THE RISEN AND THE FALLEN

Frank Schaeffer laid his suitcase down and looked around the hotel room. It was just as it always was. Nothing much changed here. Same fine, soft, red Persian rugs, the large bar filled with bottles of every type of liquor and exotic wine one could imagine, flanked by two long leather sofas on each side and a window which looked down on the perpetually shining bright lights of Las Vegas, their radiant glow seeming to beckon travellers to come quickly and partake of all of the things Vegas had to offer. The gambling: every casino on every corner promising the possibility of immense wealth, the immeasurable bliss of ‘hitting it big’, the women: beautiful showgirls, many of whom were willing to indulge any conceivable fantasy (for the right price, of course), the fine dining and entertainment. Yes, Frank Schaeffer had come to truly love his business trips to Vegas.

He breathed in deeply, savouring the wonderfully fresh smell of the room, laid down his suitcase and went to the window, pulling the drapes across to reveal the marvel that was Vegas at twilight. The sun was a mere distant silhouette in the northern horizon far across the desert. Its’ fading pinkish-orange glimmer stretching across the Arizona plains and into this world of fast living and constant night-life, reminded him of a distant eye that was just about closed and would soon be lost in the land of dreams. Dreams of fortunes won in a split second, with one roll of the dice, or one turn of a card. Other dreams, destroyed just as abruptly, peoples’ life savings squandered on one bad hand in a game of blackjack, or at the roulette table.

Truth be told, Frank enjoyed gambling, but only moderately. He usually played for very small stakes and never spent more than the set amount which he had brought for himself to use at the casinos. What he really loved about coming to Vegas were the women. He had been with women all over the world, but the ones here…there was just something about them, they were always up for anything, and he was a man with very specific tastes. He liked them young, but not too young, anywhere between the ages of twenty and thirty, and they had to be open minded and sexually skillful.

Now forty-five years old, Frank had been married to a lovely woman named Betsy, whom he had met at school for twenty-five of those years. They had both been law students at the University of Toronto, and when he had first set eyes on her, he had known right away that he had to have her. And Frank Schaeffer was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. He had always possessed a quiet, yet unmistakable confidence and a charisma which, especially when he was younger, had allowed him to charm any lady he desired (and at that time there had been many).

Everyone who knew Frank, from the time of his childhood, had known that he was destined for great things. Not only was he undeniably skilled when it came to charming women, he had also always been a very friendly, sincere and kind-hearted person, who, although somewhat reserved and introspective at times, was always interesting to talk to, eloquent, and possessing of the qualities which endeared him to even people who he had very little in common with him. He made them feel at ease, and comfortable, with his sharp sense of humour and his gift of being able to make even the most bland small-talk seem interesting.

Frank Schaeffer had a very good life and many things had come quite easy to him, as they often seem to for people who are naturally well liked by others. That is not to say that he didn’t work hard to get to where he was, but being the type of man he was unquestionably made things easier.

Yet, despite all of his accomplishments, Frank had one major failure. It haunted him every day. He had failed as a father. He knew this with absolute certainty. He and Kristy, his daughter and only child, had never seen eye-to-eye, so two years ago, just after she had turned eighteen, she had packed her things and left the house, leaving a note saying that she was going to move in with the boy that she had been seeing at the time. Frank had not liked the young man at all. He had been a lousy, unintelligent pot-head with no ambition. The thought of Kristy potentially marrying a worthless slob like that had nauseated him. He had wanted her to go to university, to have a future, but she had been more interested in drinking and partying. She had constantly cut classes in high school and just before she had dropped out her grades had fallen abysmally low, so that she had gone from being a straight A student, to being an apathetic slacker, just like most of the ‘friends’ she hung out with. Frank and Betsy had never seen or heard from Kristy again after she left home. And each and every day he cursed himself for not being there for her more often, for not trying harder to set her on the right track. This was his only failure.

He went into the huge bedroom on the other side of the suite, slid off his shoes, turned on the large flat-screen TV which dominated the opposite wall, climbed up on the bed and flipped open his cell phone to call his wife and let her know that he had arrived. Not that she always expected him to call when he was off on a business trip, but simply out of courtesy and to let him know that he was thinking of her.

