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@dawno2008 @Ofez My reply to your question missed a comma after why and you guys must have misunderstood it. I just noticed and modified it

Chapter Twenty-five

Rico came slowly awake; under the influence of someone’s weight. He opened his eyes; to find Natasha on him. Her head was on his chest, her eyes were looking up toward his face. A thin smile was on her lips.

“Morning, handsome,” she said.

“Morning darling,” he returned, ran his fingers through her hair, and jerked her head forward, toward him. His mouth landed on hers, as his hand duck into her nightdress, and slid down her back. She pulled away with a smile. She stretched her hand and picked up a silver case lying on the far side of the bed.

“What is this?” Rico asked as she handed him the case.

“It's for you... A gift.”

He collected the case, swung it open. On the velvet lining, a pregnancy test strip laid, signaling positive.

“I'm pregnant, Jamie,” Natasha said happily.

Rico took out the strip and gawped at it. The color drained out of his face. His eyes closed, and after a long moment, they opened again. Gently, he rolled Natasha off him, stood up, and trudged to the wet bar. He poured himself a glass full of whiskey and gulped it down.

“Damn!” He slammed his hands down with the strip on the marble countertop, snapping the strip in two. His fingers on his right hand combed through his hair with aggression.

Confused and startled, Natasha rolled immediately out of the bed. She crossed the room to him. Her eyes looked into his. And they revealed she was hurt.

“Do you not want a child?” Her voice sounded brittle. “Damn me for thinking you'd be pleased; you are going to be a father.” She paused, then broke eye contact. “If you don't want this child, say so. I'll get rid of it. The last thing I want to do is bring a child into this world, which his or her father, would despise.”

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Rico slammed his hand thrice on the countertop. He gripped Natasha by the shoulders and rocked her. “Why did you have to do this? Why did you have to conceive without my consent? I thought we were supposed to be a couple.”

“You're getting out of the game, Jamie,” Natasha shouted in defense. “What do you want to do with all the time you're going to have on your hands? This's a perfect time to raise a kid. It might be a boy, Jamie... A son! Don't you want to father a boy? Someone with whom you can share your beliefs and values. Don't you?”

“Damn you, Natasha!” he said, paused, then shook his head, poured himself another glass of whiskey, and gulped it down. “What do you know? You think I'm getting out of the game?” He smiled bitterly. “No. You're wrong. I'm going to jail. Do you think I don't care about fathering a child? I've worked all my life, cutting corners, surviving by any means. All done, so one day when I have a son, he would be proud of his father. But now I see, it was all useless. ‘Money ain't loyal.’”

Natasha stood motionless for a long moment, her eyes stared with disbelief at Rico, but then she could see what a wreck he was.

“What're you talking about, Jamie?” she asked in a voice that was far from steady.

He emptied the bottle into the glass, handed it to Natasha.

“Drink this. You're going to need it for what I'm about to tell you.”

Natasha took the glass from him, stared at it, then at him. His eyes impelled her to get on with it, and she gulped the drink. The liquor had a soothing effect on her nerves.

“What is it, Jamie?” she asked quietly.

Rico plodded to the bed and dropped his butt onto it. He patted the bed by his side.

“Come sit here, Natasha.”

Natasha moved over, sat down beside him, and he crossed his right hand around her, drew her close, and sighed.

“I'm sorry I never told you, darling, but this is top secret. Some three months ago, the U.S Justice Department, created a special bureau. They called it Bureau for Narcotics; a special division. Its unit comprises folks who'd rather bring a man down than take a dollar from him, and elevate their miserable financial status. I saw the red light when it was already too late. They were onto me. I got my lawyer to talk to them. Strike a deal with them. I'd plead guilty to a handful of criminal violations, pay a couple of million dollars in fines, spend a few years in prison and when I'm out, I'd be straight and still be rich.”

He paused.

“It was a smart move, but those boys had bigger ideas. They want Rossi. There is a lot to make them believe he was hooked up in the drug business, but these were not evidence that'd stand up in court. They want me to rat on him, to give testimony, and to provide them with solid evidence, they can use against him in court. In exchange for my cooperation with the American government, my sentence might be reduced to fifteen years. They did not give me much of a choice. I had believed they only had eyes on me, but it was beyond that.”

“They had evidence; linking me to bribery, murder, and racketeering. I either rat on my associates, give them Rossi, surrender all details to all my offshore accounts, or spend the rest of my life in jail. So, Natasha, I'm going to jail for fifteen years, and when I'll be out, I'll be penniless. Now, tell me, Natasha, what impact would I make on the life of my child, if I'll be away from him or her; for that long.”

dawno2008:

You're right bro,this okada books don't work for me too,if @Danieljunoir can do airtime, I'll really appreciate it

Why, can't you guys download the app? It's on playstore and apple appstore

Rico walked briskly to the elevator. He thumbed the button number, thirty-one, and was whisked to the next floor, above. He got out of the elevator, walked to the door at the far end of the corridor, and thumbed in the bed push.

