A Killing Kiss Read online

  A Merciless Killer

  A Beautiful Widow

  An Innocent Child

  When Jacob Menten is murdered, the battle to take his place at the head of a brutal crime syndicate will be long and bloody. His innocent wife and son are caught up in a war of succession and a tangle of secrets and lies. Who killed the old boss? And how do they hope to gain from the death and destruction unleashed? It will take all of Smitty’s talent to fulfil the dead man’s final wish and keep his family safe. But then, Smitty is a hitman of exceptional talent...

  #6

  A Killing Kiss

  B.R.Stateham

  #13 Press

  ntp-13A06

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  Copyright B.R. Stateham, 2015

  Cover design copyright Number Thirteen Press, 2015

  All characters and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Number Thirteen Press

  Kindle Version 1.0

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  Through the gloom of the night he saw the flash of bright tail lights on the Mercedes. The gray German steel was slowing before turning off the highway and onto the isolated, out-of-the-way paved county road. The black top road was miles outside the city. It cut a narrow swath through a thick forest as it wound its way around the bases of small hills and generally meandered toward the Mississippi River.

  In the darkness of the heavy four-wheel drive pickup his thin lips pulled back into a grim little sneer. Downshifting into third he slowed as the black top road approached and then lumbered the big Ford F-150 onto the county road and sped up rapidly. Two miles ahead was the steep, narrow curve in the road he had chosen for the hit to go down. On one side the black mass of a steep hillside filled with trees crowded up against the pavement. On the other side a deep creek filled with trees and underbrush on its steep sides and deep, fast moving water down at the bottom.

  The perfect spot.

  Ideal for what he had in mind.

  The perfect resting place for victim number one.

  The big Ford engine up front increased its volume as he pushed the vehicle well past eighty in an effort to catch up to the Mercedes. In moments the tail lights of the German luxury car came into sight. Inside the car he knew its driver would be suspecting nothing as the head lights of his big truck came up fast on its rear bumper. Just another good ol’ boy heading down to the river to do some fishin’. Maybe fishin’ and sippin’ the suds some. Big boys and their big powerful toys. Always ran this road a little too fast – a little too recklessly.

  Yes...

  That’s exactly what Charlie Rich would be thinking as bright headlights lit up the rear view mirror on his windshield. Just another good ol’ boy...

  Except.

  Except the front end of the big truck had a tubular steel pipe bumper system strong enough to smash through brick walls. So just as the giant machine smashed into the left rear fender of the Mercedes Charlie Rich had no time to react. The truck hit him with a tremendous blow – throwing the car’s tail around to the right so violently the big car began sliding out of control and heading straight for the drop off and the creek below.

  Tires screeching, Charlie sawed desperately back and forth on the steering wheel in a useless effort to bring the car under control. But it was a useless gesture. With the big Ford engine of the pickup behind him screaming in anger poor Charlie had no chance. The right set of wheels slipped off the pavement and down into loose gravel. The sudden change was enough to flip the car on its side. Sparks flew as the metal of the car skidded back onto the pavement. But instead of slowing down the nose of the Ford pickup slammed into the car like an enraged black rhino – slammed into the Mercedes with sledge hammer blows that pushed the car toward the edge of the creek embankment.

  One final blow and the Mercedes tilted dangerously for a half second on the edge of the creek... and then disappeared altogether in a blinking of an eye. Smitty screeched to a halt only inches away from the creek’s edge. He threw open the pickup’s door and jumped out. In the darkness the tumbling roar of the Mercedes rolling and crashing through the underbrush and bouncing off the rocky walls of the creek filled the dark-eyed man’s ears. A grinding, ripping, shattering series of explosive sounds as he stood on the creek’s ledge and looked down.

  Ninety feet.

  Ninety feet to the bottom and then... distinctly... the splash of the car diving, roof top first, into the swiftly moving deep stream. If the drop of ninety feet didn’t kill the overweight, wheezing mobster, the fast-moving water would. Charlie Rich didn’t know how to swim. If by some miracle Charlie survived the fall he wouldn’t have time to unstrap himself and climb out of the car. The water was frigid cold. The car was a smashed and twisted heap of metal. He made sure of that. No way to get out of the car easily. No way.