The phone rang four times with no answer before going to the voice-mail. She must have been sleeping. He left her a brief message: “Hi sweetie. I just arrived at the hotel. Think I’ll get some sleep early tonight. I have to meet Delveccio early tomorrow morning. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

He did have to meet Delveccio, the client he had come to see (and whom he had defended twice before) at nine the following morning, but he had no intention of going to bed early. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep, as he had found that sleep had become more and more elusive over the past few years. He would often lie awake for hours after Betsy had gone to sleep, thinking about whatever case he had been working on at the time. Mulling over random facts and meaningless details, trying to simplify and perfect the delivery of closing arguments he would give the jury in order to win another one. And winning was something that he did consistently, for Frank Schaeffer was a man who hated to lose, and nothing less than a decisive victory was acceptable to him. He often thought of the court room as being similar to the playing field for a baseball game. He was the pitcher and he had only one thing in mind, and that was shutting down the opposing batters, at any cost. When he was in the courtroom, all of the friendliness that he exhibited toward his friends and acquaintances went out the window. He was there for one thing and one thing alone: to win the case for his client and to collect his money. Until he had done so, he could not rest. He savoured all of the strategy, the mind games and the hypothetical tug-of-war between himself and the opposition to sway the jury. And one thing was for certain: rarely did the opposition get the better of him.

Frank mixed himself a scotch and ginger-ale then dialled the number of an old Vegas acquaintance, Rodrigo.

“Frank! How are you, my friend?” said Rodrigo, sounding genuinely happy to speak to him, “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come back to visit again.”

“I couldn’t stay away, even if I wanted to,” said Frank, “but this time I’ll only be here for two nights. I’m meeting with a client tomorrow.”

“Ah, I see, I see. Someone important, I assume?”

“They’re all important, Rodrigo. I don’t deal with anyone who isn’t.”

“Si, this is true. So you’d like a girl for the night?”

“Si,” said Frank.

“Alright, I have one that I think you’ll really like. She’s new. Only been with us for two weeks, but I think she’s just your type: brunette with green eyes, very curvy and just twenty.”

“Sounds nice. How much does she weigh?”

“Around one-twenty, maybe one-twenty-five. Something like that.”

Frank would never accept a girl more than one-hundred and thirty pounds, nor less than one-hundred pounds. He was very adamant about this because he had found that to be the perfect weight range. He liked a woman that was fit, but not anorexic.

“Okay. Send her over.”

“She’ll be there within an hour. Have a good time, Frank. We’ll talk again soon, yes?”

“Yes. Goodbye Rodrigo.”

Frank slipped the cell phone back into his suitcase, poured himself another drink, dimmed the lights and laid down on the bed, slipping under the thick, silky covers.

Within a half-hour there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, “it’s open.”

He heard the door open and close, and then the sound of light footsteps, heels clicking slowly and awkwardly against the shiny marble floor.

Then he saw a form enter the room. In the dim light it was at first very difficult to make out her features with any degree of accuracy, but as she came closer he could see that she was tall and thin, with long, coppery-brown hair.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Hi,” said the girl, her voice sounding nervous. She stood there, perhaps slightly in awe of her surroundings then slowly approached him and as she came toward the bed the strong smell of her perfume flooded into his nostrils. She had soaked herself in it, as if attempting to conceal and drown out her all-too-evident fear and awkwardness, but in so doing, she had only managed to exacerbate it even more. This was not a girl who was comfortable doing this job. He recognized that immediately. Her voice and the way she walked gave that away. He wanted to see her face, but he could not. There was not enough light.

“You’re nervous,” Frank said.

“A little,” she replied.

He reached for the small lamp beside the bed and flicked the switch.

Then she looked at him, and when she did he sprang up out of bed, his mouth hanging wide open in astonishment. He recognized those eyes staring back at him. Yes, of course he recognized them. For weren’t they partly his own? Yes, they were.

When she saw him she shrunk back and scowled in disgust.

“Kristy?”

She was dressed in an extremely short skirt, showing off her long, smooth legs and her chestnut-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes, so similar to his, now squinted at him. Her timidity was immediately replaced by anger.

“Dad! I can’t believe you! You’re despicable.”

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he said.

