Chapter Nine

Blaze

They ran her obituary in the town paper two days later, claiming she had died in the explosion. An explosion, they claimed, that was caused by a gas leak, or some malfunction in the system. Faulty wiring. Any combination of the above. I knew better.

She had become a vital part of our family out at Phoenix Acres and the crew was almost as devastated as I was. I caught it, though they tried to put on a happy face whenever I was around, which wasn’t much.

Rusty had insisted I take a few weeks of to grieve, and I didn’t bother arguing. The extra time fit nicely into my plans for revenge.

Revenge is such a strong and negative word. This was more than revenge. This was my redemption. The final goodbye to my past as I laid it all on the line for the woman I loved.

During the day, I drove into town and spent hours at the range, practicing my shot. My marksman skills had gotten a little rusty. The only time I had shot a gun in the past year, it had been into the air to scare off some coyotes.  They always told me practice made perfect, and once upon a time, I had been. I wouldn’t quit until I was there again. No, I wouldn’t quit until I was well past perfect. Lucky for me, shooting a sniper rifle was a bit like riding a bike.

At night, I worked from my bedroom. Preparing to alter my outward appearance was easy. My grief and lack of a decent cook had shed ten pounds from my muscular frame. I spent long hours on the internet exploring my options. How could I alter my appearance drastically and not permanently in only a few weeks’ time?

I grew out my beard. I found a guy in Dallas who could make me a fake id for travel. My shoulders, neck and arms got covered in realistic looking semi-permanent tattoos I had found online. My turquoise contacts were exchanged for green ones, and I even ordered a pair of non-prescription eyeglasses to complete my hipster persona.

In the late hours of the night, sometimes my choices would haunt me, telling me I was no better than them, and that I hadn’t changed at all. I was going to do exactly what he would have done, but it was different. I had no other recourse, and beyond that, I was doing it for love.

Sometimes the last thought made me snort. When you think of big romantic gestures, you don’t usually think of sniper style mass murders.

I had a list. I knew which goons would do my father’s bidding from a cell or even if he was six feet in the ground. I also knew which ones only stuck around because of what he had on them. If he was gone, they would be free. For the most part, they were the ones with families. The thought comforted me.

I had no problem taking out murderers, thieves, drug lords, embezzlers and general low life scum. That was, as a rule, what the Italian mafia consisted of, although they liked to tell it differently.

The days ticked by slowly as I waited. The first Sunday of the month. That was when I would do it. They would all be together for the big monthly poker game. If you were on The Ghosts’ shit list, you weren’t invited, so whoever happened to be there, those were the ones I wanted.

When the big day finally rolled around, I didn’t even recognize myself. My cheekbones were gaunt, and my eyes hollow behind thin tortoiseshell frames. My beard hung inches past my chin, and I had shaved my head just before boarding the plane.

My id said Christopher Maxwell, but in my heart, I was Marco ‘The Blaze’ Valentino. One last time, before I retired the name and what it stood for forever.

I flew on a red eye arriving in New York in the dead of the night. My taxi driver didn’t speak English, nor did the night manager at the crap hotel where I rented a room to lay in wait.

The air in the city was stifling, and I longed for the fresh, clean air back at Phoenix Acres. I even missed the scorching Texas heat. This city had once been my home, and I had been nervous about coming back. I hadn’t needed to be. This place no longer had a hold on me. For that matter, neither did Texas. Lucy held my heart and soul. Without her, I was a shell of a man, ceasing to exist.

Home, I now knew, was wherever she was. The problem being, I had no idea where that was, or even if I ever would. There was a chance my plan would backfire and that I, in my grief, had overlooked a key component needed to pull it off. If that came to pass, I would die in jail. It was a risk I was willing to take. Life without love was no life at all.

At four in the afternoon, I went to the liquor store across the street and bought a small bottle of jack and a pack of cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked a day in my life.

At five, the arms dealers delivered my rifle and accessories to the agreed upon location.

Six o’clock found me wearing a hole in the carpet of the small hotel room, while I paced the floor, chain-smoking as I muttered to myself.

By seven, the pint of jack was gone.

At eight- I affixed the mouthpiece I had bought, giving myself a crooked snaggletooth smile.

At nine, I locked the door to my hotel room, left the key at the front desk, and took a silent taxi ride across town. I climbed the fire escape to the top of an old rundown apartment complex and collected my package on the roof, right where they had said it would be.

My heart was motionless in my chest as I walked to the edge of the roof and peered at the old warehouse across the street where my father liked to conduct his more private business. I balanced the rifle on my shoulder and peered through the scope, making sure I had a clear view through the murky windows. Not great, but it would work. It was good enough for Marco ‘The Blaze’ Valentino. I was after all, a perfect shot.

They had trained me in the art of the kill, and today they would die by the hand of one who used to be their own.

At a quarter to eleven, the room began to fill. I counted each of them as they filed in and called them by name, loading exactly that many bullets, plus one extra in case of emergency. Seventeen. Everyone I had expected had shown up. Not much had changed. If I didn’t intervene, nothing ever would.

I felt only a twinge of remorse as I remembered each one. I wasn’t a monster, I was a desperate man. I knew that Lucy and I both would never be fully safe or able to be together if they were gone.

The Italian mafia was old school. These men had been around forever, wreaking havoc on society, thinking only of themselves. No crime pinned against them would ever stick. No crime ever had, and they had more connections now, not less. They bullied, bribed, and blackmailed their way out of trouble. It was up to me to be judge, jury, and executioner.

I had never been more ready.

Taking a deep breath, I trained my body into stillness, so that my hands were as steady as possible. I loaded my cartridge, checked my silencer, balanced the rifle on the tripod, and put my eye to the scope, preparing for the first shot.

I took out my father first, shooting him twice for the hell of it, then moved down the line quickly, before they realized what was happening and began to scatter. Most of them were old men by now, and getting up wasn’t an easy feat. I shot the younger ones first to up my odds of not getting caught. In this case, younger was still older than me, and I was no spring chicken.

It took all of two minutes to eliminate the whole of them. I ditched the gun by throwing it off the back of the building into a tree. There was no time to spare when I heard the sirens in the distance. They would go to the warehouse first. They would suspect an inter-family fight, they had no reason not to.

While they sorted that out, I would make my escape. With my heart in my throat, I ran down the fire escape, slowing my steps when I hit the ground and made my way to the front of the building. I walked two blocks past the crime scene and entered a bar I knew well.

The bartender was one I recognized as having worked there since before I was legal. I stripped off my black designer hoodie and flung it over the back of a bar stool. I was playing it cool, but on the inside I was a wreck.

He didn’t recognize me, appearing bored as he glanced haphazardly at the id I offered. 

“A scotch on the rocks please. Make it a double. And I’m going to need a cab to the airport.” I lowered my voice, and let my original accent out for the first time in years.

“You got it,” He responded, typing into his phone. I knew he was texting one of the cabbies they had a deal worked out with.

The cold smooth scotch both warmed my soul and cooled my nerves.  I sipped it slowly, training my thoughts on Lucy, and the future, forcing out the reality of what I had done. It was far too late to second guess myself now. That ship had sailed.

Within the hour, I would be on a flight back to Texas, and by morning, I would more or less look like myself again, minus the weight loss and shaved head.

When the news broke, I would wait for Mike.