Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 05

Luigi was the only person to stick by him, not from any sense of loyalty but because his mental capacity was insufficient to enable him to think of an alternative occupation.

"Luigi, where's Rocco?"

"He didn't come back from the funeral."

"The bastard has probably skipped with the rest of them. Go and look for him, and when you find him tell him I want to see him. If he doesn't want to come, bring him."

"Where do I find him?"

"If I knew that I wouldn't need you to look for him would I? Try his house."

Luigi shambled out the door. I was waiting for him.

"Hey Luigi, you don't know me, but you knew a friend of mine."

"What?"

"You were, I understand, the last person to see Melissa Feldham alive."

"Yeah, her. Pretty, pretty."

"You raped her."

"Pretty, pretty. Good fuck."

"Do you realize that if the police were to find out that you raped her before you threw her off the balcony they would put you in jail for a long time, and you do know what they do to rapists in jail, don't you?" He stared dumbly at me and it was then that I realized that he would never be aware of the consequences of his actions. He had been following orders. He would continue to blindly follow orders, and although it was possible that the police may be able to gain a conviction against him, he would never realize why. There was one way and one way only that the enormity of his actions would be brought home to him. I took the gun from my belt and taking aim shot him between the legs. He would rape no more.

Luigi lay on the ground, a look of total disbelief on his face, the first time his expression had changed. I took a wad of cloth from my pocket and told him to press it firmly into his groin to stem the bleeding and rang 911 from a call box on the corner. When the operator answered I said, "This is the Avenger and this should be my last call. There is a man who has been shot in the groin and is losing a lot of blood. He is wanted for the rape and murder of Melissa Feldham." I gave the location and left. I had a rendezvous to keep.

"Hey!" The voice came from behind me. I turned to be confronted by the biggest, most lethal looking gun barrel I had ever seen. (It wasn't really but I'm trying to build suspense here).

I was also confronted by Rocco, one of the men who was so gentle with me while I was a guest of the Costanzo organization. "I thought that I recognized you at the funeral. Pretty smart hey, turning up at your own funeral. Now what are you going to do?"

"What I'm going to do is to get the hell out of this sleazy city and find some peace and quiet somewhere."

"And how do you intend doing that?" The gun threatened me almost as much as the confidence in his voice.

"Well, I figured that I would walk down the road here and catch a subway train to Grand Central and get on the first train that leaves. I don't really care where it takes me as long as it's away from people like you."

"You think you're a smart guy don't you? And what if I was to try to stop you?"

"Then I would have to do this." The arrogance of the man was obvious and it was about to become his undoing. He had, for years, been able to intimidate people by the sheer weight of his reputation and it was beyond his mental capacity to believe that anyone, least of all someone he considered to be a soft target, would be stupid enough to stand up to him. I wasn't stupid but I was angry enough to try it.

Without him being aware of it I had managed to move my hand around to my back. I had stashed my gun in the back of my trousers and in my hand it felt comfortable, I was surprised just how comfortable, with it in its grasp. My hand whipped forward and flame shot from the muzzle as soon as the gun had cleared my side. It wasn't a mortal wound, the bullet grazing his temple, but it was enough to prevent him from carrying out his threat.

Rocco managed to fire a shot, probably a last dying twitch of his finger. I recall reading a description of an approaching bullet as having the sound of an angry insect. I don't know about that because the distance between Rocco and me was that small that I didn't hear the bullet arrive. I had also read that the impact of a bullet hitting a body is akin to a blow by a sledge hammer, this one I can vouch for. I have also read somewhere that the path of a bullet passing through the body had a burning sensation. I knew that the bullet had hit me in the arm; I couldn't feel anything immediately except for the warm sticky feel of blood running down the inside of my sleeve.

I took a handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped as best as I could around my arm. I used the clip of my pen to hold the ends together because I couldn't tie a decent knot in it. I couldn't see any blood on the outside of my jacket so I put it back on, hoping that the casual glance of passersby wouldn't notice that I'd been shot.