“That’s none of your business! Wait until mom hears about you. What a pig you are! How long have you been seeing whores? Is it only while you’re out here, or back home too?”

“Hold on a minute. Don’t give me any of that silly accusatory nonsense, little girl. You’re the one who’s getting pimped out by that slime-ball, Rodrigo. How much more ashamed of you can I ever possibly be?”

“Fuck you!” she screamed, and broke down in tears.

He thought about hugging her, attempting to comfort her, but he had no comfort to offer. Then the thought of what she had become so thoroughly repulsed him that he simply sat back down on the bed and stared at the ground for a long time before finally looking up at her.

“What happened to that guy you left home with? I thought you were in love with him.”

“Turns out I wasn’t. We moved to New York. He took work there in construction and I worked as a waitress. One day, a few months after we had been there, he just didn’t return home. I guess he found some other girl who he liked more. So then I saved up and came out here. It’s been okay so far. I rely on myself and no one else now. That’s the way I want it.”

“You should come back home with me. I’m only here for two nights. I’m meeting with a client tomorrow then I’m leaving. I’ll get you a plane ticket. Your mother will be elated to see you again,” Frank said.

“I’m not going back. I’m staying here. This is my home now.”

He looked at her and wondered where it had all gone wrong. Somewhere along the line he had simply let her slip away. She had wanted independence, and that was completely understandable.

“How long have you been here? Your mother and I have been so worried. We both think about you every single day and your mother prays for you. She’s always praying for your well-being and asking God to bring you back home,” he said.

“Mom’s been praying for years. A lot of good it’s done her. She’s still stuck with you despite all of her prayers and her lifelong obedience to God.”

She reached into her purse, fumbled around in search of her pack of cigarettes, found them, took one out and lit it up, breathing in deeply, the tears still damp against her face.

“Why should you care? You never cared about me when I was at home, so why should you all of a sudden start being so inquisitive now?! It’s none of your damned business how long I’ve been here. And mom prays. Big deal! If she had any damned self-pride she’d have left you long ago! But she’s always been that typically traditional woman who is quite comfortable to live under her husbands’ thumb and agree with everything he says and to wash the dishes and cook meals for you and always rely on you for everything. I love her, but she makes me really sad! As for me, I’m an independent woman. I don’t want to rely on a man for everything, I want to go out and do as I please and make a life for myself based on my own hard work. I’m self-reliant and mom never has been. I really pity her. She has to rely on your for everything and look at what you do! This is how you repay her loyalty, by coming to Vagas and calling for an escort. You’re absolutely pathetic! I’m embarrassed to be your daughter, I really am.”

Frank was not used to being spoken to this way by anyone and it made him angry. But he had been in many situations in court rooms when something said by a prosecutor, or a judge would infuriate him, yet he was able to maintain his composure. Now he simply looked at her, fixing her eyes with an icy stare. This was a look Kristy had only seen a few times in her life. Once, when she was six years old and she had accidentally spilled a glass of milk all over her father’s new stereo system, then, another time when she was fifteen and her mother had found a pack of cigarettes in one of her pockets while she was doing laundry. Both times her father had given her this cold stare. He would never erupt in anger, nor spank her, but punishment would come swiftly in the form of a loss of privileges. No more TV for a week, or no going out with friends for two weeks. Yet, now, he had no power to take any privileges away from her.

“You had a good life back home. I provided for you, gave you everything you needed. Sure, there were long periods of time when I wasn’t around, but that was because of my job. You know the type of demands that are places on me by my clients. So I couldn’t be there for you as much as I would have liked to have been.”

“Yeah, so that’s what it always comes back to. The job was always more important than your daughter and obviously the job was far more important than mom.”

“Kristy, if it wasn’t for my job I wouldn’t have been able to give you and your mother all of the things that you wanted. To give you a huge, wonderful home and all of those credit cards that you ran up, pissing away money on excessive amounts of clothes that you didn’t need and dozens of pairs of shoes, most of which you never even wore and just sat in your closet collecting dust. So don’t lecture me about anything. I did my job as a parent by providing, that’s what any good father does for his children and wife. I did that for you both and that’s all there is to it. Would you rather have had a father who was around all the time but was broke and had you living in some tiny cramped apartment? I think not, so please, enough with this judgemental nonsense.”

