A PERFECT STORM

The bathroom door had been left ajar, yellowish sunlight peeking through. Jack was lying in the bathtub soaking wet. He was still fully clothed, save for his shirt that lay in a crumpled bloody pile on the bathroom floor. He had just woken up from a few hours of restless sleep. The cheap beige colored tile had built up mill dew and grime stuck in between each square. The paint was peeling inside the bath tub and the wall paper was slowly doing the same.

He shifted his position, an aching pain came shooting back to his shoulder. Slowly memories of the night before came back. Sam's brains splattering all over his nice wood floor, the burning car in the alley, entering his apartment, turning on the water in a lazy attempt to clean the bullet wound, turning off the water and passing out from exhaustion.

Soon he was standing in front of the mirror with both hands on the edge of the sink, his wavy sandy blonde hair falling over his eyes. His upper body was ridged with other scars from fights over the years and his shoulder had started bleeding again. He chuckled at his image.

"I look like some damn street fighter." He flexed every muscle in his arms and chest until the outlines became visible, then relaxed watching the blood trickle down his arm.

Jack flicked on the small TV in the living/ bedroom, some infomercial about facial scrubs came on. He sat down on the edge of the bed grabbing the remote off the night stand and began switching through the channels. A female news reporter came on. She was standing at the end of Sam's drive way.

"There is news today that renowned mob boss Samuel O'Connor was found shot to death in his home last night." Jack made a caring gesture towards the TV. "Thank you, but really, it's the least I could do." The news reporter continued.

"However, it is also reported that rival gangs are not to blame. It appears that one of his own soldiers turned against him and ultimately got the upper hand. Police are investigating..." Jack turned off the TV and sat quietly. He knew that Sam's crew would be in disarray after his death but one thing was for sure, his second in command, Mike Harrison would take over... But that wasn't his biggest worry, Ciardi needed to be taken out.

"Joe and his boys are going to be down at the docks tonight. No one from Sam's side of the tracks will be there... yeah, no, they wouldn't be there- too risky. So that means I run no risk or meeting up with my old play mates... perfect. Take one out, take 'em all out. Panic, yes thats the key. When you least expect it, expect it... This is too easy, taking out mob bosses. They never think any one would have the balls to march right up and...BAM! Sammy boy never saw it coming, I always knew Joe didn't need our help, nevertheless Sam thought it was a good plan. All I had to do was get wind of the date of the shipment and therein lies the one piece of information I needed to take out Joe. And speaking of Fat Joe Ciardi, that shit-for-brains excuse for a boss actually agreed to dinner. But Sam's guys- they'll be combing this town looking for "Jack Napier! the man who killed their beloved boss." Jack got up and closed the crack in the thin curtains. "Not this soon though, they'll be with Sam's widow for about the next two days. All that serve the family bullshit... That's enough time..."

It was about 11:45 p.m. Joe and four of his men were loading large bricks of cocaine and heroine into the back of a delivery truck. They had been put in teddy bears and boxes for children's toys so as to not call attention.

"This is a shit load of coke, man. Im gonna have a little taste when we get back." One of the goons said another while he was passing off a brick an a Barbie's dream house box. The other laughed stupidly.

"Yeah, me too. The street value of this has real-"

"Stop chatting like a bunch of old ladies and move your ass. We're on a time line here." Joe barked at them. The other two sat in the front seat waiting for the orders to drive off. The back of the truck closed and Joe was about to get in his car when two shots rang out and glass broke. Immediately him and the to other thugs ducked behind one side of the truck, guns drawn. It was silent. One of the men edged along the truck nearing the cab. He peeked around the corner and through the window. Both the driver and passenger had been shot clean through the temples, the windows ran red with their blood.

"Oh shit man! Oh Jesus!" He turned and looked at Joe and the other man. "Their both dea-"Another shot was heard and he fell face down, shot through the back. Who ever was shooting at them now had a clear shot. Joe stepped out and fired three rounds into the darkness. It was silent again. "You go to the other side, we can trap him." Joe whispered. The man he was with started to crawl under the truck, leaving Joe alone. Joe started along the same path towards to cab as the other man did. Something shifted behind a crate and Joe carefully fired two more shots. Nothing. He passed the dead man and the cab and nothing happened. He made his way around the front of the truck, gun still poised to fire. As he came around the other side of the truck and stepped on something. It was the hand of the man he had just spoken to. He was laying on the concrete, his throat had been slit from ear to ear, blood was still bubbling out of his mouth. Joe whirled around, panic quickly starting to build. He was alone now, back pressed against the truck. He turned jerkily from side to side. He felt the cold "O" shape of a barrel press against the base of his skull and a voice from behind him. "Boo." Soon Joe was laying face down on the concrete loading dock. Jack crouched over him plucking the keys from his coat pocket and dragging the body over to the trunk of the car.

About an hour later the door bell rang at Sam's house. His wife came to the door followed by a body guard. She was dressed in a maroon night robe, her eye makeup smeared from crying. She opened the door to find no one there, but upon looking down, locked eyes with the blood shot upturned ones of Joe's severed head. Immediately the body guard pulled her back and shut the door. Her screaming echoed through the foyer drawing the attention of all the other people in the house. Later that night Harrison sat down with the other soldiers in the drawing room.

"Something will be done, actions need to be taken against him. He needs to get the message loud and fuckin' clear about what he's done." Harrison said.

Another man spoke. "I think I speak for the majority here, but we never liked him. We always told Sam to not trust him... Always with that grin on his face, like he knew somethin' we didn't."

Harrison was quiet for a while, then spoke with a cold decisiveness. "Im going to leave this up to the rest of you, how exactly you want to execute this. I will not take part, its too risky... But whatever you see fit Im sure I wouldn't have a problem with anyway, he deserves what ever he gets."

Jack sat in his apartment surrounded by empty boxes and decapitated teddy bears. He had made off with a good amount of the drugs and used Joe's car to haul them. Keeping the car would have been too risky, so he stripped the licence plate and abandoned it near the central park. Soon petty crooks would start to steal parts and Joe's high end Mercedes would turn into a shell for bums to sleep in.

As for the drugs, he would keep some for himself and sell the rest to the junkies and prostitutes that lived around him or anyone who walked the streets looking for their next fix at any cost. He knew what exactly what would be broadcast the next day: word of another top mob figure's death and the predictions of a mob war caused by the confusion and heightening tensions of two high profile deaths in two days. Everything had worked out perfectly.