Rocco lay on the pavement, eyes open in disbelief, his mouth mouthing words that never came out. He was losing consciousness as I took his gun from his hands and replaced it with mine. The police, when they found him would associate the gun with the wound to Luigi, particularly as I left a note on his shirt to that effect, and even if he tried to convince them that I had shot him they were unlikely to believe him based on the evidence before them. How could a dead man shoot someone, especially after his funeral?

I made it to my car okay, relieved that it was an automatic that I could steer with one hand.

I was home free; at least that's what I thought until I became aware of the car following me. It wasn't one of Guido's, of that I was sure, just as I was sure that it wasn't one of the DEA Fords. It didn't look like any of the unmarked police cars that I'd seen so that left either the FBI, CIA or some other interested party.

I drove as if I hadn't noticed the car hoping to lull them into a false sense of security. It was time to see if a plan that I had thought of, and used in one of my books, would actually work.

I had prepared for this eventuality and had laid out an escape route that I was sure would work. I drove slowly down the street until I reached the next intersection. There were three cars between mine and the followers. As I reached the intersection the lights changed to red and I put my foot down hard on the accelerator, sliding around the corner and out of sight of my tail. It was important that they didn't see the next maneuver.

I quickly drove into the entrance of a parking garage, took a ticket from the dispenser and headed for the top floor. I needed to gain as much time as possible. I figured that they would overshoot the parking garage entrance and have to double back. If they decided that I was in the parking station they would set up a watcher at the entrance and exits and send a car in to see if they could find my car. In my thoughts I wished them good luck.

Parking my car I locked it and walked to the far end of the level where I had left another, totally different car. This was a Jaguar sedan, gleaming in its British Racing Green splendor. From the trunk I took the long haired wig, the magenta tinted pebble glasses, and the flower power jacket that I had bought from a theatrical costumer. I was an eccentric former hippie who hadn't quite let go of his past.

I drove slowly down the ramp towards the ground level. Half way down I passed the car that had followed me slowly working its way up. I had just reached the lower level when they found my other car. One of the men raced over to it to find me gone and the car locked. "Have you seen Feldham come out?" The other man yelled into his radio to the two men watching the exits.

"No-one has come out." Was the response from both.

The car did a tire smoking and screeching one hundred and eighty degree turn as the man scrambled into the passenger seat. It sped back down the ramp. "Has any car come out in the last five minutes?" He asked the watchers.

I was right, there was a man standing, trying hard to look inconspicuous, on the pavement opposite, checking each of the cars coming from the parking station. I didn't stop at the boom gate, raising it with the remote control I was given when I rented the parking space for six months.

As I left the man watching spoke into a hand held radio. "No-one except some long haired type who's just pulling out in a Jaguar."

"That's him! Keep your eye on him and we'll be down as soon as we can!"

Their arrival at the exit was as spectacular as I had seen in the movies. Without hesitation they drove through the boom gate, splintering it and leaving it scattered across the driveway. The attendant raced out and yelled something at them that was lost in the sound of tortured rubber as they left. The attendant memorized the number and raced back to his cubicle to call the security company that would investigate the incident. It would do no more about it when the identity of the car's owner was revealed.

I had just turned the corner when they emerged from the parking station and pulled briefly to a halt beside the watcher. "Which way did he go?"

"He turned left at the next corner."

The car sped away from the kerb, pausing just long enough for the second watcher to scramble into the back seat before the driver gunned it down the road.

I hadn't wasted any time once I had gotten out of sight, accelerating down the road to the next intersection hoping to be able to turn right before the others reached the first corner. At most they would have seen the rear of the car as I disappeared. "I want any available operative to look out for a dark green Jaguar sedan being driven by a person with long hair and a weird colored coat. When you see him radio in a location and wait for us to reach you. Under no circumstance are you to approach. I repeat, do not approach!"

