A/N: This was my entry to the 2010 Dominoes & Tequila Motion Pic Flic Challenge. Decided I'd post it here too now that the challenge is over and I plan to write a part 2 and part 3. The challenge was to insert JaSam into any motion picture of our choosing. I chose one of my all-time favorite action films, The Replacement Killers (1998). I don't own any of the characters and a lot of the actual dialog is directly from the film. Also, for a more intense experience you may wish to read this at D&T as there are musical links from the movie's soundtrack to enhance Jason & Sam's introductions while you read. I'll include the youtube links to the music to play along, but you will need to remove the spaces within the link for it to work as this website prevents adding direct links :/
The Replacement Killers
www. youtube watch?v=PhVOenm8tME
1.
-New York City-
The cover of night fell across the city. It was time for the predator to take out his prey. Trained professional that he was; he would have preferred a setting of his own choosing, lower profile, a clean location with near zero chance of fallout or possibility of collateral damage. But this was not his choosing, not his choice at all. He was a hired killer and his orders were to take his target out in a very public way.
A statement must be made. No one crosses Anthony Zacchara, and lives.
He eased his way past the suited bouncers, his intentional dress and demeanor meeting their scrutiny with the enticing mixture of power and danger known and encouraged to frequent the elite den of sin. The pounding of the techno house beat thumped throughout the cavernous club as he deftly made his way through the crowded dance floor, his mission set, target in his sights. The deejay's track fell on deaf ears. The only sound in his head was the hum of adrenaline as it coursed through his veins. Every sense on edge, poised to eliminate any threat, he halted before a large booth recessed near the back prepared to engage the man about to meet his maker.
No words were spoken, none were necessary. He took in the gluttonous scene before him; bimbos to the left, bodyguards to the right with booze and lines of blow openly displayed before him. He would have pitied this man, if he actually gave a damn. This man was weak, left with nothing except vices. No honor. No code. But there was no need for judgment. Jason Morgan was not his judge. He was his executioner.
The blue-eyed assassin flexed his leather covered hands and forcefully set his message on the table in front of the Rico Suave degenerate. The man looked up, pausing from his intent to inhale another line, angry and curious to see who had the nerve to interrupt his leisure. He'd never seen the man that stood in front of him now. Fairly tall, he noted, with broad shoulders squarely set in a sharp black suit and red satin tie that hinted at the bloodshed to come. He took closer note of the message resting before him; a single bullet with a hand-engraved signature marking... the seal of the Zacchara organization.
He quickly fixed his gaze back on the stranger with the red tie and all other features of the man were lost to him as he felt his blood run cold from the steel blue eyes piercing his drug-induced haze with an icy glare that promised death. Time froze and blurred at once as it always did. Jason was in his element. He knew what would come next, all of it. He counted on it, predicted their movements before they were made.
The target jumped from his seat pulling his gun, but not before Jason aimed his Beretta pumping three rounds into his chest and one in his forehead.
Screams and chaos erupted. The target's bodyguard took aim. Jason was ready. He sunk three rounds into his chest before he could pop off a shot. Experience, skill, and his talent took over. His body turned reflexively to eliminate the remaining threats he'd made on the way in; the dark-haired man with the crew cut, flashy jacket and green shirt at the table behind him. Four shots and he was down, with a quickness and agility that could only be attributed to his unwavering focus to his task.
More screams, patrons ducking and running for cover. Move, moving to line up the next threat before the other body hit the floor. Two shots more and the guy in the red sweater was out, but so was he. Jason's clip was done, but not the danger. Another man was behind him, a sleeper deep in the fray. Jason dropped the useless weapon and in one fluid movement reached back for his 9mm in the waistband of his pants.
Loaded gun in hand, he used the force of his upper body's twisting thrust to pivot his entire frame into a 180 degree turn. Lining him up for his next hit, he swayed as a bullet buzzed past him before popping off four kill shots into the enemy's head and chest. His eyes swept the scene for any remaining hazard. Satisfied with finding none, he exhaled a calming sigh.
