Double Crossed - Prologue to Chapter 2

Prologue: 1991, Lawrence, Kansas.

They walked into the empty store, their guns hidden underneath their coats.  They moved up each aisle slowly, checking for security cameras; or lack of in this place; just in case any had been installed since they’d last checked.  The till was at the back of the store; they went up to it, the cashier smiling at them. 
Henry was the first to pull his gun, trying to impress his older brother.  He pointed it at the store clerk.  William pulled his out next.  The clerk shot his arms in the air. 
“Is there anyone out back?” William demanded, waving his gun in the direction of a door to the right.
“N-no, j-just me ...” he stammered back.   
“O.K. Hand over the money, all the money.  Very slowly now; you try anything and we shoot, you got that?”  William threw a black sack at him. 
The man, whose name tag read ‘Jim D’, nodded vigorously.  He moved his hands slowly down towards the till.  He opened it and started putting the money in the bag.  Hidden inside the till was a gun.  His eyes searched the intruders; he waited until the taller one, William, looked away, and reached for the gun. 
Jim took it out and shot William in the chest.  He fell back in to the shelves, knocking food everywhere on his way down.  He lay on the floor, still, his eyes open in surprise. 
In a panic, Henry pulled his trigger.  The clerk stumbled backwards into the cigarette display then fell to the floor behind the counter, blood seeping through the hole in his torso. 
Henry flung his gun to the floor and knelt beside William, cradling his head in his arms.  Tears fell down his face, splashing into the blood which was spreading rapidly across the floor. 
Ding! Ding!
The door opened.  Three men in suits walked in.  Henry tried to avoid being seen; he crawled behind the closest aisle but it was too late.  Two of the suits walked either side of the aisle, their guns already drawn.  They reached him at the same time, their guns pointing at  Henry’s face.   
The third man, the smallest of the trio, had been watching and surveying the scene.  When he had seen enough, he put himself in Henry’s line of sight.   
“Hello son.  It’s nice to see you again.”
“Mr Jack!  God I’m glad to see you; I thought you were the cops!”
Jack laughed; a deep, hollow sound.  “Well, it’s a good job it is me then, aint it?  Is that Willy over there?” He nodded in the direction of William’s prone body. 
“Yeah; the fucking keeper shot him!  But I shot him back, don’t you worry about that, Mr Jack.  I did what Willy would have done.”  Henry grinned. 
Jack smiled back.  “Well kid, this is quite a mess we’re in here.  I've just lost a darn good worker.  What am I supposed to do now?” he asked, in his fading Texan drawl. 
“Well sir, I don’t know, but I gotta get outta here before the cops show up.”
Henry stood and made for the door, but Jack’s guards grabbed him under the arms and pinned him against a wall.
“Hey man, what’s going on?!” Henry tried to twist free but couldn’t. 
“Well, you see son, I invested a lot in your brother, a lot of time and energy, and I aint gonna waste all that money just because he wanted some cheap thrills and got himself killed. 
“Now, I know your brother has taught you a lot about what he did for me and what he learnt.  So, I'm sure we can come to, some arrangement.” He smirked. 
“What?  I'm just a kid man; I'm only fifteen! I don’t wanna do what he did; I've heard the stories man; that shit aint for me.” Henry tried even harder to get away.  Jack walked over to him, grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head against the wall. 
“Now listen here you dumb fuck.  I aint messing around here.  You are gonna work for me whether you like it or not.  If you keep playing hard to get sweetheart, I’ll have your ass thrown in jail quicker than you can get outta that door.  And trust me, it won’t be none of this juvy shit, you'll be headed for big boy jail, and they like them young in there son. 
“Since you killed a decent, hardworking guy in cold blood, you’re looking at twenty five to fucking life son.  You know I can do this, kid.  So, what's it gonna be?  You've got two minutes to think about it.”  He affectionately slapped Henry’s face. 
Henry had stopped moving.  Even though he was only young, he knew that Jack meant business, and wouldn’t let him go.  No matter what Henry did or said, he was screwed.  At least if he took Jack’s offer, he would live. 
“O.K. Mr Jack.  I’ll do it.”
Jack smiled in a way that terrified Henry, and let go of him, though the guards still held him up. 
“I knew you'd see sense soon enough, boy.  Paul?”
“Yeah boss?”
“You take our friend here to the car, and keep your eye on him.” He looked at Henry.  “Just in case.”  He winked. 
