Setting up my CD player, I started the music, listening along as Dire Straits filled the minutes, along with Kenny Rogers, a bit of Van Halen, Bonnie Tyler, and a-ha!. As bad as it was, at least it wasn't nineties boy bands. I might have had to shoot myself if I had to listen to that too much. As the CD repeated, I turned it up a few notches, hoping the johns with their girls didn't mind listening to Total Eclipse of the Heart. Just as the CD was starting for the third time, I saw movement at the club, and I looked through my scope.
What I saw nearly floored me. In addition to Petrokias, who was clearly identifiable by his haircut, a silvery fox look that looked a lot like he should have been a televangelist, I saw Sal Giordano. I'd studied his picture for hours on end after he'd ordered my death, and there had been shot after shot that I'd imagined returning the favor.
My fingers itched as the two Confederation bosses sat down, Petrokias pouring what looked like a deep red wine for both of them. I wanted to take down Giordano, but I couldn't. Mark had been very specific on that fact, if either of us had a chance to take down Sal Giodano, we had to pass. "If Sal goes down, the entire Confederation will blame Owen Lynch, and they'll go to war with him, united," Mark had said as we had gone over the plan again. "If we do that, this city will run with blood, and neither of us could do a damn thing to stop it. We want the Confederation distrustful and broken up, so that when they do go to war with each other, they'll be able to be taken down by Federal and state law enforcement."
Still, I wished I could take the shot. Instead, I focused, searching for the cold place that Mark had trained me for. Taking deep, calming breaths, I blanked out everything but my target, and then even lost that. Instead of seeing Petrokias the criminal, I saw just a target, like any of a thousand other practice targets I'd shot at. It took me a long time, a lot longer than Mark would, but by the time I opened my eyes and looked down the scope, I was ready.
My timing couldn't have been any more perfect. Petrokias and Giordano were deep into what looked like massive plates of either moussaka or lasagna, perhaps each man enjoying their particular culture's specialty. I turned up the CD to maximum volume and put in my ear plugs, muffling the noise. Sitting back down, I needed only a moment to find my target, sight for his head, and stroke my trigger.
As soon as I took the shot, I knew I had hit. Everything was exactly like Mark had taught me it would feel. There was no betraying quiver of muscle, or tightly held bit of breath. The rifle shot had actually surprised me, and in the moment I took to reacquire my target, I saw that I'd struck him in the throat. Sal Giordano was already down, crawling for safety and people were yelling. I pulled back and tossed the rifle on the bed, grabbing my Glock and headed for the door.
"Three," I whispered into the cacophony of the CD player music, opening the door and slipping into the hallway. The hallway was clear, I had been lucky so far. Either nobody had seen the shot, or they weren't sure where it had come from yet. Still, I didn't expect my luck to hold out forever, so I jogged down the hallway to the stairs to the roof, making my way up and out. The late twilight gave little illumination to the rooftop, but it was helped by the diffused city lights around. Moving quickly but not rushing, I made my way to the end of the roof, looking across at the next roof. It wasn't too far, just over seven feet, so I backed up a little bit and took a light running jump, landing with a little thrill on the other side.
"Didn't suck," I said to myself, enjoying the adrenalin rush. I heard yelling from below and behind me, someone had found my room. Picking up the pace, I started running, not even pausing as I jumped the next two roofs, before facing the big choice. If I was confident, I could take this building's fire escape down to the street level and disappear onto the light rail system. If not, I could turn right and flee another three blocks before taking another fire escape, but my escape route would then be going through the city storm drains for over a mile before emerging and then catching a city bus.
Looking behind me, I couldn't see anyone. While my lead may only have been a few minutes, it was enough. Chucking my Glock to the side, not wanting to get caught with one by a local cop, I took the fire escape, controlling my slide down the ladder using my hands. It's harder than it looks, especially when the ladder is old and a bit rusty. The hardest part actually was the end, when I was faced with a twelve foot drop. They make those fire escapes hard to climb up for a reason, after all. Still, even dangling, I was a good six feet above the ground, and the drop onto the trash littered street below didn't look all that inviting. Saying a quick prayer that there were no rusty nails or drug needles below me, I let go.
Thankfully, the worst that I landed on was an old flyer for the weekly discounts at the local department store. Brushing off my hands, I pulled the gloves off and tucked them in my pocket to be washed and disposed of later. Walking calmly to the train stop, I only had to wait three minutes before the next train. Stepping on, I held my cool until the doors closed, and I found a seat. Only then did I start to let the tremors begin in my hands.
Chapter 46
Mark