Oblivious to the terrorized witnesses around him; he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a blood-streaked mirror lining the wall where he stood and had to ask himself, was it enough? When would it be enough?
He removed himself from the establishment without delay or fear of consequence. That life was hardly a challenge for him anymore. He would walk away clean. He always did. He was a ghost.
-Waterfront, Port Charles- (End Intro Music)
Detective Lucky Spencer waited in silence with his men. He'd tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to put the significance of the next few hours out of his mind. But the case was huge. The Port Charles Police Department was finally going to catch one of the biggest, most notorious, organized crime bosses red-handed and Lucky was heading up the bust. Tonight would make or break his career. He'd worked so hard to prove himself since his addiction to pain meds and subsequent recovery after an injury during a shootout that had taken his former partner's life. And finally, finally Commissioner Scorpio had given him his big chance.
He pushed those thoughts away, forcing himself to remain focused on the task at hand. It was minutes from midnight. They should arrive any second. Before he could finish the thought, he picked up the sound of a speed boat rapidly approaching. Lucky raised his night vision goggles to zero in on the luxury boat in question, a boat that screamed quick watery getaway. Four men in dark suits were on board, Zacchara's men. Two were visibly armed bodyguards and the other two, his prime targets.
Lucky clicked over to comms. "Alright, let's roll." He ordered and the masked strike force, dressed in all black, silently moved into position. They watched and patiently waited for the evidence to present itself, for the right moment to strike. Covertly hidden among the shadowed areas afforded by the ships and warehouses full of cargo along that portion of the port, the team awaited Lucky's final signal to show themselves.
The unloading area just outside the warehouse was filled with stacks of cargo. Zacchara's fully armed men made their way to a cleared spot in the center while at least 10 Russians, by Lucky's count, filed in around them armed to the teeth with, not the least of which, were at least five fully automatic Stovolboy Droz-6 Russian assault rifles featuring magazine fed 6 shot 25mm grenade launchers. Those boys were not there to play. It was time for business.
Standing flood lights filled the area as Lucky's team drew nearer with fine stealth. If he had any doubt, there could be no question of the prime target's identity once he stepped foot from the boat and Johnny Zacchara's face shown clearly in the bright light. Johnny stood smug, his dark eyes shimmering with the arrogance of a man that counted his money before leaving the table. His dark unruly curls were smoothed back in a manor becoming the self-proclaimed smooth criminal he thought himself to be.
Johnny was cool and collected, his fine Italian designer suit and shoes never feeling him sweat. And why should it? True; he and his three men appeared outnumbered tonight by his Russian associates, but this was his domain, his turf since having taken over Alcazar's territory there in Port Charles. The rest of that harbor town would be his family's too, once they eliminated Sonny Corinthos once and for all.
The Corinthos organization was an annoyance, a disturbance to his family's very lucrative business that he just didn't have the patience for anymore. Who was this Sonny Corinthos to dictate to a Zacchara what cargo was and was not to move through the city? His deal tonight with the Russians was a major turning point in the upcoming shift of power. Andrei Karpov was a heavy hitter on an international level. The Zacchara organization's partnership, brokered months back, was about to push Sonny from the comfortable thrown he'd fed fat and lazily from for far too long.
Johnny eyed his Russian contact, recognizing him on sight as one of Karpov's generals. The tall, darkly bearded man nodded and signaled his man on the bobcat to bring the goods over for inspection. Karpov's general stepped over to the stack and lifted what appeared to be a sealed and unlabeled canned good. He pulled a titanium combat knife and punctured the seal on the top of the can. A twisting motion caused a hidden cylinder to fall from the bottom. He passed it over to Johnny's right hand man who pulled a sample of the product from the cylinder for testing. Once assured the chemical test was good, he offered a smattering on his knife to Johnny.