Paul dragged Henry to the car.  Once they were gone, Jack took out his phone and made a call.  The caller answered on the first ring. 
“It’s done.  I need you over here to clean everything up.  Everything.  Thanks.”  Jack closed down and started laughing. 




1


Thursday, February 5th: Lawrence, Kansas. 



It was warm outside for February.  The sun beat down on top of my black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.  I’d bought it a few years back and it aint let me down since.  It’s not very inconspicuous but I like it.  I drove through the almost deserted streets of Lawrence; school was out a while ago so there wasn’t much traffic.  Plus, I wasn’t in exactly the best part of town.
Lawrence was a nice place.  I’d moved here when I was ten with my mum and fifteen year old brother.  My new ‘step-dad’ lived here and met my mum while he was in London, and decided to take us with him back to Kansas.  I didn’t mind at first; London had nothing going for it, and I was getting sick of nicking stuff from the same places. 
I’d been nicking stuff from shops since I was about seven; either food for me because my mum was too stoned or out on the game to feed us, or I’d steal cigarettes to sell at school so the big kids wouldn’t beat me up. 
I soon found out life in Kansas wasn’t any better.  Now I had someone always there to beat me up whenever he was bored or drunk.  William started to look out for me when he got big enough; at fifteen he was quite small and slim, but quick.  All of a sudden he'd had a growth spurt and bulked out. 
I’d follow him around everywhere, though he didn’t like it; he was my cool older brother.  Then he started taking notice of me after I’d beefed up a bit too, and started getting a name for myself with kids my age. 
He taught me how to shoot when I was thirteen.  It was the best day of my life.  The first person I shot was my step-dad when he told me to take my clothes of when I was fourteen and forced me on my bed.  That's when Willy and I ran.  My mum was too stoned to even notice what we’d done.  Last I heard she died a year ago. 
I was on my way to see Jack ‘The Hammer’ Jones’, who had been my boss since I was fifteen. He'd taken over ‘looking’ after me when Willy was shot.  His version was training me up to do what Willy did: debt collecting, beating people up, and then finally killing people. 
The only thing that worried me was how good I was at it, and how much I enjoyed it.  I liked finding out about people, following them, and killing them because they were bad people who deserved it. 
Jack had called a ‘meeting’ at his office.  The fact that the meeting was there and not at my flat, and was with him instead of his usual heavies who give me a folder with everything they thought I needed to know, meant that he had something very important to talk about.  I was hoping that it would be a job; as I felt I’d recovered enough after being shot in the shoulder three weeks ago. 
It was the first time I'd ever messed up on a job.  The guy I was supposed to kill was having an affair and had arranged a spur-of-the-moment night in with his mistress. 
I’d thought I’d known his plans as he usually met her three days a week while his wife worked nights at the hospital: Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.  This was a Friday.  He must have called her at work feeling lonely while I was helping myself to a bacon sarnie from the cafe across the road from his office. 
She turned up at the house just after I’d pulled the trigger, and took a shot that hit me in the shoulder.  God knows why she had a gun on her, but she didn’t make it back out alive. 
I pulled up outside the building which he owned and where his offices were.  It was a plain building, the kind you find in any place all over the world.  Which was exactly why he bought it; you would never guess that murders, drug deal and robberies were planned from the top floor. 
Even though it was a simple, unadorned building, Jack certainly didn’t skimp on the security.  There were cameras hidden everywhere, facing all directions.  A spotlight came on if anyone walked up to the door at night. 
I walked up the steps, and smiled and waved at where I thought the cameras were, though I was probably wrong.  There was an intercom system on the side; I pressed the button.  There was a wait of a few seconds when I heard the door buzz open.  I went inside. 
There was no reception area, just a set of stairs straight ahead, a lift next to them with a sign that said ‘Out of Order’, and two doors either side, both padlocked.  I didn’t want to know what was in them, though I had an idea. 
I took the stairs to the top; climbing up seven flights of stairs was supposed to wear people out so Jack had a slight advantage over anyone he was meeting with in case things got out of hand.  I was knackered by the fourth. 
I got to the top floor.  Before I went in I stopped to catch my breath.  I knew Jack knew I was here, but I didn’t care.  He could wait; I wasn’t planning on causing trouble. 
I looked around.  It was just a small corridor with a set of brown double doors at the end, locked from the inside so Jack couldn’t be caught unaware if he wasn’t watching the cameras.  Plus, it made it harder for people to get out.  The floor was made from rough stone and the walls were painted a pea-soup-green colour.  Quite hospital-chic, I supposed. 
