he was connected and he was the don’s nephew, so nobody in the family wanted to do it. They contracted out for the hit.
Richie botched it. Sara watched the whole thing from the front seat of Richie’s Cadillac, which was parked in a lot next to the health club. Two-Ton Tony came out the side door, and Richie jumped out from behind a Dumpster and opened fire. His first shot missed. His second jammed in the chamber. An associate of Two-Ton Tony’s suddenly burst through the door, gun drawn, and put a slug right through Richie’s handsome face.
Sara quickly slid down in the front seat, praying they hadn’t seen her, because if they had, she was dead. She sweated blood as she waited, but they never came.
Stupid Richie
! she kept thinking. He thought he had all the bases covered, that he had done his homework.
Two-Ton Tony, Richie had explained to her, was a creature of habit. He did the same things at the same time every day. A steam bath and massage at the health club at 6:30 P.M. was part of his daily routine. Richie planned to clip Two-Ton as he left the club and walked to his car. But Richie didn’t get there early enough to see Two-Ton Tony enter the club—with one of his soldiers at his side. He didn’t know there’d be two of them. And he didn’t look after his weapon, either. Richie Malfitano hadn’t done all of his homework. And that cost him his life.
Sara went to Westies that same night to tell David what had happened. For the first time she saw David Westmoreland become angry. He took a glass of beer and smashed it against the wall in his office, breaking it into a thousand pieces. Richie had screwed up royally. Not only had he missed the target, he had alerted Two-Ton Tony that someone had a contract out on him. Tony and his boys would search high and low to find out who set up the hit. And the Westies were out two thousand dollars, which would have been their commission for a successful kill.
“Shit!” David growled. “Two-Ton will look under every rock between here and Staten Island to find out who set him up. And he’ll come up with an answer, too.”
“Not if he’s dead,” Sara said matter-of-factly.
“And how is he going to get dead?”
“I’m going to do it for you.”
“Forget it,” David said, waving off the offer. “Even the best hit men won’t touch this now. Two-Ton Tony is really going to be on guard, and he’ll have two goons with him wherever he goes. Nobody is going to get near him.”
“You let me worry about that.”
David gave her a hard stare. “Just because you can fire a gun doesn’t mean you can shoot a man.”
“Who said anything about shooting?”
“Then how are you going to do it?”
“This is my offer,” Sara said, ignoring the question. “I can arrange for Two-Ton Tony to die within the next two weeks. For my work I want to be paid ten thousand dollars. And I guarantee you his death will look accidental.”
“Why is accidental so important here?”
“Because if he’s murdered now, the people close to Tony will come after whoever did it with a vengeance,” Sara explained. “Two-Ton Tony may be an asshole, but he’s connected.”
“Right.”
“If he dies accidentally, everybody will shrug and walk away. It’ll be like water under the bridge.”
“Makes sense.”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
David hesitated. “Let me talk with—”
Sara shook her head. “You make the decision now. Yes or no.”
David hesitated again before saying, “Don’t get yourself killed, Sam.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
For six straight days Sara trailed Two-Ton Tony Giamarro. He was a creature of habit, all right, but a very closely guarded creature of habit with two goons constantly at his side. There seemed to be no detectable flaws in his schedule. Then, on the seventh day, Sara saw a possible opening. It was one she never expected.
On Tuesday afternoon, Two-Ton Tony visited his girlfriend. While his two bodyguards waited outside, Tony
Richie botched it. Sara watched the whole thing from the front seat of Richie’s Cadillac, which was parked in a lot next to the health club. Two-Ton Tony came out the side door, and Richie jumped out from behind a Dumpster and opened fire. His first shot missed. His second jammed in the chamber. An associate of Two-Ton Tony’s suddenly burst through the door, gun drawn, and put a slug right through Richie’s handsome face.
Sara quickly slid down in the front seat, praying they hadn’t seen her, because if they had, she was dead. She sweated blood as she waited, but they never came.
Stupid Richie
! she kept thinking. He thought he had all the bases covered, that he had done his homework.
Two-Ton Tony, Richie had explained to her, was a creature of habit. He did the same things at the same time every day. A steam bath and massage at the health club at 6:30 P.M. was part of his daily routine. Richie planned to clip Two-Ton as he left the club and walked to his car. But Richie didn’t get there early enough to see Two-Ton Tony enter the club—with one of his soldiers at his side. He didn’t know there’d be two of them. And he didn’t look after his weapon, either. Richie Malfitano hadn’t done all of his homework. And that cost him his life.
Sara went to Westies that same night to tell David what had happened. For the first time she saw David Westmoreland become angry. He took a glass of beer and smashed it against the wall in his office, breaking it into a thousand pieces. Richie had screwed up royally. Not only had he missed the target, he had alerted Two-Ton Tony that someone had a contract out on him. Tony and his boys would search high and low to find out who set up the hit. And the Westies were out two thousand dollars, which would have been their commission for a successful kill.
“Shit!” David growled. “Two-Ton will look under every rock between here and Staten Island to find out who set him up. And he’ll come up with an answer, too.”
“Not if he’s dead,” Sara said matter-of-factly.
“And how is he going to get dead?”
“I’m going to do it for you.”
“Forget it,” David said, waving off the offer. “Even the best hit men won’t touch this now. Two-Ton Tony is really going to be on guard, and he’ll have two goons with him wherever he goes. Nobody is going to get near him.”
“You let me worry about that.”
David gave her a hard stare. “Just because you can fire a gun doesn’t mean you can shoot a man.”
“Who said anything about shooting?”
“Then how are you going to do it?”
“This is my offer,” Sara said, ignoring the question. “I can arrange for Two-Ton Tony to die within the next two weeks. For my work I want to be paid ten thousand dollars. And I guarantee you his death will look accidental.”
“Why is accidental so important here?”
“Because if he’s murdered now, the people close to Tony will come after whoever did it with a vengeance,” Sara explained. “Two-Ton Tony may be an asshole, but he’s connected.”
“Right.”
“If he dies accidentally, everybody will shrug and walk away. It’ll be like water under the bridge.”
“Makes sense.”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
David hesitated. “Let me talk with—”
Sara shook her head. “You make the decision now. Yes or no.”
David hesitated again before saying, “Don’t get yourself killed, Sam.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
For six straight days Sara trailed Two-Ton Tony Giamarro. He was a creature of habit, all right, but a very closely guarded creature of habit with two goons constantly at his side. There seemed to be no detectable flaws in his schedule. Then, on the seventh day, Sara saw a possible opening. It was one she never expected.
On Tuesday afternoon, Two-Ton Tony visited his girlfriend. While his two bodyguards waited outside, Tony
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