The door opened immediately. A tall girl dressed in a cotton turtle-neck sweater tucked in black tight-fitting leather pants appeared in the doorway. Her black hair was parted in the middle, and it flowed down to her shoulders. Her figure was sensual, but her face, which was a blank, cold mask, did not inspire friendship.

She stepped aside and Rico moved into the living room. The room was of the same design and as luxuriously furnished as Cain's. He sat down in the armchair.

Alessa locked the door and came into the living room.

She was only twenty-five years of age. She grew up in Milan slums. At seventeen, returning home from the motel where she worked evening shifts, she had run into Brando; a vicious character in the slum. He was the leader of the most destructive gang in the neighborhood. He had caught hold of her, dragged her to his pad, threw her on the bed, and climbed on top of her, threatening to have his way with her. There had been a desperate struggle. She was a girl who was far stronger than her gender allowed, and the struggle had dragged on. In the frenzied struggle for survival, she had sunk her teeth into his neck. He struck viciously at her, but each strike strengthened her resolve, and she increased the pressure in her teeth. Her teeth tore into his flesh, and his blood began flowing into her mouth, but that didn't faze her. She felt his strength drain out of him, yet she kept at his neck. Before long, she heard a bone snap, and blood sprayed on her as he fell limply on her. She pushed him off her, spat his blood on him, and ran crazily home. Though she had been frightened, she felt immense satisfaction in her first killing.

She had reached home, her dress in tatters, and stained with blood, her face bruised. When her parents learned what had happened, and afraid of the blowback from the gang, they arranged with her uncle, who had a tailoring business in The Bronx, for her to join him. Her uncle had provided for her steerage fare, and that was how she landed in America.

The work in the factory had been a soul-destroying drudgery with peanuts, as compensation for the hard labor. After a year, she decided she’s had enough. Stealing eight hundred dollars from her uncle's savings, she left The Bronx for Miami. In Miami, she met Paul.

That had been her introduction to the underworld. After she had run through the money, she stole from her uncle; she moved into the streets with Paul as her love-vendor and lover. A brutal and selfish lover, he was, and when she was tired of him, she struck a knife into his back one night when he was drunk and on top of her.

Soon after, killings after killings followed. At twenty, she was already making hits for mob bosses. Then, she heard through the underworld that Rico was looking for a professional killer. The two of them had met secretly. Rico had offered her one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to get rid of one of his operators, who had been caught by the DEA. She had made a clean job out of it, and; impressed, Rico had offered to put her on his payroll, only on account that she worked for only him. Their arrangement had been a secret.

She drew a retaining salary of ten thousand dollars a month, and was at Rico's beck and call, ready to wipe out any nuisance, that was making Rico nervous. For every killing, they discussed a price, depending on the individual and the security measures; guarding the individual to be taken care of.

Now, two days ago, Rico was getting nervous again and had called her to eliminate the nuisance; Alfred Cain. The arrangement was that he should die in a lethal accident, completely foolproof, with no blowback.

Somehow, through her methods, she had acquired this apartment directly above Cain's, and he would have been dead if Rico hadn't called her earlier in the day, telling her not to carry on with the plan, but to wait for further instructions.

“They've discovered one of the microphones,” she said as she came into the room. She picked up an earpiece on a receiver and handed it to Rico.

Rico stiffened.

“They?” He put on the earpiece, and just then, Cain's voice came through.

“Lopez. I've got this guy who needs a job. He's going to replace Pascal. His name is Larry Gates. He's from California. He got into some trouble there, nothing much though; so, he moved down here. Now, if Rico calls you, I want you to say, he's from you, and he's an all right guy. You understand?” There was a pause, then the voice went on. “How many times have I done you a favor, Lopez? Don't make me ask again.”

There was a brief pause, then the voice said, “Everything is arranged, it now depends on you.”

Another voice came through the earpiece. “There'll be no problem on my side. I'll run along now.”

The voice sounded dangerously familiar and Rico asked sharply, “Who's this?”

“The Larry Gates, I suppose. He's leaving now. I will follow him.”

“He's going to meet me tomorrow for the job. What do you suggest I do?”

“Give him the job. That'll be the best way you'll have your eyes on him at all times. I can't possibly shadow two men. I would tail Cain. You watch out for Larry.” Alessa took out her brown overcoat from the peg, slipped into it, and picked up her handbag.

“Which of the microphones was discovered?” Rico asked.

“The one under the bottom lining of the briefcase is still safe. As for the one stuck under the table, the other man had seen you place it and had taken it out immediately after you left the apartment. We can only hear what they want us to hear with it. It doesn't make it entirely useless.” She began to the front door, paused, and then turned to Rico. “Wait an hour before you leave. Take the key with you, I've got a spare.”

She got out into the corridor, hurried to the elevator, and thumbed the button. The elevator doors slid open. She got inside, held the door open. The sound of a door closing came through the earpiece. She waited some seconds, then took off the earpiece, dropped it in her bag, and thumbed the ground floor button.