She stood up and walked over to the window, looked down at the vastly illuminated, crowded nocturnal spectacle that was Vegas. There was a draft from outside, the cool desert winds sifting gently into the room, mingling with her perfume. The smells of night, the smells of the desert, the invisible thick cloudy form that wanted to come into life and become the personification of emptiness incarnate. She was used to these smells and the feeling of that thick invisible form now, so much so that at times they seemed to drown everything else out; the soft, lonely desert wind, whispering to her at night, forever singing its’ haunting song. A song of loves long lost and dreams plummeting to the ground and landing at the feet of the cruel mistress that was reality. The coldness and the desolation of the world.

Now she stood here in this room with the man who had created her, and yet he was a man whom she barely even knew, a man who was unfaithful to his wife, a man who cared more about his clients and making money than he did about his own family (or so it seemed). Still, she sensed that there was sincerity and remorse within him, however warped and tangled it was.

Frank poured himself another drink and sat back down. They were both at a loss for words. For hadn’t all of his words been hollow? Yes, he supposed they had been. She resented him and she had no intention of coming back home. That was something that he would have to try and make peace with. But knowing what she was doing for a living? That was something that he knew he would never be able to make any kind of peace with.

“If you won’t come back home, then at least promise me you’ll get out of this filthy business that you’re in,” he said, “will you at least do that, Kristy?”

She still had her back to him and she continued to stare out at the wildly vibrant night-world below.

“I find it amusing and ironic that this ‘filthy business’ I’m involved in was something that you obviously had no problem actively partaking in. I mean, if it had been some other girl who had come up here you would have simply had your way with her and sent her on her way, but you think that there is something wrong with the same thing happening when someone else is doing the same with your daughter, because then it becomes personal. How convenient. And you talk about being non-judgemental, yet you have the gall to criticize what I do to make a living, to judge me based on what I do? You’re a hypocrite, Dad. You’ve always been one.”

“No father would ever want his daughter working as a whore,” said Frank.

“I’m not a whore! I’m not a whore at all!! And for your information, even though it’s none of your business, I don’t always sleep with the clients. Sometimes they’re just older men who want the company of a woman, who are lonely and have forgotten what it’s like to have that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t try and glamorize it, or make it sound any better than it is. I know what goes on with these girls because I’ve seen it. It’s degradation”

“Yes, you’ve seen it and you’ve been a part of it. You’ve contributed to that degradation, so how can you criticize and judge when you are a part of the same degradation you deplore?”

He was silent. He sipped his drink and stared intently at the floor, as if he saw thousands of alien insects crawling there, devouring the very substance of reality. And how much of a loss would that really be if they ate it up completely, he thought. You can have it. This reality is useless. This reality is pain and unrelenting suffering. Take it. Take all of it, you slimy, slithering nonexistent creatures. Take all of it. And when there is nothing left, then maybe something good will reform…or maybe not.

Anger suddenly began to flare up in him, and anger of such intensity that it was completely foreign to Frank. It seethed within him, temporarily eclipsing all reason, and for a moment, just for a moment, he wished that she had never been born. How dare she? How dare she disgrace him like this?! Despite the fact that he knew that he should have been there more often for her, he still believed that he had provided for her more than adequately and to have her disrespect her mother and him this way was beyond despicable!

She saw the anger within him and felt a small degree of gratification for the first time in as long as she could remember. He was a man who always took great pride in keeping his emotions in check, but now the anger in his eyes was all too evident. He glared at her, and that look said it all. It said that he was both angry and ashamed of her and despite the fact that she knew it was wrong, she felt glad; glad that he was finally coming to the realization that this type of pain hurts far more than physical pain. She had known its feeling and now it was good to know that he did as well.

“If you don’t quit this shameful profession I will forget that you were ever my daughter. Both your mother and I will completely disown you. It will be as if we never knew you at all. It hurts me immensely to say this, but this is the truth. So you had better damned well think about that!

“That’s fine, Dad,” she said. “It always was as if you never knew me anyway. It always was that way.”

“Get the fuck out of here! I don’t ever want to see you again! You’re not my daughter anymore.”

