Frankie Carlino's Legacy

  

~ 1 ~

Nathan Bixby, Bix, as he has been called for as long as he could remember, was driving through the south end of New Haven, Connecticut, down a street lined with beautiful old frame houses, half of which backed onto the Long Island Sound. 

He spotted the house he was looking for and turned into the driveway. He took in the house, which was large and quite beautiful. It was painted a dark green colour that made it look almost black with the sun behind it. He thought about driving through this neighbourhood when he was younger because his dad loved to look at older houses, and Bix always wondered what kind of people lived in houses as grand as these. ‘Today,’ he thought, ‘I guess I’ll find out.’

Bix walked to the front door and saw a handwritten note taped to the glass window. It read, ‘Come around back’. 

Bix made his way to the back of the house, down the driveway and in between the house and the garage with a classic Camaro parked inside. He came to a beautiful yard with a large wooden deck attached to the back of the house. Off to the side, there was a small pool, the kind that was used for power swimming with jets that created a current to swim against. He wondered what it would be like to swim in a pool like that.

A man was sitting at round table on the deck under the shade of a large triangular-shaped canvas that was attached to the house at two points and a pole at the corner of the large deck. The man had a laptop open in front of him and was wearing an open terrycloth robe and swimming trunks. His hair was a bit damp. He appeared to be in his early forties and strikingly handsome. He had greying hair, and his body was lean. He had a week’s worth of beard covering his face. His eyes were bright and almost the same colour as his house. 

He saw Bix and waved him over. He eased himself out of the chair and extended his hand. 

“Nathan Bixby, right?” the man said, as they shook hands.

“Yes sir. But everybody calls me, Bix.” 

“Good to meet you, Bix. Frank Carlino, but everybody calls me Frankie.”

“Have a seat. Would you like some iced tea?”

“Thanks. That would be great.” 

Frankie scooped a glass into the ice bucket and then poured some iced tea from a crystal pitcher. He then picked up his own glass and Bix did the same.

“Salut.” Frankie said.

Bix and Frankie clinked their glasses and both took a sip of their tea.

“So Bix. Your email was just informative enough to grab my interest. Tell me the whole story.” Frankie said. Bix thought he sounded a lot like the actor, Joe Pesci. 

“Not much to tell really.” Bix said. “ I’ve been a professional advertising writer since I was twenty-two, about eight years, and over the past year or so I have been working on my own. Blogging mostly, because the advertising industry has gone to hell. I also like to do video work and have all the equipment to do my own videos and interviews. That was a pretty good investment. When I saw your ad in the Chronicle, I thought maybe I’d like to try my hand at writing a biography.”

“So you’ve never really done anything like a biography before?”

“No. But I’m a good writer. And frankly, most of the marketing stuff I get these days is really boring.”

Frankie was studying Bix closely as he spoke. Bix was hyper-aware of it. “I’m looking for a new challenge. Something I can learn from. I’m not afraid of hard work. Eight years in the agency business kills any fears you might have in that regard.”

“Hmmm. So what do you like to do for fun, you know when you’re not slavin’ away at the shit you hate doin’?”

“I ummm…I like to shoot. I go to a gun range at least once a week. In fact, a local gun range is one of my clients.”

“You like to shoot? Well, that’s interesting.”

Bix was not sure how to respond, so he took another sip of his iced tea.

“Are you a shooter?” Bix finally asked.

“You might say that.” Frankie said. “So, you’ve never written a biography before. You come from advertising land and you like to shoot. You got a girl? A wife? Kids?”  

“Not married and I’m sort of in between girls at the moment.”

Frankie dug around in a small pile of paper on the table. He pulled out a sheet and slid it across to Bix.

“This is an ironclad non-disclosure agreement. I paid an intellectual property lawyer a shitload of money for it. I want you to read it over, and take it to your own lawyer if you like. I’ll pay for that. And let me know if you’re OK with it.” Frankie said.

“So are you hiring me?”

Frankie leans back in his chair. “Yeah I guess I am. I like your vibe and your ambitious personality.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any more information?”

Frankie shakes his head. “Naa, I’m good. I’ll level with you, kid. I been talking to a bunch of people about this, and frankly, they’re either too desperate, too fucked up or too arrogant. You’re the only one who approached it as a challenge. Means you got spunk. That put you head and shoulders above all those other clowns. So yeah, my gut is telling me that you and I can pull this shit off.”

Bix smiled and got to his feet. He extended his hand. “Alright.” he said. 

Frankie shook his hand and smiled. “You’ll find out everything once that’s signed and filed with my lawyer. I will tell you one thing. It’ll be something you’ve never done before.”

Bix smiled at Frankie and extended his hand. “Well thank you, Frankie. I hopefully look forward to working with you.”

“Me too, kid. Let me know when you’re ready to sign that agreement and we’ll talk again.”

“OK, sounds like a plan.”

Bix got to his feet. He started to walk away then stopped. He turned and came back to the table.

“Ummm, this was like the shortest interview I’ve ever had. I just want to make sure that you found out everything you wanted to about me.”

Frankie nodded “I found out everything I needed to know.”

“OK.” Bix said. “I’ll check out the NDA and get back to you.”

“Call me when you’re good to go.” Frankie said.

Bix walked back around to the front of the house, feeling a bit strange about things. But then he reminded himself that he was a good writer and that this was just like any other business relationship he was pursuing.

~ 2 ~

Bix lived in the bottom flat of a four-plex on a quiet tree-lined street in New Haven, close to the Yale Campus. It was morning and he was sitting on the front porch steps with a coffee, a bagel and his laptop on his lap when the phone beside him rang and he picked it up.

“Sheldon. How’s it goin?” Bix asked.

 Sheldon was Sheldon Tillis, an old college friend of Bix’s, who went on to law school and now worked in his father’s firm in New Haven. They were still good friends because, like Bix, Shel also liked to shoot.”

“ Fine, man. Listen, I had a chance to look at that NDA you sent me.”

“Yeah?” 

“As the man told you, it’s ironclad and then some.”

“So is this something I should sign or what?”

“Well yeah. But you have to be very careful how you tread is all. This guy, whoever he is, he might be into some pretty heavy shit.”

“He didn’t seem like he was all that menacing?”

“The truly menacing never do, amigo.” 

“OK, well send me a bill. He said he’d pay for it, so no friends and family discount required.”

“Alright. Good luck with this.”

They disconnected. Bix leaned back against the post and took a deep breath. ‘The truly menacing never do’, he thought.

Later that afternoon, Bix entered a Starbucks at the end of his street, carrying his shoulder bag. He got a coffee and then found a table. He hauled his laptop out of the bag and set it up. He searched for Frank Carlino. Several names came up, But nothing remotely like the guy he met two days before. He sat back and took a sip of his coffee. Then he heard a voice.

“Nathan?”

Bix looked up and saw a good-looking woman standing with a large coffee in her hand. She was about five-foot-six and slender with long brown hair, high cheekbones and a slightly aristocratic presence.

Bix blanked out for a few seconds trying to place her.

“Emma Jacobs. Bozell, Boston.” She said. “Your office was on the other side of the building, but I remember you. You only stayed for about a year.”

“Bozell? Yeah, that would have been my last stop in Agencyland.”

“I was Digital Marketing Director.” Emma said. “We never worked together directly, but my team programmed all the sites you guys worked on.”

Bix invited Emma to sit and she did, in a temporary sort of way.

“Ahhh…the propellerhead squad. You guys did great work. So what the hell are you doing in New Haven?”

“If you can believe it, I’m teaching computer science at Yale. Just finishing up my first semester. What are you doing here?”  Emma asked.

“This is my hometown. Right now, I’m just freelancing. This and that. Not much advertising. Mostly just writing and shooting video for websites and v-logs. I’m hopefully making a deal to write a biography.”

“Wow. Real writing.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to bluff my way through that one.”

“We’ve all been bluffing for years.” Emma said, and they both had a chuckle about that.

“True enough.” Bix said. “So…it’s Saturday, which means you probably live around here.”

“Yeah. Right around the corner.” 

“So how do you like my hometown?”

“Fact is, I haven’t got to see all that much of it. But the Yale campus is gorgeous.”

“Well, then you have seen most of it. It’s a college town, lots of big old subdivided houses, frat houses and beer joints, cheap restaurants and more beer joints. The rich folks all live in big old houses along the water.”

“But what about the people who outgrew the beer joints ten years ago?”

“I don’t know. Myself, I go to the shooting range and kill paper people from a couple hundred yards out.”

“You’re kidding? I would have never pegged you for a gun guy.” 

“One of my blogging clients is a gun range owner. So I learned to shoot to understand the weapons. It’s quite the science if you can believe it.”

“That’s a whole other world from where I live. You don’t have one of those high-powered automatic rifles?”

“No. Automatic rifles are illegal. I have a beautiful Remington hunting rifle my dad gave me when he found out I was writing about guns.”

“That’s wonderful. I love it when people bail out of the agency business and land on their feet.”

“Well, it’s no professorship at Yale.”

“Associate professorship. They’re very big on titles there.”

“Either way, that’s still a hell of a gig.”

“So blogs…what do you write about?” Emma asked.

“Right now, mostly branded guns and ammo. Hunting stories and tradecraft stories, you know, guys who make their own specialized ammunition, even build their own weapons.”

“No guff.”

“That’s America. Home of the gun nut. But most of the folks I’ve met so far are pretty solid citizens. Not an anarchist in the bunch. They like the mechanics and the discipline it takes to shoot well.”

Emma looked at her watch. “Hey. I’ve gotta scoot. Papers to mark. Say, if you’d ever like to monitor one of my classes, let me know.” Emma dug into her purse and pulled out a Yale business card. She handed it to him. “I’d really like to hear more about this gun world.”

“Sure thing, Emma. Good to see you.”

Emma got up and Bix followed to be polite. 

“Call me…seriously,”  Emma said, just coyly enough for Bix to the idea.

“Will do.”

Emma dashed away and Bix sat back down and flipped the business card around in his hand.

“Alrighty then.” He said to himself, but not too loudly.

~ 3 ~

The next morning, Bix parked his Jeep in the lot and entered the main building of the High Rock range about ten miles outside of New Haven. Mitch Grayson, a lean, wiry guy in his mid-thirties was standing behind the counter fiddling with his iPad.

“How’s it goin’ Mitch?”

“Hey, it’s a country full of guns, I couldn’t be happier.”

“I posted this week’s blog this morning. You should have a look.”

“I’ll do that.” 

“Hey, Mitch…Have you ever heard of a guy named Frankie Carlino? Maybe he came here to do some shooting. Good looking Italian guy.”

“Sounds like something out of the Godfather. Naaa, I’m sure I’d remember a name like that. Got a ring to it.” 

“OK. No biggie. Just a guy I met a few days ago. Said he liked to shoot. I thought he might have come here.”

Bix grabbed a target and turned to go to the range. On his way out he stopped at the cooler and took a Dr. Pepper, then walked down to a bay where he fired off half a box at the target 250 metres out. His groupings were tight, and he was pretty happy about that. He thought about shooting off the rest of his box and then changed his mind. All the while he was thinking about this Frankie Carlino, and how mysterious the guy was. Bix looked down the line and had a hard time seeing Mr. Carlino out here with all the deer hunters.

