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PartOne
The End
One
*New York*
Christian
The city that supposedly never sleeps is slowly coming back to life. It was pretty dead when I woke a couple of hours ago. At least this stiff upper lip part of Manhattan was. I sit on a bench at the edge of Central Park, a cup of coffee in my hand. I’ve spent the night at a hotel, I’ve run, showered, and now I’m overlooking the entrance to the office building where my target works. Mr. Corben Olsen. CEO of a Fortune 500 company situated on the Upper East Side. He’s a short man in his fifties, donning a toupee, working out every day to stay fit. He’s on his third wife and has chosen to start over with a second set of kids, the dumb fuck. His wife is almost a head taller and seventeen years younger, a former Victoria’s Secret model. She has a lover, a cop who’s investigating Corben’s business. That’s intriguing, but has nothing to do with me.
Corben Olsen is a crook whose business is going to shit. No bank with any kind of morals is lending him any more money, so to be able to maintain his lavish lifestyle, he had to go to the immoral, and turned to my uncle, Mr. Luciano Salvatore, the most ruthless mob boss on the West Coast. Theonlymob boss on the West Coast after we eliminated all competition some years back.
There are plenty of underground lending businesses in New York. My guess is he turned to someone far away so that he’d feel safe up there, in his tower.
He isn’t.
Payment has been due. He isn’t delivering.
This is his first warning. It’s gonna hurt a little. We’ll see if he gets the message, or if I’ll have reason to come back. My gut tells me I will.
I glance at the clock. Seven fifteen. I wonder if my brother is awake yet. Oh, fuck it. If he isn’t, I’ll wake him. I’m tired of hotels, and he owns a whole floor in a building down in Tribeca. He can squeeze me in somewhere. Draining the last of the coffee, I haul up my phone and thumb through my contact list, praying he’ll be home, or I’ll be pissed. A pissed off Christian won’t be good news for Corben. A pissed off Christian won’t hurt Corben just a little.
“Chris! To what do I owe this honor?”Nathan’s voice is hoarse. He sounds beyond tired.
“Tell me you’re in the big apple.”
“I’m in a cab. Just left JFK. Got a foggy view of Manhattan across the river. Why?”
“I’m passing through. Need a place to crash.”
“What’s wrong with hotels, dude?”
“Brother—” He knows I hate them. I’m always traveling. I miss my house like fuck whenever I’m away. Someone else’s home is the second best.
“I’m just kidding. Of course you can come by. Wanna hit the town tonight?”
“Definitely.”
“All right. Gimme a call when you get in. I’m not picking you up. I’m fucking beat.”
I don’t bother mentioning I’m already in town. I do worry a tad about Nate. He’s exhausting himself with work, always has. He should sell off a few homes, decide where to live, slow the fuck down.
“How’s the old lady? She with you?”
“Nah, Sydney’s busy running her hotel.”His voice brightens, as always, when he talks about her.
“She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?”
A stab of jealousy hits me. My wayward younger brother has found the love of his life. It struck him out of the blue. No one expected him to ever find the one, to settle down.
“She is.”
“I’m happy for you, you know it.” On the other side of the street, I see Corben walking briskly along the sidewalk. “Talk later.”
I disconnect as I watch Mr. Olsen entering the building. Anticipation builds in me as always before a hit. It’s not time yet, though. I’ll catch him either when he works late, or when his wife leaves for her lover. I expect to be here a few days.
Corben is blindly in love and doesn’t suspect a thing about his unfaithful wife. I wonder if it would be too cruel to enlighten him. Or maybe it will be enough with a couple of broken fingers.
