(Part Three)

By Rory Steves


Hat Trick

A vein pulsated on don Anthony's forehead as he clicked yet another link in the e-mail.

"You have mail." The computer's announcement always cheered don Anthony. E-mail always made him happy.

Today was an exception.

Link after link displayed a different porn video in which he seemed to be the star. The first links showed him having gay sex with every male member of his family. Following links revealed him having incestuous sex with every female in his family, including his beloved mother and grandmother, both deceased.

If don Vito and don Louis thought this was funny, they were wrong.

Dead wrong.

The link he clicked next showed that even bestiality wasn't beyond the two dons' sense of humor.

Worse was that these videos, obviously doctored, were posted on free porn Web sites all over the Internet. He'd be the laughing stock of organized crime.

"You have mail," the computer told him.

Also from Vito and Louis, this video was a recording of the earlier news broadcast. It showed Vinnie's head exploding.

First his temper had run hot, now his nerves were ice cold as he left his office and entered the living room.

"Where are Vito and Louis?"

Leaving off the honorific "don" alerted his men that trouble was brewing. Big trouble.

"Louis had a meeting today with Vito," one of his lieutenants ventured, also leaving off the word don, "at Vito's place."

"Get every man here strapped and ready," don Anthony ordered. "Make sure every man carries plenty of extra ammo. And load up enough of my favorite cocktail for two houses."

"At once, sir," the lieutenant said.

Don Anthony's favorite cocktail was a mixture of aviation fuel and motor oil. The barrels would be loaded into a couple delivery trucks. He intended to burn both houses to the ground. Once he had filled them with dead bodies.

"Tony the Torch" would be nobody's laughing stock.

* * *

"We're headed back," I told one of don Vito's thugs on the cell. "Don Vito is dead. So's everyone that was up here with him, even Stiff. Looks like don Anthony's work. Get everyone armed; don Louis wants to have a chat with Tony the Torch."

"Angelo with you?" the thug asked.

"Traitor; he was in Tony's pocket," I told him. "Don Louis whacked him personally."

"Never did trust him," the thug said. "I'll get everyone ready."

"Be a good idea," I suggested, "to put a couple more guys outside; Tony might decide to finish things."

"That puke shows up here," the thug stated, "we'll give him a real warm welcome."

"Good man." I smiled, it wasn't everyday a guy got to arrange for three mafia families to annihilate each other.

My next call was to Sarge. Our platoon sergeant from 'Nam was the liaison between the platoon and various police departments and federal agencies that liked to hire us.

"Turkey shoot at Vito's place," I said.

"Team eight is in place," his gruff voice announced, "Team three is enroute, ETA five minutes."


Team eight was my team, this meant Spot and Flathead were ready to back me up. Flathead had been our squad corporal and sapper. Spot had been my spotter, finding targets for me and keeping any restless natives away. While my sniper rifle made sure no one bothered Flathead too much.

I doubt there was a company in 'Nam that had even half of the kill numbers or the low casualties of our short platoon.

Teams one and two were checking out leads that Target One might have infiltrated America thru the Mexican border.

I had to get this wrapped up fast in case they found the scent. The entire platoon would be mobilized if we could locate that particular son of a bitch.

My phone rang.

"Team three is in place," Sarge said. "Police report Tony's convoy enroute. Timing is tight."


I inserted the miniature comm unit into my ear and tapped it once. I heard two beeps, which meant Spot heard my tap and that Flathead had set his charges.

Instead of the M-16's they normally shouldered, Spot and Flathead carried Styer AUG rifles in 7.62 NATO caliber, the same ammo my M-110 used. This limited their rate of fire, but increased their range.

Team three would start things up when Tony arrived.

Game, set and match.

* * *

The decorative iron gate exploded as Tony the Torch's lead car slammed into it and burst into flame.

Tony's men fanned out, trading potshots with the thugs defending Vito's compound.

* * *

I slammed the brakes on my Hummer and parked, grabbing my rifle as I jumped out. I reached back in and picked up Stiff's Contender.

Don Louis pointed out positions to his men.

Below us Tony's men were driving Vito's defenders back.

As don Louis's men flanked Tony's positions, I tapped my earpiece. "Three, go."

Team three's rifles began dropping thugs on each side, while their demolition charges helped to group the thugs in exposed positions.

As Louis's men added to the carnage, I tapped my ear again. "Eight, go."

While my rifle dropped thugs in my search for Tony, Team eight began to pick off don Louis's men.

I just hoped they recognized me.

I smiled as Tony the Torch's head centered up in my crosshairs, a second later my smile broadened as my bullet sprayed his brains all over two of his thugs.

"Good shooting," don Louis called over to me.

I nodded while putting the two brain-covered thugs out of their misery.

I slipped a cartridge into Stiff's Contender, rolled to my left, and shot don Louis through his left temple.

Three mafia dons in 24 hours; that had to be a record.

The thugs around him began throwing bullets my way.

Their aim was poor.

Spot and Flathead were much better marksmen. In seconds every thug who had seen me kill don Louis had joined him in death.

"Cops," I said following another tap.

Four SWAT teams were waiting to join in the fun. Their arrival signaled our teams to withdraw.

"Time to go," I yelled to the two surviving thugs nearby.

The three of us raced back to where we had parked our cars and threw the doors open.

Each of us backed up, cursed, dropped our guns, and raised our hands.

Cops had lain down on the seats of our cars, and we had looked down the barrels of way too many guns.

"Aahhhh," each of us screamed as more cops came up behind us and tasered us. We dropped, twitching to the ground.

Tasers had not, repeat not, been part of the op plan.

Stinking cops.

Once cuffed, I was thrown — thrown — into the back of a police cruiser, while the two thugs shared the second cruiser.

I got to sit there and watch as a tow truck dragged my Hummer away. My weapons had been tossed into its back seat.

Great, just great.

At least that part of my plan was being followed.

The SWAT teams were mopping up as the police drove me downtown.

"Tasers?" I asked.

"Wimp," Flathead said from behind the wheel.

"Had to make it look good," Spot agreed.

Both had changed into cop uniforms.

As we stopped for a red light Flathead spoke up. "Passenger side door is jimmied."

"Right upper thigh, outside," I said as I turned and kicked open the door and jumped.

"Freeze!" Spot shouted at me as he drew aim.

I ran, knowing the two thugs would be watching.

"Freeze!" Spot shouted again. When I failed to obey, he fired.

I screamed, staggering a bit as I dodged down an alley. Blood covered my right leg.

Not my blood, mind you, but the small pouch of theatrical blood did its job well.

A few blocks later, I squirted two more blood packets over the throat and chest of the tow truck driver and reclaimed my Hummer.

With a major chunk of the police department tied up at Vito's place, they couldn't assemble a decent manhunt for me before I vanished.

Which meant my cover was intact. It might come in handy.

"Hat trick is done," I told Sarge on my sat phone. "Any word on Target One?"

"Unknown. Teams one and two are investigating," Sarge said, "Go home."


The twins gave me a warm welcome when I arrived home.

RORY STEVES writes science fiction and mystery. He has two novels in development, one sci-fi, and the other is a sci-fi mystery thriller.

His short story "The Judge" was published on omdb! in December, 2011.

Copyright 2012 Rory Steves. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or medium without express written permission of the author is prohibited. OMDB! and OMDB! logos are trademarks of Over My Dead Body!

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