~ 4 ~

Early Monday afternoon, Bix met up with Frankie at a restaurant called The Hook & Reel. Bix entered the restaurant and looked around. A waiter came by. He pointed Bix to a table in the far corner by the window. Frankie was sitting there with a Dr. Pepper in front of him. He got up and the two men shook hands. As they sat down, Bix pointed at the Dr. Pepper can.

“I see you‘re a Pepper.”

“Oh, yeah. Been drinkin’ that stuff for years. Never developed a taste for alcohol other than this one wine, Chateau Lafitte Rothschild.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty high-end as wine goes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay…Right now I’d be happy with a Pepper.”

Frankie held up his can and two fingers. The waiter nodded.

“So before we get started, I was curious about your shooting. What’s your weapon of choice?” Frankie asked.

“It’s a Remington Woodmaster 742. A semi-automatic with a good Zeiss scope. Mostly I shoot targets at 250 and 300 yards.”

“Three hundred yards is a lot of distance. You any good?”

“Not bad. Not competition, but not bad. By the way, I’ve never seen you at the range.”

“Yeah, I haven’t been practicing much since I moved out here.”

The waiter arrived and put down two more cans and one glass filled with ice. Frankie poured some of the ice into his glass.

“I love this place. Lot of really good cajun dishes, but not too spicy, you know.” Frankie said.

Ten minutes and a lot of unrevealing small talk later, the food was on the table and they were eating.

“OK so, you obviously bounced that NDA off your lawyer. Are you OK with it?”

“Sure.”

Frankie leaned back in his chair and stared at Bix for a while. “Alright. Are you free tomorrow? We can go to my lawyer's office and get it signed.”

“Sure, we can do that. But I’ve gotta tell you, the only thing that concerns me is that you know way more about me than I know about you.”

“I hear you. But to be honest with you, who I am has a lot to do with what I want to do. Once we’re all signed up you’ll get the whole story.”

“Okay. I can live with that.”

“You know, I’m terrible with names and forgot your last name.”

“Bixby. That’s why everybody calls me Bix.”

“Hmmm…Sounds a little upper crust.”

“Yeah, well, my dad is a venture capitalist, but he forgave me for taking marketing instead of business.”

“He run a big outfit?”

“Smallish in that business. Three billion, maybe more by now.” 

“You have some kind falling out over it?”

“Just a difference of opinion. Evidently, I have broken a chain of Bixbys who play the market and get rich doing it. We still talk. He still asks me if I’ve woken up. I still tell him no. I’m the son and heir who doesn’t want to be the heir.”

“And what about your career? You make good money?” 

“I have no huge need for money. So I make enough to keep body and soul together. I have a trust fund that starts paying when I’m forty. About nine years from now. I can draw up to fifteen thousand a month from it now if I want to. But all I take is my rent and utilities. At this point, I honestly don't know what I would do with that money”

“So what’s the whole trust worth? Or maybe it’s none of my business.”

“That’s a good question. Fact is, I actually have no idea. I get letters from the firm that administers it. But I never open them.”

“You really are your own dog, aren’t you, kid?”

“It’s more of a work in progress.” Bix said.

They ate and talked some more about this and that. Movies, TV series, books. Frankie was a lot more pop culture savvy than Bix thought he would be. He talked like a gangster, but he loved opera and had read a lot of the classics. Their conversation went everywhere and anywhere, except to anything about his past life. Bix marvelled at the guy’s shrewdness.

In the parking lot after lunch, Frankie said. “I’ll call you with a time for tomorrow.”

“I’m free all day.” Bix said.

The two men shook hands and got in their respective cars and headed off in different directions.

~ 5 ~

After he got home, Frankie had a swim and then flopped down onto one of his lounge chairs. He poured himself some iced tea and watched the seagulls clustered along the shoreline, making a hell of a racket. After a while, he applied some eyedrops and then leaned his head back and put a damp cloth over his eyes. While he was doing this, the cell phone on the table beside him rang. He felt around on the table, grabbed the phone and activated it.

“This is Frank.”

“Hey Frankie. It’s Clinton Prescott. How are you?”

“I’m OK, Sheriff. How’s by you?”

“That’s Marshall. And I’m just fine.”

“Sorry. Fed titles all run together in my head.” 

“Just checkin’ in to see that you’re still in one piece.”

“That’s debatable. But I’m still alive. Nobody’s tried to off me in the last month. You hid me well.”

“So how’s retirement treatin’ you?”

“I’m OK with it. Beats the hell out of the alternative.”

“Well alright. You stay safe. This is a new number for me, so put it in your phone book.”

“You got it. Detective.”

“Very funny. Take care, man.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Frankie disconnected. He took the cloth off his eyes and opened them. He blinked a bit. Then he laid back down and put the cloth back over his eyes again. 

Late in the morning on the next day, Frankie and Bix got together at the office of Frankie’s lawyer, Richard Davies, who witnessed the official signing of the non-disclosure agreement. As they walked out, they agreed to get together the following day and get the ball rolling.

~ 6 ~

All signed up and ready to find out what was what, Bix arrived at Frankie’s house at around 2 pm the next day. He walked around to the side of the house and saw Frankie, sitting on the steps of his pool, half submerged wearing dark glasses and a Chicago Cubs hat, smoking a small cigar. 

“Hey, Frankie.”

“Hey Bix. Good to see you, glad you could make it.”

Bix grabbed a padded chair and positioned it at a right angle to Frankie.

“You know, you’re right on the sound, I’m surprised there’s no big boat docked down there.”

“Naa. I keep that at the East End Yacht Club. Saves a lot of hassling around.”

“So you have a boat?”

“Yeah. It’s a 75-foot cruiser. A real pig on gas.”

“Well, whatever the hell it is you do, I’m dead certain you do it well.”

“And I’ll tell you all about that. Go on in the house. There’s a bottle of wine breathin’ on the counter, with a couple of glasses.”

Bix got up and walked into the house. He came out with the bottle and two glasses. By now Frankie was sitting on the deck. His hat was off, but the sunglasses were still on. Bix set the bottle and glasses down. Frankie poured the wine into the glasses. He lifted his glass. 

“As Bogey said to Claude Rains in Casablanca,” Frankie said. ‘This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship’. Salud.”

“Salud*.”

The two men sipped their wine.

“Goddamn. That is mighty fine wine.” Bix said

“It certainly is.” Frankie extended his hand which Bix shook.

“Okay, so we sealed it two ways.” Frankie said. “One legal. One personal. Everything I tell you about me stays between us. And anybody you have to talk to to do what needs to be done will also be covered by this agreement. I know you got questions up the wazoo, so fire away.”

“OK,” Bix said. “First of all tell me what it is you do that allows you to live like this?”

“Right now, I’m retired. It’s what I used to do that made all this happen.” He refilled the glasses. Bix sat back and waited. 

“Well, the first thing you need to know is that my name’s not Frankie Carlino. It’s Gianni Salvatore. But I don’t use that name anymore, just to be safe.”

“Safe from what? Or who?”

“That’s the thing. You just never know who’s been talkin’ to who and who might want to take me down for whatever reason.”

“Are you some kind of mafia wiseguy, Frankie?”

Frankie took a slow sip of his drink. Then he chuckled. “Mmmmm. Not anymore.” 

“I’m a little confused.”

“I’m in WITSEC. You know what that is?”

“Sure. Witness protection. Oh…you’re kidding. Wow. You got some bad people thrown into jail and now you’re being protected.”

“I wouldn’t call it protected. But I am hidden. Here among the Waspy white folks…like you.”

“Were you famous?”

“Not really, I worked for a family in Chicago. And I kept a pretty low profile.” 

Bix was fascinated. “So I guess you’re gonna tell me about this, right?”

Frankie took a deep breath. “The family I worked for, and ratted out, was called DiPietro. The dad, Sam and the two sons. And they were the scum of the motherfucking earth. But I was a kid going to college at night and workin’ in my dad’s fruit store during the day. He couldn’t afford to hire anybody because of the protection money he was paying these putas.

“So when I finished community college, I approached them and told them I would, you know, do things for them, if they just took my dad off the protection list. I guess I made’em an offer they couldn’t refuse.

“At first it was just drivin’ … chaufferin’ hookers to the downtown hotels, pickin’ ‘em up and kicking the shit out of anybody who gave them a hard time. Then I got into a little collecting, outside my neighbourhood. But I hated that… all those hardworking people getting fucked over by these bastards. 

“From there it was workin’ up the food chain, pickin’ up coke at the airport and supervising the cutters. Finally, five long years later, I got promoted to chauffeuring the hit man, Johnny Leopold. We spent a lot of time together and he taught me the tradecraft, mostly through chats in the car while we were waitin’ for the marks to show, and at the gun range he built in his house, where he taught me how to shoot. 

“It was kinda crazy. Guy would leave the car, off somebody, come back and be thinkin' how he’d really like a veal sandwich. That kind of crazy.”

“Then one night about six years later. Johnny climbed into the back seat of the car and collapsed. He’d been shot in the midsection and he was bleedin’ hard. I got him back to the DiPietros, and they got their doctor, and he worked his ass off, but there was too much internal bleeding. But before he passed, Johnny told Sam DiPietro that I was ready.

“Badda Boom, Badda Bing, thirty years old and the youngest hit man in all the Chicago families. The money got much larger then, and even though I started down that road just to keep my parents from going out of business, I got to love it. It got under my skin. It didn’t matter who it was, I just figured somebody wants to pay big bucks to get rid of some creep, who was I to judge?”

Frankie poured some more wine for himself and Bix.

“But even though Sam was thirty different kinds of scum, I will give him credit for one thing. He stuck to business. No relatives. No wives. No civilians of any kind, except for the protection business. So while it might have been a life of crime, it was something I got used to and have no real regrets about.”

Bix took another sip of the wine. “So you’re what early forties. How long have you been hidden?” 

“Three years.” 

“What caused you to turn on the DiPietros?”

“That’s a good question. When I became the hitter, I was kinda on the inside and got a closer look at how much contempt these animals had for their community and how greedy they all were. I thought, do I really want to spend the best years of my life with these scumbuckets? There were only three of them -  the father, Sam and two sons, both stupid, spoiled rotten and meaner than rattlesnakes. The hardest part was bein’ civil to them.

“So I started thinkin’… I knew where they stashed their cash, because one of the idiot sons showed me one day…like he was tryin’ to impress me. It was basically just sitting in the basement of one of their houses, in a room with a lock you coulda popped with a toothpick. It was pathetic but it gave me an idea. 

“After that, I contacted the FBI, and turned state’s evidence. The kids, both idiots, got killed when the cops raided the house. Tried to shoot their way out. So all they got was Sam. But that was more than enough to clean up a good chunk of the South Side. They didn’t have much of an organization besides me. They used mostly contractors. All I could think of after that was all that money just sittin’ there gettin' moldy in a house that probably only Sam knew about.