  A little smile of grim delight stretched across Smitty’s thin lips as he turned and climbed back into the Ford. Charlie Rich was a dirty little bastard who needed killing. The small time hood liked to hurt people. Liked to inflict pain. He wasn’t a nice man. But now Charlie was out of the picture. Permanently.

  One down. Five more to go.

  Closing the door, the dark-eyed man pushed the gearshift into reverse and backed up. It was time to leave. Time to start working down the list. One dead body at a time.

  #1

  It all began a week earlier. A week earlier on a cold, gray overcast day in the middle of a cemetery. Underneath a big elm tree a small knot of men and women, most dressed in various shades of black, stood around a freshly dug grave and mutely watched as a brightly polished bronze casket was lowered into the ground. In the middle of the gathering was a young woman dressed in black with a black veil over her face. Wheat-colored hair cascaded down past her shoulders. A startling, bright splash of yellow in a sea of mourning. Tall, slender, almost like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself, she stood in the middle of the mourners holding a month old baby close to her.

  She was Jacob Menten’s wife. Charlene Menten.

  Unbelievably gorgeous. And more – the mask of her Hollywood kind of beauty hid a brilliant mind. A brilliant mind with a shaft of rock-like determination in it.

  Encircling her were the six henchmen Jacob Menten relied on to keep his organization running smoothly. Charlie Rich. Harry Bosley. Wil Marconi. Greg Tarkanian. Stu Sheppard. Mick O’Toole. Six strong, ruthless, greedy men who stood by the boss’s wife and paid their respects to the dead. Yet each stood eyeing the others and wondering how and when the first one would begin the process of taking over the business. Meaning... who would be the first to be knocked off.

  From a distance, standing beside a large tree, he had watched the funeral service in silence. Watched the six men standing close to the beautiful widow. Watched as they lowered Jacob Menten in the ground. Watched as each of the six henchmen stepped toward Charlene with a few words of condolence and then moved on. Watched as, one by one, each of the hoods drifted back to their cars and drove away. Sheppard, the handsome, dark-haired young business graduate who had recently become Jacob Menten’s number two, was the last to depart. Finally, he left Charlene’s side, left the woman and her baby standing alone by the freshly dug ground of her husband’s grave.

  Charlene lingered a few minutes more. She stood holding her baby in his layers of warm blankets and stared down at the fresh grave. And cried. Cried silently but forcefully. Tears flowing down her cheeks and ruining her makeup.

  Eventually the weeping subsided. Eventually she tried to wipe the tears from her face. Eventually she took a deep breath, looked up at the gray overcast sky, and turned to walk back to the waiting limousine. Head down, carefully watching how she move
d across the dead grass of the cemetery in high heels, she didn’t look up and see the man standing beside the open rear door of the limo until she stepped onto the paved road.

  A thin man. Not tall. Not short. With a sharp, angular face, oddly attractive. Jet black shades covering his eyes. Dressed in a black, tailored and quite expensive silk suit. Handsome... yet, somehow... with an air of menace to him. Of violence kept under control. Barely.

  “I’m your friend, Mrs. Menten. A friend of yours and your son’s.”

  “Who... who are you?”

  “Shall we get out of the cold? I’m sure the baby is beginning to feel uncomfortable,” the soft voice of the menacing man answered. He opened the rear door for her and the baby.

  Charlene Menten pressed the soft bundle of blankets closer to her and nodded, long blonde hair rustling softly across her shoulders in the process. Sliding into the rear seat she moved over some, giving room for the dark man to slide in as well. When he did and closed the door the driver of the limo – a man close to her husband – said nothing but started the car up and began driving.

  “He knows me, Mrs. Menten. Knows why I am here. Your husband didn’t trust too many people. But he trusted Otto. You can be sure of Otto’s loyalty. As you can of mine.”

  “But who are you? Why are you here? How did you know my husband?”

  Charlene Menten had a husky voice. A voice that captured your attention immediately. A voice he knew Jacob Menten could not have disregarded. Her beauty – her voice – would have captured Jacob Menten’s heart the moment she spoke to him for the first time.

