They entered the office, his hand on her shoulder and sat down.
In a few minutes, the secretary said; “Mr. Salvatore will see you now.” They got up, his hand on her right shoulder and walked to the open door.
She said; “Three feet.” He moved a little closer. They went over to a chair in front of a big desk. She said; “Chair right.” He felt for the arm, and sat down. she pulled one over and sat next to him.
Frankie Salvatore watched all this with an open mouth. “What the fuck is this?”
“Please, no vulgarities.”
“Who the fuck is being vulgar? I need a Hit Job and you turn up. Is this a joke?”
“No, Mr. Salvatore. We are exactly what you ordered.”
“I didn’t order no blind guy and a bimbo.”
“First, Sir, my wife is not a bimbo. Second, I am the hit man you ordered. I’m very good. Did you read our references?”
“Yeh, I read ‘em. But each one had different names. What goes?”
“We never use the same names twice. This time we are Rudolf and Rita Turlock.”
“How much do you charge?”
“It depends on who you want eliminated. If it’s just someone who won’t pay up or angered you, $ 50,000 cash. An average businessman, $ 100,000. Someone of importance that will cause headlines, $200,00, wired to our account in the Cayman Islands. Who is it, Mr. Salvatore?”
“It’s Chico Camaro.”
“And he is?”
“He’s a little shit that’s costing me a million a year. Used to work for me, then got a big head, and set himself as a boss.”
“A rival gang boss is $ 250,000, Plus expenses.”
“Two-fifty, you out of your mind?”
“No sir. You will save 3/4 of a million, the first year alone. Where does Mr. Chico live?”
“In the penthouse at the Dorchester. He owns 50%.”
“That means that the desk clerk and elevator Bboy are his, and at least one man in the lobby. Two or three in his room, all the time. This needs planning. I would estimate three weeks for Rita to set it up.”
“What are you doing, all this time?”
“I’m in our hotel room listening to TV. You pay in advance.”
“You have some nerve. What if you skip out?”
“We are as easy to track down as a gold plated Volkswagen. We will tell you when to spend a week in Miami. It’s getting chilly, fall in the air. We’re going to Arizona, lay in the sun.”
Three weeks later, Lieutenant Collins was called down to the morgue. Camaro was on a slab, a hole in his chest. “Mob hit?”
“Probably sir, except that everybody was out of town except Camaro,” said Horowitz. “Take a look at this?” He rolled the corpse over.
“Jesus Christ! What did they use, Dynamite?”
“Special alloy slug. You’ll get the report.”
“Anything on this?”
“Scattered reports. No clues, no DNA, nothing.”
“Shit,” said Collins.
Lillian led Jim to the train. “Three tall steps.” The Conductor helped him up, and led them down the corridor. She locked the door of the compartment. His sparkling blue eyes snapped open. He looked at his wife and smiled.
They got off the train in Park City Utah, and went skiing.
(Written Sept. 30, 2016)