Untitled story - chapter five

Chapter five.

12:57. Looks like I'm running late.
Doesn't matter, if I know him, he's probably late too.
I walk down the stairs to the dimly lit bar.

Joe's bar. Strange name, considering that the owner's name is Paul.
The owner, after taking over the place, decided not to change it.
The place was full of custom made stuff, like glasses, coasters, pitchers,
and a cheesy neon sign behind the bar.
It would be more work than it's worth to change everything.
Besides, this isn't exactly a high class place.

Joe's place is just the kind of place people like me go to, people who seek
discretion, a place under the radar.
Nobody important ever came here, and the law enforcement
doesn't care what went on here either.
But it wasn't always like this.

About 20 years ago, Joe's bar was the place to be for all the higher ups in
what's commonly known as the Mafia. the top people, the bosses.
That was when Joe, the original owner, ran the place.
Before then, it was a Irish pub, it still had some marks of that time, like the
bar, made of massive oak, handcrafted by some hard working Irish immigrant long ago.

This was a top spot during the prohibition era, the best place in town
to indulge in the then forbidden act of drinking alcohol.
Times sure change.

But this place hadn't changed much, before Joe took over, that is.
When he ran it, it was at the top, and now, it was the bottom.
Nobody important ever came, just the low level guys.
The workers. The grunts. The bottom.

I look around the room. Two middle aged hookers is sitting at a table, drinking martinis.
And a tired old man is sitting at the bar, drinking whiskey.
He's not here yet, I arrived first as usual.
I walk over to the back end of the bar and sit down.
The bartender, who just happens to be the owner, comes over, polishing a glass.
I order a beer, might as well, there's no telling how long I'd have to wait.

13:42. Finally.
Two men walk down the stairs, one of them I recognize.
I get out of my seat, the bartender understands, and unlocks the door behind the bar, leading to the back room.
The two men walk over behind the bar and enter.
I walk around and follow them in.

I hear the door close behind me and the bartender locks it from the outside.
Time to get to business.

"What took you so long?" I ask one of them, while the other one looks around,
apparently confused.
The man I addressed just shrugs.
I sigh.
"Let's get going with it."

The room is small and bare, a light bulb hanging from a cord in the ceiling is
the only source of light other than the small dirt window up at street level.
Looks like nobody has washed that windows for a long time.

Boxes, crates and extra chairs was piled against the walls.
A chair stood in the middle of the room, right under the light.
The room is secluded, private, but most important, sound proof.
Perfect for interrogations.

I grab a baseball bat that's leaning against the wall.
A quick swing to the head, and he's down.
I pull him up and place him in the chair.
The red haired man walks over.
"Never say your pal Nick doesn't come trough when you need him."
He smirks.
"are you sure this is the guy?" I ask him, letting him now it's time for business.
"That's the guy alright." He assure me.
"Good." I hope he's right, or this would be nothing but a waste of time.
Something I didn't have enough of.

I turn around. Nick the rat.
He hasn't changed much since I first met him.
I was 15, i had just moved here with my dad.
I got in trouble almost right
away.
I met Nick in detention.
I watched him steal the wallet belonging to the teacher watching us, to make sure we did our schoolwork, and didn't sneak off.
Of course, we did anyway.

He hasn't changed much since then.
Short, skinny, spiky red hair and a big grin on his face.
He's a bit taller, and he has some patchy facial hair, probably forgot to shave again, but other than that, he looked the same he did when I first met him, twelve years ago.

The tied up man grunts.
I watch him closely as he slowly gains consciousnesses.
He's still disoriented from the blow to the head.
I turn to Nick.
"Water."

He leaves the room and comes back shortly with a glass full of cold water.
I nod, and he throws it in the mans face.
That should wake him up.
Nick places the empty glass on top of a crate and I move in towards the man.
I grab his head and pull it back.
I let the light from the lamp above blinds him, and I shove his head back.

"What the fucking is going on?" he asks.
"Who are you?" This might take a while.
I look down at him, he's not grasping the situation.

"Who do you work for?" The question seems simple enough.
"What?" Apparently not clear enough.
"Who do you work for?" I ask again.

Looks like he needs some persuasion.
I grab the bat and hit him over the legs, hard.
"What the hell, man!? what's this about!?"
"I asked you..." i hit again.
"Who you work for." Another hit.

"Aah... fuck!" he moans. "I work for a real estate company! Fuck!"
As a front, maybe.
"Don't bullshit us." nick advise him.
I put more emphasis on "who" this time.
"I don't know what you're talking about."

Another swing, right at his knees.
He screams in pain, good thing the room is sound proof.
I raise the bat again.
"No, wait!" Did I get trough to him?

"Hollander. I work for Albert Hollander" I look over at Nick.
He looks as surprised as I feel.
"Hollander?" Nick asks, in disbelief.
Albert Hollander is one of the richest people in the country.
That he would be associated with this Mafia-thug seemed unlikely.

"Tell Paulie I'm sorry, I needed the money..."
"Save the Henry Hill speech." I interrupt him.
"Just tell us what you know."
"I can't. They'll kill me."
"We will kill you if you don't." Nick informs him.

Looks like he's not going to talk.
I pick up the bat again, and before he can mouth a word, I swing.
The first swing lands on his left arm, a loud crack tells me I probably broke it.
The second swing hits him in the chest.

He gasps as the air leave his lungs.
He struggles for breath as the third swing lands, to the side of his head.
Swings to the head is tricky business.
If you break the jaw, they might not be able to talk, and there's a risk they get knocked out.