Out of sight of my pursuers I removed the wig and glasses, the coat could wait until I reached my destination. By turning right and right again I was headed in the opposite direction to that which I first took. A few minutes later I pulled into the office of the car rental agency that specialized in foreign makes. Leaving the car there I caught a cab to another rental agency and leased another car. I was hoping that by the time the first car was located I would be well clear of New York and headed for Maine.

Within minutes of leaving the car at the agency it had been leased to another client.

Billy Green (it was actually Greenbaum but Billy preferred just Green) was as happy as he had ever been in his twenty two years. He had promised Rachel that he would have something special for their honeymoon and this was it. He was going to drive her to the Niagara Falls in a Jaguar. During their courtship he had often expressed the desire to own one, but economic prudence had meant that this was just a dream.

"I don't want a BMW or a Mercedes, or even an Audi, I want a Jaguar. You advertise that you have Jaguars for rent so why can't I have one?"

"Because we have none available at this time."

Billy was just about to concede defeat when I pulled into the forecourt. "What about that one?" He said pointing as I got out and headed for the office.

"But Sir, we have to detail the car first and ensure that it is fuelled and ready before we can allow it out of our yard."

"I don't care about all of that. I just want that car, and I'm prepared to take it in its present condition."

I walked in and handed the keys over and caught a cab to the other rental agency. The car that I'd arranged to rent was different, it was plain looking Audi A4.

As I left the Jaguar behind clerk had just decided to allow Billy to take the Jaguar.

Billy had many dreams that he shared with Rachel. They had attended the same High School and Rachel had worked evenings in Billy's parent's 711 supermarket, she a cashier and he a stock boy. They had dated through High School and during college vacations. Billy had studied Business Management while Rachel had studied Economics. They had visions of expansion when Billy inherited the business from his father. In the meantime he was working in the market office while Rachel worked as a journalist with a local television station, doing analysis of the stock market and world trade.

Now Billy was driving home in the Jaguar to marry his Rachel and make his parents happy. Rachel would meet him just outside the town and they would drive in together, imagining themselves to be some kind of important people.

So lost in his dreams was Billy that he almost didn't stop at the toll booth at the beginning of the toll way. The Jaguar screeched to a halt just in time for him to fish in his pockets for the toll.

So lost in his thoughts was Billy that he was unaware of the toll booth supervisor picking up the telephone. "That car that you are looking for has just passed through the gates and is heading north."

The person on the other end of the phone immediately picked up a radio microphone. He called in a helicopter to pick him up and then called in the Highway Patrol. "There is a Dark Green Jaguar heading North on the toll way. I want it stopped and the driver apprehended. Use whatever force is necessary."

The Highway Patrol placed a call to the nearest cruiser, ordering the crew to stop the car and detain the driver. Again the instruction to use whatever force was necessary was given.

Five minutes later a startled Billy was confronted by a patrol car. He was even more startled by the manner of the driver and his partner. "Get out of the car, now!"

"What is wrong?" Billy had been taught to always be extra polite to policemen.

"Shut up and get out of the car!"

Billy got out.

"Lay on the ground, face down!"

Billy lay on the ground. "What do you want?"

"Shut the fuck up! Hands behind your back!" The patrolman knelt beside Billy with his knee on Billy's neck. The handcuffs rasped closed, tightly on his wrists.

"What have I done?" Billy couldn't understand his position.

"I think this man is trying to escape arrest, don't you?" The patrolman asked his partner.

"I do believe that you are correct. I also believe that a certain amount of force is required to restrain him." The second patrolman kicked Billy in the side of the head, just hard enough for it to hurt without him losing consciousness.

"I still don't think he has learnt his lesson, do you?"

"No, I get the impression that as soon as our back is turned he will try to make his escape. I think a more permanent solution is required." The patrolmen had been told to use whatever force was necessary and took this to mean that whoever wanted this man didn't care if he was dead or alive when they arrived to pick him up, and a dead prisoner was much easier to handle than a live one.

