The Denver Hit
By Jeff
Dillavou
I had spent the day
traveling by air, which always made coming back home a pleasure. By the time I
arrived at home, I was totally beat.
Just as I passed the edge of the porch, I could see what would be a
start of a long nightmare. There, in the flower planter below me was my Uncle
Joey. He was doubled over. His body was folded up like a broken book
and the smell in the air made me want to vomit. I went to his side but I could
see he was dead, saliva mixed with blood was running from his mouth. I jumped
back and placed my weapon at ready, as I scanned the area for movement. Nothing, not a human in sight. I headed in
the home. “Oh my god, they got everyone.”
The whole family was dead, lying about the ground. Everyone must have
been there, as well as some friends from the family. I recognized a pair of twins from the Chicago
area. They were supposed to be two of the biggest bad asses and meanest guys
east of the Mississippi.
The Garbbrino twins had a
list of hits that were second to none. They were best known for the time they
had a hit on this guy who had swatted out a couple of the family members in KC.
The guy went running every day. The idiot made the prep work easy. He would
dress in a white Nike tank top, dark blue with thin black trim running shorts
and bright red running shoes. As I remember it, the Garbbrinos laughed as they
looked over the hit. “How easy is it to hit a guy who goes into the park every
morning, so early no one else is around and dressed as a frickin flag”.
The Morning of this hit,
the twins sat down outside and enjoyed what was left of a couple energy
drinks. Sammy looked at the can and
chuckled “RockStar… why yes.. yes we are!” They were feeling jazzed up and a
little wired when they went to the park. They had followed the Jogger for a
couple of days. They usually would do
this for a week or more, but this numb skull was as predictable as a sunrise
and sunset. He did the same thing, at the same time, everyday; day in, day out,
same outfit, same park, same trail, and same resting times. Watching this guy was like watching a movie
set in a loop, repeatedly. The twins
took their time getting to the Bridge where the jogger would cross every day at
the same point in time. - They had plenty of time to sit on the rocks in the
morning sunlight as it broke the horizon. They squirmed on the rock a little as
the energy drink had still hyped them up just enough so neither of them could
sit still. “It’s time” one twin said as they nodded to each other. Just below
the bridge, they waited... then the first step of the running shoe hit the
green wood plank on the bridge. Before
the second full stride, Sammy popped up from the side and drove his weapon into
the jogger’s hand. The jogger started to
feel the pain but didn’t really know what had happened as it occurred so
fast. It was a shock of pain that sent
him reeling backwards. With this, Jim Garrrino aimed the point at his eye and
went straight into him. The wound in his eye caused him to scream in agony and
spin back ward. Before the two could
even strike again, the jogger fell sideways off the bridge crashing into the
rocky muddy creek below. They smiled as they heard the crack of the jogger’s
skull crash against the rock. Blood trickled from his eye, nose and mouth in to
the clear water of the creek. Clean and
fast. They might not even figure out what
caused him to go over the bridge… suicide maybe… they laughed.
Now these two lay there
along with everyone else in the family. My first thought is to take
inventory. I did a quick body
count. They got 27members of the family;
8 visitors including the twins. There
were 4 I did not recognize but they died here just the same. What was so messed
up was that it did not look like any of them died a fast death. They suffered a lot. The kind of suffering
you would feel if your limbs were removed while you are still alive. I saw this
happen to a buddy of mine about a year before.
It took a long time for him to die.
They finally burned him alive which I think he was glad to see happen as
it took away the pain. It was different, but you could tell no one died
fast! I thought about seeing if there
was anyone left alive, but I quickly realized that if my travel plans hadn’t
changed, I was supposed to be here while the assassins were here. Staying around to see if they would return
and finish me off was not my idea of a good time. I crossed myself and got my
ass out of there.
I flew south, figuring it
would be safe to hide out in Texas. The Family had friends in Plano and they
would take me in until I could figure out what to do next. Besides, hanging out
by a pool and enjoying a margarita sounds pretty good after all the bodies I
had seen. I need the time to disappear and plan.
The Hernandez Family had
heard the news and upon my arrival rushed me in to hear about what I had seen.
