The killer, p.1
The Killer, page 1
The Killer
A Short Thriller, Volume 1
Vincent Zandri
Published by Vincent Zandri, 2023.
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Title Page
Also By Vincent Zandri
The Killer (A Short Thriller, #1)
The Killer | A Short Thriller | Vincent Zandri
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The Killer
A Short Thriller
Vincent Zandri
“The assassin is many things, but he is not a coward. He is a person of great courage and conviction." - Vince Flynn
1
The problem is that he’s got me by the balls, and he knows it. No, that’s not quite right. Allow me to correct myself. This fat Russian crook they call Vlad because it makes him sound tough, even though I think he may enjoy the company of boys over women, is sitting behind his massive glass desk, with a heaping pile of coke set on it, along with a gold credit card, and a rolled up Benjamin, and he’s telling me I gotta kill his wife by midnight tonight or he’s gonna have both my legs cut off, not at the knees which would be workable, but at the thighs.
And he can do it too because I used to work lots of jobs for him and little did I know that he not only kept meticulous records of those jobs, he secretly videotaped every one of our conversations and financial transactions. So that means he’s not only got me by the balls but he’s got me by the cock and the short hairs too. It means if I say no, that I’ve killed for the last time, he can send some of those video transactions to a friend of his who’s on the take at the newly corrupt FBI. What will follow is a raid of my home in the middle of the night, or if I decide to skip town, I’ll be hunted down like a wild animal, choppers and all, and shot on sight.
So, like I said, no choice. Vlad wants me to kill his pretty wife by midnight tonight. And I’m the perfect man for the job. Me, Tony Brazil, a five-foot, ten-inch, middle-aged, gym rat of a killer, and get this, ex-priest, who just happens to be good at his job. But here’s the thing, I’ve never before killed a woman, much less the significant other of my boss. For Christ’s sake, they have a daughter away at Providence College earning a degree in Russian Literature. How is she going to take the news that her mother is dead?
It's exactly how I put it to Vlad.
He snorts a line, then rubs a little of the coke on his gums with the pad of his sausage-thick index finger.
“You let me work details, da?” he says. “Why do you insist on killing bad guys only? Lots of good people do bad things too, Father Tony.”
His hair is thick and white. It’s slicked back on his bulbous head with styling gel. He’s wearing a black satin tracksuit that’s got a Nike emblem on the chest pocket. His big gut filled it out like he swallowed a basketball. Under the glass table, I can make out his white Air Jordans. His home office is spacious and decorated with lots of mirrors, a leather couch, and a fully stocked bar. The vodka is top-notch and imported from Moscow, care of one of his oligarch pals.
“I have my scruples, Vlad,” I explain. “And you know how I feel about killing women, Vlad. I am still a man of God, after all.”
“Were a man of God, Father Tony,” he says. Then, “Here, have bump and pour us some vodka. It will make you feel better. Then we work out details, da?”
I glance at the bar and the mirror above it. I shaved my head about a month ago since my receding hairline is receding more and more every day. But now there’s a small stand of salt-and-pepper hair growing up. It matches the five-day-old stubble on my face. It also matches my daily uniforms of thin black leather coat, black button down, black jeans, and combat boots. Being an ex-priest, I just can’t seem to get away from the color black, now can I?
I go to the bar and pour two generous vodkas in rocks glasses and carry them back to his desk. I set one in between his open laptop and his chrome-plated .45 caliber Kimber Model 1911. Setting my glass at the front of the desk I then go around it and stand beside him. He’s already cut me a fat line of his primo shit. He hands me the Benjamin and I bend down and snort the motherfucker. Then, like Vlad before me, I rub some of the shit on my gums.
Going back around the desk, I’m suddenly feeling slightly more optimistic about what will be my last job as a killer. God willing.
Lord, grant me strength...
Taking a seat in one of the two leather chairs placed in front of his desk, I say, “So what’s the fuckin’ plan, Vlad?”
