Homecall
"This ain't about who is right, it's about who is left"
The phone rang. A badly scarred hand picked it up. A high pitched, obnoxious voice talked.
"Hello this is Nick from Gryll's pizza house. Our delivery boy called home sick. We require your services. Next delivery is set for Cloverdale St , complex number 3 , apartment 4E. Hurry up now, we don't want our clients to eat a cold pizza, do we?"
The call ended. The hand set down the phone. A very rough and sore voice spoke.
"Get the engine running." It said calmly.
Cloverdale St. That was downtown. A small alleyway street filled with blocks of flats. A car stopped outside the building. Two men walked out of the vehicle.One wore a black military field cargo jacket paired with black leather gloves and dark jean pants. The other wore a white T-shirt with camo fatigue pants, but something looked very odd about him. The only thing sure was that they didn't arrive to hand out pizzas.
It wasn't very late, but nobody hangs in a place like this.They entered the flat's dimly lit reception. They place looked dirty and run down. Pieces were torn of the cement walls and stains of unknown origin covered the floors. It smelled like something had died in there. No night guard. It seemed that the landlords couldn't afford one. If the landlords cared about that mess of course.
The one with the jacket stopped and took a look at the mailboxes. 4E he said .He run his finger through the names listed on the mailboxes.It didn't take him a while as he soon paused at the fifth label of the fourth floor."No name" said his partner behind him.His voice was rough as sandpaper.
"Serves us right." The man took a moment to look around the small reception. "Check the elevator." He instructed
"Out of order." He reported.
"We take the stairs, fourth floor."
The stairs didn't look any better. Most lights were out , the walls were unpainted and the whole structure seemed it could collapse on itself on any minute. Even the handrail was dismantled.
The two men quietly climbed to the fourth floor. "4E" repeated one. "On the left" answered the other. He spun his head. A door opened and a canine came out.They both took a moment to observe him.
"The clothes look right." whispered one man to the other. The dog wore a white suit with purple shirt on the inside and a green tie.Union mafia. This is the right place.
The canine hadn't noticed them yet. He was taking a cigarette break. He was mad that he had lost in a game of cards and wanted to relax. He saw in the edges of his vision a man in a leather jacket approach down the corridor."Hey, who the fuck are you?" he asked them, as he spun around. "I am here to deliver a pizza." told him the man in the jacket.
"We didn't order any pizza." responded the canine. His eyes shifted from those indifference to those of horror. He felt a sharp pain and blood trickled down his neck. As soon as the man got close enough with an expert and quick movement , he lodged a combat knife in his throat.He tried to scream but his windpipe was destroyed.He tried to pull the knife out but the attacker was too strong and kept it in place. His vision started to blur and then there was only darkness. The man grabbed him by the shoulders and set him down slowly as to not create noise.He immediately placed his ear against the apartment's door and listened closely.
"Three voices.Two at eleven o'clock and one at two."he whispered while moving his head away from the door.
"Lights out." said the the other man, taking out a small trinket and jamming in one of the corridors plugs. It caused a short circuit. All the lights that remained went out,some even bursted in sparkles. The man near the door took a step back, picked up momentum and kicked open the door , with such force it almost broke off the hinges.
On his left was a small kitchen.Opposite was a tiny living room with a table, a tv and some sofas. On the right was a corridor that led to the bedrooms.
Two gangsters were sitting in the living room with their backs against the window.He couldn't see their faces or what they were from the darkness.They were getting ready to start a new game of poker. Before they even realized what was going on the man had them in his sights. A rain of bullets from an Uzi hit them before they even got a chance to stand up.Chunks were torn off the wall, the windows shattered to pieces and the sofas and table were filled with bullet holes. It made them spasm like ragdolls before falling dead on their seats.
Another gangster was standing down the corridor's entrance. He was reaching for his gun. The man turned his aim to shoot him. He pressed the trigger but the gun only made an audible click. No ammo. There was not time to reload. If the gangster got his gun out first he would be dead. In a split of a second the man threw the sub machine gun aside and reached for his pocket. He pulled out a six shooter and shot his enemy twice in the chest. He fell hard against the floor. But he was not dead yet.
The man in the leather jacket was standing over him. He struggled to breath.One of the bullets must have gotten him in the lungs. He tried to grab his boots, staining them with blood."Please.."he begged. But the man was not there to show mercy. He raised his foot and stomped his head once. The skull popped like a watermelon.
The man looked at the mess he had caused. Blood pools were already starting to form. His combat boots were dirty with brain chunks. His partner walked in not paying attention to the bodies.
"Now let's get what we came here for." he ordered.
The man checked in the bedrooms using a flashlight he pulled out of his jacket, while making sure not to find any unnecessary surprises ."In here." he shouted as he opened the final door. The room was filed to the brim with stacks of drugs, weapons and equipment.
"Kevlar vests, 9 millimeters, AKs..." the man had kneeled down and was examining the room, picking up guns and inspecting them. "... these guys were either going to sell these, or waited for someone else to pick them up for transfer. They can make a shit ton of cash just from the drugs."
"Let's not leave them a reason to come back here then." said his partner as he pulled out a box of matches.
The police never arrived to the scene.Either somebody had bribed them to turn a blind eye, or they find it too much of hassle to care for what could be just another regular gang war. The news channel attributed the fire to faulty wiring. Scavenged bodies were burned beyond recognition. The only thing that the firemen found was the spray painting decorating the reception. A red circle with three equally spaced lines cutting it horizontally with a fourth vertical line intersecting them.