I knocked on the door and waited.  After a short while, a Mexican who looked like a bear but just a bit less hairy, opened the door, and I was invited inside with a grunt; I gave him my biggest smile.  I could see we were going to be friends for life. 
There were three other people in the room all looking like my new found friend, and Jack.  They left when I entered and closed the doors behind them.  I locked it with the key that was in the door.  Now there was no escape if I needed it, which I hoped I didn’t. 
Jack was stood behind a huge solid oak desk, almost empty except for a lamp, a flat screen monitor, and a thin manila folder.  On the front was a photo of a girl; maybe I was a job after all. 
I was always amazed by his office; it was nothing like the rest of the building.  It covered the whole top floor and was expensively furnished with antiques.  Wood seemed to be the general theme; it was everywhere. 
“Hello, son.  Take a seat.”  The only other seat close by was a wooden, straight-backed chair, probably made for people like me: the help.  I sat down. 
“Hi, Jack.  What's all this about? What's going on?”
He was looking out a small window that looked down on the street and the park over the road, his back to me.  He was shorter than you'd expect, barely five foot six, yet he had a demeanour that would scare the crap out of someone seven foot; I know he scared me and I was six two. 
He came here from Texas back in the eighties as he thought that Kansas could do with someone like him.  So he set up shop, ‘converged’, as he called it, with all other like-minded business men, and made a name for himself all over America for his tough-but-fair approach. 
“Well, I've got a job for you Henry.  I think you’re ready to come back to work and you’re the only one I really trust to get the job done professionally.  But it’s a rather personal job.” He turned back to face me, his bald head looking especially shiny in the bright sunlight. 
Wow.  This must be big if he's dishing out compliments like that.  “Why?  Who is it?” 
He sat down behind the desk and sighed.  He slid the folder to me and tapped the photo.  It was of a beautiful woman who looked to be in her late twenties with long brown hair. 
“Who is she?  What’s she done?” I asked. 
“Her name is Ruth Rodin, A.K.A. Ruby Rioux.  She runs one of the houses for me out in north Lawrence.  A few of the girls I pay extra for information brought it to my attention that she's been taking a lot more than what she deserves.  Not enough to be making her a millionaire, but it could if she aint stopped.  I want you to use Ruth to send a message: no one takes from me.  Period.”
I was shocked.  I thought it was a bit much to kill someone for taking a bit of money.  Jack was usually a fair man; he’ll hear someone out first.  Maybe he had, but it didn’t sound like it. 
“Why not just send some heavies round to beat her up?  Why does she need to be killed?” I asked. 
“Because, Henry, she aint just been stealing from me.  Those men in here earlier were messengers from Jonno Rodriguez.  According to them, Ruth has been giving Crazy Dave some of my girls; the ones she said she’d got rid of because they were on drugs, and you know my policy on that.”  I did.  If any of his girls were caught taking or selling drugs, he'd make sure they never worked again.  There was more. 
“They also ‘let slip’ that she is planning to go work for Crazy Dave, sometime in the near future, and help him take over my business.  By killing me.” 
I sat there, dumbstruck.  Who would wanna go against Jack ‘The Hammer’ Jones?  Crazy Dave was a nut job; it was only a matter of time until he decided to fuck about one too many times and end up killing himself. 
His thing was bombs; he loved blowing up anything and everything that wasn’t his.  He also loved the prostitutes, which explained why he was taking Jack’s girls.
But Jack was the hardest and fiercest man in Kansas; though Kansas aint as big as New York, he had connections all over the world, which is why he was so successful. 
He was highly respected because he believed in everyone having their own turf to deal with and not taking over other people; therefore, he never tried to take what wasn’t his.  He wasn’t big on gang wars and helped people understand how it was unnecessary for so many losses on both sides.  But, if you crossed him, or anyone he liked, you were a dead man, and it would not be pain free. 
“Now you see why she's gotta go.  We’re gonna use Ruth to show the others that no one steals from me and gets away with it, and no one tries to take MY girls.  No one takes over my turf, not Crazy Dave, no one!”  He sounded angry enough, but looked uneasy. I’d noticed he'd called her Ruth, her actual name, instead of Ruby, her working name.  I decided to push my luck a bit. 
“Do you know her well?  I mean, have you known her long?” I asked.
“Now that's none of your business boy.  You just do your job.  Make sure you do it well, son, and make it public.” 
