I drove through the night back to the city. Mr. Black was first on my list. I knew where he would be; he owned a strip club in Brighton Beach, and he spent most nights there. I parked a block away and took time to prepare myself. I slid a handgun into the back of my waistband and pulled the backpack on. I had two larger guns in there, a shotgun fully loaded with extra shells and a submachine gun with three extra clips. I climbed out of my car and took a deep breath.
A fat bouncer named Reuben was working the door. He worked for the club but not for Mr. Black. He wasn’t a criminal, even if I was sure he was aware of what sort of man Mr. Black was. If he knew I was in trouble with my old boss, he didn’t show it.
“Peter, what’s up?” the fat man asked.
“Hey, Reuben,” I said and shook his hand as I stepped by.
“Boss man is upstairs if you need him,” he said, and I nodded.
The inside of the club was pounding music and pink and blue lights. A skinny brunette with giant tits was dancing on the main stage, a ring of horny men sitting around it, flashing green bills as she came near. I passed by the bar, where Samantha, a good-looking blonde who tended, gave me a smile and a wave. I managed to smile back.
Near the back of the club was a set of metal stairs, which led up to a second-floor office. I started up the steps and reached for the door handle. Just before I could open the door, someone pulled it open from the other side, and I found myself face to face with Vlad. His eyes widened in shock. Time seemed to slow down.
“You idiot,” the man said to me. He had a gun on the inside of his jacket; I could see the handle sticking out a bit. He didn’t go for it, though.
“Get out of here,” I said, giving him a stern warning. I liked Vlad, and he was just a lowlife grunt like me. Or at least, like I used to be. Standing on those stairs, I felt different. I wasn’t the man I had been just a week before. But my beef wasn’t with Vlad. He wasn’t the one in charge. I didn’t want to kill him, not if I didn’t have to.
“He’s going to kill you, kid,” Vlad said to me, shaking his head. He looked at me, and I saw concern in his eyes.
“I’m going to kill him,” I snarled. “Now get out. Don’t come back tonight.”
Vlad seemed to weigh his choices. Finally, he nodded and put his hand on my shoulder as he passed. I let out the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding and opened the door.
Mr. Black’s office was large and open, with some couches and chairs at one end and his desk at the far end. I had my gun out of my pants before I stepped all the way through the door. One man stood beside the door. He was a grunt, like me, but I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, so I beat him to the punch. I pressed the barrel of my handgun to his side and pulled the trigger. The bang was deafening and the man fell. The music was so loud downstairs that I was sure no one in the club had heard anything.
Mr. Black was at his desk, his cell phone to his ear. He looked across the room and his eyes widened. Another man sat on a couch nearby, reading a magazine, an automatic rifle lying across his lap. He tossed the magazine aside and went to swing the rifle toward me, but I aimed and fired, and my bullet took him in the head. He slumped to the side, dead.
“This is not wise,” Mr. Black said as I stalked toward him, my handgun trained at his head.
“Keep your hands up,” I said. I knew he had a shotgun in a special slot constructed on the bottom part of his desk. He held his hands up.
“So you fell for a woman. No harm, no foul. Bring her back; I can make it right.”
I shook my head. “You can’t make that right. It isn’t right. I respected you. I thought you were better.”
Mr. Black laughed. “You knew exactly what I was. You are a fool if you think I wouldn’t do anything I could to make a bit more money.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Worth what?”
“Your life.”
Mr. Black laughed. “Come now, boy, we both know you won’t kill me.”
“I want to know who set it up. Who got you into it?”
Mr. Black shook his head.
“I won’t tell you a thing,” he said. I was standing next to him now, and I put my gun against his leg. “Idle threats,” he said. I pulled the trigger.
He yelled out, reaching down and covering the ragged hole I had just blown into his thigh.
“Tell me,” I said.
“David Ramos,” Mr. Black said. I knew the name. I put my gun to my old boss’s head and ended his wretched life.
I went back out to my car quickly. There was a chance no one would find Mr. Black or his two dead stooges until the end of the night when someone would go see why he hadn’t come out yet. That was if Vlad didn’t attempt to return sooner. I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
I knew David Ramos. He lived in New York and had his fingers in every illicit thing you could think of up and down the East Coast. He was a big man, muscular and strong with a thick neck and biceps as big as my thigh. I didn’t care. I was going to kill him.