Monroe Drive Apartments

Chapter Eight

                                                                  The Stranger

On Long Island and East Weucia Road, set a lone building that look like a reincarnation of Hansel & Gretel's meeting point before the sweet tooth trip to the wicked candy coded death dome layered in the thick wooded forest.

Allen checked his appearance several times before the sleek black all shaded window CLK 550 Mercedes pulled up beside his platinum color Jaguar.

He grinned at himself with a self-liking snare vainly satisfied assuming he had done just as his employers had asked of him to do.

They didn't care how his job was done, with pleasure or pain, just if he'd caused a disturbance, not just a disturbance but anguish, enough anguish that would be so hard to recoil from their opponents would have to give in sooner or later.

He winked at himself in his rear-view mirror, as a certain way of giving himself a pat on the back, for a job well done, so he thought.

Slicking his blonde locks of golden curls back from his face he watched the double wide stretch Mercedes pull into the gravel lot slowly. The driver, a tall slim gentleman with a face and bone structure of a true killer with glasses that hug deeply towards his long nose, got out of the vehicle and strolled towards the slated Jaguar.

The man drove close enough to reach out and touch Allen he didn't dare instead he glanced at the brownish lumber covered gas pump before tilting his slender face towards the window of the Jag.

The two cars looking like an aberration from the future with the scenery of the log cabin gas station in the back ground, the men were yet not out of place in the West Paces Ferry upper class district.

The driver threw an envelope full of cash, threw his open window. His expensive trench coat did not block the embargo feeling Allen felt in his heart as the man glanced back at him through his dark sunglasses, emotionless and smoothly drove off, turning left on Weird Road, while Allen watched the back of his tail lights in the stretch Mercedes flash on and off as he slowly rolled the car backwards returning to Allen's car.

He wondered if he still had a heart as he listened to it pound slowly as he wrapped his fingers around a slim rectangular 22 Sparrow silencer in his lap. Although sometimes he wondered oddly, if this impeding feeling's meant he were still alive, because surely his soul had died some time ago.

The elderly man riding in the back of the Mercedes rolled down his window he was older than Allen had imagined as he always dealt with the well-dressed driver of the vehicle.

His voice was raspy as the elderly man hissed off a few sentences towards Allen's direction as he peered at him through darken spectacles. Aged old wisdom lathering from each word he spoke though understandable but slowly.

"Lay low for a while Sonny Boy. The world wasn't queered in one day?

He let out a deep husky cough like laughter.

Sit tight for a while... too much publicity at one time isn't a good look for us right now.... Curb that appetite of yours young Allen. I hear there lies a much prettier goal to catch, Red Head...If you can't get her...then I have no further use for you, I'm trying to acquire this land and I need something a little harder to rock their world and maybe..(hissing and coughing) ...maybe they will come up off that land I want for dirt cheap, instead of refusing to sell!"

I know your craving kid...but... remember this is a job boy, I ain't got time for your foolishness."

He interrupts the elderly man's sentence before his deep shaky voice could complete his sentence.

"No Sir... there is nothing I cannot achieve... consider it done!"

"Remember Allen... treat her like a lady before you go in for the kill (he laughs with a deep-seated laughter and a bronchitis like cough, looking and sounding his George Burn age bracket."

The elderly but rumbustious man, made a gesture with his long-wrinkled pointer finger... slicing it across his own old wrinkly throat. He then let an outburst of cough like laughter out before, he rolled up the tinted window and smoothly road away.

Allen recalled watching his head inadvertently shake of old age as he rolled up the back window and the lanky driver rolled down his and rattled off a few last good-bye commands.

"We'll contact you when the profile image has drummed down a bit.

The Boss says pretty good job, so far...however until he gets the claim on that land of theirs, they siting on... Please stamper out the over exposure.

Allen waited until he could hear the sound of the Mercedes swiftly drove off, over the pebbled in gad station unto the even terrine before his steady grip on the silencer loosened.

He was angered by the lifeless old buzzard comments his left hand ached from his restraint on the clutch of the silencer.

"Not impressed...!" he whispered loudly as a fuming smoke of cool air made a mist of the words being spoken from his mouth.

"You piece of fucking old ass dead shit!" He yelled as he skirted off to the right of Long Island road.

Feeling festered and irritation tugging at him, to follow the vehicle and shoot them both dead. He longed deep inside his being to follow and slit the old mans wrinkled throat, but the job was not over yet, he stared at the fifty thousand in the envelop and knew the completed job was worth 100 thousand more, right where that came from.

However, he had to be careful, this man...these people... were nothing to play with. They owned him... every last bit of him and as much as he knew somewhere in one of those vast monstrosity mansions, that old prick identifiable considered Allen's life as his own...he wanted him on the ground choking... bleeding from the same gut in which he hauled off orders. A synagogue made him no more righteous then the Catholic priest that had surged him down his murderous path.

Allen pulled over to the side of road and got out his vehicle he held his hand on his hips heaving in an angry mist of air as if he were asthmatic, he kicked the dearth up-heaving a muddy core of the earth staining his exotic seal skin boats...he smiled at the skin of an endangered inborn being on the surface of his outlandish scarce shoe.

"Who could afford that really, who? His boots had cost $20,000 to wear and ride across the border with them on his feet, he'd killed for less. Glancing down at scars, he began to rapidly wipe away at the smudges that were deeply embedded in the lenses. They would be a part of Allen and Alex's for forever. Those scars made him untraceable, yet a constant reminder of the scabs that deserved to remain a part of his entity.

"Her?... She?... who had the old man meant as he mutter off those last words before driving off in his sleek vehicle..."

Alex shrugged sure he would get instructions soon enough.