“I never was,” she said and wiped her eyes as once more the tears were starting to come down. Then she abruptly picked up her purse and left. So be it, he thought. Better to be far away from someone you love, but whose actions you can never understand. Why leave home when you had a good life? Why become a whore? It was so illogical, so absurd.

Once again he looked down and thought he could feel the presence of those invisible insects, tearing away at the fabric of reality, tearing away at everything that was rational and everything that made sense.

Kristy hailed a cab in front of the hotel. She had stopped crying now and had decided that she would put this night out of her mind completely. She would pretend it had never happened, just as she wished she had never known her father at all. It would have been better that way. When the driver dropped her off in front of her condo she paid him, went upstairs, picked up her cellphone again and called Rodrigo, explaining that things had gone wrong at the hotel, that the client had become belligerent and refused to pay, that he had threatened to beat her senseless if she didn’t leave his room.

“So you left without the money?”

“I had to. He said he was going to kill me if I didn’t leave,” she lied. She couldn’t tell him the truth. It would be too humiliating.

“You should have called me right away. I know where he is, I’m going to send someone over to collect the money. That guy Frank always pays, he’s ordered girls from me countless times and they’ve never complained about him in any way. Are you sure you didn’t just get cold feet again and decide that you didn’t want to do it with him? I better not find out that that is the case. He’ll tell me, you know.”

“That’s not what happened,” Kristy said.

“Well I intend to ask him, because what you’re telling me sounds unlike Frank and I hate liars and I hate girls who don’t make me money even worse. So if I find out that you’ve fucked me up again…then there’s going to be trouble for you.”

There had been an incident two weeks ago when she had been sent to the home of a wealthy businessman whom she had found to be repulsive. He weighed over three-hundred-and-fifty pounds and had a disgusting stomach that flopped out in front of him like a huge mound of blubbery dough. She had politely informed the gentleman that she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her obligation and had left abruptly. The gentleman had phoned Rodrigo and he had been furious with her. He had grabbed her by her throat and tightened his hands around her, nearly choking her.

“You stupid fucking bitch! If you ever do that again I’ll personally cut you into little pieces! Is that understood?”

“You’re hurting me,” she said, “let go of me!”

“Is that understood?!”

“Yes,” she gasped, and he took his hands off her neck.

“Listen, you don’t need to send anyone over there. There’s no need.”

“What?! Of course I have to send someone over, and I’m going to go along too. He owes me money, and nobody gets away with ripping me off like that! How long were you there?”

“About an hour, I guess.”

“So he owed me a five-hundred. If I find out you’ve told me the truth and he admits there was an incident and that maybe he had a bit too much to drink and got out of line, then we’ll just collect the five-hundred from him and you’ll get your usual forty percent. But if I find out that you’ve lied to me, well…you better leave town fast. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she said.

She mixed herself an extra strong drink, went into her bedroom, reached into her dresser drawer and removed a small, clear plastic bag. She went into the living room, poured out the contents of the bag onto the long glass table in front of her and then she took a razor-blade and divided the thin white powder into fine lines, all of which she rapidly sniffed up. She had never used cocaine before coming to Vegas, but now she found that she had difficulty functioning without it. She started to feel better after a few minutes. Her mind started to wander away from the events of that evening and move on to better, more positive thoughts.

Frank tried to collect his thoughts, to get everything in order, but his mind was a muddled mess. It was 2 AM and he had to meet Marco Delveccio in seven hours. Delveccio was a ‘made man,’ a high ranking member of the Scollano family from New York. He had been in Vegas for the past six months monitoring the family’s interests in two of the large casinos. He had recently received word from back home that the FBI had some recordings of wiretapped conversations which implicated him in six murders over the past two years. Frank had defended Delveccio twice before, once on first-degree murder charges and once on racketeering charges. Both times he had been found not guilty. Because of this, Delveccio had developed a good deal of respect for Frank. He was not like most of the other mafia affiliates whom Frank had represented. Delveccio was courteous, intelligent, generous and well-read. Still, there was an undeniable ruthlessness beneath all of this which was reserved for anyone who the man considered to be an enemy. Frank was grateful that Delveccio considered him a friend. Or, at least it seemed that he did. There was little doubt that the man had been guilty of the previous charges which Frank had beaten for him. Frank knew that, but he also knew that money talked, even if it was dirty money. So he had put his true feelings in regard to the man’s guilt aside and had attacked the lack of evidence brought forth by the prosecutors in both of the previous trials. Delveccio knew that he would be facing some hard prison time if he was convicted, yet both times Frank had casually, and almost effortlessly destroyed all of the arguments of the prosecution.