We shared all the proper greetings. The information they had was not far off
from what little I knew. Nor did I know
who was responsible. They promised to
send the word out. They would hold good to this promise.
It was Tuesday and the half
full Margarita glass was inviting as I sipped from the edge, avoiding the salt.
The heat in Texas was a bitch. 104 degrees in the shade. The Hernandez Family
was big in Texas; family members came and went, with Frankie sending them out
on “errands”. It was good to be associated with the Hernandez family. They were
big enough that I felt safe and could truly relax. Frankie was big; I mean he
was large. He would eat and drink constantly, as the drones would stop by.
Frankie was well respected for dealing fairly.
Don’t screw with the family and they pretty much would leave you alone.
Do them a favor here and there and they would take you in and protect you even
if you belonged to another family. I was just that, a friend of the family.
About a year before, two of
his members were up in Denver and needed a safe house. I had this abandon house
out in Brighton which was out in an old farm field, in the middle of
nowhere. It was not the best of places
to hold up in, but safe it was. Frankie remembers that.
That afternoon in the
hottest part of the day, Frankie came out to the pool where I was sitting on
the edge of the water. He had that serious look on his face of “let me talk … I
will let you listen”. He plopped down
next to me and said, “Denver’s not controlled now. There is no major family
there. Your family is gone and you are
the only survivor. “I nodded. “ I would like you to take Denver under your
wing, rebuild a family and become associates with us here in Texas.”” I know
that this is a lot to ask. We will find
out who hit your family, but I will need you there to control the area. Partner with us and we gain the strength to
make a real difference.”” Even the Chicago and Indiana
Families will not be as big as us and will avoid ever thinking about moving
into our areas.” I nodded again. If you accept this, we will want you back in
Denver soon. We should know who hit your
family by Friday and I would like you to fly back on Saturday. I will send 12
of my members to assist you in setting up, planning and executing the
hit.” I thought for a moment. The idea of my having my own family and
having my own area of control made me feel warm inside. I went over to the
margarita glass and took a long sip. “Yes – and thank you. I am forever in your debt.” The tequila made
me feel even warmer…. Or maybe it was my ego.
On Friday I appeared back
on the patio. Frankie approached me quickly. “We have the person who hit your
family. Joseph Bachman. – Take care of
business. “
On Sunday, the twelve guys
and I started to plan the hit. While the smallest of the gang, Nuchie, watched
him, we made our preparations... We would hit at his home; revenge would be
sweet and slow. We would make sure his pain was long and the end would not be
quick. If possible, we would take him out on his deck. Every day, not at the
same time, but every day, he would go out to the deck and have a smoke. He
would sit there, or water his plants on the deck, but he was pretty well blind
to everything else around him.
One by one we moved onto
the property from the south, until all 12 of us were underneath the deck. We
left Nochie in the house next door, watching, to signal us when it was time or
if there was a need to back down.
Joseph walked out on to his
deck. We felt the vibrations on the
boards as we clung on to them upside down. Nochie did his dance from the house
next door to signal us to go. We flew out, swarming from under the desk in
groups of two or three. The first two
flew around the edge and headed straight for him, but the buzzing caught his
ear and he quickly grabbed a fly swatter and smashed the two across the deck and
into the house wall. The next three or four flew out towards his face but
again, the flyswatter smashed them as well. All four lay there on their backs
with the stingers still waving upwards as a possible last sting could
occur. The rest of us flew to the far
side of the deck, figuring he was too busy stamping out the others with his
tennis shoe to see us coming. Just as
we make the corner of the deck, I saw the thing that took out the family… Wasp
Spray. The dreaded word, “Raid” …filled all of my eyes in a million little red
cans. Before the rest of us could
react… the stream of Poisson shot from the canister and hit us all with at
least enough mist to make us fall to the deck floor. I thought about the large
hive I had planned to build for the Denver Family possibly under this very deck,
and how sweet I thought that would be. I coughed a little. I folded over in
pain, just as I viewed the family laying there like this a week before. Then I saw the sole of his shoe from above
coming down right towards me – I raised my stinger in one last defiant stabling
motion as his foot came down, “shiii –“ and ……
The End
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