Got to Get Rid of That Guilt

           Today –– this morning, I absolutely hate New York City. While last night, I can definitely say I love this city. With my new girl, Meredith, we saw Hadestown and had a pre-dinner at an Italian place named Bucca de Bippo. There is nothing like a good meal and a good Broadway play to make me a happy hillbilly. Whether, it’s paid for or not, doing this with arm candy is an extra perk in my profession.

           I’ve lived here twenty plus years and there is nothing that surprises me. This morning, I witnessed a Black man pull a straw from his knap sack and vigorously dig a Pepsi can from within the bowels of a metal trash dispenser. Sitting on steps near where the world trade center once stood tall I felt remorse wondering what his form of entertainment for the day would be compared to mine last night. After taking a hard and quick drag of the fluid within, he quickly dropped the can back into the trash from where it came. Watching, he soon shuffled to the next dispenser and started digging for another drink or food treasure. Waiting for a courier to drop off an envelope my day was not getting off to a very good start.

           Later, walking up Fifth Avenue I watched a dirt caked, brown and gray leather faced ancient man staring at himself in the glass front of Saks. Standing there, he muttered in an unknown tongue as he contorted his body and rubbery face without thought, care or concern that this morning’s ritual was being seen by the multitudes rushing to and fro. He didn’t cause harm and I doubt he was in the right mind to panhandle. So, why did I feel sick seeing his antics? Maybe guilt, I don’t know, but some days I’m amazed at how some can ignore the system’s downtrodden even in broad daylight. I suppose my not being a native to the city, the ability to subconsciously pretend things are ok all the time is something real New Yorkers can do that I can’t seem to learn. Sure, I’m Okay for a few days or even weeks but at some point the depression of it all reappears like the continuous cycle of falling brown, sprouting buds and growing green leaves I see when looking out my posh studio windows. My favorite cycle is the one sycamore tree that covers most of my studio apartment view of the city. Educated through the GI Bill I went to Virginia Tech and learned the scientific name of the sycamore to be Platinus Occidentalis. Love the way those words float off my tongue. Certainly not much of a party starter but it is kind of funny to see the looks I get from my visiting business associates. Pointing out trees using my dendrology knowledge from my apartment studio to my Italian friends who have stereo typical names like Marco, Tony and Frankie is a real hoot.

           I use to have more guilt than I do now. But in my line of work you don’t get to keep that in as much anymore. Born as poor white trailer trash in the Appalachian foothills the U.S. Army was my exit strategy. Becoming a Ranger among other things led to my profession that has enabled me to lead an above average quality of life in Manhattan. My friends call me Pone, I guess, because there still is that drawl after all these years.

           If I deal in money it is cash only. However, for the most part it is the perks of the job that enable me to live an affluent life. As an employee of the Henry Mancuccio family I deal only in death. He has employees for the roughing up grunt work but when he wants someone killed I am the one for that. Offing at his beckoning gets me Pappy Van Winkle bourbon, box seats on Broadway and an open account at Hermes. Being able to eat at Masa’s without having to deal with the hassle of making a reservation because of whom I am makes killing those that are deserving a guilt free experience. It’s the friendless folks in this cold, grimy city with whom I find empathy. Something about people that nobody cares about that really bugs the hell out of me. 

           I’m scheduled to meet Tony today for lunch at Del Frisco’s to learn about my next job. Catching the sub I was able to relax a little in Central Park before our meeting. Being a country boy Central Park is usually a relaxing place. Today for some reason unwanted musicians and panhandlers seemed to decorate the park. Move one direction and a wheel chaired homeless man in tattered clothing asked if I could help him with a few coins. I jammed a ten spot between his dirt filled uncut finger nailed fingers and heard him gasp a “God bless you,” as I walked away. Weaving along a different path a pig tailed woman with faded tattoos played a guitar for money while growling out some nonsensical sounds in an effort to sound like Janis Joplin. I threw a five dollar bill into her guitar case though for her music she would need to pay me I thought.

           “Pone my boy, where you been?” I had arrived a few minutes late for my meeting with Tony.

           “Just got delayed a little dealing with panhandlers and freaks in the park. You know how it is.”

           Unsympathetic, Tony whispered, “Wish Henry would hire you to knock off a few of those lazy bums.”

           After we ordered, Tony asked, “Is there anything else you need?

           “No the envelope had all I needed. The photos were clear. I know what he looks like and where he lives. When he’s alone and when he’s there. Not much else needed.” 

           Tony and I remained silent as we started in on our salads.

           I had started slicing my filet when Tony said, “You got the combination memorized right . . . It took a whole lot to get that out of his friend.”

           “So, this will be a first. I usually just whack them you know.”

           Tony’s voice got lower as he said, “This dummy was skimming. He got away with it for over ten years.” Pausing, Tony said, “I thought accountants were suppose to be smart.”

           “Surprised Henry wants me to off him without much payback . . . Figured he’d get some of you to maybe put his head in a vice or somethin.”

           Tony giggled and said, “Pone –– you been watching Casino again haven’t you?”

           Before I could answer Tony said, “Actually Henry likes the guy. They were pretty good friends . . . But, business is business you know.”

###

           As far as hits go this should be pretty simple. The guy lived alone so there would be no collateral damage. Though I hated to leave Manhattan I would have to catch a bus to Glen Rock. I preferred the bus to train for the possible need of an exit strategy. Tonight, I would be using my favorite the FNX 45 Tactical with suppressor. Being a 45 caliber the ammo is standard subsonic, makes for a clean kill and is compact enough to be hidden inside the coat of my casual attire. Riding the bus and going into New Jersey I needed to make sure I didn’t stand out. Booties and surgical gloves were my only additional accouterments needed for the job. Though a bit cumbersome I toted a large brief case that would hopefully be large enough to carry whatever cash was in the accountant’s safe.