Johnny held the drugs to his nose and sniffed a small amount, a Cheshire grin forming over his dark features as he turned to fully face Karpov's head guy. His stern face and tense body relaxed a bit at Johnny's unspoken satisfaction. They nodded to one another, both conceding the deal was good. Johnny leaned down to inhale another small whiff and it was then they made their move.
It was the wind from the silent black helicopter hovering above that gave them away as they closed in. The powder blew from the knife Johnny held to his face before he could inhale, his eyes immediately searching for the cause of the disturbance. But it was too late. Lucky, his new partner Cruz, and the rest of the team had them surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned before anyone could fire a shot.
Lucky made his way toward the young Zacchara with his gun pulled, but pointed at the ground. Confident in the knowledge his team and trusted partner, Cruz, had their guns trained on every threat, a small smirk found Lucky's lips as he shook his head at the over-confidence of the kid before him. He was barely out of college.
Lucky eyed Johnny carefully, noting the kid's hand behind his back... a weapon to be drawn. The moment of relief vanished as Lucky realized it wasn't over yet. He stared into Johnny's eyes, willing him not to try it. He shook his head once in warning, but Lucky's years on the force told him it was a warning that would not be heeded.
Any experience Johnny acquired working in his father's organization the last four years was forgotten to the arrogance that would not allow that cop to bust him. He would shoot to maim, unwilling to take the life of the brother of the woman he'd loved more than his own life. He would then make his escape in the ensuing crossfire. Johnny whipped his gun to take aim, but Detective Spencer drew faster leaving Johnny with a gunshot wound in the upper right shoulder.
Johnny ran for it and Lucky barked out orders to his men to secure the armed criminals and the confiscated drugs as he headed off in hot pursuit. Johnny weaved his way through the warehouse spitting bullets Lucky's direction as he fled. Lucky ducked back behind a wall nearly missing the open fire, but the bullets would do nothing to discourage his chase. This was his bust. Johnny was his prime target. He would let nothing come between him and completing his mission.
Johnny used Lucky's break for cover to make a run for it. He scrambled from the warehouse across the loading lane toward escape, any escape besides the confines of the warehouse that promised a fate he refused to accept. Lucky shouted more orders over comms. "Everybody hold back! Hold back out there. He's not going anywhere."
Johnny was running scared and scared men did desperate things like make widows out of police officer's wives. Lucky knew this kid. He'd dated his younger sister before becoming a full fledged mobster under his father's tutelage, but, despite his crimes, Johnny was not a murderer. Not yet, and Lucky hoped to keep it that way.
He'd fired at an officer and Lucky was fully aware that was enough for his men to shoot on sight, but he didn't want that young man's life wasted. He wanted him apprehended and charged for his crimes. Hopefully, that would allow the good young man he'd known years before to re-emerge and find a better way of life for himself.
Johnny bolted top speed, nearly avoiding being hit by a police cruiser as it flashed its blue lights and pulled to a stop. He ran fast, faster, anywhere that would take him away from the sirens and the handcuffs in his wake. Boxed off by cruisers and left with little options, he headed for higher ground. Hoping to lose the cops on a massive freighter, he climbed the ship's ladder favoring his injured shoulder as he gained some distance. But Lucky was still close on his tail.
Johnny made it to the ship's deck kneeling by the railing as he caught his breath. The black copter's spotlight highlighted his location and Johnny turned his head to find a sniper rifle trained on his backside. Lucky rushed onto the scene yelling over comms. "Back away! Back away! Go on, get out of here! I've got it under control," He ordered as he cautiously approached Johnny with his gun trained on him.
The helicopter followed Lucky's command leaving the two in darkness once again with only the ship's scattered deck lighting to reveal the acts to follow. Lucky halted a few feet from Johnny where he squatted. Desperation and panic etched on the kid's face as he loaded another clip into his gun.
"They're gone. Nobody's gonna hurt you. Put that gun down. Put it down!" Lucky pleaded forcefully as he held Johnny's gaze.