“I knew that Sam would be held without bail. I also knew that nobody else knew where the stash was located except Sam and me. But I had to move quick before he told his lawyer. So it was as easy as breakin’ in, while they were gettin’ killed and busted, packing it up, and stashing it somewhere else. 

“After I testified, I got relocated to here. Fuckin’ awful apartment. Once the Marshalls were happy and left me alone, I moved the money over here. About fifteen million give or take. I found a slightly shady investment manager who created a dummy corporation, bought me this house and my boat and he keeps on adding half a million or so to the investment every few months. For 5%, he takes care of the taxes and I just sit around and make money. It’s the fuckin’ American dream.”

Bix just laughed. It was like Frankie was telling him a story that he just thought up. He found it hard to believe that the guy sitting across the table from him could have been everything he said he was. But he figured that the reality of it would set in sooner or later. 

“The American dream is right.” Bix said.

“So here I am in sleepy old New Haven. I spent my first summer learning to drive my boat and cruised up and down the seaboard a bit. The boat is a genuine pussy magnet. But I’m not what you’d call a seafarin’ guy. So I let the marina rent it out and I use it when it’s not rented.  

“Sometimes it’s nice to just sit out on the water and bob around.

 So there I was at forty, just two years into my new Frankie life and I’m thinkin’ maybe there are some bad guys need puttin’ away over here.”

“So you got back into the game again?” Bix asked.

“Courtesy of my sleazy lawyer. The long and short of it…I got back in for a while. The money was good but I had more than enough of that. The work was just gettin’ kinda old, you know. I did a couple jobs, for some Russkies down in the Bronx, but after a while … there was just no joy in it … So one day I’m bobbin’ around in the Sound and thinking about things, and I get a brainwave and my plans took me in a whole new direction. Which led me to you.”

Bix was definitely feeling the wine, but it was a nice  mellow buzz. “Okay … so what’s that about?” he asked

Frankie took another sip of wine and looked out at the water. He was obviously thinking about what he wanted to say next.

“Alright. I’m not sure what you’d call it, so hear me out. This isn’t a biography like I told you originally. I want to create a…kind of an education program for guys comin’ into the business. And I’m willing to pay you at least a hundred grand plus expenses for your time helping me put this together.”

Bix stared off into space. He glanced back at Frankie then off into space again. His mind was working but it was delightfully slow thanks to the wine. 

“You mean like some kind of course or tutorial?” Bix asked.

“I’m not sure what it is. I don’t know much about this stuff.”

“Okay….So what you really want is to put together all the stuff you know  about ummm contract killing, and sell it to people getting into the contract killing business.”

Frankie smiled and nodded his head. “Yeah, you got it. I just don’t know, you know, exactly what it could be.”

“Well, I guess that’s a pretty good way to share your business insights.” Bix said. But in his head he was thinking, Jesus Christ! I’m talking about murder as a business!

“Fuckin A, it is. And I’ve got like ten years’ worth of insights.”

“You know we could just write a book.” Bix said

“I thought about that. But these guys I’m talkin’ about, they don’t read, most of them would’ve barely finished high school.”

“Alright. So maybe it’s some kind of video, with text.”

“You see, that’s why I hired you. You’re thinkin’ and that’s what I need.”

Bix stared at Frankie for a few seconds. “I have to be honest with you, Frankie. The fact is that you, sir, are scaring the hell out of me.”

“Hey. I totally get that.’ Frankie said. “What I do, used to do, it’s heavy shit. But I’m not psychotic. I’m just a retired mob guy, so you have nothing to fear from me. Honest. The worst thing that can happen is you go blabbin’ this to anyone and my lawyer will sue your ass off.”

Bix took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Then he started to laugh. “This is so fucking weird. Because the first thought that hit me when you told me about this idea you have, was, that it…yeah…it could really work. Then the contract killer stuff kinda blurred all that. But I’m OK now. I’m OK. You just kinda fucked my head a bit.”

“So you think we could do something with this?” Frankie asked, quite earnestly.

“Yeah, yeah I do. The only concern I have is how we keep it from coming back and biting you on the ass. Why don’t you let me think about it a bit and I’ll come back with a proposal.”

Frankie rummaged around in the pile of papers on the table and pulled out an envelope. In it was a stack of bills held together with an elastic band. The stack was about half an inch thick. He slid it across the table to Bix.

“Okay Right now, you’re on the payroll. There’s ten Gs there for expenses. Once we figure out if we can do this thing, we’ll talk about your take.”

“My take?” Bix asked.

“You know, I mean your share. You’ll still get the hundred grand like I said, but we’ll also be partners in this venture. We’ll talk about the split. I figure we can sell this for at least a hundred grand or a hundred and a half a pop.”

“Wow.” Bix said

Frankie laughed. “You have no idea how much organized crime money is floating around in this country, do you Bix?”

“I guess not.” Bix said.

“You’ll see. If it’s a no-go, we’ll talk about what we can do instead. Either way, you have your guarantee and you’ll do OK. But I’m pretty sure this can be done. We just have to figure out exactly how, and I think you’re the right guy to do that.” 

Frankie got to his feet. “I’m gonna just grab a shower. Have a look around. I’ll take you over to see my boat then we can have dinner.”

Bix poured another glass of wine and took a sip. He laughed to himself. He got up and wandered into the house.

~7 ~

At Greenville Penitentiary in Illinois, Sam Di Pietro sat in the visitor’s room with his accountant, Charlie Costa. Sam was looking a little tired and all the worse for wear. Prison life did not agree with him.

“So some good news.” Charlie said. “I have finally unloaded all the real estate. The houses, the warehouses, everything that the dummy corp owned.”

“Yeah. So what’s the damage?”

“Five and a half million all tolled.”

“Well, that’s enough to keep the wolves at bay in this cesspool, and take care of your fees.”

“More than enough. I’m gonna take about 500k and put it into some cryptocurrency I’ve had an eye on.”

“That shit’s for real?”

“I bought in about a year ago and just cashed out at about 300%.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me.” 

“It’s blue-chip investing for smart people. The idiots all get greedy and lose their shirts.”

“Well, you got the power of attorney. Knock yourself out. I’m probably dyin’ in here anyway. I could make parole in ten to twelve if I blow every screw in the joint. All I really want is for you to find that puta Gianni, and clean his clock.”

“Well, the good news is that now you can afford to do that. You got anybody in mind?” Di Pietro asked

“Yeah, I do. His name is Vincent Votto. He came to see me after I landed in this shithole. Said if there was anything he could do just ask. Well, you ask.”

“Vinnie V. Hey, we went to high school together. He was one Guinea you did not fuck with.”

“We used to use him for tracking down vig skippers. He’s very good at figuring things out. I’m pretty sure he’ll figure out where Gianni got to, WITSEC or no.”

“Consider it done.”

“OK Charlie. Put another few Gs on my tab here. And bring me a couple more Baldacci books when you come next time.”

“You got it Sam. Keep the faith.”

Sam took a deep breath, then just shook his head. He had very little faith left. But what he did have was some serious anger. 

Sam got up and left the room. Charlie left a few seconds later. Outside the prison walls, Charlie called his office as he walked to his car.

“Hey, Sarah, I’m just heading back to the city. Anything pressing? OK good. Listen, do a little search for me, Vincent Votto. V-o-t-t-o. Just text me a number. I’ll call him myself. OK, I’ll see you in the morning.”

~ 8 ~

On the Yale campus, Bix was sitting on the steps of one of the Social Sciences Building. Across the way, Emma was sitting on the lawn with a small group of freshmen students. She was leading the group in a discussion.   

After about fifteen minutes, the group members started to get to their feet. A couple of them lingered a bit to talk to Emma. When they left, she waved at Bix and made her way over to him. They greeted each other warmly.

“I was surprised to hear from you so soon.” she said.

“Really? Then you have no idea of the impression you make on people. Actually, I have two motives here. The first was I really wanted to see you again and talk some more. The other is professional, and I will tell you all about it over the best dinner I can think of in this greasy spoon town.”

“OK. I am both flattered and intrigued.” Emma said

“That’s good.” 

“This dinner you have in mind, where would that be?”

“That would be what we pick up on the way down to the Sound. Point Park to be precise.”

Emma disappeared into the computer sciences building while Bix waited on a bench near the entrance. Five minutes later, she came out and they walked along the campus roadway to one of the lots, where they came to Bix’s car. Emma put her gear in the backseat. Bix got out his phone and looked up a site. He fiddled around and then handed the phone to Emma. On it was a menu.

“What’s this?”

“Your dinner choices. Once you choose, I’ll order it and we can drive around a bit until it’s ready. I’ll show you the sights, such as they are.”

“Dinner and a show. You’re just full of surprises.”

“Well thank you.”

Emma decided, and Bix made the call. They then got into the car and spent the next forty minutes tooling around New Haven until the food was ready.

Twenty minutes after that, Bix and Emma were sitting at a picnic table in the park with a beautiful dinner spread out before them and a bottle of Frankie’s Chateau Lafitte.

Emma took a sip of the wine, and her eyes widened. “My God.” she said.”I have never tasted anything like this in my life. It has to be dreadfully expensive.”

“I’m not exactly sure how much it costs. It was a gift from my new client. I looked it up and the prices are all over the place. Anywhere from six hundred to three thousand a bottle depending on the year.”

“Wow. And you say your new client just gave you this?”

“Yeah. He also gave me ten thousand in cash for any expenses I might incur. Which is paying for this sumptuous feast.”

“So now I’m really curious about this client of yours. He must be loaded.”

“Oh, he’s rich. Doesn’t seem to care all that much about it though.”

“So what does he do?”

“Well, nothing right now. And what he used to do and I can’t really tell you about that, because I signed a pretty iron-clad non-disclosure. Let’s just say that he lived, lives, whatever, a fair distance outside the law.”

They talked some more about things in general and drank some more of the wine. But Emma was a curious girl, and she picked at the mystery of the client with the expensive wine.

“So…okay.’ Emma said, “Outside the law could mean a lot of things.”

“It could indeed.”

“Hmmmm. Can you give me a hint?”

Bix thought about it for a moment. “How about nobody in his old life knows where he is.”

“Hmmm. Well, that could be anything.”

“Sorry for being so vague.”

I know you can’t tell me. So why don’t we talk about the other reason we are sitting here.”

“Right. We are sitting here because I wanted to pick your ethical brain on something.”

“Okay. Pick away.”

Then Bix got an idea. He kicked himself for not thinking of this sooner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a $100 bill. He handed it to Emma.

“Alright. first of all, I need to hire you as my digital marketing advisor.”

He extended his hand. Emma shook it.

“I accept.” she said.

“According to the contract lawyer who drew it up, you are now officially bound by the terms of the confidentiality agreement I signed with my new client.”

“No flies on you, Mr. Bixby.”

“No ma’am.”

“So what’s your ethical question?”

“My client is a retired mafia hitman. He wants to create a kind of manual for people coming into the business.”

 Emma looked at Bix for a long time then said. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope. It’s the real deal, and I have actually figured out how to do it. But I was wondering about the ethics involved. You know, like selling it online through a website? I mean, ideas are one thing, but they won’t really mean much if they’re not, at least, possible in reality.”

