door handle begin to turn. Tommy slipped into his own room and waited. Footsteps passed by, and a few seconds later, he heard the ding of the elevator. He stepped back out and pulled on the door handle again. Finally, his blood boiling, he stepped back and kicked the door as hard as he could. The handle sagged and he kicked again. This time, the door swung open.
Tommy’s breath went out of him like he’d been kicked as hard as he’d kicked the door.
Dominic lay on the ugly beige carpet, a menacing pool of blood spread around him. The room was empty. Tommy went to his brother and turned him over. He took in the sight of his brother’s blood-stained robe, the ugly hole in the middle of his forehead. The dull blank stare, not entirely different than the look that was there when the poor bastard was alive.
Tommy’s hands were shaking as he turned his brother back over. He sank to his knees and slumped his shoulders, his gun hanging loosely from his hand.
Tommy thought then of the early years, when he and Dominic were kids in Philadelphia and it became apparent to everyone that Dominic was slow. During those years, Tommy had protected him from the other neighborhood kids who, being kids, targeted anyone who was different and heaped abuse. Tommy, when he wasn’t picking on Dominic himself, protected his brother. It had been a full-time job.
And now, not only had he failed to protect him, he’d gotten him killed.
No! That wasn’t true! Tommy shook his head. Admittedly, trying to trick the hooker might not have been the greatest idea in the world. Saving a grand was probably stupid considering he had a half-mil in a suitcase. But it was just a joke, really, nothing major.
It was the hooker’s fault. It had to be her. There was no way Romano could have found him. No one knew where he was. Sure, he’d used his stolen credit card, knowing that Rierdon could probably use it to track him down. But there was no way Romano could have gotten the same information. And there was absolutely no way Romano could have beaten Rierdon to the punch.
It was the hooker.
She was a smart one, all right. She must have sent Dominic to the bathroom. Maybe to start the shower. Or maybe Dominic went in there to take a shit or something. And when he was gone, the hooker had snooped. She’d probably found the suitcase, then gotten a gun, probably hidden in her purse, and blasted Dominic when he came back out.
But how did she get him into the next room? And why?
Tommy thought about that.
It didn’t make sense, but there had to be a reason. What if the hooker was working with someone else? Maybe her pimp had been in the next room and the hooker had sent Dominic over there.
That might be it.
Tommy’s mind cycled through the possibilities. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he knew one thing: the hooker had killed his brother.
She was going to die.
He slipped back out of the room, paused at the door to take out his handkerchief and wipe the handle clean of any prints. Tommy went back into his room, picked up his other suitcase and left via the back stairway.
He walked quickly across the parking lot to his rented Cadillac, threw the bag in the trunk.
As he drove with no destination in mind, the images rolled through his mind. The scenarios, possibilities and dead-ends, played out in his mind like previews before the feature film.
He pulled to the curb and dug through his wallet for a phone number and address then brought out his gun. He made sure the magazine was full and there was a round in the chamber.
Cocked and locked.
25.
Jack Cleveland looked down at the dead body on the carpet.
He felt no remorse. He simply saw a contract fulfilled.
Or at least, the first part of a contract fulfilled.
Jack quickly buttoned his shirt and watched Betty put on her blue jeans. Her hands were steady and she didn’t rush. She moved with no wasted motion. The reason he trusted her, was impressed with her, was because of the bookie in
Tommy’s breath went out of him like he’d been kicked as hard as he’d kicked the door.
Dominic lay on the ugly beige carpet, a menacing pool of blood spread around him. The room was empty. Tommy went to his brother and turned him over. He took in the sight of his brother’s blood-stained robe, the ugly hole in the middle of his forehead. The dull blank stare, not entirely different than the look that was there when the poor bastard was alive.
Tommy’s hands were shaking as he turned his brother back over. He sank to his knees and slumped his shoulders, his gun hanging loosely from his hand.
Tommy thought then of the early years, when he and Dominic were kids in Philadelphia and it became apparent to everyone that Dominic was slow. During those years, Tommy had protected him from the other neighborhood kids who, being kids, targeted anyone who was different and heaped abuse. Tommy, when he wasn’t picking on Dominic himself, protected his brother. It had been a full-time job.
And now, not only had he failed to protect him, he’d gotten him killed.
No! That wasn’t true! Tommy shook his head. Admittedly, trying to trick the hooker might not have been the greatest idea in the world. Saving a grand was probably stupid considering he had a half-mil in a suitcase. But it was just a joke, really, nothing major.
It was the hooker’s fault. It had to be her. There was no way Romano could have found him. No one knew where he was. Sure, he’d used his stolen credit card, knowing that Rierdon could probably use it to track him down. But there was no way Romano could have gotten the same information. And there was absolutely no way Romano could have beaten Rierdon to the punch.
It was the hooker.
She was a smart one, all right. She must have sent Dominic to the bathroom. Maybe to start the shower. Or maybe Dominic went in there to take a shit or something. And when he was gone, the hooker had snooped. She’d probably found the suitcase, then gotten a gun, probably hidden in her purse, and blasted Dominic when he came back out.
But how did she get him into the next room? And why?
Tommy thought about that.
It didn’t make sense, but there had to be a reason. What if the hooker was working with someone else? Maybe her pimp had been in the next room and the hooker had sent Dominic over there.
That might be it.
Tommy’s mind cycled through the possibilities. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he knew one thing: the hooker had killed his brother.
She was going to die.
He slipped back out of the room, paused at the door to take out his handkerchief and wipe the handle clean of any prints. Tommy went back into his room, picked up his other suitcase and left via the back stairway.
He walked quickly across the parking lot to his rented Cadillac, threw the bag in the trunk.
As he drove with no destination in mind, the images rolled through his mind. The scenarios, possibilities and dead-ends, played out in his mind like previews before the feature film.
He pulled to the curb and dug through his wallet for a phone number and address then brought out his gun. He made sure the magazine was full and there was a round in the chamber.
Cocked and locked.
25.
Jack Cleveland looked down at the dead body on the carpet.
He felt no remorse. He simply saw a contract fulfilled.
Or at least, the first part of a contract fulfilled.
Jack quickly buttoned his shirt and watched Betty put on her blue jeans. Her hands were steady and she didn’t rush. She moved with no wasted motion. The reason he trusted her, was impressed with her, was because of the bookie in
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