Dirty Money

Chapter 21 - Rags

John parted his index finger and thumb through his moustache as he entered the second basement level underneath the office building. His small red beat up car showed no indication that a ruthless killer for hire drove it, but in fact John had been travelling in this car all over the country. He passed side doors and made his way straight to the boot and with a twist of the key and a few thumps – the boot opened and it appeared to be empty. John peeled back the corner of a cover – showing that the seemingly empty boot was actually a mobile armory.

There was a mixture of everything all placed down in individual clear cases – after he used a weapon for one job he ditched it, no matter how fond of the weapon he was, or how much it cost. John looked at the silencer-equipped pistols. No good, we need panic and confusion. Shotgun? He thought looking at the long double barrel and decided against it, the sniper rifle was a definite no it was for another job entirely. The driver smiled as his eyes rested on a case with two semi-automatic pistols. John took out a black pen and drew a smiley face on the case containing the two high-powered pistols as a reminder.

He shut the boot and proceeded to the front of the car; he grabbed the water coolant off the front passenger seat and pressed the button to pop open the bonnet; with a click it popped up a little. John placed two fat fingers underneath the lid and pushed the lever releasing the bonnet slowly into the air. The gas had run out from the struts and he was forced to hold the bonnet with one hand to stop it crashing down on him, as he added coolant. After checking a few vitals it was time to head back to Urban Backpackers – John’s temporary home in Contro.

“Hello comrade,” John said to the manager sitting in a bored state at reception.

The man gave a grunt and a half nod before returning to staring at papers.

“Arrogant prick,” John mumbled to himself as he climbed the staircase to the second level where his small room was located. Once inside he got undressed from his uniform and walked around in his jocks humming along with the radio. He took out a bottle of rum from his travelling back and began drinking straight from the bottle.

He turned the music up a little as he took a few more swigs and lit a cigar. John peeked outside the narrow blinds to see his car parked unsuspectingly across the street blended in with the other beach dwellers. 

He marveled at the beauty of his entire plan. There was no way to find his target, Albert Giuseppe, when the boss went underground, so he had to put in place a set of events. Firstly he had to find a lower level Giuseppe member, which he did at a pub called Willows, secondly he had to tip off Philip and unleash the monster onto them; knowing payback would be a guarantee on the Giuseppe’s behalf. Then all he had to do is wait until he had a day off guarding the office building and sit in his car; watching for anyone watching the office block. Eventually they came and staked the place out and John was ready. He casually followed them back to a heavily guarded street, which had to have the safe house in it; given the disguised nature of associates and soldiers in the area.

John turned on the small television and flicked through the channels bored; there wasn’t much else to do in the city of rain. The weatherman on the screen gave out tips to prepare for the upcoming storm season. From the open window in the small room John could still hear the ocean over the light patter of rain descending; it was very soothing. He sat stretched out on the reclining chair – drifting in and out of sleep as the television continued onto sport.

“Fuck what happened?” Brendan asked Rags as he held the mans chin and examined the gaps that were once teeth. The two men walked in the ghetto area of Contro that Rags called home.

“Giuseppe crew,” Rags said, cringing as he remembered the torture endured at the hands of the young sociopaths.

“Pricks! We’ve been worried sick about you,” Brendan said, concerned.