She took out her phone, made herself busy with it as the elevator began its descent to the lobby. The elevator stopped suddenly at the next floor and the doors slid open.

She glanced up to give the man who stood outside the elevator an indifferent stare, then went on busily with her phone.

Gorevoy got in. The door shut, and the elevator whisked them down to the lobby.

Ofez:
Mad oh, every post was a hit back to back...

I appreciate the complement. I am dropping a chapter to show my gratitude for your comment before I retire to bed

Okadabooks here we come. On the 7th we are going live on the "Okadabooks" app. Do well to download the app from Playstore while we wait for the 7th

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Chapter Twenty-three

Cain's eyes almost popped out of his head as he stared at the documents. This was the last thing he expected… the last thing he expected from a ruthless man like Rico. Turning the pages of the documents, he had to admit, this was a substantial offer, and he felt an odd sick qualm run through him as he thought of Gorevoy's plan to get Rico killed, then his mind shifted to the hundred million dollars. With Rico out of the way forever, he would be in control of his organization, giving him the right to sell. The man on top must come down for the man down to climb up.

“I don't want you to sign it now,” Rico said. “Think about it first.”

“There's nothing to think about, this's a substantial offer.” He stretched forth his hand. “Let me have the pen.”

“No, do me a favor, Cain, sleep on it.” He extended his hand for the documents, collected them, put it back in the briefcase, and dropped it on the table. “Now's the time for a drink.”

Cain grinned. He crossed the room to the bar, mixed a highball, and brought it to Rico. He picked up his drink on the table and they cheered.

“To a new life,” he said, as they clinked glasses.

Rico's face lit up with a grin.

“To a better life,” he returned and took a sip from his glass. When Cain had returned to his chair, he asked casually, “What do you think about Pascal's murder?”

Cain tilted the glass in his hand and regarded it thoughtfully.

“I don't know of any name. No cheap punk could have killed Pascal. Any punk can squeeze a trigger, but only the one with guts will try to frame it on you.”

“The police are clear that the set-up is a frame-up. Lieutenant James Hamilton, called me a few hours ago. He said, there was enough evidence to put me in the clear. There had been a blow in the fuse box of the condo, about half an hour before Pascal was killed, which had cut off power from the building. They had called on the building electrical engineer, who had fixed the fuse box. He said, the blow wasn't a coincidence but staged. He swore he hadn't made the connections he saw, and no electrical man, who had been through the basics, could have done it. The lock of the steel door to the fuse boxes was checked. The lock had been tampered with. They spotted the camera at the building next to the condo, which was positioned in a way; it had views of the entrance of the building, and the condo. They checked its records but discovered it had stopped recording at forty-five minutes past one. It was one of those systems; where nobody sat behind the screens. It was only consulted when needed. So, nobody had found out it had stopped working. They checked the camera, and it was broken. There was a small hole on either side of the camera. More like a bullet had passed through it. A .22 slug was found around. Well, they concluded everything was staged and whoever had done it, had done the damage from outside the house and not from inside the house. The fire escape of the condo runs into the alley, so I knew some smart alec would pursue the theory that I could have climbed the fire escape down to the alley, fix the fuse boxes, fix the second camera, then fix Pascal. So, I got a girl who I've done a little favor for in the past, fix me an alibi that she had been with me throughout the night. A little grease in the janitor's engine, and he collaborated with the story that he had seen her enter the building some minutes past ten. Lieutenant James asked, why didn't I tell him that before? I told him, I didn't want my wife to get on to it.”

Cain drank from his cup.

“It certainly puts you in the clear, but Pascal's killer remains at large.” He paused, then went on. “Do you think it's got anything to do with you getting out? Pascal was your bodyguard. Someone might have killed him to open you up for an attack.”

Rico understood Cain’s point of view. He had looked at it from that angle too, but now that he had his full memory of last night, he was sure whoever had killed Pascal had been in his penthouse and had drugged him. He had been at the mercy of the intruder, and yet he had been left alone. Maybe the murder was something to do with Pascal and not with him, he thought. But he couldn't be too sure.

“I don't think it is Rossi.”

“He would have a lot to gain if you are out of the way.”

So would you, Rico thought, but he didn't say.

“I talked to Pascal's fiancé. She wants to take vengeance herself. She made me promise her that when I find Pascal's killer, she'd be the one to squeeze the trigger.”

“She's crazy.”

Rico shrugged.

“Yeah... when a woman gets crazy, she can go to any length. I want you to arrange someone, a fall guy, who would take the rap. He could be from our people, but someone dispensable. Arrange it for the day after tomorrow; Pascal's funeral.”

Cain nodded.

“It'll be arranged.”

“I'll take my leave now, Cain.” He emptied his glass, dropped it on the table, and stood up. He pointed to the briefcase on the table. “Sleep on it, Cain.”

“I will,” Cain returned, escorted him to the front door, and closed the door behind him.

