Page 61 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Bruno

Bruno Mont sat on a busted leather chair in a portable cabin that he used as his site office, flicking through the channels on his TV remote.

The cabin was surrounded by seven hundred tons of scrap metal, mostly cars and refrigerators, and a single magnetic crane and a car crusher, which while technically were not scrap could certainly qualify under anyone else’s definition of the word.

As junkyards go, Mont’s Scrap Metal was one of the worst.

They didn’t need a junkyard dog to guard the place at night.

Bruno provided all the security that was required, largely through reputation.

He’d taken over the family business from his father five years ago after his dad passed on.

The first weeks on site, Bruno experienced the same problem that had plagued his father – thieves climbing the fence at night to steal the stockpile of catalytic converters.

The cat converters are rich in rare metals, and sell for between five hundred and a thousand dollars each.

After ten of them went missing one night, Bruno bought a TV and a cot bed and stayed in the junkyard overnight.

He caught a thief red-handed. A kid, maybe eighteen years old, part of a gang who stole cat converters from parked cars and junkyards. The rest of his crew knew he’d been caught, and they waited round the corner for the sirens.

But the cops never came.

All they heard was the grinding of the crusher, and the screams beneath it. And they never saw the kid again.

Now, all that Bruno needed to do was put on the light in the site cabin, and nobody would ever dare climb his fence again.

He sat in his chair, found the local news.

First, he watched the coverage from the Parker case, and then the Cross murder.

There wasn’t much reported about his friend.

Bruno didn’t really have friends. Not in the real sense.

But he’d found a companion of sorts in Cross, a single individual who he could be around without having to hide his true nature.

And that was important. Cross appreciated Bruno’s skills and his desires. Even fed off them.

His cell phone rang.

Too late to be a customer.

He answered, ‘Mont’s.’

‘I have a disposal job for you,’ said the voice. Male, unfamiliar.

‘We’re closed,’ said Bruno.

‘I’m interested in a particular kind of disposal.’

Bruno leaned forward, opened his desk drawer, took out one of half a dozen burner phones. He called out the number written on the back of the phone with a silver sharpie, then hung up and turned the burner on.

The call came through right away.

‘Who is this?’ asked Bruno.

‘Best if we don’t use names. I got a referral, couple of years ago, from an old friend of yours, Arthur Cross. I was sorry to hear he passed.’

‘Arthur was murdered.’

‘Shit, sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘I guess you could say Arthur had it coming.’

‘Are you still working?’

‘I’m working. What do you need?’

‘Two targets. Both are ex-law enforcement. I don’t need them to disappear – I just want them dead.’

‘That’ll cost you.’

‘What’s the damage?’

‘Depends. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty is the normal price, but for ex-cops I gotta charge more. You’re looking at twenty-five apiece.’

‘I can do that. Two things you need to know. One of them is a woman. You got a problem with that?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘You sure? ’Cause I had this problem before with contractors. They’re all gung-ho when they get their deposit, but they pussy out when it comes time to pull the trigger on a bitch. You’re not going to pussy out on me, are you?’

‘This wouldn’t be the first time I done a woman.’

‘I don’t know. I need to be sure you’re going to go through with this. This is a time-sensitive thing.’

‘I took out a little old lady in her own house. Broke her neck then dumped her over her balcony. Then I drove to an all-night diner and ate steak and eggs and then some pie. That make you feel better?’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘What’s the second thing I need to know?’

‘I need them taken out tonight.’

‘Tonight? It’s like seven already? That’s not possible.’

‘I know exactly where they will be. And they damn sure won’t be expecting you. I can add another ten to the deal. That’s sixty grand for a night’s work. Half now, half on fulfilment.’

Bruno stood up from the desk, looked out of the window at the mountain of rotting scrap.

He’d had to stare at that pile of metal garbage all day.

Every day. Just like his old man had. He didn’t know this guy, but if he knew Arthur well enough for him to give a recommendation for his friend, then he must be on the level.

And he sounded desperate.

‘Why tonight?’ asked Bruno.

‘I don’t think you need to worry about that. It’s got to be now or never. That’s all you need to know.’

A huge rat, the size of a small terrier, scuttled over the rusted hood of a Ford Pinto that sat atop the mound of junked cars.

‘Seventy-five,’ said Bruno. ‘Half now. Half when the job’s done. Or find somebody else.’

A pause.

For a moment, Bruno worried that he had priced himself out of the market.

He had some cash squirreled away, but not enough to live on.

The money from the Betty Le Saux job had never come through.

That lawyer had done Cross out of his inheritance.

Cross had been a smart guy, and Bruno knew that if he was ever going to get a big payday, it would likely come through Cross.

The Le Saux job had been a washout, but now one of Cross’s old pals might just come through for him.

With that kind of money, Bruno could sell up and ship out.

His days of doing five-grand hits for gangbangers and dirty cops were over.

One more job.

Tonight.

He could be in Baltimore by morning, then catch a plane and by this time tomorrow night he’d be sipping a cocktail in a bar in Boca Raton.

If he hadn’t blown it already.

‘Deal,’ said the man.

Bruno smiled, but it quickly faded. There was nothing really holding him back.

He could get out of the city anytime, but a strange sense of loyalty as well as a lack of funds had kept him in his father’s junkyard.

He had promised Arthur that he would take out Bloch.

She had managed to get away when he’d tried to kill her quietly.

He hated leaving loose ends. And he would feel bad leaving without fulfilling that promise to his late friend.

But seventy-five large was enough to at least make him feel better.

‘Give me your information and I’ll do the transfer,’ said the voice on the phone.

‘Just one word of warning,’ said Bruno. ‘When the job is done, you transfer the rest immediately. If you don’t pay, you become the next target. You understand?’

‘I got it. Your targets are Gabriel Lake and Melissa Bloch. You can find them in . . .’

As Bruno wrote down the information on a notepad, his heart filled with the promise of destiny fulfilled.

He was meant to have this job.

This was a gift from Arthur, from beyond the grave.

Everything felt right.

Or it soon would, soon as he shot Lake and Bloch dead.