“There’s really no question of ethics here, at least in my opinion. I would be concerned about the actual legality of doing it in the first place. I mean, you’re talking about something that will help people kill other people.”

“I know.”

“You really need to talk to a lawyer. You do know this is nuts, right?”

“I thought the same thing at first. But after a while I started to think that, if this stuff is gonna happen anyway, which is a fact of life in our culture, being equipped with knowledge about how to go about it properly could possibly avoid a lot of collateral damage.

That kind of stopped Emma in her tracks. There was a very odd sort of logic to that. 

“I also did talk to a lawyer, who’s an old friend and, in his opinion, it’s something that has never been done before, so there really can’t be any legal precedent for it.”

Emma was thinking hard about this. “Okay,” she finally said. “But that doesn’t mean you can post something like that just anywhere. I’m pretty sure that Google or any of the other search engines would have a shit fit if they saw something like that and shut you down lickety-split, maybe even sue you. So if you wanted to put it online. It would have to be disguised somehow. Like a VPN."

“What’s that?”

“It’s short for virtual private network. It’s a free-standing site that’s not registered with any search engines. People have been using them for years to protect information, among other things.”

Emma didn’t quite know what to make of all of this. Part of her wanted to scream at Bix and demand to be taken home. Another part of her was genuinely curious about how something like this could work.

~ 9 ~

At the La Crostina Restaurant on the east side of Chicago, Charlie Costa sat at a table with a beer. He was messing around with his cell phone. 

Vinnie Votto entered the restaurant. He was a good-looking Italian guy in his early forties. His hair was short and dark. His eyes were invisible behind a pair of Ray Bans. He was dressed in a tan linen suit with a blue and white striped collarless shirt. He looked around for a bit and then walked over to Charlie’s table. On his way, he said something to the bartender, who nodded. Charlie got up. The two men shook hands and both sat down.

“Vinnie, it’s good to see you, man.”

“Same here Charlie. I hear you’re the go-to accountant in the old neighbourhood.” 

“Yeah, a lot of guys in need of legal services. How’s things with you?”

“Business is good. People are always getting lost or looking for people who have. It’s what we call a push-pull market.” 

“So, that make you some sort of PI?”

“Sort of. It’s all computerized. I got a pair of kids from outta Northwestern. Real 24-karat geeks. They do the searching. I do the retrieving. Best business investment I ever made.”

A waiter brought Vinnie a beer. He nodded his thanks.

“You got time to eat?’ Charlie said. 

“Are you kidding me? You know where we are, right? This is the best fuckin’ pizza in Chicago.” 

“OK, why don’t you order for both of us.”

Vinnie called the waiter back.

“Bring us a four cheese and a spicy coppa. Both small.”

“Good. Any appetizers?” the waiter asked

“Vinnie looked at Charlie, who shook his head.”

“Just the pies.”

The waiter left.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this fine lunch, Charlie? Surely it’s not just to shoot the shit.”

“You’re right. I have a request from a client, Sam Di Pietro.”

“Oh man, that was brutal what happened to him and the kids too, although they were kinda nuts. Probably would have happened sooner or later.”

“Sam is doing a long stretch. Exhausted all the appeals. But you know incarcerated Sicilians. All they got left is revenge.”

“I think I see where this is going. You want me to track down that scum Gianni…that hitter of theirs.”

Charlie nodded. “Sam asked for you. Said you told him anything he needs.”

“I did tell him exactly that.” 

“So this is something he needs.” Charlie said.

“Hmmm. Gianni’s in WITSEC, right?”

“That would be the assumption.”

“That’s a tough one to crack. Those fuckin’ Marshalls are smart, and the service is well run, digitally. They got firewalls up the wazoo.”

“So are you saying it can’t be done?”

“Nope. Just sayin’ that it would take some time, and it won’t be cheap. Then you got the plastic surgery, which I imagine Gianni might have had done.” 

“You’re soundin’ like one of those Mission Impossible movies.”

Vinnie just shrugged and fanned his hands. “It’s the nature of the beast, Charlie. Tell you what, I’ll talk to my guys and see what they say. They’re pretty fearless, and who knows.”

“That’s all I can ask”. They chatted about the old neighbourhood and how everybody was doing for a while and then the pizzas arrived. Vinnie moved out as soon as he could because he had figured out the trap of it. But Charlie stayed and became the accountant of choice for every asshole who stayed too.

~ 10 ~

In New Haven, Frankie was sitting across the desk from Dr. Alan Slattery who was looking at something on his computer.

“OK, Frank, as we thought, this is definitely Macular Degeneration. It’s not as bad as it could be. What it will do ultimately is affect your ability to read and maybe drive.”

“There’s no glasses or drugs I can get that would help this?”

“To some extent yes, but you’re going to have to be careful to avoid eye strain. That can lead to migraines and exacerbate your condition. It’s not the end of the world, and since you’re retired, well, now you get to sit back and enjoy it.” Slattery said.

“Yeah, I’ll catch up on my reading. This condition, can it, you know, take my eyesight completely?”

“That’s a tough call for me to make. I’ll give you a referral to an ocular specialist and a scrip for some painkillers if you do get a migraine every now and then.”

“So this ocular specialist? He can help?”

“He’ll be more up to speed on available treatments.” Slattery said.

Frankie took the prescription form and another small sheet of paper on which Dr. Slattery had written the name and number of a specialist.

“OK, doc. I’ll check in with this…he stared at the small sheet of paper. Dr. Whiteside?” 

“This isn’t as bad as it could have been Frank. With the right glasses, a good diet and avoiding eyestrain, mostly from TV and direct exposure to the sun, life should be almost normal.”

“Well, there’s always that.”

“I’ll see you in a few months for your regular checkup.”

Frankie nodded and left the office. But he was not a happy camper. 

Later that afternoon, Frankie was sitting under the canvas, staring out into space. Bix opened the gate and joined him at the table.

“What’s up Frankie? I called earlier and you didn’t answer. Everything OK?”

“Yeah, it’s all good. How about you?”

“I’m fine. I talked to my lawyer and he doesn’t think there would be anything unethical about it, providing you didn’t use any recognizable names. That way, no lawsuits.”

“That’s good. That’s good. So what do we do now?”

“Well, first of all, we have to figure out the content and how it’s gonna be presented. I’m thinking that you really want this to be as straightforward as possible. No live action, mostly just graphics, mostly type and photographs and voice. I’ll write the script from our conversations and the thoughts you record. I’ll get you to rough record the script and then I will edit everything together. Then I will hire a freelance voice person to do the final version. That way nobody will know it’s you. 

“The lady I talked to, Emma Jacobs, is a high-level web designer and programmer. She’ll explain to you exactly how we can get it out there. That is, if I can get her to join us. And she will also be covered by our confidentiality agreement as will any voice guy I hire.”

Frankie was sitting there totally engrossed. “What about a budget? What are you gonna need to make this happen?”

“Emma will work that out. She teaches at Yale and her semester is over next week, so she’ll have lots of time to build whatever it ends up being and safeguarding it. That doesn’t matter right now. Just know that it can be done. Hopefully with Emma, because she’s super smart. Right now, though, it’s all about getting the actual product together.”

“OK. What do you need me to do first?”

“Really simple. Think about all the points you want to cover. Write them down. Or record them,, whatever you feel most comfortable doing. Then when you’re done that, we’ll go over it and put it all into the most logical order, and talk about each one, so the whole presentation flows. I bought a digital recorder so I can record our conversations. After that, I’ll put the script together. Then once we’re done, we’ll assemble all the pieces and decide how we want it to look and sound.

“OK, that sounds like a plan.” Frankie said.

“ I want it to feel unscripted because then whoever listens to it will get that it’s the real deal.” 

“That makes a lot of sense.” Frankie said.

“Then we’ll advertise it on the dark web. We’ll aim it at two targets, aspiring hitmen and the organization heads.”

Bix and Frankie then spent the next couple of hours talking about the points Frankie wanted to make. He recorded everything, which would make his life a lot easier and also give him a feeling for the cadence of Frankie’s voice. Frankie caught on very quickly because he was a smart guy, and Dex was a good teacher.

“Alright.” Frankie said, looking very pleased after the outline session was done. “Looks like we’re off to the races.”

“We are indeed. I’ve got a lot of info to digest. I’m gonna organize it and email you that file. Then we can talk about anything I might have missed or didn’t say in quite the right way. It’s a process. Then I’ll get it into some kind of script form that I can read to you to see if there’s anything that needs to be altered to smooth it out. Also, you can call me anytime call me if you forget anything. 

“And by the way, thanks for that bottle of wine. I had it at dinner last night with Emma and I’m pretty sure I scored some big points with her.”

“Well, I’m glad it got put to some good use. If this comes off the way I think it can, I’ll buy you a case.”

“And I will gladly accept it.”

~ 11 ~

James and Derek were Vinnie Votto’s hacker team. He didn’t know their last names and it honestly didn’t matter to him because he always paid them in cash. They lived and worked out of a flat in the downtown area. It was nicely furnished but a bit on the messy side. One side of the living room was dominated by computers. The other side was just a regular living room, badly in need of tidying up.

“So what do you think, lads?” Vinnie asked.

“You know we love you, Vinnie. Our tuitions are all paid and we have enough to start our own company when we graduate. But the Marshall Service, man that’s a horse of a different colour.” Derek said.

“What do you mean?”

“Witness protection is one of the most important things they do. So they have put a good deal of effort into safeguarding their data. These are not just conventional firewalls. They’re like titanium.” James said.

“And you know this because?” Vinnie asked.

“Well, because we broke in last night, or tried to.” Derek said. “The WITSEC area was a no-go and you know if James couldn’t get through, it’s pretty fuckin’ solid.”

“So how do we go about finding this individual if we don’t know where he’s being stashed?”

“We go about it the hard way. Which involves a lot of guesswork. But if your guy walked away with multiple millions in cash, about three years ago, he would have needed to do something with that money so he had it to use ” Probably by setting up some kind of dummy corporation.” 

“Makes sense.” Vinnie said.

“But that’s why it’s the hard way. There’s about fifty thousand transactions like that in this country every year. So that would be a waste of our time and your client’s money Or….”

“Or what?”

“This guy’s about what, forty-two, right ? His parents could still be alive. Get us their names and last known address and we’ll tap their phones. Maybe their son will call them and we can at least isolate his general location.” Derek said.

“They owned a fruit and vegetable store on the Lower East Side. It was called Salvatore Foods.”

James went to work on the computer. “It’s still there.”

“Sounds like a plan, Let me check that out in person.” Vinnie said. “Maybe I’ll go ask some questions. Could be they sold it and the new owners just kept the name.” 

“But if they’re still there, maybe they’ll get freaked out and call him if they know how.” Derek said.

“Can’t hurt to try.” James added.

“Vinnie got to his feet. As usual, gentlemen it’s been a slice and I appreciate your honesty.”

“You’re our only customer at the moment, Vinnie. We wouldn’t dream of fucking with you.” Derek said.

The young men were both back and focused on their computers as Vinnie left the flat.

~12~

Bix and Emma were walking along a path in the West River Memorial Park. It was a beautiful day. Summer was genuinely on the way.