…

Gorevoy trotted out of the bedroom, and as Cain made to say something, he raised his finger across his mouth, motioning him to be quiet. He moved to the center table, ran his hand under the border of the table. His fingers came upon the button like microphone his trained, alert eyes had seen Rico stick under the table when he had leaned over it to give Cain the documents. He unstuck it and showed it to Cain, who halted.

His lips drew off his teeth in a crooked grin. He took the microphone to the kitchen, dropped it on the countertop, and turned on the tap.

He returned to the sitting room. Cain still stood transfixed beside the table. His face, a cold mask of shock. Gorevoy dropped on the sofa, his crooked smile evident on his face. He took out his pack of cigarettes, tapped out one, and lit it.

“Did you, for a moment, think that Rico has suddenly become generous? Offering you a five percent cut off his business profit, that’s a lot of generosity for a cold-blooded animal like Rico. Director of operations?” Gorevoy snorted. “What do you possibly know about the Casino business?”

“I should have known better. He almost had me there.” He walked heavy-footed to the armchair and sank himself into it. “Rico thinks I'm responsible for Pascal.”

“He isn't sure, that's what he wants to find out,” Gorevoy returned. “You've got to call Lopez before he does. Tell him about me.”

Cain quickly took out his phone and began dialing Lopez's number.

Cain smiled. This was interesting to him.

“He might even be willing to pay us. She's going to be to him, a delightful change from the fat, old rich creeps he usually lays.”

“But, there's a slight glitch. Would he be willing to tattoo his right hand as Pascal's?”

Cain snorted with contempt.

“A little oil in his engine and that bum would lay his mother. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Then, that settles it. He would meet with her in Pascal's apartment, which would then be mine, dressed in Pascal's clothes. In the middle of their action, the cameras hidden somewhere in the bedroom would take shots. At the end of the movie, the best angle shot would be selected. The ones which capture their clothes discarded on the floor or lying in a heap on the bed, Rico's wife, Henry's tattooed right hand, and just a part of his face.”

“Henry would want to know why he has to play the part of Pascal.”

“Feed him the dope about the hidden cameras. Tell him the pictures will be used for further blackmail.”

“He might get onto the facts after those pictures go viral. He would have to be taken care of after he's fulfilled his uses.”

“I leave that to you.”

“This detective agency, how are you sure they would turn up something before the next three days?”

Gorevoy smiled his crooked smile.

“They would... they have to... They'll have something ready for me in the next two days.”

Cain nodded. He knew Gorevoy enough. If he said it would be like this, then it certainly would be like that. He had no reason to doubt him.

“It's a meticulous plan, but then, Rossi... Rossi bothers me. He might not fancy parting with a hundred million dollars. He might try to bring the price down. When dealing with a man like Rossi, anything can happen.”

“Rossi's a businessman. And every businessman knows war is bad for business, but you don't expect him to part with money unless he has to. So, it is your job to make him have to. Be a Porcupine, Cain. No one takes on a creature that can do so much damage, no matter how small it is; even Tigers let it have its way.”

Cain started to say something but was cut short by the ring of the electric bell.

“You're expecting someone?” Gorevoy asked, getting sharply to his feet.

“No... Let me see who it is,” Cain said, stood up, and crossed silently to the front door. He peered through its spyglass, then turned to Gorevoy. “It's Rico,” he whispered.

Gorevoy crossed to the bedroom, and leaving the door open a few inches, he watched the living room.

Cain opened the door, and Rico walked in, a black leather briefcase in his right hand. His eyes moved to the two empty glass cups on the table.

“You got a visitor?”

“Lopez dropped in. It hasn't been long since he left.” Cain returned casually, closing the door. He locked it, and moving into the living room, he waved Rico to the sofa and sat down in the armchair. “Lopez sends his condolences. He said he's got this guy who just dropped in from California. A real tough one, he says. He's looking for a job. If you wouldn't mind seeing him. He would make him available tomorrow.”

“I'm getting out of the game soon, Cain,” he said, watching Cain's reaction intently from the corner of his eye. “Why should I need a tough one?”

Cain picked up the half bottle of whiskey on the table.

“Whiskey?” He waved the bottle at Rico.

“No,” Rico declined. Taking out his cigarette case, he selected one and lit it.

Cain poured whiskey generously into his glass and took a sip.

“I don't have to tell you, Rico, the last hours are always fatal.”

Rico nodded. He hadn't picked up any change in expression on Cain's face.

“Well, tell him I would see him tomorrow.” There was a long pause, while Rico puffed on his cigarette and Cain sipped his whiskey. “I've been thinking about you, Cain. We've worked together for close to fourteen years. Without your ingenious plan eleven years ago we wouldn't be here with all this luxury.”

Cain shrugged.

“What had to be done was done. The man on top must come down for the man down to climb up.”

“What do you think about me getting out?”

“You've got all you want. It is always wise to know when to bring everything to a conclusion.”

“What'll you do, Cain? I could give you an introduction to Rossi.”

Cain's mind worked swiftly. This was an offer he had to refuse. He had to make out he was with Rico in getting out.

