A Crooked Waitress

Chapter 53

A drizzle had just stopped and a thin fog, rolling in from the sea, descended on the city. Jack stopped the car below the fire escape, got out, and checked the surroundings. No one was around and broad planks covered a few windows that opened into the alley. People who resided in those buildings weren't interested in what went on this side of their walls.

A cat feasted noisily inside a trash can, enjoying its late supper. A sewage rat ran along and, despite its heft, climbed the can with ease. And after a short altercation, the quiet returned to the garbage pile. Jack concluded that they had decided to share.

From the backseat, he picked up a bag and went on the top of the SUV. Careful not to lose his balance, he pulled the fire escape down. It squeaked as it descended. He climbed on the first landing, then pulled it back up to make sure nobody saw the ladder leading to the SUV and connected the dots.

His eyes scanned the alley to see if he had attracted any attention, but all was quiet.

The old stairs whined under his feet as he ascended to the roof. With his foot, he pushed back the door of the stairwell entrance and took a big metal cutting scissor out of his bag. A latch and a padlock kept the door closed.

Sliding the blades in the space between the door's edge and its frame, he put the latch in the mouth of the tool. Then pressed the handles, and the steel cut through aluminum as if it was cardboard. The metal broke in two, and the dark stairwell opened in front of him.

He saw a flicker of light at the end of it—too faint to lighten up the passage, though. He held on to the railing and walked down the stairs, and found himself in a hallway. A large door, fortified to be bulletproof, faced him, and a slice of light crept from beneath it. He had been in that room before; it was Morris's office.

Music was in the air, and it came from the club below. The deserted hallway unsettled him. With all the noise he had made, someone must have heard something; the fire escape squeaking under his weight. Or the latch, that broke and the lock fell on the cement.

It couldn't be this easy; It was a trap; It had to be. The door could open at any second, and Morris's men riddle him with bullets. His mouth was dry, and he held his breath, but the room remained harmless.

Through the keyhole, he peeked at the office, and as far as he could see, it was empty. Maybe tonight was his night, after all. Perhaps his luck had turned.

The thought brought a smile to his face.

He opened the door, and the glare of the ceiling chandelier hit his eyes, and he squinted. Expensive leather furniture on a Persian carpet, and bookshelves on the walls, decorated the large room. A huge mahogany desk was at the end of the office. And Morris sat behind it, pointing a revolver at him.

Jack froze.

"I thought that I heard a noise," Morris said, grinning, "But I didn't think anyone would be so stupid as to try and break into here! Still, I opened the door to help the fool. Because I was bored and wanted to amuse myself! But I never thought you come to me with your own feet."

The arrogance of this prick!

Jack threw himself down and rolled on the floor. A gunshot exploded in the air, but the bullet missed him and bore a hole in the door. He hit the wall and stopped behind a couch that was tilted to face the mahogany desk.

Morris blasted the sofa and made two holes above his head. The couch couldn't shelter him for long. And if Morris didn't kill him, his men would show up any second now and do that for him.

Jack peeked through one of the bullet holes and saw him dodged behind his desk. Its ornamented legs rose a foot above the floor and exposed Morris's calves. Only if his Boss raised his head above the desk, he could see the couch and shoot. But when he ducked, he saw very little of the room.

"I didn't think you had it in you to come after me. You've just been promoted in my eyes. But it's a bit too late, don't you think?" Morris shouted.

Another bullet punched its way through the couch and landed on the wall.

"Say, Jack... if you hand over the money you keep in that bank, I forget what's happened and let you go."

Jack peeked again. Morris had ducked down, and only his mouth was running. He crawled out from the far end of the sofa so he could aim at his legs.

"What do you say? Do we have a deal?" Morris said.

Jack fired a shot beneath the desk, and the bullet shattered his shin. He yelled in pain and fell on the floor, exposing his body.

Jack put two pieces of hot lead into his belly and chest.

A random shot—just a reflex from Morris- brought down the glass window of the library. And he was done; his hand lost its grip on the revolver and dropped it.

Jack strode across the room and kicked the gun aside.

Morris was laying in an expanding pool of blood and whistled as he breathed. "You're... very lucky ... these walls... are soundproof...I paid good money... for that... or... a platoon... of my men... ."

He vomited some blood and flashed a red smile.

"I once watched a movie. Good, Bad, and Ugly. Have you seen that?" Jack said.

Morris nodded.

"Remember what ugly said?"

"When... you gonna...shoot, shoot. Don't talk." Boss laughed and spewed more blood. "So why... are you ...yammering on...?"

Jack pointed the gun at his head to finish him off but realized that he didn't breathe anymore.

He sat in a chair and put the Glock on his lap. Now that Morris was dead, his men didn't care about who killed him. They'd start shooting each other over who inherits his empire, but the cops were sure to show up and investigate the murder. He needed to throw them off course.

He rose to his feet, kicked aside a few of the chairs in the room, and then went to the mahogany desk. The first two drawers were empty. He pulled them out and threw them on the body to make it look like a burglary that went wrong.

A stack of fifty-dollar bills sat in the third drawer, worth about five grand. He weighed it in his hand and shoved it into his pocket. Now it really was a burglary.

"Thanks, boss." He said to his kill.

Capsizing more furniture didn't make sense, and someone could show up at any second. He went toward the door but realized that was leaving a bloody footprint behind. He wiped his shoes on the carpet, but it didn't help much. And still left a faint trail of red as he walked into the hallway.

***

Morris's lifeless body remained on the ground. His mouth was open as if he wanted to say something, and his gaze had locked on the bookshelf's shattered window.

The green light of a small camera placed inside the library was on.