“How’s the contract killer project?” Emma asked.

“Moving right along.”

“Bix, you do know how insane that sounds?”

“As a matter of fact I do.”

“And why, in the name of God, would he want to do something like this?”

“I’m not exactly sure. He talks about it like it’s some sort of legacy project. But I don’t know.” 

“So why are you telling me all this anyway?”

“Well, because, I thought that you might…”

“Oh no…uh uh.”

“Okay…I just thought you might find it interesting and maybe a bit of a challenge.”

“You really do know how to sweet talk a girl, don’t you?”

They walked along for almost a minute, saying nothing, just enjoying the day. But Emma was doing a lot of math in her head. Finally, she said, “All right. So what are you thinking?”

“Right now. Just a free-standing site. One of those VPNs you told me about. Password protected, with offshore e-commerce capability. It has to be as unhackable as hell. And maybe disguised as something else. And that’s why I thought about you.”

“Because I’m the queen of the propellerheads?”

“Yeah, and because I trust you.”

“The real question here is, do you trust your client?”

“He seems sincere. And he’s been pretty forthcoming about his past and how he ended up here. I think he’s working hard to get me to trust him.”

“This may be the stupidest thing I’ve said since I ran into you, but, what kind of money is he prepared to spend? Because what you’re proposing here isn’t a cheap thing to do.”

Bix smiled. “You tell me.” 

They talked some more about how much time and effort would be involved, “And I need to meet this guy before I agree to do anything.” Emma said.

The next morning was a Sunday. Bix and Emma were in bed. Emma woke up and looked at her phone. She jumped up and started getting dressed. Bix rolled over and watched her.

“Is this a school day? I could have sworn it was Sunday.”

“It is Sunday. But I have to be in Boston at noon. It’s my mom’s birthday.”

“OK. Well, wish your mom a happy birthday for me.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“So when do I get to meet her?”

“Ahhhh, not just yet. She’s a piece of work and you really need to be fully prepared.”

Emma leaned over and kissed Bix on the cheek.

“I’ll call you tonight.” 

She rushed for the door, then stopped.

“Oh yeah. I’ll build that site for you. Otherwise, you might give the job to some idiot and end up in prison. But I still want to meet your Mr. Hitman.”

Bix stretched out and then rolled over. He was nowhere near ready to get up. 

~ 13 ~

In Chicago, Vinnie was sitting on a bench outside a coffee shop downtown with a large paper cup of coffee. It was a beautiful day and he was admiring the female scenery. 

After a moment. Derek, the computer geek, plopped down beside him. He dug around in his shoulder bag and pulled out a Cirlux-bound document and a flash drive. The book was about a quarter inch thick.

“We felt bad about not being able to help crack the WITSEC site,” Derek said. “So we did a probability analysis. We took everything you told us about this Gianni guy and created a predictive analysis flow. James wrote out a report for you. It tells you where we think your guy might have gone, and the kinds of people he would have needed to contact to put his money to work. I don’t know how smart your guy is, but if he was a hitman for ten years he has to be pretty smart. This is a long shot but, as my dad says, it’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”

Vinnie fanned through the thin file. “Wow. I didn’t even know you guys could do predictive analysis.”

“James is a genius. He knows how to do many things. I’m a good hustler. Together we will get very rich from something that he devises.” 

Vinnie opened the file and looked down the first page. “So you’re thinkin’ he went east.”

“Lot more hidey holes over there. Plus, he’s a big city boy. He’d stick out like a sore thumb in some podunk town out west or down south, even California.”

Vinnie grunted and he got up. “Thanks for this. Let me know the tally when you’ve gone as far as you can go and text me anything of interest that you find when you filter this down.” 

Derek got to his feet. “Roger that Mr. V.”

They split up and headed off in opposite directions.

Vinnie opened his phone as he walked. He punched in a long-distance number.

“Carmine. It’s Vinnie. How’s it goin’? …Yeah, pretty good. Listen I’m comin’ your way maybe two, three days. Want to tap one of your connections. Yeah…I’ll let you know when I get to the city. Naa, I think I’ll drive. That would be great. You still in New Rochelle? Good. Good. I’ll be in touch.” 

~ 14 ~

Frankie took to the process of putting his story together like a duck to water. Bix was surprised and delighted at just how well-organized he was in terms of elucidating and prioritizing his points, and how lucid and insightful he was in elaborating on them. He was making this project very easy.

Early the following week, Frankie met Emma and Bix on Frankie’s boat. Frankie had suggested dinner and had everything spread out when they got there. And of course, Frankie had opened another bottle of the Chateau Lafitte.

“So, Bix didn’t tell me that you were such a beautiful computer nerd.” Frankie said.

“He told me you were a real charmer.” Emma replied. “With incredible taste in wine.”

“I have my moments. So Bix also says that you have a solution you think will work for me.”

“Yes, I do. I imagine you’ve never heard of a VPN.”

“You imagine correctly.”

“VPN stands for Virtual Private Network. This basically will hide all your data from the public domain. It’s kind of like a free-standing web site, but not attached to any of the search engines.”

“And what does this do for me?” 

“Well, first of all, it ensures your privacy. Secondly, if we equip it with the right plug-ins, it will also accept payments, and direct them to the account of your choice. Finally, they can be programmed to be read-only, which means the user’s password allows them to see and hear what’s on the site. But they won’t be able to download or copy anything or access it on any other computer than the one they buy the program on.”

“You can do all that with this VPN?”

“Oh yeah…It’s very powerful stuff.” Emma said.

Frankie turned to Bix. “Sounds good, right?”

Bix just nodded. He already knew it sounded great.

“So what about putting the word out? How do we actually reach the people we need to talk to?”

“We do a couple of things,” Emma said. “First of all, there are a few chat rooms that I found on the dark web. The second thing is little classified ads on some of the weapons and how-to sites. All the e-commerce, including any expenses you may incur for media can also be funnelled through your VPN. It’s all done with pretty basic plugins. And besides the e-comm, there will only be two things on the site, which will be a read-only video of the entire course and a signup slash pay page. We’ll also be able to monitor and check out anybody who visits. If it turns out to be the law, then we just take the site down and relaunch it after a couple of weeks. I’ll teach Bix how to do all the admin stuff because I’ll have to go back to work at some point in the fall.”

“Wow. I am blown away with all of this.”

“You know, I have to say,” Emma said. “You really don’t strike me as someone who has done this sort of thing for a living.”

“Well, the world is filled with strange things, sweetie.”

“So Emma’s figured out all the logistics,” Bix said. “All we have to do now is put together the program.”

“Here’s to the program.” Frankie said as he raised his glass. They all toasted to the success of whatever it was going to be called.

~ 15 ~

Vinnie pulled into the driveway of a large house in New Rochelle, next to a vintage Corvette Stingray. The three-car garage was open, revealing a couple more high-priced vintage cars. In the third bay, Carmine Taglia sat on a high stool, smoking a cigar and watching a ball game on a MacBook.

Carmine jumped to his feet when Vinnie entered the garage. The two men greeted each other with an affectionate hug. 

“Good to see you, Vin. Grab a stool while I finish my cigar. You want one? Cubanos.”

“No thanks, Carm. I’ll just watch you.”

Vinnie grabbed a stool. Carmine reached down into a cooler and pulled out a can of beer, which he slid over to Vinnie. Vinnie popped the tab and took a long slug.

“So how are things in Chi-town?”

“Things are good. Lots of crime. Lots of people gettin’ lost that need findin’.” 

“You’re still in that business? I woulda thought you would have taken on a contract or two by now.”

“Naaa. There’s no shortage of those guys. Besides, my risk is next to nil. I’ve even been able to help out the odd cop here and there.”

“Well, you always did know how to play the game.”

“Hey, if you don’t have to get your hands dirty…”

Carmine held up his hands. “Just finished a lube job on the ‘Vette. Some of us don’t mind gettin’ our hands dirty.”

Carmine took a long drag and blew a big smoke ring. “So what brings you over to the right coast? Or should I say, who?”

“The who is a hitter. Gianni Salvatore. Used to work for the DiPietro family on the south side. Name probably wouldn’t mean much outside of Chicago, but they were into just about everything and they did alright. Their hitter, Johnny Leopold, he got killed in a mishap and so Salvatore, who was his right hand, got promoted. And he was good. Put in ten solid years with the DiPietros, and then one day, he just cut a deal and flipped on them. The two sons got popped in a shootout with the Feds. Salvatore fucked off with all their cash while Sam, the head of the family, was being held.”

“Wonder what got him to flip.” Carmine mused.

“Who the fuck knows. You kill enough people, you go a little round the bend, you know. The DiPietros were scumbuckets though. Real pigs and the kids were worse than the old man. I did a few finds for them. Kinda felt sorry for the guys I found. They did not treat people nicely.”

“So who are you working for?”

“The old man through his accountant, Sam Costa. The dad wants revenge…fuckin’ Sicilians.”

Carmine laughed because he knew Sicilians. “So what? Have you got a lead on him that’s brought you here?”

“Naaa, I’m just playing a hunch that he went east instead west. He’s a big city boy. He would have gravitated to New York, Philly, maybe even Boston.”

“That’s a lot of real estate, my friend.” 

“Yeah, I know. But I got a couple of geeks trying to isolate where he might have gone. These kids are amazing. They sent me east. And I thought about you.”

Carmine butted out his cigar. “OK, well, if you want to get your hand up my skirt, you’re gonna have to buy me dinner.”

“No problem.”

“Get your gear, we’ll get you squared away and then head out.”

Later that evening and full of good steak, Carmine and Vinnie entered an Italian social club in New Rochelle. There were guys sitting at tables talking and playing cards. A couple of guys were shooting pool. Another couple of other guys were sitting at a small bar, watching a baseball game on a TV over the bar. 

Carmine greeted a few of the guys warmly. Then he and Vinnie sidled up to the bar.

The bartender came over. He was older and a bit on the rotund side, with an unruly crop of grey hair and very sharp eyes. “Lou this is my pal Vincent Votto from Chicago. Vinnie this is Lou. Nothing goes on around here that he doesn’t know about.” 

“Good to meet you Vincent Votto from Chicago.” Lou said shaking Vinnie’s hand. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company in our humble little club?”

“Vinnie’s a tracker.” Carmine said. “He’s looking for a bad guy from Chicago who may have taken up residence in our neck of the woods.”

“I’m looking for a hitter, original name Gianni Salvatore.” Vinnie said. “Good lookin’ guy, wiry. He worked for some people I know in Chicago, flipped on them and took off with a huge chunk of their money.”

“What kinda chunk are we talkin’?” Lou asked.

“Maybe fourteen million give or take.”

“Whoa. That’s some chunk.”

“What’s worse is that he got relocated in the WITSEC program. So new name, maybe a little surgery.”

“Hmmm. And how long ago?”

“Three years, give or take.”

“And what led you in this direction?”

“Just a hunch that my people had.”

“You got people?”

“Coupla geeks figure stuff out for me. Pointed me towards New York, 'cause this guy, he might still be you know, plyin’ his trade, even if it’s just for kicks.”