He's breathing heavy, blood is sipping out from the wound in his head, into his hair.
Gasping for air, he looks about ready to crack.
"Start talking." I order him.

The tone of my voice, and the bloodstained bat, sends a strong message.
Breathing heavy, he pulls himself together.

"OK... I'll talk." He gasps. I focus on him, making sure I take in every word.
"You said you work for Albert Hollander?" I ask him.
I start pacing, trying to make everything fit together.
"Yeah..." he answers, sounding a little uneasy.
"Not bloody likely." Nick mutters. "Why would a guy like that work with scum like you?"
"I'm not lying, I swear on my mothers life, it's true."

I signal him to continue.
"I didn't meet him in person..." I'm not surprised.
"...At first." I stop.
He coughs hard and gaps.
"Could I have some water, please?" he pleads.

Nick looks over at me, and I nod. He takes the empty glass and goes to get it refilled.

He knocks on the door and the bartender opens it.
He comes back shortly, and the door is locked once more.

"Tell you what. Since you asked nicely..." Nick says, walking over to the tied up man.
"You can have half now, and the rest after you've told us what we want to hear."
"Thanks."
He says, and Nick holds up the glass to his mouth.
Nick holds the glass, tipping it slowly, kind of like when you help a infant drink.

He gulps down the water, greedily, trying to get as much water as humanly possible in as fast as possible.

Nick pulls the glass way, and he coughs and gasps for a few seconds.
He drank too fast. I look over at Nick.
At least two thirds of the water is gone.
He breathes heavy.

"I think you broke my leg." he says,  quenching in pain.
"That will be the least of your troubles unless you start talking." I tell him.
"OK, OK..." He struggles to control his breathing.

"I got approached by this guy, Lou. Said he could set me up with some extra work.
Low risk, high pay. He set up a meeting with this guy, Kingston."

"What was the job?" I ask him, listening hard to his every word, to be sure i got all the information.
"Dealing. Coke, smack. The usual. High class stuff, too. The deals were all set up.
All I had to do was pick up the stuff, meet the buyer, take the money, and drop it off, and I'd get 10%."

"Sounds simple." Nick remarked, leaning against a pile of boxes.
"It was. The deals was all set up, different locations every time, the same with the drops.
Everything was set up in advance.
I got the time and place of both the buy and the drop, last minute every time."

"How did you get the information?" I asked.
"Disposable cellphones. Incoming calls only. I got a new one every week."
"sound like a tight operation." Nick remarked, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket.

The man watched him light up.
"Can I have one of those?" He asked.
Nick took a long drag of the cigarette.
"And how would you smoke it, being all tied up like that?"
"You could untie me?" He said, hopefully.
This is something I can use.

"We'll untie your arms, and give you a smoke..."
He opened is mouth to say something, but i silenced him.
"IF... You tell us exactly how and when you came in contact with Albert Hollander."
Looks like he's contemplating his choices.
"Alright." he says. The urge for nicotine was stronger, it seems.

"I got a call from Kingston, told me to go to a parking garage downtown, at 3pm."

He squirm a little, then he continues.
"I got there, and this black Beamer was waiting for me. I got in the back seat, and he was in the front."
"How did you know it was him?" Nick asks, still sounding skeptical.
"Saw his face in the rear view mirror. Besides, I recognized his voice."

Not surprising, Albert Hollander was not exactly camera shy.
You can hardly turn on a television, read a newspapers or turn on the radio without hearing something about him.

He can always be seen at fund raisers and charity events.
He even ran the marathon, to raise money for cancer research, and he's renounced for his generosity.
He gives out scholarships to college to gifted inner city kids, he owns and finances
hospitals, schools homeless shelters etc.
Honestly, I'm not surprised. Nobody that rich and that generous can be all good, not in this town.

"So, what did he say?" I say, urging him to continue.
"He says he's been following my progress, said I was doing a good job.
Kingston had told him all about me, he said."
"Well, isn't that nice." Nick said, sarcastically
"Right..." He seemed a little thrown off by that remark.
"Continue." I tell him, more encouraging than Nick.
"Sure." He nodded. Looks like he lost his place.
"What did he want you to do?" I ask, trying to steer him back on track.
"A big job, really important. Just between him and me, really important."
"Yeah yeah, big job, huge responsibility... Get on with it." Nick said, sounding annoyed.

"He told me to kill someone. A police chief." He continued, less enthusiastically now.
A thought hits me. I hope I'm wrong.
"When did this happen?" I ask him, silently hoping I was not right.
he think for a second.
"Four months ago." he said. "May 13:th." It hits me like a kick in the gut.
"It was all set up, on the night of the 15:th."

The same night. That night, that the media had dubbed "the slaughter night."
"That's all I know." I untie him, and Nick, a little reluctantly, gives him a cigarette.

I pull out my gun to shoot him, but I stop. If this guy was one of the people hired to
kill those people, why was he still alive?
They had hit me that same night, and if it wasn't for the feds, I would probably be dead, right?
So how come nobody had come after this guy?
If Hollander was involved, and he hired him, that must be he's part of that cartel.
If Hollander financed any of his businesses with drug money, the feds could close them down.

The shelters, the scholarships, the soup kitchens... It would be a huge blow to the city.
Not to mention a huge scandal.
The media would eat it up.
There's no way Hollander could risk this getting out.
So why was this guy, this thug, still alive?

I walk over to him, silently, and knock him out.
"Take him to the closest hospital." I tell Nick.
To make any kind of sense in this, i need more information.

We capture a mafia thug, to get some information, and now we had more than we could handle.

I have a bad feeling in my stomach as I walk out of the bar.
This is only going to get worse before it's over.