Выбрать главу

A split second later, the cold stare was gone, and Heller went back to looking like just another old man sitting in a diner, chatting with a friend of his. Shit, as far as most people were concerned, they probably thought Jason was so kind, bringing his grandfather out for some pie á la mode.

Staring directly into his eyes, Heller asked, "Have you ever heard about the Illuminati, Jason? Do you know anything about them?"

Chapter 12

He'd walked North away from Dealey as quickly as he could manage, doing his best to make it look like a casual walk despite the fact his mind wanted him to sprint away from what he’d just done. The president was dead. Shot in the head. Bingo. Game over. The sweat dripping from his face was going to give him away if he wasn't real careful, so he consciously forced himself to walk a little bit more slowly. He wanted to give his body a chance to cool down and his mind a chance to catch up.

Revchon Park wasn't a million miles away now, so neither was Routh Street. The big deal was done, but there was still other business to take care of. He patted his jacket pocket to make sure everything was where he left it. It was, and that was enough to reassure him. Enough to keep him focused. He was still on the clock here, and every minute mattered more than his own life right now. Sixty stupid seconds could mean the difference between walking away from this clean, or going straight to hell before the day was out.

Bill Heller didn't plan on going to hell today. Not today, no, sir. He was pretty sure someone else was going to have to though.

Carlo Fiorello sat in the small apartment, feeling quite pleased with himself. No one would've thought that they could pull this off. Those government dipshits he'd been dealing with did everything except pull the trigger for him. Hell, he didn't even have to pull the trigger, he had that half-Italian mutt, Moser, to take care of that for him. Still, you had to hand it to the guy, he could shoot a fly off your nose at 100-yards, but he was definitely borderline retarded.

"Hey, Frank, c'mere a minute - you gotta get paid."

Frank Moser ambled slowly over to where Morello was sitting. At 6' 3", Moser was an impressively big man, but nothing more than a hired thug. The only reason he got hired for the Kennedy hit was because he was the best shot the Rivello family had on their books. Plus, he was too dumb to ask questions or cause them any headaches. They got themselves the equivalent of an idiot savant with a rifle, and it had paid off handsomely, and the some!

Moser sat down at the table across from Morello, smiling. He'd done his job and he'd done it well. This money was enough to pay off his book, too, before they took it out of his legs, or worse. Then again, it usually took a few guys to take him down, but no one was bulletproof and his book was getting bigger every day. He almost envied alcoholics because they eventually passed out, where he could just gamble day and night, and night and day. It had taken its toll on him in the end though.

Fiorello smiled across the table at Moser. "$20k for the hit and another $10K to keep your mouth shut. That was the deal, right?"

Moser nodded slowly. If shooting presidents was this profitable, he might have to do it more often. He was going to get himself clear with the bank at long last.

Fiorello reached casually into his jacket pocket and threw a large brown packet casually onto the old wooden table that lay between them. "Check it, buddy, but it's all there."

Moser grabbed the package and started tearing the paper open, as excited as a big, dumb kid at a candy store. It was all there. Good. He didn't like being cheated. He glanced up.

The last thing Frank Moser saw was a .45 aimed straight at his face.

Fiorello smiled, saying, "Sorry, Frank...no loose ends...it's just business," and pulled the trigger.

Whatever had been on Moser's mind was now sprayed over the tattered wooden door behind him. That government dude had told him, “No loose ends anywhere. It’s not safe. Dispose of all evidence,” and that’s exactly what Carlo had done.

He decided it was time to go now; that shot was bound to attract attention, and on a day like today, that was going to be dangerous. He grabbed the paper packet off the table, stuffed it into his jacket pocket, and scanned the room for anything that might tie this to him. Nada. He’d been careful about choosing the location, and even the time of day. It was going to be a clean sweep on this one.

Carlo Fiorello spun on his heels and walked toward the door, opening it in a single movement.

"Hi, Carlo." the voice from outside the door said calmly.

Fiorello glanced up just long enough to see a stubby .33 handgun leveled at him. A face smiled at him from underneath a neat Fedora hat. "Bye, Carlo." The gun fired and another member of the Rivello crime family was gone. Bingo. Game over.

Heller walked away from the apartment quickly but calmly. Once he was a few blocks away, he wiped the gun, broke it down, and tossed the pieces down a storm drain and into a trash can. In this part of town, no one was going to pay any attention to this, not when everyone was glued to the radio and TV for news on how Kennedy was doing. He's as dead as ghost shit, folks, he thought to himself.

His part in today was finally done. The other members of his team would have taken care of their targets by now, too. There was no one left to tell tales, or no one anyone would believe. The rest of them? Well, they'd probably wind up 6-feet under somewhere near Terlingua. That was the plan at least.

They'd actually done it. Kennedy was dead.

Chapter 13

Their entire conversation was now obviously going in a whole new direction, and maybe Jason hoped he was finally going to get some real answers here. Hearing the Illuminati mentioned told him there was a lot more to the original story than Heller had let on.

Jason paused before he answered. "I can't say I've heard very much about the Illuminati outside of those documentaries they repeat on cable. They're like some super-secret group on a mission to control the world, right?" Jason read a lot when he had time, but conspiracy theories weren't exactly his favorite subject. He drove enough nut jobs around in his cab to hear every conspiracy theory that had ever existed, and some new ones that even crazy people wouldn’t believe.

Heller was ready with his reply a split second later. "People talk about the 'Illuminati' but really don't understand what it means. They're always portrayed as being evil, and out to destroy the world. Some of them now act and behave like that, but in the days of DaVinci and Newton, the Illuminati wanted to bring humanity out of the dark ages and into the light by using science. Organized religion was hell-bent on keeping people afraid and under their control, offering to sell them a stairway to heaven. The Illuminati, which just means 'the Enlightened', wanted to show mankind the truth, and for that, many of them were silenced with threats, or simply eliminated by the church."

The silence that followed was suddenly interrupted by Darlene returning with a tray of food for their table. Several plates of steak, eggs, and pie were planted firmly on the table in front of them, followed by a very large pot of coffee. Jason felt his stomach growl in appreciation of the fact he was going to be eating very soon. Without another word, both he and the old man started to pull their dishes off the tray and started eating.

Several mouthfuls of pie and a swallow of coffee later, Heller decided to continue his tale. He was about as eager to talk as anyone Jason had ever met. That was understandable, considering that, pretty soon, he wasn’t going to be able to talk to anyone ever again.