel my car cause from the look of things, we're gonna be pretty engaged for quite a couple of days", he said shaking his head.
"Yes Sir", John-Bruce nodded, getting out of the car.
This was no work in Warner's position but due to the fact that Police Medical Officer Mark was hospitalized having been involved in an accident, he had to take responsibility.
Warner padded into the building receiving compliments from junior officers. He arrived at the Chief's door, rapped twice and was ushered in by the only possible voice. He got in, shutting the door behind him and was waved into a chair.
"Afternoon Sir”, he greeted.
"Yes Sarge, how's the autopsy going?" Leo asked leaning backwards in his chair.
"I got the sample and bullet, Sir"
"Fine, hand it over to the lab boys... Mark's not around, you supervise the work"
"Yes Sir", Warner grunted.
“Tell Moore, we'll be having a brief discussion at my place this evening, he should be punctual... At least he should make it there by eighteen-thirty"
"Yes Sir", he saluted, got up and left.
Captain Leo stared into vast space, sucking at his stogie and releasing fumes into the air. He had been called an hour ago by the Mayor of the city and had been given a roasting which nearly burned his eardrums.
Crushing the cigar in the ashtray, he grinned slyly to himself.
"I'm the Chief.... No one’s gonna take that from me.... And for this nut son of a bitch, I'll eventually smoke him out."