2
Driving my Jeep Wrangler in the direction of the CBD shop, I go over the plan in my head again and again. To tell you the truth, it’s not even much of a plan so much as an assault on a middle-aged woman who’s never harmed anyone in her life, as far as I know anyway. I’ve met her before. Her name is Alexa and she’s an attractive late forty-something, brunette-haired woman with deep, brown, almond-shaped eyes, a beautiful smile, a very nice body that’s always packaged smartly in the latest and greatest fashions, and a quiet, if not calm, demeanor.
How in the world she ever fell for a man like Vlad or whatever his real name is, I’ll never know, but I suppose the money doesn’t hurt. And their house is big enough that they can occupy opposite sides of it and never run into one another even once for weeks at a time. That is, if they avoid using the kitchen at the same time.
As Vlad explained it, I was to quote break in unquote, to the home via the back door off the living room at around ten o’clock that night. Ten is the time of night Alexa typically showers and washes her hair so she doesn’t have to do it in the morning prior to her visiting the family-run CBD shops that Vlad owns and she manages.
To be honest, the CBD shops are just a money laundering front for his coke and meth dealing which he does right out of his basement in his North Albany mansion. It’s quite the operation with secret doors that lead to long, brightly lit tunnels that run under the adjacent country club golf course and that connect to cooking labs, offices, bathrooms, an armory, men’s and lady’s rooms, and even a dorm for those employees who need to get their rest.
But I digress.
So then, I’m to break into the home at ten o’clock precisely, head upstairs to Alexa’s bedroom (the married couple sleep in separate bedrooms), head into the bathroom, and shoot her through the glass shower door.
“Make sure to get headshot in there, da?” Vlad said while snorting yet another fat line. “Just like JFK in Dallas. We want to make sure she is good and dead.”
Once that’s accomplished, I’m to ransack the bedroom to make it look like a common robbery gone bad. I should perhaps take a couple of expensive bracelets, a couple of diamond rings, a few necklaces, things of that sort. Then I exit the bedroom, head down the stairs, and out the back door. Even though I’ll be retrieving a key from the North Albany CBD store, I’m to jimmy the back door off the living room with a pry bar which will also be supplied to me.
“Any questions, Father Tony?” Vlad said after taking a long swig of his vodka.
“Since this job is of a rather sensitive nature and involved a woman,” I said, “I’m sure you’ll agree to double my usual fee.”
He licked his lips with his snake-like tongue, lifted his left cheek, and let loose with a long, tight, squeaker of a fart. When he was done, he smiled, entirely relieved and satisfied with himself.
“You know what we refer to fart like that in old country, Father Tony?” he said.
“I can hardly wait to hear,” I said while already smelling the stench.
“We call it a rip-snorter.” He belly laughed and cut another line.
Standing, I made for the office door before I choked on the shitty air.
“No matter what, Vlad,” I said, “this is my last job.”
“Remember to pick up key and pry bar at CBD store in North Albany,” he said. “You will also find cash downpayment in there. Ten O’clock tonight. Do not be late, Father.”
“You don’t have to worry about my being tardy,” I said. “The only thing in life I hope to be late for is my own funeral.”
“Very funny,” the Russian mobster said. “Late for own funeral.”
I left Vlad’s office, an ex-priest who felt like he was as far away from God as a human being could possibly get.
3
The North Albany CBD store is located in a shopping plaza called Kimberly Square. It houses a big Price Chopper supermarket, a Planet Fitness gym, a post office, a hair salon, a popular watering hole called Lanies Café, a Keybank, a liquor store owned and operated by an Indian family, and a few other shops and services. I pull up to the curb directly in front of the CBD store, throw the Jeep in park, and leave the engine running.
Getting out, I head inside the store for the first time ever. The place is long and narrow. The smell of skunk pervades the air since the store not only sells CBD products but all varieties of marijuana now that you can smoke it legally in New York State.
A young guy is working behind a glass counter that’s filled with all sorts of products engineered to be good for you but that pretty much just gets you stoned. He’s tall, rock n’ roll skinny, and dressed in baggy jeans and a black t-shirt with the title “Vlad CBD” across the front in white block lettering. His face is pale and covered in a cancer beard. His sandy brown hair is fine, long, and pulled up into a man bun.
