TWW Niccolo: Strega Sorte.

The Twilight War Niccolo: Strega Sorte.

(21-10-99)

I love Hotel Jobs.

There's really no other way to say it. I mean where else can you walk in with 3 duffel bags full of guns and no one even looks at you?

They keep a big list of what room everyone is in, and NUMBER the rooms..

There IS no other way out of the room.

It's beautiful.

The first thing I did was stop and call the hotel. Asked if they had any Pay Channels. They said they had them all.
I said Thanks and hung up. Then I bought a paper. I scanned the TV section, looking for a war movie, or a cop show.

Probability loves me. The first flight from California came in at 4:00. The same time a certain movie was playing.

I took the Lexus to the hotel in Waltham at 5:15.There was plenty of parking. I walked right up to the Font Desk, and asked for a certain person's name. The desk Clerk, a pretty blonde woman of 30 named Sue, called up, and told them I was coming. The room number was 427. She was very friendly.

I got in the elevator. 4'th floor please.

In the elevator I concentrated. I was going to need to be fast. I flooded my system with adrenaline. I could feel my mind sharpen. I held it back. Wait

I exit the elevator, Primed, ready.

I knock lightly on the door.
"Who is it?" a dull gravely voice asks.
I smile to myself. "Housecleaning!" I announce cheerfully. The door is no barrier to my eyes

I watch one of the boys get up, and come over to the door. I draw my gun, already silenced, and place it a scant inch from the eyehole.

And the fool DOESN'T LOOK.

The door opens. I , and the world Move s S l o w e r , L i k e t h i c k t a f f y .

He unlatches the doorlock and unbolts it, opening the way for me. When his head clears the metal door, I shoot him. He catches it just above the right eyebrow.

He begins to fall.
I turn my wrist and shove him diagonally to the right with the gun butt. Pushing him the rest of the way down with the door. He lands, leaking on the bathroom floor, his lower half lying on the doorway. He bounces once, and I turn .

There are two more of them, playing cards by the window. One was short , stocky and only had one eyebrow. I made a seperation for him. The Back of his head didn't like that very much and vomited to prove it. The other almost had time to realize what had happened to his friend across the table before I introduced the Back of his skull to the front of his face with a slug.

I close the door.

"Good evening, my name Is Niccolo. Sorry to interrupt your friends card game."

I turn on the TV set to the appropriate station. I make it LOUD.

It's the part right after Deniro shoots the Pimp. He's already going through the hallway, doing what he must.

The man sitting on the bed stares at me. His cigarette hung limply from his lip, unlit, like a leaf from a cancer tree..

"Better light that, or put it back." I suggest. He looks from me to the thick grayish pink detrus sliding down the window thick like snot.

"Guess who I am?"

The bleeeding man on the TV keeps wailing that he's going to Kill That Crazy Sunovabitch.

The hoarse gravelly voice answers " I don't think I have to, do I?"

"No." He was in the command structure. He knew what was up.

"How'd you know the code word?" He lights up.

"There was a code word?" I smile at him thinly. "I just thought it would be funny if I said "Housecleaning" before I cleaned house."

He didn't seem to think it was amusing. I've got to get the hang of this humor thing.

"So, the deals off, and I go home. Tell Roman you caught us."

"No."

"Ah Shesus, Wait! Hang on! We're not done! We can talk right?" His eyes were wide with the fear of impending impact. He stank of fearful sweat, and old ashtrays.

"Sure. Keep your hand on your Cigarette, and your lighter in the other." I answered.
"Lissen, you know how this goes. It's just business. I don't really CARE about your boss, I just have to set up getting him whacked. Let me go back to Providence, and tell Roman you were on to us? How's that?" He was very nervous, sweatingHoping beyond hope I'd say yes.

Too bad.

"Let's talk about Roman for a minute." He nodded. " He's so arrogant. He SERIOUSLY expects to send one of his Lieutenants, and 3 of his boys here to meet a shooter, to kill my Boss. In our own backyard?"

He looks side to side"Well"

"He fully belives that I can't or won't stop him? After blocking his attempt to steal Worcester from us? You serve a Fool, and you're Foolish for it." I spoke with quiet finality.

