Dirty Money

Chapter 17 - Philip

  Days went by and the tension between everyone was rising. The weather was cloudy as usual, and light rain trickled down constantly over the city of Contro. Sin drove Donny through the backstreets that Philip took, as he shook down business owners Chuck’s tribute. In Donny’s glove protected hands was a clean shotgun locked and loaded.

  Philip was following his routine just perfectly as he always does. Sin flicked on the wipers in the stolen car as the rain grew heavier. After the kill they would ditch the car, burn it, and be picked up by Alonzo Junior.

  “Leften Street,” Sin said, as they turned on to the street with the three sets of traffic lights.

  Donny put a baseball cap on along with a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses. Sin switched lanes and accelerated a little up toward Philip’s car. The enormous lieutenant had music blasting through his expensive speaker system, almost shaking the car. The traffic lights ahead turned from yellow to red, and Philip came to a halt on the white line. Sin pulled up next to him and both Donny and Philip’s windows were down less than a meter away from each other.

  Donny waited for a moment until the lights were closer to going green, and Sin looked back to make sure there was still no cars behind them on the quiet street.

 Philip looked over and squinted, as he tried to make out who was sitting in the old car next to him wearing a baseball cap and glasses. There was no sun out. It was too late as he finally realized he was staring at a shotgun held by Donny the Irishman.

  Donny smiled as his finger squeezed the trigger, and blood sprayed all over the inside of Philips car. Donny leaned out the window to get a better look; Philip’s face was practically torn off. 

  The traffic lights turned green and Sin casually drove on as though nothing had just happened. Sin pulled up on the outskirts of Contro; Alonzo Junior was waiting for them in Salvatore’s van. Both Sin and Donny wiped the car clean of all their prints, and poured petrol over everything. The print wiping was an extra precaution in the event of some douchebag putting out the fire before the evidence could be burnt.

  Donny struck a match and flicked it onto the car, which launched into flames. The two assassins quickly boarded the second getaway vehicle and took off.

  “Fuck,” Chuck said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief, as he sat behind his desk; opposite his guest; a man in his late twenties in a tracksuit and hoody. 

  “I’m sorry,” Thomas said. Thomas Salks, was a part of the narcotics task force, assigned to tackling drugs in the city.

  “Philip was my best guy,” Chuck said, worried.

  “Who are you going to get to keep your boys in line now? There has to be order,” Thomas asked, concerned.

  Chuck snapped out of his daze, “I started this fucking thing. I’m the one who runs this city, and anybody who doesn’t want to go along with that is compost.”

  “How much security do you want around here?” Thomas asked, tilting his head back toward the door; gesturing to the force Chuck had on twenty-four seven. 

  “Why? You planning on replacing me?” Chuck asked, half jokingly, half threateningly. 

  “No one could replace such a ambitious entrepreneur as you,” Thomas lied.

  “There is always a bigger fish,” Chuck said.

  “Which brings me to my next topic. I’m going out for a nice seafood dinner, and I’m going to need my weekly bonus,” Thomas said, smiling.