“Frank, you are amazing! If you ever need anything, I owe you big-time!” Marco had said, after the ‘not guilty’ verdict at the second trial.

That morning, after Frank discussed the impending case with Marco, they went to one of Frank’s favourite restaurants in Vegas, the Laguna Sunrise, for a bite to eat and a few beers.

“You don’t look too good today, Frank. You seem worried about something and you’re not the one who should be worried. I’m the one that needs to be worried with all this shit that the feds are trying to bring down on me.”

“I’m alright,” Frank said and took a sip of his beer.

“You’re sure? You don’t look alright to me.”

Frank was quiet for a long time, knowing that if he told Marco about the incident with Kristy last night his immediate reaction would be that Rodrigo needed to be killed. Still, with the way he was feeling Frank honestly didn’t think that there was much wrong with that. The man was a scum bag who was pimping out his daughter. He now hated Rodrigo with a burning intensity that seeped through every pore. He was a despicable mound of rodent feces that needed to be exterminated.

“It’s just…well, this is kind of awkward, but…”

“Spit it out, Frank. We’re friends. You’ve helped me out big-time in the past and if there’s anything I can do to help you out, you know I’ll be glad to do it.”

“Okay. I called this escort service that I always use when I’m here in town and when they sent the girl to my room she turned out to be my daughter. Remember the one I told you about? The one who ran away from home a while ago?”



Marco’s eyes opened wide. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fuckin’ brutal.”

“Anyway, she works for this sleazy bastard, Rodrigo Estevez. I just want her to get the hell out of Vegas and come back home so she can start a new life. But…I’ve never said anything like this in my life before and I never thought I’d have any reason to say something like this, but I want that scumbag dead.” He whispered this last part, but Marco heard him perfectly and without hesitation he responded. “Done,” he said.

“You can do that for me?”

“Absolutely, he’ll have a bullet in his head before sunset. I’ll pay him a visit personally and send him on his way to the other side.”

“I want to go with you,” Frank said, “I want to see that piece of shit die.”

“No problem. You can come along. Do you have his address?”

“Yeah, he lives in a room at the Mirage Hotel, where he runs his operation.”

“Okay. I’ve got a few things I have to do today at the casino first. I’ll pick you up around five and we’ll pay that worthless cocksucker a visit.”

“Alright. And Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I appreciate your help with this.”

“No problem, Frank. Like I said, you helped me out in the past and I’m not a man who forgets such things. I believe in loyalty to one’s friends, because without loyalty and honor a man is nothing.”

“That’s true.”

“See you at five.”

When Frank got back to the hotel, the clerk at the front desk said that there had been two men that had come by looking for him. They had left a message: he was to phone Rodrigo. When he got up to his room he sat there thinking of what he would say to the slime-ball when he got him on the phone. He had to conceal his hostility. This would make things easier. He decided to play it cool.

He dialled the number. Rodrigo answered and Frank had a hard time concealing his contempt as he spoke, but with a maximum effort he managed to do so. “Rodrigo, I was told that you came by the hotel looking for me today.”

“Yeah, Frank. I just wanted to collect that money that you forgot to pay the girl I sent over the other night.”

“No problem. I’ll bring it by your place later today.”

“Alright, Frank. What happened last night, anyway? She said things didn’t go to smoothly.”

Frank wanted to tell the worthless prick to shut his filthy mouth, but he maintained his composure, “No. Things didn’t work out too well. I’ll see you later today,” and so saying, he abruptly hung up.

Ordinarily when Kristy bought coke it was from Ronnie, a dealer whom she had been introduced to by one of the other girls she worked with. But Ronnie was out of town for a few days, so she picked up the phone and called Rodrigo, who, she knew, also did some dealing on the side. “Can I come by and pick up some stuff from you?”

“Alright,” he said. He sounded like he was in a better mood than he had been when she had last spoken to him. Her father had probably paid him the money, wanting to avoid any problems, or so she hoped. Then let him go back home and stay out of my life for good, she thought, as she called a cab to take her over to Rodrigo’s place.