This was it. There was no where left to go. He was stuck stories up on the ship overlooking the harbor with a gun trained on him. He knew Lucky would not stop. Johnny was moments from capture and arrest. Anger, fear, and desperation coursed through his heart, soul, and mind until there was nothing left of the hope or love he'd once been blessed to know. Lulu was lost to him and his life had ended that day. It was his fault she was gone and not even the promise of their son's love and devotion could stop his body from reacting.
In fact, it only fueled him. His son was pure and innocent, uncorrupted. And, suddenly faced with his sins, Johnny knew more now than ever his continued existence was nothing more than a threat to his son. His sister, Claudia, would ensure John Jr. lived a good life far from the cruel and nasty business dealt by his father and grandfather. He knew his sister better than he knew his own self. Claudia would protect his son's innocence with her life. There was really only one action left to take. He would pull his weapon and Lucky would have no choice other than to take him out. If he didn't, then Johnny would see his own gun finished the job.
Lucky could see the decision in Johnny's eyes. "Don't make me!" Lucky begged.
"Tell JJ and my sister, I loved them too much to stay." And with that Johnny raised his loaded weapon leaving Lucky with no alternative.
The solemn resolve was clear in Johnny's final words and movement. Lucky's training kicked in, forcing his split-second reaction. He fired four shots into the young man's chest and head, the force of the blows sending Johnny back over the railing where he fell into the pitch black water below.
xxxxx
A small boy stood quietly in his black suit and tie with a crisp white shirt. All features other than his eyes, an exact duplicate of his father's. His eyes, however, were his mother's. He held his Auntie Claudia's hand, who felt more like a mother to him, as he watched his father's casket silently lowered into the ground. His mother was dead, perishing shortly after giving birth to him, and his Aunt Claudia had been the only mother figure he'd known his whole life. Now his father was dead. He gripped his Auntie Claudia's hand a little tighter as his grandfather Anthony grasped his other hand. His grandfather scared him sometimes.
The sun was shining, shining beautifully on the bright green grass and park-like scenery around them, but it did nothing to lighten the darkness enveloping her heart. She wanted to pull her gun and shoot every last one of the damn birds chirping about merrily. Had it not been for the fucking casket and headstones, Claudia might have believed she were at the park. Just another day at the park with John Jr., but this was no day at the park. Today, she was burying her baby brother. A brother she'd loved and practically raised herself since he was a boy almost the same age as John Jr. now.
Her nephew, John Jr., she loved him every bit as much as she ever loved her brother. Claudia was all he had now and she knew if it were the last thing she ever did, JJ would never go down the same path as his father. The generation of violence would end with her and her brother. She felt little Johnny's hand tighten in her own as her father approached and her heart sank. Try as she might, she'd been unable to keep her father's evil reach from her nephew's life.
Her father was a very powerful and lethal man. Claudia walked a very fine line while her brother was alive. He was JJ's father and while she'd persuaded Johnny to allow Anthony to have a very limited involvement in John Jr's life, he was involved nonetheless. Now that Johnny was gone, Claudia knew she had to make her move. Anthony would transfer all his hopes and dreams to John Jr. now. He would relentlessly insinuate himself into that innocent child's life until he'd managed to turn him as corrupt as his father became after the death of John Jr's mother, Lulu Spencer Zacchara.
Detective Lucky Spencer stood off in the distance watching his four year old nephew stand at his father's grave with the full weight of what he'd taken from the son of the sister he loved so much crushing down on him.
The service had ended and he watched as Claudia and JJ made their way to the waiting limo, surrounded by armed guards dressed in black suits and ties with white shirts and shades covering their eyes. This was his nephew's life, he sighed. JJ saw him from across the way and paused. The little boy scarcely knew his uncle, but just enough to recognize him. He gave Lucky a small smile and Lucky returned it in kind. His pained eyes looked up to meet Claudia's and Lucky knew then he'd never find forgiveness there.
Anthony Zacchara spotted the man, the cop who'd murdered his only son, and rage replaced his sorrow as he neared the detective. His right hand, Trevor Lansing, never far from his side and several of the armed bodyguards followed.
