MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 34

Johnny Muck

Brooklyn—3 Years Ago

It took Chicky a week to get the information. He met Tito for breakfast at the union hall. Manny brought cappuccino for Tito and an espresso for Chicky. 

Tito sipped his drink and bit into a biscotto. “Talk to me, Chicky boy. What have you got?”

“What you got is a genuine bona-fide psycho.”

“Tell me about it,” Tito said.

“He goes in at nineteen after shooting a guy in a gang fight. About six months in, three of the toughest whiteys decide to get some sweets, so they follow Nicky into the shower.” Chicky laughed so hard he spilled his espresso. “Ten minutes later Nicky comes out and they got to send the medic in to take care of two of the others. One of them with a cracked head, which damn near killed him, and the other with a full bar of 99.44% pure ivory shoved up his ass 100% of the way.” Another laugh emerged. “Must have hurt bad.”

Tito picked up a biscotto. “No shit?”

Chicky waved his hand. “That ain’t even half the shit. Then—”

“You sure this is good information?”

“Tito, you know my shit’s good.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, this Nicky kid then starts training like he’s going to the Olympics. Couple of more guys messed with him. The inside word is he killed one and blinded the other.”

Tito sat silent while Chicky ate a pastry.

“I’m telling you, this kid’s no slouch. My guy said even the guards were scared of him.”

Tito dipped a biscotto into his cappuccino and smiled. “Thank you, Chicky. This has been helpful.”

Chicky headed toward the door, but Tito called him. “Ask Manny to come in, please.”

A minute later Manny popped his head in the door. “What?”

“Get Johnny Muck.”

“You got it, boss.”

As Manny left, Chicky came back in. “I forgot one thing. They said this kid ain’t scared of nothing. Fuckin’ nothing.”

#

It was two days before Tito met with Johnny Muck. Johnny was a hit man, the best the mob boss had seen. Methodical. Cold. Analytical. Perfect. He’d done numerous hits for Tito and delivered on every one. There was one problem, though—Johnny Muck was getting old. He had been a hit man for the last three bosses, and the work was taking its toll.

Tito met him at a small cafe in the Bronx. Few people knew Johnny, and Tito preferred to keep it that way. He didn’t even know where Johnny lived. By nature hit men were secretive, and they kept it that way with everyone. The trouble was worth it; having a top-notch hit man was profitable, but, more importantly, it gave Tito power. He didn’t have enough work to keep Johnny busy, so he rented him out to other mob bosses. They paid his exorbitant fee, and, they owed Tito a favor—that was the real clincher. It gave Tito an edge, and it kept Johnny happy. 

Tito sat facing the door. He raised his head when Johnny came in. It was 7:00 AM, precisely when Tito had asked Johnny to meet him. If he had said 7:02, he felt certain that he would have been staring at his watch for exactly two more minutes. 

Muck didn’t have his fedora on today—a good thing. He only wore his hat when doing a job. And he wasn’t wearing gloves—another good sign. Tito raised a hand to draw his attention.

The waiter brought an espresso for Johnny, then, when he saw Tito’s cappuccino was empty, he took the cup, promising a replacement.

“Good to see you, Johnny.”

“I always liked this place,” Johnny said. “Great pastries.”

Tito jumped right in. “I need some help.”

“What can I do?”

“Got a kid that needs testing.”

Johnny Muck sipped his espresso then nibbled on the biscotto placed on the saucer beside the cup. All the while he looked around, always aware of his surroundings. “What kind of testing?”

“Your kind.”

Johnny’s eyes shot to the other tables while his right hand drifted toward his lap.

“Relax, Johnny. There’s nobody here but you and me.” 

“You think I’m getting old?” 

“We’re all getting old, Johnny, but that’s not the problem. Let’s just say I like what you and I have done together, and I want you to train your successor.”

The cappuccino came for Tito. Johnny waited. “Who is he?”

“Young kid from down by Philly.”

“Sicilian?”

Tito shook his head. “Father came over from Napoli.”

“Prison?”

“Ten years, but—”

Johnny was already shaking his head. “You know I don’t do that.”

Tito leaned in close. People were passing the table. “This kid is different. Trust me.”

He finished his espresso in silence, then, “What did you have in mind?”

“See what he can do. If he pisses his pants or screws up—kill him.”

Muck thought it over. “Who? When?”

Tito shrugged. “Soon. Don’t know what targets yet.” He pointed his finger at Johnny. “And I’m not telling him what he’s in for. Let’s see how he thinks on his own.”

A nod came with Johnny’s response. “Call me.”

Tito left a twenty on the table. They walked out together. When they got outside, Johnny looked both ways, then stared straight at Tito. “If he screws up, I’ll kill him.”

“If he screws up, I don’t want him.”