Alone and cold in the Chicago Airport he dreamed of kissing its hood as he arrived home. Meanwhile Jerry started the engine and headed in the direction of The Bison Bar.
“It’s not far from here,” he spoke to himself as he tapped the details into the sat nav.
And they drove in silence through the dark streets until they reached the dilapidated neighborhood.
“This better not be a joke,” Jorge seemed suddenly angry. “I don’t wanna come all the way down here and not find him,”
“Callahan wouldn’t lie to us. Believe me he knows better,”
And out of nowhere the neon sign for The Bison came into view. A rag tag bunch of heavy drinkers and bikers hung out the front smoking and jostling at each other.
“Lovely,” Jerry’s face drooped at the sight. “I hate dive bars,” and he parked a few yards away to keep his distance.
Entering the building they found it to be packed tight with a colourful array of degenerates. The two Mafia henchmen stood out as they entered in their suits. Everyone turned to regard them with hostility as they approached the bar.
“Save your bad manners. We don’t want a drink,” Jerry declared and slapped his hands on the bar which he immediately discovered was sticky.
The gnarly barman looked relieved and picked up a towel to begin drying a glass.
“Well what can I help you with?”
“We’re looking for a guy. Tall, ex-Navy, cocky as hell,”
“Oh, I know exactly where that douche is. Had a domestic with his girlfriend and I sent him over across the street to a motel. He was driving me crazy,”
Jerry and Jorge looked to each other amused. Jorge’s eyes were sparkling as he imagined what he’d do to him. His fingers began to twitch with the excitement of anticipating a kill.
“And where would this motel be?” Jerry leaned forward.
“Fifty yards that way,” the barman pointed. “And take a right up the alley. You can’t miss it,”
“You’re a good man,” and Jerry pulled out a fifty dollar bill and placed it in the barman’s top pocket.
~
Carl was lying face down in a stupor. Feeling both enraged and terrified for Anna’s safety, he couldn’t even imagine where she’d gone. And she’d taken everything he owned. He had that backpack through his entire tour of Afghanistan. It had survived a bomb blast but now sat on the back of a runaway teen who misinterpreted a situation and didn’t think to confront him.
He was fuming mad when he checked into the motel, and almost penniless. Deciding he’d worry about the money in the morning he just wanted to drink himself into a coma as he pined after Anna. How could she leave him? He’d only known her less than a week but he felt as if he’d fall apart if he never saw her again. Despite her running off he’d take her back in a split second just to see her smile in his arms again.
Swallowing three Vicodin and half a bottle of bourbon he fell asleep on the grubby bed. Luckily his senses were so intoxicated that he couldn’t smell the previous guest’s scent on the bedsheets. He drifted into slumber dreaming of holding Anna.
When he woke, it was because he thought he heard the door rattling. But the noise stopped as quickly as it started and he drifted off again. When he woke again it was because it sounded like a lightning strike went off in his room. He smelled the gunpowder that rose from the small hole next to his face and he rolled over in time to see Jorge fixing the gun directly between his eyes.
Moving quickly Carl threw the sheets up towards Jorge and rolled to the edge of the bed, and as his reflexes kicked in, he kicked Jorge in the chest as a shot rang out. Jorge stumbled back whilst raising the gun, and with the reaction time only a Navy Seal is capable of he lurched forward and grabbed Jorge’s arm, taking advantage of the brief moment of opportunity. Running forward with one hand on Jorge’s arm and the other on his chest, he pushed him up against the wall before throwing repeated right hooks Eventually Jorge’s expression dropped, his jaw slacked and his grip was soft enough for Carl to grab the gun.
Firing three rounds into his chest, the little assassin fell to the ground and bled out. Carl watched as he took his last breath. Then with one last bodily spasm, he was gone.
Jerry meanwhile was standing at the back of the room, and as Carl approached he started to plead for his life.
“Hey! I was trying to talk him outta killing you,” he lied. “We’re old pals you and me. We go back a long way,”
“How could you Jerry? I thought we were friends,”
“We are! We are it’s just….”
“Just what?” Carl asked although he knew what the answer would be.
“It’s just what Don Angelo orders…. Right?”