Trevor removed his sunglasses as they approached. "It could be considered inappropriate for a murderer to appear at his victim's burial, detective."
"Just here to pay my respects." Lucky returned.
"Respect? For the blood of my child? My orphaned grandson!" Anthony spewed.
"Your son made his choice." Lucky reasoned.
"And you made your choice, detective, the day you chose to pursue your vendetta against me, against my family." Anthony's black and murderous gaze left little question of the threat his hatred posed toward the cop.
"Detective, your position offers you far more opportunity for arrogance than safety." Lucky felt his partner stiffen at his side upon hearing Trevor's veiled threat. Lucky nodded once. They understood one another perfectly. Lucky would need to watch his back.
-New York City-
Jason walked down the loud over-crowded streets and side alleyways of little Italy until arriving at his destination, a bakery owned and operated by an unassuming old man. He worked for Zacchara. Everyone in little Italy worked for Zacchara in one way, or another. They just didn't all know it. He nodded recognition to the young woman at the register and headed to the back room where his contact awaited. It was protocol. The old man would hand him a sealed black envelope and Jason Morgan would make the person listed in that envelope disappear.
Jason stood before the elderly man as he sat at a small desk. The man, accustomed to Jason's lack of verbal response, simply nodded his welcome. Jason nodded in return and as expected, the old man pulled a sealed black envelope from a drawer in his desk and handed it to Jason.
Jason reached out to accept the paper and was surprised by the old man's words. "Change of plans. Mr. Zacchara needs to see you personally."
The old man pointed toward the front and Jason knew without having seen, or heard it, an escorted ride would await him when he exited the bakery.
-Zacchara Mansion-
Jason remained silent the entire hour and thirty minute ride showing little movement until the limo entered the gates of the Zacchara estate and pulled past armed men up to the main house.
Jason was escorted by guards to a large dining room where his eyes found the devil himself sitting at the head of the table with Satan's right hand, Trevor Lansing, at his side. Jason was well aware of the old man's tenable grip on sanity and so he remained silent, preferring instead to wait and see how their meeting played out.
"My son is dead." Anthony revealed.
Jason didn't know what he'd expected to hear, but it hadn't been that Johnny Zacchara was dead. He flashed back several years, remembering Johnny before he'd gotten caught up in the business. Jason had seen a good side to the young man's heart in the way he had loved Lulu Spencer. What a waste. "My condolences," Jason offered the evil bastard.
Anthony motioned for Jason to be seated and he sat, not wanting to provoke the psychotic break he was sure Anthony was only one small step away from.
"A child is irreplaceable, which brings us to your task," Anthony began.
"It involves a cop. That's why we want an outsider." Trevor continued.
"After that, your obligation to me ends." Anthony offered, leaning forward with conviction and revenge masking his face. Anthony took one of his single signature bullets containing the Zacchara seal and placed it soundly on the table in front of Jason.
Jason held the bullet in his hand as he contemplated the severity of accepting the next hit.
-Spencer Residence-
Jason positioned himself high in the wooded area across from his target's location. He'd surveyed the area and made sure to cover his position as well as ensure a clean escape. He rolled out his leather mat containing one of the many nasty tools of his trade.
He methodically assembled the sniper rifle as he lay in wait for his target to arrive. The familiar click of the assembly locking and the feel of the hard metal as it slid into place relaxed his nerves until they melted away into nothing. He was focused with a single-minded precision to see this through. He had no choice. After this, it would be enough, he reminded himself.
Rifle assembled, he removed his shades as a car approached. He waited until the last moment to open the scope to avoid revealing his location from light reflecting off the glare of the glass lens. Lucky pulled up and parked his unmarked sedan in front of his home. He stepped out carrying the new basketball he'd promised his son, Cameron.