The first patrolman grabbed Billy by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back. "He doesn't look all that dangerous, but you just never can tell with these young punks."

"Look he is trying to escape!" Billy's eyes had fluttered as he tried to focus on his captors.

The patrolman took his revolver from its holster and, placing it at Billy's neck, pulled the trigger. The bullet was a soft point, designed for the maximum amount of damage, it passed unhindered through the carotid artery and into the spine where it spread, taking the first and second vertebra with it and severing the spinal cord. If in the remote chance that he survived the damage to the artery and the damage to the spine, Billy would never be able to enjoy life again, fortunately for him he did not survive the passage of the bullet.

Several minutes later the sound of a helicopter was heard, approaching from the South. It landed in a cloud of dust and a man in a dark suit emerged and walked over to the waiting patrolmen. He glanced down at Billy lying on the ground. He looked at the patrolmen and then looked back at the body on the ground. "Who the fuck is this?"

"He was driving the car."

"How come he is dead?"

"He resisted arrest."

"So you shot him."

"We were ordered to use whatever force was necessary."

"That would have been fine if you had gotten the right man. This is not who we're looking for."

"But he was the only person in the car."

"Did you stop to ask for some form of identification?"

"We didn't know who it was that we were looking for, so what good would that have done?"

"You could have radioed in to confirm."

"What happens now?"

The man in the suit checked the body. The bullet had passed through and had emerged out the other side. "Find that bullet and dispose of it then radio in that you have come across what looks to be a gang hit. I suggest that you get rid of any form of identity to make it look like it could have been a hijacking gone horribly wrong. When this hits the media we will have to issue a statement decrying the level of violence in today's society.

He walked back to the chopper and disappeared in a swirling cloud of dust. As it became airborne he was on the radio to his base, "I want a check of all car rental agencies, I want to find if anyone remotely resembling Feldham has rented a car in the last hour. If you find anything I want to be told immediately!"

Marshall Griffin was in damage control mode and very angry indeed. "How the fuck could you let some pissant amateur get away from you?"

"We don't know."

"Fucking incompetent idiots! Now listen and listen closely, I want no further fuck-ups. Do I make myself clear on this?"

There was general agreement that his point was well made but none of the agents seemed terribly happy about it.

19

I had almost gotten clear of the city when I noticed a car following me. It followed me until I had cleared the traffic congestion of the city and was driving on a relatively deserted section of the highway.

To make sure that it was following and not just some coincidental meeting on the road I turned off onto a secondary road that was heading in the general direction of my destination. It followed.

It followed me into the hills and the narrow winding road. I felt safer here, there would be few opportunities for the driver of the following car to do anything stupid or dangerous, at least that was what I thought.

As I swept through a left hand bend the driver of the other car moved up close behind me. I could see in the rear view mirror that he wasn't alone. I was getting just a little anxious.

The next left hand bend and the car moved up beside me. I glanced anxiously across to see the barrel of a pistol pointing right at me. I thought quickly. If I was shot and the car crashed then there would be the possibility that whoever found the wreck and presumably my dead body would also find the bullet and come to the conclusion that it was not an accident. I came to the conclusion that the gun was to frighten me into trying to get away from them and maybe, just maybe, having an accident that didn't involve the intervention of a bullet.

My racing mind told me to keep driving as quickly and smoothly as possible and force them into some other plan. The other plan that they were forced to use was to try to run me off the road. Now I don't know about you but I have always thought that this sort of situation in the movies or on television lacked a little realism. You have huge trucks trying to run a small car off the road and the car manages to stay on the road with almost no damage. Now for mine, if a huge truck ran into a small car it would be totaled.

Two cars of similar configuration is a different matter entirely, especially if the driver of one of them hasn't had his opinion of the outcome clouded by watching too many movies.

I have read somewhere and don't ask me where, that if a driver tries to cut you off and you really want to do some damage to him you hit the brakes and when his vehicle swerves in front of you accelerate, hitting him on the rear corner where the least amount of weight and therefore traction is happening.