“So, you’re looking for some hitter with a new name and maybe a new face who may or may not be in this neighbourhood and maybe laundered a boatload of money three years back?”

“I know it sounds a little whack.” Vinnie said.

“It’s a lot whack, but hey, stranger things have been asked about in this place.”

“Lou will put the word out,” Carmine said. “You need a bounty, some sort of incentive.”

“I can probably do fifty K.”

“Fifty K will get you a couple maybes, but the ask is pretty vague. Leave it with me. Gianni Salvatore.” Lou said, as he wrote the name on a pad. “Have you tried hacking the US Marshalls?”

“Yeah, my geeks are on it. Tough row to hoe.”

“‘Cause that would be your best bet.”

“I know. I did have one thought that may help you. This guy is good. He did ten years with the family he flipped on, and not a scratch. But I was thinking that if he was still workin’, it wouldn’t be for any Italians. He’s too smart for that. Maybe the spics or the orientals, even the Russians. Somewhere his exploits wouldn’t get talked about in places like this.”

“That makes sense.” Lou said. “I’ll make some calls.”

“You want anything up front?” Vinnie asked.

“No down payment required. You can thank Carmine for that.”

“I appreciate it, Lou.”

Vinnie handed Lou a business card. “Anything pops, give me a call.”

“Thanks Lou.” Carmine said. “Let’s have a beer before we go.”

Lou reached down below the bar and pulled out a couple of bottles.

~ 16 ~

Bix and Frankie were sitting under the awning in Frankie’s backyard. A nice breeze was blowing in from off the Sound and the sun was shining brightly. Bix was reading Frankie the first draft of the program. The script only went about halfway through Frankie’s notes, but Bix wanted to see if Frankie was okay with the way it felt. He was leaning back with his eyes closed working hard to imagine himself speaking the words, and he had to admit the kid was pretty fuckin’ good.

When Bix finished reading, he sat back down and looked at Frankie. “So what do you think?”

“I think I made the right choice hiring you, my friend. I think you nailed me. In fact, I think you should do the voice yourself.”

“That’s nice of you to say. But we really should use a pro.”

“I disagree,” Frankie said. “If it sounds too slick that’s not a good thing. Trust me. The guys we’re talkin’ to they want to hear a bit of roughness. They’ll relate to that. Listen, you’re the pro here, Bix, but my gut is telling me that your voice really hits it. Remember you were talking to me about target audiences, well, I’m in that bunch.”

“OK well, I guess it won’t hurt to try it out.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Anyway, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. And I have more sections to write.” Bix got to his feet. “I’m just glad you like it all so far.”

“Bix,” Frankie said. “Sit back down for a second. I need to tell you something.”

Bix sat down. “What’s up?”

“You ever wonder why I wear sunglasses all the time?”

“Not really. I figured that was just your thing.” 

“Well, it’s because my eyes are becoming more and more sensitive to light. It’s a condition called macular degeneration.  And it’s movin’ right along.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Frankie.” 

“Yeah, well shit happens to everybody.” 

“Does it…you know, take your eyesight totally?”

“Don’t know. I’ve gotta go see a specialist. Apparently, it’s treatable but, you know, that’s all a crapshoot.” 

“OK, well if there’s anything I can do to help. Really.”

“There may very well be, kid.”

“Just do what the doctors tell you to do, you’ll be OK. Modern medicine is amazing.”

“I will. I just wanted to keep you up to speed.” Frankie said.“You just focus on getting this project together, and we’ll worry about the other stuff once I know for sure what can be done.”

Bix got up. 

“Thanks for listening.” Frankie said.

“You’re welcome. Take care. I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Bix left Frankie staring out at the Sound, wondering just how long before he’d be staring at nothing. Frankie applied some eyedrops and covered his eyes. He flopped back in a recliner, and started to think about his next move. Maybe it was just the hitter in him. But Frankie knew he needed a Plan B. He just wasn’t quite sure what that was just yet. 

~ 17 ~

Four days later, Vinnie was in the kitchen of his apartment making some pasta. His cell phone beeped and he picked it up. “This is Vincent…. Oh hey, Lou. You got some good news for me?”

“Yeah, could be,” Lou said. He was sitting on a stool at the bar of his social club. “We didn’t find your guy, but we did hear some stories about a hitter working for a Russian gang out in Far Rockaway. That’s out near Coney Island, where the Russians hang out. I talked to one of the players there. He didn’t know who the guy was, just dealt with him on the phone and wire transferred the money.” 

“Any way to trace any of that?”

“Naa, the guys’s a pro. He was real careful. Burners, and the money site was a brick wall in the Caymans. But he’s definitely in the neighbourhood.”

“Well that’s somethin’”.

“Yeah it is, but it’s not the good news. I will text you a name and number. I don’t wanna say any more than that. Just call the number and tell him who you are. He’s in your city.”

“OK…Will do. So it sounds promising.”

“It’s way more than that.” Lou said. “Look for my text.”

Vinnie disconnected. Several seconds later a text with a name and number came through. The name was Farrell. The number was in the Chicago area code.

Later that evening, Vinnie walked into a bar called the Booze Hound on North Milwaukee Blvd. It was a local bar, but a quiet one. At a table in the corner, he spotted a guy who looked to be in his late forties in a sports jacket and white shirt. His hair was cop length but he looked more like a computer geek than a cop. He was nursing a beer.  He saw Vinnie and nodded his head. Vinnie walked to the bar and got a draft, then walked over and sat down opposite the guy.

“Mr. Farrell, I assume.”

“You assume correctly, Mr. Votto.” Farrell said.

“I assume you know what I’m looking for.”

Farrell nodded. “I do indeed.”

“And I assume you have access to this information.”

“That’s why we’re here, is it not?”

“And you have a price in mind.”

“I do.” Farrell said. “And it’s a bargain at twice the price.”

“So?”

“One hundred K”.

“OK, that seems fair.”

“Half and half. I usually get it all upfront. But I was told you were a stand-up guy.”

“I am.”

“Then we have that in common.”

Vinnie was skeptical about this guy, because he knew that the cops liked to play tricks on people like him. And even though this info came from what he considered to be a reliable source, he was gonna approach this with all due caution.

Vinnie took a sip of his beer.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you doing this, Mr Farrell?”

“No, I don’t mind. I do it because I ran the Marshall Service computers for years. And I have seen some scumbuckets. One day, it occurred to me that regardless of what we do to hide them, most of these creeps go right back to being what they were and would probably get killed anyway. So you might say I’m just helping them along. And getting paid for my help. It’s really that simple.”

“It usually is. So when do I get the info?” 

“As soon as we confirm the half up front. I give you the data, you verify it, and I get the second half.”

“Fair enough. Give me twenty-four hours to get it together, we can meet again right here. Name is Gianni Salvatore. Went into protection about three years back.”

Farrell nodded. “I’ll be here.”

Vinnie took another quick sip of his draft, then got to his feet. “Look forward to doing business with you.”

Vinnie nodded and turned to leave the bar. If this guy was for real, he couldn’t believe his luck.

~ 18 ~

Vinnie sat on the couch at James and Derek’s flat while James dug around on the computer. Then he rolled out of the way to reveal a picture of Farrell. “This the guy?”

“Yeah that’s him.”

“Jonas Patrick Farrell. He’s the real deal, Vin. Left the Marshall Services two years ago, started his own database marketing company. Now he does maintenance for the Marshall Services among other law enforcement orgs. He’s a supergeek with a shitload of criminal info at his fingertips.” 

“You know, Vin,” Derek said. “This guy could be really valuable to you going forward. Probably has thousands of relocation files squirrelled away.”

“Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me.” Vinnie said as he got to his feet. “OK. So I will meet up with him tomorrow night and hopefully your end of the case will be done. If so, I’ll need your time and labour numbers.”

Derek nodded. “You got it, Vin.”

Vinnie headed for the front door. “Thanks, guys. Good work.” 

After Vinnie left, Derek slapped James on the arm. “A crooked Marshall. Why the heck didn’t we think of that?” 

“Because we do not have criminal minds, my friend.”

The next day Vinnie went to Charlie Costa’s office and picked up the fifty grand down payment for Farrell, another fifty for Lou in New Rochelle, and twenty five each for Carmine and Derek and James. He also gave Charlie a ballpark of another two fifty for his fee, and a hitter he would hire on the east coast plus another five ten grand to get a picture of the hit to Sam DiPietro in prison. Charlie seemed happy with that ballpark.

That night Vinnie got to the bar a little early. He parked down the street and thoroughly scoped out the area, looking for anything suspicious. Guys sitting in cars. Guys doing nothing. Guys who looked like they didn’t belong, like cops usually looked. Finally, satisfied, he entered the bar and walked to the table where Farrell was sitting.

Vinnie took out a key to a locker at the Chicago Union Station on South Canal Street and put it on the table “Fifty grand. At Union Station.” He said. Now, what have you got for me?”

Farrell reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash drive.

“The whole file. I don’t know what you want with him, but you don’t appear to be someone who’s looking for a bridge partner.”

“I’m just a searcher. I only wanna confirm his location, after that someone else makes the call.”

“So you just find people?”

“Nothing illegal about that.”

“Damn straight. Must be gratifying work.”

“I got a couple of kids who tear up the web for me. But it’s always nice, you know, goin’ old school.”

“Yeah, not a lot different from the law enforcement side.”

Vinnie nodded.

“You ever find out what happens to these people you locate?” Farrell asked.

“Every once in a while. I mostly don’t give a shit, you know. I like the hunt.”

“Yeah, me too. And the rewards,” Farrell said, as he picked up the key and pushed the flash drive across to Vinnie.

With that Vinnie got up “I’ll be in touch once I confirm this.” he said.

“Happy hunting.”

Vinnie was sitting in his car staring out into the night. He was thinking hard. Finally, he picked up his phone and called Charlie Costa.

“Charlie. I’ve got the info. I’ll need three or four days to confirm it. Gotta head east. Don’t mention anything to Sam until we know it’s for real.”

~ 19 ~

Bix and Emma were sitting on the front porch of Bix’s flat sipping some wine. 

“I’m glad you’re doing this with me.” Bix said. “I was a bit concerned about finding a programmer I could trust.”

“Well, he’s gonna be paying me, and you, I assume, a lot of money for this. Besides, there’s very little risk. There are maybe close to two million VPN sites out there now. They’re hard to crack, at least some of them, so they pretty much get left alone. The FCC tends to just go after the kiddy porn sites, deviant sex and terrorist chat stuff.”

“And you know this because?”

“When we know each other better, I’ll show you my whips and chains collection.”

Bix laughed. “Well, I can hardly wait.”

“The thing that really gets me is that Frankie is such a gentleman. I guess I have that Scorsese image of guys in the mob.”

“I imagine there are a lot who fit that description. Frankie is an odd bird. He also just told me he’s suffering from something called macular degeneration and could lose his sight. When I found that out, I could see why he’s doing this. It really is a legacy project.”

“That’s so sad. Is there a chance he won’t lose his sight?”

“I don’t know that much about it. He seems to think there’s a chance. But the good thing is that he can afford to try just about anything.”

They sat silently for a moment, looking out at the traffic going by.