This time he had a mean look in his eye.  I knew that if I pushed again he might decide to make me an example; fair he may be, but he's got a temper like a pissed off hungry bull who can’t reach his dinner.  “Sure thing, Jack.” 
“See me when it’s done.  It may be quite tricky to find her as she’s gone AWOL, so I’ll pay you more than your usual.” He stood up and shook my hand, then sat back down; my cue that the meeting was over.  I left with the unusually thin folder in my hand, closing the door behind me. 
I left the building and went to my car.  I drove the few blocks to my favourite cafe.  The waiter knew me by the amount of times I’d ate here.  The food was amazing, cooked by a big German guy who barely spoke English but always gave me a wave. 
Today was no different.  Here, I didn’t even need to tell anyone my order as it never changed; a full English with everything and extra bread on the side. I knew I could afford to eat in a better place, but I couldn’t be arsed.   
Hans, or whatever his name was, gave me a yell and the waiter, a skinny spotty teenager, said he'd bring my food over when it was ready.   
The interior was nothing special; grey walls that I assumed were once white, and eight tables that 60s American diner look with leather benches, tatty red and white chequered table cloths, and a broken jukebox which had probably been there since it first opened.  The floor was covered with years of dust and spilled food; I just hoped the kitchen was cleaner. 
I sat at my usual table at the back, but still being able to see the door just in case.  I put the folder on the table and looked at the photo.  I started thinking about all that Jack said.  Something didn’t feel right.  There were lots of things Jack wasn’t telling me, but I wasn’t sure why; he usually told me everything that I needed to know, but there was only a handful of pages of info. 
This was different.  I wasn’t sure why, but I wanted to find out as much as I could about her connection to Jack.  I'm sure there was a definite history there; otherwise, he wouldn’t have called her by her real name if she was just another working girl.  But right now I just wasn’t sure what it was.  I knew Jack wouldn’t like me to find out; that's why he didn’t tell me.  But if he wanted the job done, I might need to know. 
My food came over swimming in grease.  I gave the teen a ten and told him to keep the change; it must have been a big bonus because his face lit up and the money went straight in his pocket. 
I was starving; all those stairs must have taken it out of me.  I flicked open the folder as I ate.  The food was delicious as always.  The first page told me her general details: her full name, family members, known associates, date of birth, that kind of thing.  Not very interesting but useful, especially the parts about family and associates since she's disappeared.  Maybe she’d gone there but I doubted it.  They would have been the first places that Jack had his men look, so surely she wouldn’t be that stupid. 
I was starting to think she’d left the country; it would be the first thing I’d do if I knew that Jack was looking for me.  That's if she knew.  I wrote a mental note to myself to ask Jack. 
The next few pages were about her life since meeting Jack.  Quite an interesting read.  It seemed that Jack had taken her in off the streets when she was sixteen and he was already making a name for himself. 
She was working for a pimp named Jimmy Choo, how original.  Jack saw her one day getting the shit kicked out of her by Jimmy and didn’t think it was right.  So, he told Jimmy his horoscope and took young Ruby with him and set her up in one of his houses. 
Soon enough she had worked her way up to becoming Madam of one of his popular houses, which was quite strange as she hadn’t been there for that long; I’d bet the other girls didn’t appreciate that. 
It seems she was fair to her girls, often taking them in off the streets, giving them a room to live and work in, paying rent from what the earned. 
Jack didn’t mind; as long as they were making him money he didn’t care where they came from, as long as they weren’t using or selling.  It was looking more and more like he had a soft spot for Ruby, favouring her over his other Madams.  I wondered what that was about; why was she so special?
Since I’d finished my food, I decided to take the folder back to my flat to go over it in more detail and see what else I could find out.  I left the cafe and got to my car.  Before I got in I noticed a car two behind mine with windows that were a shade too dark.  I couldn’t see the drivers face but I saw that it was at least two up.  It could be nothing, but in my line of work that was rarely the case. 
I got in my car and turned the ignition.  Just to be sure it was going to follow me, I took the first left, then left again, boxing around the cafe so I ended up facing the road I started on, and then turned right onto the main road. 
Sure enough it was behind me, trying to keep two or three cars between us, obviously hoping I wouldn’t notice the silver Ford tailing me.  I wondered why.  Who had I pissed off this time? 