Jason followed the detective in his sight as he ascended his driveway toward his house. He cringed seeing Elizabeth and Cameron rush toward Lucky. No, no names today. Target, this was his target. He had no other choice. Jason swallowed his regret and steeled himself for the shot that would change everything in that family's life. Change his life, forever. Whether he was caught, or not, he knew he would never forgive himself for what he was about to do.
His finger steadied on the trigger, ready and waiting. Elizabeth smiled, hugged her husband, and welcomed him home with a kiss. Cameron rushed into his father's arms. Jason pushed the names out of his head, pushed the faces from his memory.
He kept his sight trained and watched the scene unfold. Lucky smiled and attempted keep-away with Cameron as he jumped to grab the ball again. They laughed. Elizabeth smiled. Jason hesitated. He couldn't stop the emotion that crept its way past his stone-cold killing facade. Cameron claimed possession of the ball and Lucky swung him up into the air to make the basket in the hoop there on the drive. Now! Take the shot, he ordered himself!
Jason blinked. His eyes were watering. He blinked again, longer, attempting to reclaim his nerve. His entire being warred within himself. How could he take that shot? But how could he not, knowing what it meant if he didn't? His body shook as logic battled his heart in a blood-thirsty crusade. He closed his eyes. He breathed deep.
The war was over.
Jason slowly removed his finger from the trigger. He couldn't take the shot. He would not take the shot.
The wind stirred the fallen leaves about as Elizabeth and Cameron made their way back inside and the hair on the back of Lucky's neck stood on end in that moment, causing him to give a thoughtful glance to the bank of trees and brush across the street from him. It was almost as if a sixth sense had whispered to him how close life as he knew it had come to ending. Elizabeth called out to him, breaking the dark spell, and Lucky turned to head inside with his wife and son.
-Queen of Angels-
Jason entered the church with the usual surprise of not being struck down by lightning. Not many people knew it, but he was a spiritual man. He believed in a higher power and he was also very aware that he would probably never meet Him. His life of sin had all but ensured him to a life in Hell. Jason was certain of it. Still, he prayed. He prayed for forgiveness and the strength to make the right choices, even though his life left him with little choice at all these days.
He wasn't there now to seek forgiveness, but rather assistance from one of the only men he could trust not to betray him.
Father Coates immediately recognized the man in the black leather jacket. Kneeling at the front of the church, Jason said a silent prayer for his family. He hoped his father and grandmother might hear his plea and help watch over those they left behind.
Father Coates knelt next to the troubled soul he'd come to know and trust. Jason Morgan may have committed many sins, but there was an honor about him that separated him from the heinous criminal element Father Coates had seen all too often during his days as a missionary in South America. He waited for Morgan's words to come. They always did, eventually.
"I went against Anthony Zacchara today. There will be consequences." Jason confessed.
"What can I do to help?" He offered without question. It was a chance to repay Mr. Morgan for all the help he'd provided the mission over the years.
"I'm worried about my mother and sister. I want you to take them from Bogota to some place safe." Jason spoke in a near whisper. He knew the great risk he asked of Father Coates in order to help save Emily and Monica, but once again he was left without much choice. Father Coates had history and connections. His visit wouldn't raise suspicion. He would be able to move safely about the country with little, if any, resistance.
Jason pulled a large banded stack of cash from his jacket pocket. "Here's some money. Help me send it to them." His eyes pleaded as he placed the bills in the priest's hands.
Father Coates' face was full of concern for the man before him and the two women he knew would surely be killed if caught. His words assured Jason he would do all he could to help, but there were no guarantees. "You're talking about Anthony Zacchara. Safe has a very limited meaning."
-Zacchara Mansion-
Anthony stood at the French doors of his study which led to the terrace and lawn beyond. He watched as his daughter, Claudia, played with John Jr. in the garden. Little Johnny ran chasing her, laughing. It was good to see the little boy's smile and laughter after enduring so much loss. Seeing the carefree way his daughter interacted with his grandson was almost enough to make him forget she was just another traitorous bitch like her mother.