He smiled thinly, then said, “Thanks for the offer, Mr. Jamie, but I have done some thinking myself. I don’t have the same level of enthusiasm I had for the game fourteen years ago to drive me through the drudgery of making it out in another organization. I've got money put by in stocks. Twenty-five percent per annum. With careful living, I can maintain this life till I die.”

“Why bother about living carefully?” Rico said and opened the briefcase by his side and took out the documents inside. “For the past three years, I've been buying out shares from the shareholders of the Green Leaf Hotel and Casino in Vegas. The Casino has been losing money and its partners had been too willing to sell. Now, it was just me and one man left. Frank Douglas.”

“You must have heard, he's sliding off the top and if he doesn't lay his hand on some big money contract soon, that slide is going to be a fall. He's willing to sell up his share of the casino. So I'll own it all, but that's off the books. He would be kept as a figurehead.”

He leaned over the table and extended the documents to Cain, who got up to take them.

“This right here is a contract for you to be the Casino's director of operations and also guarantees you a five percent cut, off its net profit.”

Chapter Twenty-one

“Eleven years in jail and you seem to have forgotten the rules of the game. No one knocks off a member of the syndicate without paying for it with their life. It’s a matter of importance.”

“It would be done, and the syndicate would do nothing about it, instead they would be grateful. But, can I rely on you, that after Rico's death and the deal goes through, I would receive my share of the money?”

Even though Gorevoy spoke quietly, Cain could still make out the hint of a threat in his calm voice. He thought for a moment, then said, “A hundred million dollars is big enough to share, but before sticking my neck out, I must know what you plan to do.”

Gorevoy picked up the .38 on the table and began tapping the nozzle lightly on the glass table. The continuous tap-tap noise added to his menace.

“You seem to forget quickly, Cain. I still have you over a barrel. Can I rely on you?”

The voice wasn't so calm this time, and Cain nodded.

“You can. Now, let’s hear the plan.”

“Good.” Gorevoy dropped the gun back on the table. “Now, about this job I talked about, I want a recommendation from you to be Rico's new driver and bodyguard.”

“What's the game, Gorevoy?”

Gorevoy smiled his crooked smile.

“I want you to listen to this carefully, and with an open mind, Cain.” There was a long pause as he ensconced on the sofa. “Pascal was shot in the early hours of the morning. Who shot him? The police don't know. What was the motive? They don't know, either. All they know is that he was shot with Rico's gun, which by now he must have reported missing. The police have no choice, but to believe the word of their benefactor. They wouldn't search his apartment and the gun would remain undiscovered until it kills yet another victim. Who?”

Gorevoy stood up, picked up the gun on the table, shoved it into his hip pocket, and then crossed over to the bar. He returned with a bottle of whiskey and two glass cups. He poured whiskey into the two glasses, dropped one on the table close to Cain, then with the other cup, he went back to the sofa and sat down. After taking a sip, he sighed.

“It has been a long time since I drank from an expensive bottle of whiskey, Cain. But, as I was saying, who? Rico’s wife! The same gun which killed Pascal and her would be found beside her body. And there would be a motive that would also connect Pascal's killing.”

Cain picked up the glass on the table and drank from it.

“What would be the motive?”

“A crime reporter would discover. How does he discover? Well, a journalist never reveals his source. This crime reporter would discover that Pascal and Rico's wife had been hitting it off. He would find an incriminating photograph as a piece of evidence to back up his allegations.” He paused, then went on. “Because this is the kind of stink the media world loves, it would appear on the front page of every newspaper in this goddamn city. Rumor would have it that Rico had found out that his wife was cheating on him with his driver and had killed them in a crime of passion. What a sensation it would cause,” Gorevoy said with his crooked grin. “The syndicate wouldn't like it, but more importantly, the chief of police wouldn't appreciate it. He would order that Rico be brought in for questioning. But you and I both know that Rico wouldn't make it to the headquarters. He would be shot in the back while resisting arrest.”

Gorevoy took one last gulp from his cup and dropped the empty glass on the table.

“For the past eleven years, the chief of police has been receiving one million dollars per annum from Rico. Now, there might not be proof, but he can’t afford to bring Rico in for questioning. For if Rico talks, an accusation like that would lead to an investigation. It would cause a lot of stink; for many of the big-timers. But, a dead man has no tale to tell.”

Cain shrugged.

“I'm yet to understand you, Gorevoy. So far, it's a delightful story, but there are many loose ends.” He paused as he took a sip from his glass. “Where's this incriminating photograph which would serve as evidence that Natasha and Pascal, had been having it off?”

“It would be developed.”

“And how do you intend to do that with Pascal dead?”

Gorevoy smiled.

“Now, about this job, fix it, I become Rico's driver and bodyguard, and I will handle it.”

“I don't get it, Gorevoy. Why do you need the job? Is it connected to the plan?”

“When I get this job, I'll be given the keys to Pascal's apartment, with Pascal's things untouched. Right now, I've got a detective agency to whom I've done a favor in the past, digging into Rico's wife's life. Soon, he would turn up something which we could use against her. Is Henry still in the game?”