“You’re a shooter. Have you ever thought that you could do something like, you know, kill somebody?” Emma asked.

“I have to tell you, after I found out what Frankie did, I asked myself that same question.”

“And?”

“Well…I guess it would depend on the circumstances.”

“Yeah, I suppose there’s probably one set of circumstances where anyone could do it.” Emma mused.

“I’m just glad I haven’t come across that situation.”

 

~ 20 ~

Vinnie was on the road again. He was heading for New Rochelle, with twenty-five grand for Carmine and fifty grand for Lou the bartender. 

When he got to New Rochelle, Lou gladly took the money and over a beer, gave Vinnie a little bonus. He had his nephew, who was a geek like Vinnie’s geeks, check out real estate transactions in the New Haven area over the past few years and found one that looked like it might fit the bill. 

Badda Boom. Badda bing.

Three hours later, Vinnie pulled up across the street from Frankie’s house in New Haven.

It was early evening, but it was still quite warm out. Vinnie shut off the car and sat in silence watching the house for a while. The front was dark, but he could see lights coming through from the back.

Vinnie got out of the car. He slowly approached the house. He moved down the side and into the backyard. The yard was lit by the pool lights. Vinnie entered the backyard. He walked over to the pool and looked at it. He looked out to the sound and saw a large boat pass by. Suddenly, he felt the barrel of a gun in the back of his neck.

“Bang…one dead Votto.”

Vinnie turned around to see, Frankie holding a Browning Hi-Power pistol. He smiled. 

“It’s been a long time, Salvo.”

“It’s Frankie now, and it’s been way too long, Vincent.”

Frankie lowered the pistol and the two men embraced warmly.

A few minutes later, Frankie and Vinnie were sitting in a couple of deck chairs down at the end of the yard looking out over the Sound. It was just around sunset and the sky had a beautiful red-orange glow to it.

Vinnie had a beer in his hand. Frankie was drinking water.

“So you found a crooked Marshall?” Frankie said.

“With a little help from a friend of a friend.”

“Wish I could go with you to see the look on old Sam’s face. Only I’ll be dead.”

“Severely and sincerely dead.” Vinnie said

“And he has no idea that we even knew each other?”

Not as far as I can tell. He thinks we knew about each other. But not much more.”

“OK, well, I got a guy doin’ something for me who could probably make us a decent shooting scene.”

“That’s good. So tell me, how’s life been treatin’ you out here?” 

“Can’t complain. We’re making about three-quarters to million a year off investments, your share’s up to, I dunno, maybe ten, eleven million.”

“That’s retirement money.”

“Yeah, but I’ll tell you, retirement ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. A lot of it is just sittin’ around half cut on expensive vino, and thinkin’ maybe I could get back into it for a while.”

“Well, when you put it that way.…”

“Look, get this wrapped in a bow for DiPietro, and you come here. You can have a whole floor. We’ll put our heads together and come up with something. Maybe settle down with some cute little white girls and make babies. Go to the park with our fuckin’ Starbucks and look at all the waspy moms.”

Vinnie started laughing. “Yeah, I can see that for sure.” 

“Come on Vincent. You don’t need to be in Chicago. Your cousin Carmine will keep you busy. Those New Rochelle wiseguys are always chasing down some vig skipper. You’ll be right at home.”

Vinnie took a deep breath. “You make a pretty good case for it, I’ll tell you that.”

“Besides, the further away from Chicago you are the better. Sam DiPietro doesn’t have a lot of clout outside of Illinois. But I’d want to get as far as I could from his influence.”

“Yeah, I been thinkin’ the same thing. But hey, there is one thing buggin’ me.”

“What’s that?”

“Red Sox or Yankees?”

“Oh man….that’s a loaded question.”

~ 21 ~

When Bix arrived the next morning, he noticed a second car in the driveway. He went around back and into the kitchen where Frankie was sitting with a cup of coffee and his laptop.” 

“Hey, Frankie. How’s it going?”

“Can’t squawk. Little too bright out there for me, this morning but other than that, you know, it’s tolerable.”

“OK, Well, I have the rough script here. I recorded it so you can listen to it. If you like it, we can record you doing it and me doing it. If you want to make any changes, we can do that too then I’ll start working on the graphics.” Bix pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and handed it to Frankie.

“That’s great, Bix. Let me listen to it later. Right now, I want to talk to you about something else.”

Bix pulled up a stool and poured out a coffee. “Sure. Does it have anything to do with the extra car in your driveway with the Illinois plates?”

“Yeah, it kinda does.”

Just then Vinnie walked into the kitchen. He looked at Bix. “Hey, you must be Bix. Frankie told me all about you…Vincent Votto.”

Vinnie and Bix shook hands.

“Good to meet you.” Bix said. “Frankie never mentioned you, so you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Vinnie’s a friend from the old neighbourhood. He’s working for the guy I put in prison.” Frankie said. “He’s come to kill me.”

Bix understandably looked a little puzzled. “Well if that’s true, why the hell are you still alive?”

“OK, well let me explain.’ Frankie said “Rippin’ off the DiPietros was not a one-man operation. Vinnie here was my partner in crime. He hated those fuckers as much as I did.”

“Fuckin’ A.” Vinnie said.

“Anyway, we both wanted them gotten rid of, and so we figured out a plan that would allow us to do that. I took the money and went into WITSEC. Once he got all his property sold off and the lawyers paid for, Sam hired Vinnie to find me. That’s what Vinnie does…finds people.”

“Didn’t you already know where Frankie was?” Bix asked Vinnie.

“Sure I did,” Vinnie said, “But I had to go through the motions and make it all look like a legit search. My cousin Carmine is friends with a guy who put us onto another guy who got the info out of the Marshall Services.”

“OK, I’m starting to understand now. You’re gonna fake kill Frankie and bring the evidence back to this DiPietro guy in prison.”

“I told you, no flies on this white boy.” Frankie said to Vinnie. “This is just a little bit of makeup and a fake dead me somewhere.”

 “I won’t be able to get much more than a snapshot to Sam in prison. But we need it to make it look like the real deal.” Vinnie said.

Bix started to laugh. “You guys are incredible.”

“So that’s the gig.” Frankie said. “You help us set it up and make it look as real as possible, we’ll pay you thirty grand.  On top of the other project.

Bix was still chuckling. “Sure. No problem.” 

“We can’t make it look too slick.” Vinnie said. “The guy I gotta show it to is no fool.”

“We’ll make it look real. How do you want to die, Frankie?” Bix said, now convinced he had gone clear through the looking glass.

“I was thinkin’ about that. If Vinnie was really hunting me, he would come in through the back door, and maybe catch me in my office. He’d probably shoot me twice in the chest. He wouldn't want to shoot me in the face because he’d need a clear image of that to satisfy old Sam. I’d either die in my chair or hit the floor.”

“I like the chair setup.” Bix said, hardly able to believe he was participating in this. “It’s simple and it would really show the damage.” He turned to Vinnie. “Once we set it up, I’ll take a picture. I’ve got an old Polaroid camera we can use. There’s a costume shop downtown where I can get some blood makeup. That’s about all we would need. Frankie, you pick out the shirt you want to wear and then shoot a couple of holes in it, somewhere where you figure your heart would be. Then we’ll spread a little theatrical blood around the holes.”

“Sounds like you’ve done this before.” Vinnie said.

“No, not really.” Bix said. “This is my first fake murder.”

~ 22 ~

Three days later, Vinnie sat in the Booze Hound bar. Farrell walked in and sat down across from him.

“I assume the information I gave you was good, although I haven’t heard much through the Marshall’s office.”

Vinnie slipped another locker key across the table. Yeah well, maybe the hit hasn’t been made yet.”

“Something tells me there’s not going to be a hit. That he’s going to have a long and happy life.”

“Everybody’s entitled to an opinion. Doesn’t affect our arrangement, so that should really be the extent of your concern.” Vinnie said, putting just a little bit of menace into it.

“It is indeed.”

“I was thinking that maybe you could be of further use to me as time goes by.”

“You never know. I have a decided preference for cash customers.” 

“I am also an Italian customer. So if anything should go sideways at any time…”

Farrell held up his hands. “Say no more. I get it. And you should know that scrupulous honesty is the only thing that’s kept me in one piece.” 

“Just so we understand each other.” Vinnie said

“Loud and clear.”  

Vinnie got up. “It’s been a slice, Mr. Farrell. Thank you.”

Farrell nodded as Vinnie gave him a little mock salute.

Vinnie got on the phone to Charlie Costa as soon as he got into his car.“Charlie. It’s done. I’m gonna meet up with a prison guard I know and give him a picture to get to Sam that will confirm it. Once that’s done, I will come around and collect the rest of the money, in cash if you don’t mind.…Good man. Let Sam know the pic will be there hopefully tomorrow.”

Late that afternoon, Vinnie met up with a guy named Roland Kruger, who was one of the head guards at the Greenville Penitentiary. He handed the man a small envelope and a larger one filled with $5000 in cash. 

The next day, Sam DiPietro came back to his cell from lunch and sat down on his bunk. He felt under the pillow of his bed and pulled out a small envelope. He opened it up and saw the shot of the man he knew as Gianni Salvatore, dead in his chair with two red stains colouring the front of his shirt. He smiled and flicked the pic of Gianni with his middle finger. It was the best he could do. But now, at least he was at peace.

~ 23 ~

About a week later, Vinnie loaded up his car with clothes, his computer gear and a few mementos. When he was done, he gave his set of keys to an older man standing by the door of his apartment. They shook hands. Vinnie headed out to his car and took off heading south then east.

He stopped off to pay Derek and James and assured them that they would keep working together, mostly via email and text. Then he headed out of the city.

On the way east, he stopped off at Greenville, where he met with Sam Di Pietro.

“So you got the package alright?”

“Yeah. Good job, Vinnie.”

“I’m glad. Just wanted you to know that I’m leavin’ town. Movin’ to the west coast. I got some family out there in the business. They said there’s a real market for doin’ basically what I do. I figure a change of place will do me good.”

“Well, I appreciate what you did for me. Make the time in here go that much easier. One less thing to be pissed off about. “

“If it’s any consolation, I really enjoyed popping that putana. Nothin’ worse than a rat.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck out there. If you happen to figure out a way to get some of my money back, let Charlie know.”

“Yeah, that might be a trick. It was all in numbered accounts in one of those Caribbean banks. There were no passwords in his place. I searched it high and low.”

“Hmmm, that figures. Aaah, you win some and you lose some.” Sam said.

Vinnie got to his feet and left the room. 

Late in the afternoon the next day, Vinnie pulled into the driveway of Frankie’s house in New Haven. He got out and headed around the back looking for Frankie. He used his key on the back door of the house. He walked into the study. There on the table was a banker’s box, with a note attached to it. He opened the note. 

Vinnie

As you can see, there’s nobody here. I have taken off for parts unknown. I have left you 5 million in cash and the access info on the account in your name in the Caymans, where you will receive your share ongoing. 

I’ve also left you the deed to this property and the ownership of my car. You can do whatever you want with them. Hopefully, you will just live here and continue with your business and have a good life outside of the insanity of Chicago.