I was sure it couldn’t have been Jack’s mates; they weren’t as obvious as that as they were well trained by ex-military members Jack paid for this sort of thing.  Plus, I hadn’t upset Jack.  The police maybe?  It was a possibility.  Again, I wondered why; I hoped the last job wasn’t coming back to bite me in the arse ‘cos I’d messed up.  I’d soon find out. 
I drove on a bit further and pulled up outside the park opposite Jack’s office and waited.  Soon enough, they parked up a few cars behind me, engine off.  They must have been amateurs and not read the handbook on tailing people.  I was sure the first rule was to not let the person your following know that you’re following them.  They should have driven past me.  Maybe they were doing this on purpose and wanted me to know they were there.   
Either way, I was about to introduce myself.  I didn’t know if they were packing or not, but I’d have to assume so, it would be stupid not to.  I got my gun, a Heckler and Koch, out of the glove compartment and tucked in the front of my jeans after checking it was made ready.  I covered it with my t-shirt, got out and walked towards their car. 
But before I even got close enough to see inside, the driver turned the ignition back on and pulled away. 
I watched as they drove along the main road then turned out of sight.  What the fuck was that about?  I didn’t get a good look at who they were; male, female, who knew?  They could have been monkeys for all I knew.  But I managed to catch part of their licence plate.  I got back in my car.  I wouldn’t need to follow them, I'm sure they'd be back, maybe not them idiots, but others.  They must have been the police, but I just wasn’t sure.  I’d look up the plate when I got home. 


2
Friday, February 6th.


“Uncle Angelo!  Come play with us!” squealed Jake, Angelo Delfavera’s three year old nephew, holding the tail to pin on the donkey in the playroom. 
“In a minute, kiddo.” He said, feeling his phone vibrate in his trouser pocket.  He pulled it out and flicked it open as Jake left the room.
“Delfavera ... Where at? ... I'm on my way ... See you in five.”  He closed down and walked over to his mom and sister who were sat talking at the table.
“Mom, Christiana, I've got to go; Tony just called.  I won’t be back tonight but I’ll call you tomorrow mom.”  He kissed them both on the cheek.  He picked up his coat off the back of the chair and left. 
He got into his car, a sensible Ford Escort, and drove from the house.  He turned on his police radio, and then thought better of it, so he put in a Kansas tape.  He knew it was cheesy and cliché to listen to Kansas while living in Kansas, but he didn’t care.  He was a big fan of the band and turned ‘Carry on Wayward Son’ all the way up. 
He got to the house in Hickory Street in no time, as it was near his parent’s home.  He stopped outside of a house halfway up the street, well away from the house he needed due to the amount of cars already parked. 
He contemplated listening to the rest of the song before going inside, but thought it would be rather unprofessional of him.  He turned the ignition off and got out of the car, locking it behind him. 
There was police tape surrounding the house and garden, keeping the already gathering crowd at bay.  He walked up to the cop who was crowd-controlling, and recognised him as Derek Jones. 
“Hey Derek, is Tony inside?” he asked him. 
“Yeah, he's watching the Photographer take photos, you know what he's like.” he laughed.  Angelo definitely knew what Tony was like; everyone knew what Antony Jacobs was like.  If people thought Angelo was a stickler for making sure people didn’t mess up, Tony was ten times worse.  He was always looking over everybody’s shoulder, ‘just in case’ being his excuse. 
Angelo walked under the tape and up to the house, preparing himself for what he knew he was about to see.
He noticed that the door was open, but not broken.  He stepped under the police tape that was guarding the entrance.  The smell hit him straight away.  He went through the open door on his right, the smell even stronger.  The first thing he noticed was the blood; there was a lot of it, everywhere, on the walls, the floor, the ceiling, every piece of furniture was covered. 
“Hey Angelo, over here.”  Said Tony Jacobs, who was at the end of the living room, which had been used as a dining area.  He was stood over a woman’s body. 
“Hey Tony.  What the hell happened here?”  He said, walking over to Tony.  He knelt down beside the body. 
“Well, we think his name is Robert Daniels, but, as you can see by what’s left of his face, we can’t be sure till we get dentals done on him.  Looks like he was set on fire, whether he was alive or not, we’ll have to wait for the coroner.” 
At that moment, an old, frail looking man came over to them, a bag in his hand.  “Evening boys, I would say it’s nice to see you, but it’s not really.”
“Doctor Fitzgerald, how are you his fine night?” Asked Tony, a smile on his face. 
“Don't start on me boy, I was in the middle of bridge with my neighbours.