Cain nodded. It has been some years since he last saw him, but he remembered Henry all right. The type of men he despised. A thirty-five-year-old gigolo who would willingly bed his mother so long as he got paid.

“What's he got to do with this?”

“Use your brains, Cain. Remember, Henry's got a fatal resemblance to Pascal. Their only major difference is their heights, but that wouldn’t be a problem. The filth this detective agency turns over to me will be turned over to Henry to use in blackmailing her. Now, for how much do you think Henry would play ball with us when he sees Rico's wife.”

KingWarri:
Happy New month and Happy National Chinese Day to you.

Thanks

Happy new month guys

Chapter Twenty

Cain stared unbelievably at Gorevoy. He wasn't lost on that smile. All his life, he had only known one man to tilt the corners of his mouth to such an odd angle and that was Gorevoy! For a split second, his nerves fluttered, but he pulled himself up immediately. If he had to die today, then so be it... He couldn't grumble. He had had his fair share of better days in his short life; he told himself.

“Why have you dropped the gun, Gorevoy,” he said in a sudden hard voice. “Pick up the gun and pull the trigger, or have you suddenly forgotten your mission here?”

“I haven't, but I've repented of it.” He waved to the armchair opposite him. “Come over to this side, Cain.”

Cain left the window and sat down in the armchair opposite Gorevoy.

“If you have repented of it, then what are you still here for?”

“It was a clever trick you guys used to get me behind bars. Whose idea and organization was it?”

“It was mine,” Cain said with a thin smile.

Gorevoy nodded.

“I thought so. The organization was too smooth. Not even the president could have dreamed of beating such rap, despite that, I don't feel betrayed by you, but by Rico.” He went on after a pause. “We grew up together. I wouldn't have thought he could slay me for all the money in the world.”

“Then, you thought wrong. What do you want, Gorevoy?” Cain asked impatiently.

“A job, Cain... a particular job,” he said. “Cain, I'm out of jail with no money and no job, and I must survive. So, I need you to clean the mess you made. I want a recommendation from you for this job. And after the job, I want the sum of ten million dollars paid into a Swiss account which I would provide you with the details.”

Cain took out his cigarette case, selected another cigarette, and lit it. He was beginning to relax.

“Why should I be compelled to give you a job and ten million dollars?”

“For the past hour, I’ve been standing by that doorway, watching you. I saw you enter. You didn’t even notice the difficulty you had in turning the lock. I saw you take off your coat and take a seat by the window. I watched you, lost in thought, and you reminded me of a man whose world is threatened.” He gazed at Cain. “Tell me, Cain. Is your world threatened? Is Rico getting out of the game?”

“Yes... How did you get onto it?”

“I visited him in the dark hours of the morning to put a slug through his fat head, but then, I saw some documents, and the slug that was meant for him; went to Pascal, instead. He isn't entirely innocent. So, I don't feel any guilt about my actions.”

The missing piece of the puzzle dropped in Cain's head, and for a moment, he stiffened. Then, he realized his luck. So it was Gorevoy, and he had been thinking Rossi had a hand in it. His luck was that he hadn't approached Rossi.

“So, it was you who killed Pascal? What is your game trying to frame it on Jamie? You should know the police wouldn't arrest their benefactor on such a flimsy frame up as that.”

“Who's buying Rico out?” Gorevoy asked.

“The Nackize Corporation… Thirty million dollars,” Cain returned. “They've figured it would be a boost to their net profit if they owned their truck agency.”

“Quit talking crab with me, Cain,” Gorevoy said mildly. “Who's behind the deal?”

Cain took a long drag from his cigarette, then gestured with it.

“Who else? But, Tony Rossi. I tell you, in another nine or ten years, he will have complete control over the drug trade in Florida... Too bad there is not any law against monopoly to stop him.”

“Never mind who would control Florida in ten years. What's the deal worth?”

“A hundred million dollars... Enough bread to set any man up for the rest of his life.”

Gorevoy stared thoughtfully for a moment.

“It comes as a surprise to me, Cain.” He paused, then went on. “I'd never have thought a day would come when Rico would want to get out of the game. After all, he did a lot of unpleasant things to ascend the throne, so why the sudden desire to step down?”

Cain lifted his shoulders.

“A man oozing with confidence, ambition, and determination, sacrificing everything in his path to get to the top. Then, when he finally makes it to the top, what happens? He falls in love with a woman. The hardcore in him turns soft, and suddenly, he loses appetite for the business that got him to the top. That’s what has happened to Rico. I wouldn't say I blame him, though. It has happened to many men before, and it'll continue to happen to many men after. But, that aside, a hundred million ain't a bad remuneration for long service.”

“When the deal goes through, and Rossi moves in with his organization, what then happens to you?”

“You know how it is. I get the kiss-off, but if Rossi has any use for me, I might be offered some god-awful job.”

Gorevoy took out a pack of cigarettes, tapped out one, lit it, then crossed one leg over the other. He took a long drag from the cigarette, then let the smoke drift down his nostrils.