           The bus ride to Glen Rock was uneventful as I hoped for and expected. The bus was packed with menial laborers and a smattering of middle class going home for the night. Most of the bus occupants were the ones that insured wealthy New Yorkers could survive. The fact the bus was full made my casual blending in the easy part of this hit. Where the minimum wage workers who had no dreams and no future got off the bus I was uncertain. Instead, I got off the bus early with the variety of middle-class dullards that worked in the city still believing that one day their dreams would come true. As I got off, I imagined that the accountant I was about to slay in the next hour had ridden this bus on occasions. Carrying a brief case was not that unusual though none of the other men getting off the bus had brief cases. The accountant lived at 510 Lincoln Avenue. This was a short jaunt through tree-lined side walked boulevards. If things went smooth I should be able to make it back to the bus station to catch the 9:10.

           I started to bring my lock pick kit but Tony had assured me at lunch that the accountant was not expecting his termination. As I neared his door I put on surgical booties and gloves in the darkness of what looked like an Acer Saccharinum. I quickly retrieved my FNX and screwed in the suppressor. Holding the gun on the backside of my hip I rang the doorbell. The two-story brownstone house was much larger than what one person needed. But, who am I to say how Henry’s right hand man should live. When the door opened I pointed the pistol toward the hit's stomach area making sure if he ran I wouldn’t miss. Rather than speaking I opened the screen door and motioned for him to move into the foyer. Having killed over a hundred suckers I found it best not to listen to anything and work as fast as I could. Before he spoke, I put two shots into his forehead followed by two shots in the heart area as he lay on the tile floor. It was always interesting how they seemed to try to cling to life until the shot into the heart resulted in one violent convulsion. The second shot usually was unnecessary. Quick and efficient is the way I learned to do it in special-forces and that mantra has stuck with me after all these years.

           The safe was in his upstairs bedroom closet in the wall behind a filing cabinet. I wondered what they had to do to this sucker’s friend to get both the combination and the location of the safe. Either it was a very unpleasant experience or maybe it was easy. You never know. The fear of Henry’s grunts and what they were known to do could get a snitch to squeal without much effort. I mean dyeing easy or dyeing hard though not much of a choice still remains an easy choice if you are smart. As I looked at the stacks of cash I thought no doubt skimming to this degree had to have a co-conspirator. But, however the betrayal went down really wasn’t important to me. The fact all the intel about where he lived, the combination and even where the safe was located made this hit particularly easy except for one problem. As I stacked the cash inside the brief case with multi-layers of Benjamins I soon realized it couldn’t hold it all.

           I had on occasions gotten in tough spots. A few times it took Henry’s best attorney to keep me out of jail. At first it looked like this was going to be an easy hit. But now with too much money to fit in the brief case I knew a garbage bag would be needed. Leaving this much money behind would not make Henry happy. A novice at this might think Henry would never find out how much money was left behind. But, unless I got it all I had no doubt he knew enough police in New York that would give him the scoop on the largesse the killer left behind in Glen Rock, New Jersey. Henry’s reach was far.

           My main task now was to get the money back to my apartment and to burn the booties and the gloves. Burning anything would be difficult in route so that would probably wait till I got back to my apartment. Additionally, riding back on the bus was going to be less crowded so keeping my mug out of security camera view would be a critical part of not getting caught. The gun was no big deal. Though I hated leaving my favorite piece behind I knew it would be replaced when needed for my next job. Henry got them to me through Tony because he knew it was my favorite weapon. The cops had to be frustrated at the number of kills using an untraceable FNX with suppressor that took place all around the northeastern United States.

           Mixed emotions enveloped my body and soul. I wanted to return to my city. But, I dreaded the filth, the grime and the pain that comes with the pleasures gained from a place that inhales and exhales both the highs and lows that humanity has to offer twenty four hours daily.

           The bus stops between Glen Rock and the central Manhattan’s final bus destination are many. It was at one of the stops that a young thin waif of a teenage girl wearing a loose fitting lavender sundress teetered onto the bus. Quivering like the leaves of a Magnolia Virginiana the apparent run-away stared blankly toward no one. Before the bus driver pedaled forward the young thing in what seemed to be slow motion fell to the floor in the center aisle. Rather than assisting, the driver as well as the few passengers ignored her as she started to half crawl and half writh her way toward the back of the bus. As she neared my seat she looked up and half smiled. Despite the slight drool, the matted hair and the large over dilated brown eyes I could tell that she could be very pretty if she knew she were loved. I wondered about the anguish her parents must be going through in this moment. As she put her hand on my knee I noticed flesh colored dirt encrusted bandages around her wrists with splotches of rust colored stains. As she started clenching my thigh I reached into my garbage bag and took out a sheath of Benjamins. I doubt she would remember who placed the dough inside her tiny purse that now seemingly hung from her neck as it bumped along the floor. Didn’t matter to me if she remembered or even how she used the money. It just made me feel better.

           When I arrived at my apartment I quickly burned the surgical gloves and booties in my center of the room fireplace. There was a trail of tennis shoes, blue jeans, lace panties, a sweatshirt and a red brassier that made a path to my back bedroom. My Meredith liked to dress down when she wasn’t working. The warm surprise awaiting me and giving my “Caesar” his briefcase made me sure tomorrow would be a good day. Doling out Benjamins from my garbage bag over the next few months should give me some great days as well. At least for a while I thought.

The End