Marco arrived to pick Frank up at five o’clock sharp, just as he said he would. The man was always on time. That was something that Frank respected very much. Even though he was a cold-blooded killer, he had always been prompt and courteous in all of their past interactions. This situation was no different. They pulled into the parking lot of the Mirage fifteen minutes later. Marco put on a pair of black leather gloves, reached into the back seat and brought out a large handgun. He then screwed a small, thin piece onto the end of the weapon. A silencer.

“Alright, Frank, so here’s how it’s gonna go. He’s expecting you, so play it cool at the door and as soon as he lets you in I’m going to come in behind you and put a bullet in his head. Quick and simple. You got it?”

“Got it,” said Frank.

Frank’s hands began to shake as they stood in the elevator. Marco laughed. “Don’t worry, Frank. Things will be fine. I’ve been through things like this countless times. It’s going to go smoothly. We’ll be in and out of there before you know it. Less than a minute, tops.”

Frank nodded, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, his palms sweaty and his hands shaking slightly. This was something that he had never ever thought he would involve himself in. Sure, he had defended criminals before. Moreover, he had defended criminals who he knew were guilty. But this was something beyond that. This was actually being there to witness a life being taken. Then he thought of Kristy: his only child, working as an escort to support this filthy scumbag’s affluent lifestyle. The thought both sickened him and calmed him down considerably. This act was justified. The man was exploiting his little girl, and that was all there was to it. There could be no mercy shown to such a piece of filth.

They got out of the elevator at the twenty-first floor, and Frank knocked at the door. A few seconds passed and then Rodrigo opened the door.

“Frank. How are you? Good to see you. Did you bring the money?”

“Yeah, I brought it. This is a friend of mine,” Frank said, pointing to Marco, “can we step in for a minute?”

Rodrigo hesitated, looked at Marco and said “You look familiar. Haven’t I seen you somewhere around town before? At one of the casinos, maybe?”

“That could be. I get around,” said Marco, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“So…can we come in?”

“Yeah, come on in, Frank,” said Rodrigo, still looking suspiciously at Marco.

He kept his eyes on him and he saw him pulling out the gun. Marco was about to fire, but Rodrigo was too fast. He kicked the gun out of Marco’s hand, pulled a knife out of his pocket and stuck it into Marco’s chest. Marco fell to the floor, a look of shock and dismay on his face. How could this happen? He was a professional. He had done so many hits in the past that had gone perfectly. No problems whatsoever, and now this. He put his hand against the wound in a futile effort to try and stifle the blood that was gushing from it.

“Yeah, I knew I recognized your face. You’re that guy from the Delveccio family. Why did you bring this piece of shit here with you to pull a gun on me, Frank?”

Frank quickly reached over, picked up the gun and fired twice. The first shit missed, but the second caught Rodrigo in the arm. Still unfazed, Rodrigo ran around the corner into another room. Frank fired at him but his shots were wildly inaccurate. He had never fired a gun before in his life, but now he had to. His heart was pounding, the adrenaline flowing. The bastard was going to pay for what he had done to Marco and to Kristy.

Frank kicked the door open and started firing wildly in all directions. Then he stepped into the room and saw Rodrigo lying dead on the floor. One of the bullets had gone directly into his forehead, just a tiny hole, but that had been more than enough. Then, Frank dropped the gun and let out a scream of complete and utter sorrow. Lying on a couch, dead, with her arms hanging limply by her sides, with a bullet hole in her head, was Kristy. One of his shots had killed her. There were thin, white lines of cocaine spread out on the glass table which she had been sitting in front of, and the blood from the bullet wound in her head dripped down onto the table next to her, turning the white powder a deep crimson. He fell to the floor and screamed in horror. Then he went over and hugged her, tears streaming down his face. “No, no, no!” he screamed. “My little girl! I love you! Please come back!!” But she was dead. Frank looked at her, at the face which he knew so well, so similar to his own. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him, as if begging to ask him ‘why?’, and the blood poured out of her, dark red. It spilled down onto his hands and stained his clothes. Those stains would never be washed away.









THE END





(Completed September 6, 2011)