“So your boss goes home with a bag of a hundred million dollars and you, his deputy, his consigliere, his assistant, go home with, well...”

Cain smiled; a bitter smile.

“Well, that's just the way it is, Gorevoy. But, you haven't come to commiserate, or have you?”

Gorevoy ignored his question.

“What if something happens to Rico today or tomorrow, or maybe an hour before the deal goes through?”

“Then, the mantle of leadership passes on to me,” Cain said carefully.

“Then, you could make the deal go through and give me a ten million dollars share from it.”

Cain thought for a moment. He told himself Gorevoy was crazy, talking like this, but there was no harm in listening to what he had to say.

“It is possible, but you're speaking in parables, Gorevoy. Nothing is happening to Rico, not today, not tomorrow, and not even an hour before the deal goes through.”

“A lot of things could happen to him,” Gorevoy returned carelessly, and took a drag from his cigarette. “He could get knocked off.”

KingWarri:

Asia? Do you reside there?

No. I live in Nigeria. Here is a link to my Facebook page if you want to get to know me. You could like it and send me a message there. Thanks. https://www.facebook.com/danieIJr

Until 7th I'll keep posting more episode here

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Chapter Nineteen

Who could've killed Pascal and try to frame it on Rico? Except for someone with guts, but better than guts, an okay, to steer a little trouble Rico's way. He knew Pascal encouraged no personal vendetta, even if he had an enemy crazy enough to kill him, they wouldn't be crazy enough to try framing it on Rico.

From the way he figured it, Rico did it himself, or a man with more money and power; as Rico ordered it, or a man too crazy to be alive, did it.

So, he hedged his bets on the former options. Then, he thought of a man with more money and power than Rico. Tony Rossi! He had a lot to gain if Rico was out of the way. What if he didn't fancy parting with a hundred million dollars when he could get what he wanted by playing the game the hard way?

Either way, if Rico had done it, then he had gone against the number one rule in the syndicate, which barred the bosses from executing killings themselves, or if Tony Rossi had ordered it. Then there might just be a way out for him.

He could approach Rossi, and offer him a service of getting Rico out of the way for him, and in payment for his service; be Rossi's frontman, in running the Miami drug trade. But then, it would be a dangerous thing for him, if Rossi had no hand in Pascal's killing, and rejected his proposition.

Well, Cain was willing to take his chances as he had done most of his life, and silently, he prayed it paid off.

His mind was too deep in thought that he did not hear the hushed footfalls of a man, move out of his bedroom, cross the sitting room, pick up his gun on the table, and then sat quietly in the armchair.

Cain suddenly became alert. He sensed he wasn't alone. All movements in his body came to a brief pause.

He wasn't afraid to die. If he had to die today, he would brace himself, but it shocked him that someone had gained entrance into his apartment without him hearing a sound.

He remembered the gun he had dropped on the table. And with his back turned to this intruder, he knew his position was hopeless. He felt the intruder wasn't yet aware that he knew of his presence, so he saw no reason to alert him.

Casually, he took out his cigarette case, selected one, and as he lit it, he noticed his hand was steady and he smiled. He took a puff; he lifted his shoulders and crouched forward, ready to throw himself aside, immediately he heard gunfire.

…

The man on his sofa wasn't fooled by his actions. He knew Cain was now aware of his presence, for he had noticed the abrupt and brief pause in his movements, but it filled him with admiration for him. For this was a man who knew he was only some seconds from death, and yet he didn't panic. For that reason, he spared him and he dropped the gun with a loud click on the glass table.

“Still the same old Cain,” he said in his husky voice. “Sorry to have startled you.”

Cain didn't turn yet. He had heard the click as if metal was dropped on the glass table, but that meant nothing to him. His mind dug into his past to trace the owner of that familiar voice. There could only be one owner to that husky, menacing voice. Gorevoy Egorov! He felt sweat break out on his forehead.

He turned slowly in the armchair to look at the man. The man, he saw, sitting on the sofa, had no resemblance to Gorevoy. This was a blond, sunburned man, a lot thinner than Gorevoy, and he felt his confidence slowly return to him. But there was something savage about this man. Those dark eyes, the hard mouth, and the aggressive jaw made him uneasy.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Cain demanded, not moving a muscle. Although he saw his gun lying on the table and the man relaxed back on the sofa, the cold professional look in those dark eyes warned him; any misplaced move would be fatal to his health.

“A friend, who has come to see a man who he once thought, and called a friend.”

Again, there was something about that voice, which brought the image of Gorevoy to his mind.

“And who is this friend?” Cain asked.

“The one you sold out for all these frills.” He looked around at the luxury of the room. “I guess no man is worth this much to you... It's me, Gorevoy Egorov!”

Cain stiffened for a brief second, then he frowned.

“Skip the pre-intimacy... Who are you?” His voice was far from steady.

Gorevoy ran his finger over his beardless jaw. The corners of his mouth twisted into a crooked smile.