I empty the clip into his chest and stomach. It's a crying shame. They were nice sheets.

On the TV, Deniro is miming shooting himself in the head over and over.blood dripping from his fingers.
The phone rings.

"Hallo?" I say, roughening my voice. "Yeah, I'm watching TV. Sorry. It's Taxi Driver. I love DeniroI'll turn it down."

I turn down the TV. It works every time. People always believe what they expect to believe.

I have probably about 15-20 minutes before the shooter gets here. I spend it collecting my Brass. Collecting my empties gives the cops less to go on, and makes everyone a little more nervous about me. Besides, I like to recycle.

Another reason I love hotels, The beds are built right into the floor, so I don't have to go digging under the bed to find my casings.

After about 10 minutes I took the place of the first poor bastard by waiting by the door. 5 minutes later, there was a knock.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"Housecleaning."
"Its open." I answer.

The door opened, and the fellow found a silencer digging into his cheekbone. I clicked back the hammer noisily. The look on his face should have graced a calendar entitled "unpleasant surprises".

"Pity. I already Cleaned this room." He didn't get the joke either. Guess I'm just not funny to anyone.

"Sit down on the other bed, and don't step in any Mook on your way there." I gave up. Tough audience. People never see the humor inherent in a situation.

"Gonna shoot me?" he asked. Matter of fact. Normally I admire that.

"Sadly, no. We make it a habit not to shoot the messenger. In the event that we ever need your.Talents, you will be poorly disposed towards helping us if you were dead. Now hold still. I'm in the middle of doing something and you interrupted me." I eased the gun off of him slightly and withdrew my stiletto from my wrist sheath.

He started slightly, and then began to look green when he realized it wasn't for him. I held the dead Lieutenant's had down on the nightstand with my foot, with the gun still pointed vaguely at the shooter.

The stiletto made a familiar noise as it first violated the seal on the index finger joint, and then a loud POP as I twisted it and the finger came loose. I wiped the stiletto on the bed and replaced it. I removed a doubled up pair of plastic sandwich baggies from my coat pocket. In went the finger. I held out the bag.
"Seal this."
"What?!" Shock and nausea warred on his face.
"It's a ziplock bag. I'm not putting down my gun. Do the math." He swallowed some bile and did it. He wasn't wearing gloves. This was a sniper all right. No close work for him. Death by telescope.

I put the freshly sealed digit into my pocket.

"Normally this would be the part where I say, get in your rental car. And get out of my city. And as the Fist of the Antonucchi Family, this is what I say." He looked relieved. " As Niccolo Tserovich, I say:"

I brought the gun butt down across the bridge of his nose. He made a pained noise and a wet crackling noise. I waited for him to gasp a bit so he'd be paying attention. It's hard to further intimidate a man gasping for his life. They just don't listen to anything but their need for air.

"You accepted a Hit on a man who is better to me than my own Father. A good Man, a Kind Man. You have made me Very Angry." My eyes bore into his. "If it would not hurt him to have me disobey his wishes, I would kill you slowly. As it is, I let you off with a warning." I handed him a tissue. "Wipe that up and give me the tissue." He gave me an odd look, but obeyed. Cleaning the blood off his nose and upper lip.

"Now I have your blood. You can never escape me. I have your life in my hands now. Tell Roman this. I kept all of his important men's trigger fingers. I have their power now. I have your blood, and now your life is mine."

"Mr. Antonucchi believes in the old ways. I am his Strega Sorte. There is no hiding from me. Now get out."

He did. Rapidly. Another seed sown. Another member of the underworld convinced I'm the Antonucci "Witch of Fate".

Another truth spoken.

I discarded the bloody tissue and the Outermost ziplock bag in the trash. Oops. Looks like the shooter got careless. Pity. Now they think the Fingerman Killer is that poor bastard.

This was against the code. I was overstepping my bounds. I'd just framed this man.

That's what you get when you make mistakes like he did. I holstered my gun and walked out the door.

The other thing I like about hotels are that all the doorways are raised. This keeps all of the blood from the first guy on the bathroom tile, and not on the rug on the way out. It's nice. It keeps my shoes clean.

I hate wiping blood off my gas pedal.

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Last update 18-october-99