The bond was strong between John Jr. and Claudia and he knew that would have to end, just as it had when he'd sent Claudia away the first time when JJ's father was a boy. This time, however, she would have a permanent vacation. John Jr. was destined to take his father's rightful place as the head of his family's business. Anthony would see to it.
Still, given all his grandson had lost recently, Anthony couldn't bring himself to take his Auntie Claudia away from the boy just yet. He'd decided it was in his grandson's best interests to give him a year to recover from the loss of his father before dealing with his Auntie Claudia's disappearance.
Trevor sighed deeply and braced for the reaction of the unfortunate news he was about to deliver. "Anthony, there's a problem," Trevor began.
Anthony growled and slung his drink crashing against the fireplace as he listened to his attorney tell him of Jason Morgan's betrayal. "I want him gone, annihilated! His mother and sister too. Use as many as it takes to get the job done and to finish what that fool couldn't. I want them dead. Dead, do you hear me? Alllll Dead!" Anthony raged.
Trevor nodded. "I'll see that it's done." He paused waiting for Anthony to settle a bit. "What about Claudia? How much is she to know?" Trevor felt it necessary to ask seeing as how Anthony had allowed Claudia a place in the family's business as part of Johnny's agreement to take his rightful place. But, now that Johnny was gone...
"Tell her nothing. She wouldn't understand or agree with these uglier, but necessary actions. A woman can't be trusted not to react irrationally and I can't afford any discord between her considering she holds my grandson's heart in her hands, for now." Anthony sighed, signaling Trevor with a head jerk toward the door for him to leave him with his thoughts.
-Jake's-
Coleman chewed out his suppliers in the back room for attempting to short him once again before heading back out front where the evening crowd was gathering. He busied himself with serving up the beers and banter as the jukebox blared in the background. His cell phone went off and he answered. "Yeah, whatta ya want?"
Jason stood outside a local Radio Shack with a prepaid phone in his hand that he'd just purchased to make a call to one of the few people in low places he knew he could count on not to stab him in the back. It was too risky to be seen in Jake's right now. "Coleman, it's Jason."
"Hey, what happened? Piece wasn't where I left it? I put it there myself." He was referring to the sniper rifle he'd acquired for Jason's last hit.
"It was there." Jason paused, his solemn tone revealing the seriousness of the situation. "I need a passport. Can you help me?"
"Yeah, I'll just call Logan Hayes. It's no problem." Coleman made his way to the back. The music was too loud and the conversation needed a bit of privacy.
"No. He works for Anthony."
"Everyone works for Anthony, or Sonny. What do you want?" Coleman wondered what the hell he might be getting himself into as he polished off a shot.
"I want someone who doesn't." Jason clarified in a manner that had Coleman's gut doing flip-flops. There was trouble on the way, big trouble, and Coleman knew it. But Jason was a stand up guy, not to mention a professional hitman, so Coleman was going to help him out no questions asked.
"Hmm," Coleman considered. "I know this broad. I try not to use her too much. She's a pain in the ass, you know what I mean? Her name is Sam McCall."
"Sam McCall?" Jason repeated to make certain he'd gotten the name correct.
"Yeah. She's in the old Donely building down on the waterfront. You know her? I'll hook you up in the morning. Where ya going to be?"
"Better if you don't know." Jason told him.
"Alright Hoss, watch your back huh?" Coleman flipped his phone closed ending the call and praying it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass, or worse.
Jason hung up and trashed the brand new mobile phone as he took in his surroundings with the psychopath's words reverberating in his head; No one crosses Anthony Zacchara, and lives. Jason knew potential threats lie around every corner for him now and there was no such thing as being too careful.
Zacchara's reach was far. He'd have to go underground until he could get what he needed from that Sam McCall in the morning. He just hoped despite Coleman's assessment that she was a pain in the ass, she was also competent enough to get the job done. Something in the way Coleman spoke of her made him doubtful, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Page 14 of 14 Created: 2010-08-22 Updated: 2015-01-05 Words: 5917 Characters: 33248