“Isn't it funny how a neatly shaved face, a little make-up, and a change of hairstyle, can easily deceive men? I've had a change of identity, Cain.” He lifted himself a little from the sofa, took out his wallet from the back pocket of his pants, and took out his driver’s license from it. “Come and have a look, Cain... I'm now known as Larry Gates from California.”

Alfred Cain unlocked the door to his three-bedroom apartment, moved into the living room, and looked around at its luxury. He had lived in this apartment now for the past eight years and had gotten used to its luxury. Despite that, each time he stopped to inspect it, it didn't stop to remind him of how far he had come.

From a kid who starved, working construction jobs, if he could find any, a dry crust of bread a day, would mean he was lucky. His mother had died of starvation.

Looking around, he confirmed that this was all he had ever dreamed of as a kid. Too much money, every conceivable luxury within his grasp, plenty of women. Though he cared less about the women, he confessed to himself that they were the best form of relaxation; God ever made for men.

He took off his coat, loosened his tie, and dropped his .38 automatic on the table, then moving over to a nearby window, he sat down on an armchair.

His apartment was on the thirtieth floor of a fifty-floor high-rise building, giving him an impressive view of Miami's nightlife, the sea, and the miles of Miami beaches.

He lit a cigarette and stared through the floor-to-ceiling window; at the never dulling sight for him. The power of money, he thought, but then, it never lasts.

If a gun did not kill you, you might get knifed or arrested, spend the rest of your life in prison, and then it would all be over. So, he had made a promise to himself, to make all the money he could, enjoy all the luxury he could before it would all be over for him.

For the past three years, he had slowly been realizing his restlessness and discontentment with his stagnant position in Rico's drug organization. He had come up the ladder the hard way, to be second-in-command, but for a man of his restlessness and ambition, his appetite grew with each step he took up that ladder.

He yearned for more power, more money, being in charge of Rico's kingdom, and later becoming the head of the syndicate that ran Florida's drug game. A remote possibility, he thought, but anything was possible on God's green earth. Rising to his present position had also been a remote possibility twenty years ago, but he had envisioned it, worked for it, and now he was here.

For the past three years, he had shrugged this thought off his mind every time it dropped... Shrugging it off like a wise, married man, who suddenly sees a beautiful, promiscuous woman, shrugs off the impulse to befriend her. It was unhealthy thinking; he told himself, the kind which usually lands a man six feet deep in the earth.

The next level in the game, for him, was to become boss of Miami's drug game, and the only way he could be that was if Rico died, and Rico wasn't dying soon, neither could he knock him off. Rico was recognized in the syndicate as the boss of Miami's drug game. Before anyone could touch him, he had to have a good reason: a reason which was in the syndicate's interest. There had to be a meeting with all the bosses of the other territories. They had to give you an okay or else you'd be the one who gets knocked off.

To them, it was a matter of importance, protecting each other’s interests.

So, all this time he attempted to contain his impatience and restlessness, telling himself that time would make a way. Soon, Rico would make a mistake that was against the rules of the syndicate, hence a reason to get him knocked off.

He had been making a good job of deceiving himself, but not until last week, when Rico had told him he was getting out of the game. It had come as a considerable shock to him when he had heard that Tony Rossi was planning to buy Rico's territory for one hundred million dollars. Who would've thought Rico would be the man to want to get out of the game? Maybe playing around with that new wife of his, had made him soft in the head, Cain mused.

Tony Rossi, Cain shifted his bulk more comfortably in the armchair. Although he had heard Rossi's name whispered many times during his career in crime, and had seen photographs of the short, fat man, he was yet to meet him.

From what he had heard about Rossi, he knew him to be a big cat with financial contrivances, spreading across legitimate businesses, and illegitimate businesses. Nobody knew just how much he was worth, but if a figure had to be put down on paper, the zeros behind the one would confuse the eyes.

You need money to run for governor, go to Rossi. He was the one who could finance you, and with connections in the right places, he'd ensure you’ll win, but his interests came very high. He was rumored to be the head of the syndicate, controlled the drug game in seven states of Florida. Orlando and Tampa included. He always kept to the sidelines, and had a lot of figureheads, frontmen, and slaves who did his bidding, and increased his vast wealth.

With an impressive villa mounted on a fifty-six acres piece of land in Orlando, he lived like a retired businessman. No one could oppose him. He had many people on his payroll to be far away from the long arm of the law.

In another three or four days, Rico would be presented with a hundred million, as gratuity; for his long service in the drug business. Then, Rossi would move in with his organization. Then what would happen to him? There would be no golden handshake for him, that was for certain. If he was lucky, and Rossi had any use for him, he would be given a goddam awful job; with pay far less than what he was earning now. That would prove, ten years of hard work climbing up the ladder had been a goddam waste, and he would have to start the climb up the ladder again, only, this time, the climb might be a crawl.

So when Rico had told him, he was getting out, and what it would mean to him dawned on him; he had been thinking for himself.

For the past three days, he had cracked his brain desperately for a way out but hadn't come up with anything. Then, the sudden death of Pascal had dropped a question into his mind.