Sorry I couldn’t hang around. Our plan was pretty ingenious but no plan is perfect, and this time I really needed to disappear for good. You can try and look for me, but you really have no reason to. I lived up to my part of the deal. 

So long my friend.

Vinnie opened the box. It was jammed with cash. On the top sat the ownership and insurance papers and the keys for the car, the deed to the house and a piece of paper with a Cayman Islands bank letterhead on it. It was the account number and passcode to a high-yield savings account.  He sat down at the desk and shook his head. Then he started to laugh. As he was looking at the desk, he saw Bix’s card. He dialled the number.

“Hello?”

“Bix. It’s Vincent Votto, Frankie’s friend.”

“Oh yeah. Are you at Frankie’s house?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then I guess you know he’s gone.”

“Yeah, I do. I just read the note he left for me.”

“He left me one of those too. With a quarter million in cash and the ownership papers to his boat. Not sure what I’m gonna do with a boat that size. I am no sailor.”

“Are you on the boat now?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you come over and we can talk about it face to face.”

Twenty minutes later, Vinnie came on board. Bix was sitting in a chair on the afterdeck typing something into his laptop.  Emma was sunning herself on a recliner. 

Bix got up and shook hands with Vinnie. 

“Vincent, this is my girlfriend, Emma”

“Nice to meet you, Vincent.” Emma said, waving her hand.

“Same here.” Vinnie said. 

“Have a seat. You look a little bewildered by all of this.” Bix said.

“Yeah, well, this wasn’t the plan or anything even close.”

“What did he leave you?”

“The house and the car. And a box full of money and a big, fat account in the Cayman Islands.”

“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah.” 

“He’s a sweetie.” Emma said. “Even if he was a killer.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now. I already checked out of Chicago.” Vinnie said.

“Well, there’s always doing nothing for a while until something presents itself.” Bix replied

“Is that what you would do?”

“No. But it occurred to me that that was an option.”

“You know, I could find him. Ask him what the fuck is going on.”

“I’m sure you could.” Bix said. “But would it really change anything? I mean, he very much appears to have moved on. I personally think he’s taken off on a trip around the world, while there’s still world for him to see.”

“What do you mean, for him to see?”

Bix stared at Vinnie for a moment. “So he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He has a condition that’s taking his eyesight. He’s going blind, Vinnie.” 

“Whoa, going blind?”

“It’s something called macular degeneration. It starts with sensitivity to light and then moves on from there, to … eventual blindness.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Vinnie said.

“So I figure, he’s either gone somewhere chasing a treatment, or he’s gone to see the world while he still can.”

“Shit. You know, he could have told me.”

“And what would you do?” Bix asked “Volunteer to go with him? Take care of him for the rest of his life after he goes totally blind? I really don’t think he would have wanted that.”

Vinnie got up and walked to the rail. He looked out over the Sound. “So here I am in fucking New Haven.”

Emma sat up and took off her sunglasses. “Maybe you should think of it as ‘Here I am in fucking New Haven with enough money to do whatever the hell I want with the rest of my life.” Then she put her shades back on and laid back down.

“My girlfriend is very wise. Teaches at Yale. You should think about what she just told you.” Bix said.

Vinnie sat back down. Bix poured him a glass of the Chateau Lafitte. Vinnie took a sip. “This wine is amazing isn’t it?” he said.

“You know, you have a couple cases of it in your wine cellar.”

Emma came to the table, and poured herself a glass. Bix held up his glass. 

“Here’s to Frankie.” Vinnie said as he and Bix and Emma clinked their glasses together. “One crazy motherfucker.”

~ 24 ~

The next day, Bix and Emma arrived at Frankie’s house. In the kitchen, Bix opened up his laptop then sat down on a stool next to Vinnie and Emma. There was a website page displayed on it. It was very simple with a two-item menu. 

A banner at the top of the page read:

THE USER’S GUIDE TO CONTRACT WORK

Below were two links. Bix activated the ‘play video’ button. The video loaded. The silhouette of a man appeared on the right-hand side of the screen. On the left the words: Welcome To The User’s Guide To Contract Killing.

Bix’s voice, slightly disguised starts to speak.

“Welcome to the User’s Guide To Contract Killing

This is a program designed to help you become the very best at your chosen profession. It’s the result of my many years in this business and I hope you will find it useful.”

A Menu came up displaying all the sections of the presentation.

Bix clicked on the first section entitled: Planning Is Everything.

“Part One…Create An Alias For Yourself. This alias is how you will be known so that when people are talking to you or about you, your real name will never be mentioned. 

When you can afford it, purchase yourself enough documentation under this alias name that will allow you to buy weapons at gun shows…Never purchase a weapon from a retail weapon source. Always buy your weapons as far away from your home base as possible….”

Bix paused the video. “It’s about 45 minutes long and the information and insights in it are worth their weight in gold.” he said.

“Is this for real? You’re not just fuckin’ with me, are you?” Vinnie asked.

“It’s for real all right, Vincent.”  Bix said.

“Last night, almost right from the get-go, we picked up a buyer from Nashville,” Emma said. “And late this morning another one in LA. But it’s still early days.”

After they watched the entire video, Vinnie leaned back in his chair. Then he shook his head. “You guys aren’t in the business. But I gotta tell you I have never seen anything like this before. It’s pure fuckin’ genius.”

~ 25 ~

Frankie was driving a luxury rental car south. He was singing along with the music on the radio and keeping a close eye on the traffic behind him. Dusk was approaching and Frankie pulled into the parking lot of a large roadside motel in the suburbs of Augusta, Georgia. He parked close to the office and got out of the car. 

He entered the office and saw that there was a couple talking to the clerk. He casually looked out the window, standing back so that nobody on the outside could see him looking. He saw a grey sedan pull into the parking lot. The sedan moved down to the end of the lot and parked. 

Frankie registered and then drove his car to the parking spot in front of his room. He brought in a small suitcase. He put the suitcase down and stepped outside onto the walkway. He saw the grey sedan, now parked in front of the office. A man got out and entered the office. A minute or so later, the man came out, got in his car and drove back toward Frankie’s room.

Frankie went back into his room. He opened the small suitcase on the bed and pulled out his Browning Hi-Power and the silencer. He cocked the pistol and placed it under the pillow on the bed. He then headed over to a bar next to the motel. He noticed that the grey car was parked in front of a room two down from his.

Frankie took a seat at the bar and ordered a steak and a beer. As he was eating he saw the man who drove the grey car enter. The man walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He looked over at Frankie and nodded. “How you doin’.” he said to Frankie.

“I’m doin’ alright. You?” Frankie said.

“Pretty good. Headin’ south or north?”

“New Orleans.”

“Nice town.” 

“What about you?”

“Miami. Thought I’d drive instead of fly.”

“Drivin’ does have its advantages. You see a lot more of the country that way.”

“True enough. What’s in New Orleans?”

“Jazz. I’m a musician. Clarinet. Got a couple gigs there.”

“Good place for jazz, for sure.”

“How about you? What’s in Miami?”

“Trade show. Computers, software, security.”

“That your business, computers?”

“No. My business is information technology.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that about?”

“Finding stuff out. Figuring out who can use it and selling it to them.”

“Sounds a little dicey.”

“Oh it is, but it pays well and it’s all about the Benjamins at the end of the day. The name’s Farrell, Jonas Farrell.” Farrell said as he extended his hand

“Jake Primo.” Frankie said and he shook Farrell’s hand. “So where you from Jonas? 

“Milwaukee originally, but I work a lot in Chicago.”

“Yeah, that's all kinda like one big city over there.”

“What about you, Jake?”

“New York City, born and raised.”

“A couple of city boys, heading south.”

“Yeah.”

Frankie finished up his dinner, exchanging small talk with Farrell. He then slapped some money on the counter and pushed away.

“Well, it was good talkin’ to you Jonas,” Frankie said, “I got a long drive tomorrow.”

“Good luck with your gig.” Farrell said.

“Thanks.”

Frankie left the bar and headed back to his room.

At around 3 AM, Frankie’s room was dark and quiet. The silence was broken by the click of the door lock. Farrell, with a silenced Beretta, entered the room quietly. He passed the bathroom which was dark and entered the main part of the large room. In the illumination from the nightlight, he saw that someone was in the bed. In the next instant, he felt the cold steel of Frankie’s Browning on the base of his neck. Frankie took Jonas’ gun. “Let’s go back to your room and have a chat, Jonas.” 

Frankie and Jonas walked to his room Frankie kicked the door closed and walked Farrell to the bed. Then with the butt of his pistol struck Farrell at the base of his skill.

When Farrell came to on his bed, his feet were zipped together. His arms were zipped as well. There was strip of tape over his mouth. Frankie was sitting on the other bed, his pistol held loosely in his hand. In his other hand was Farrell’s wallet.

“So Jonas Farrell, huh? You know, Vinnie told me all about you. He didn’t trust you from the get-go. He told me, ‘Anything screws up from here on out, it’s probably this Farrell guy’. Man, you shoulda known better than to fuck with a professional killer. I assume your aim here was to shake me down for whatever you could get for keeping your mouth shut about me. I guess that didn’t work out so well for you. And now here we are.”

Frankie got up and walked around a bit. “While you were out cold, I thought about my options here. I really did give it a good think.” He shook his head  “But, I can’t see any way that we could come to some sort of…accommodation. Guys like you, you know, it’s all about the Benjamins, just like you said back in the bar. I let you live, buy you off, and pretty soon you’re a regular fixture in my life.” Frankie sat back down on the other bed. “I just wanted you to know that I really did think it over carefully.”

Farrell let out a muffled scream. Frankie got to his feet and moved to the far end of the bed, then fired three shots into Farrell’s chest. Farrell went still.

Frankie picked up his brass. He then removed all the duct tape and the plastic ties from Farrell and tidied up the room, wiping down anything he might have touched with a damp towel. He went next door to his room and wiped it down too. Then he grabbed his small suitcase and peeked out the door. Nobody was around. He put the suitcase in the trunk of his car, then got in and drove off. When he got to Mobile, Alabama, he took his gun apart and tossed the pieces into the bay there and drove on to New Orleans.

~ 26 ~

Three days later, Frankie was standing on the deck of a large cruise ship going through the Panama Canal, after which it would head up the Pacific coast to Vancouver. He was talking to a good-looking woman named Myra Jones, a singer in one of the ship’s piano bars.

“So where are you headed after Vancouver?” Myra asked.

“Singapore. Gonna look into a medical procedure they’re doing there.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve got something that could make me blind one day.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah…but I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Good for you.”

“Either this works or it doesn’t. If not I’ve still got time to look around some more. It’s a big world out there. Lots of stuff happening all the time.”

“You sound like a real optimist.”

“Yeah, well, sure beats the alternative.”

“You got that right.”

The ship cleared the canal and was headed out and up the west coast. Frankie leaned on the deck rail and stared out at the endless horizon of the Pacific. Myra touched his shoulder and he nodded to her and smiled as she moved on up the deck. Then he turned his gaze back to the water and watched the afternoon sunlight dance around on the ripples.

FIN