  A thin, almost pleasant smile spread across the face of the neat little man.

  Jacob Menten.

  A gruff, hard drinking, smart old mob boss who could be as deadly as cold sin when he had to be. But, in his line of business – admittedly a line of business that was by anyone's reckoning quite illegal – he nevertheless was something of a rarity. He played within a set of rules. His rules. An odd set of fair rules. If you played the same way, he would turn out to be absolutely loyal to both his friends and his men. Cross him and he could become one's darkest, most frightening nightmare.

  Jacob Menten.

  Yes, he had known him for years. Thought of him as a friend. A close friend. A mob lord who, despite his reputation, had deep feelings for the two or three people whom he truly loved. Loved unconditionally.

  This woman being one of them.

  “Most people know me as Smitty. I worked, shall we say, on assignment for your husband down through the years. On mutually beneficial business transactions more as partners than as employer to employee. Over the years Jacob began to trust me. As I trusted him. That’s why I am here. My last assignment he asked me to complete when the time came.”

  “I... I’m confused. What assignment? When did Jacob talk to you last?”

  Confusion. Consternation.

  A vague portrait of growing panic filled the green eyes of the beautiful woman beside him. He almost smiled. The smell of her perfume drifted to his nostrils. The luster of her dark blonde hair almost making the interior of the car glow. Her voice. Her youth. An image of unattainable beauty sitting beside him. A woman of desires. A woman to be desired. Coveted and desired. A trophy waiting to be snatched up and claimed by the one strongest enough to take over the organization.

  Unless. Unless...

  “Jacob called me two weeks ago. Said he wanted me to do something for him. Said it was important. Made me promise. I agreed. And so here I am. Fulfilling that promise.”

  “What promise?” she asked, a gloved hand coming up to pull back the thin black veil which had partially hidden her face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your husband knew he was going to die, Mrs. Menten. Knew someone within his organization was going to kill him. He didn’t know who. Or how. But he was sure someone was after him. So he made me promise. Made me promise him that if he died within a year of our conversation I was to come to town. Come to town and find his killer. Find his killer and protect you and his son from harm.”

  “His killer,” the husky voice repeated, her eyes widening in horror. “Jacob was murdered? You’re saying one of his friends murdered my husband?”

  Smitty, dark eyes hidden behind the black wraparound shades, said nothing as the black limo moved silently past the hundreds of headstones of the deceased. But beside him the soft whimper of a woman quietly crying again – crying and trying not to at the same time – came to his ears. And in her arms the baby stirred and made the first little squeak of a hungry child.

  #2

  “You know the business your husband was in, Mrs. Menten. You know Jacob ran a crime syndicate. A very successful crime syndicate. So you must understand that, with his passing, someone is going to take over the reins and become the new boss.”

  “But what does that have to do with me and little Jacob?” she asked, turning to look at the dark-eyed man with worry and fear in her eyes. “We’re a threat to no one. I didn’t marry Jacob for his money. I didn’t want to know what he did for a living. Still don’t want to know. So whoever wants to take over the business – fine. It’s fine by me.”

  Smitty and the woman stood facing each other in the quiet of little Jacob’s bedroom. A room filled with toys, stuffed animals, oversized furniture. A room with wallpapers depicting bright balloons and laughing clowns and circus animals. A room filled with a mother’s love. In a large crib the baby slept with a warm blanket gently covering him. The child’s face a poster for contentment and innocence.

  But for how long, he wondered, his eyes turning from the sleeping child back to the mother.

  How long? How long before one of the five vying for the throne would muscle his way in and claim his prize.

  “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t ask about Jacob’s work. Nor cared. It’s all about perceptions. Their perceptions. To them you are an unknown factor. A loose thread that threatens to unravel the entire tapestry. One, if not all, of Jacob’s old lieutenants is going to try and take over the business. And when that one succeeds, he’s going to have a decision to make. What does he do with you and little Jacob? Can he afford the two of you hanging around?”

  Fear filled her eyes and a hand came up to her lips. Color drained from her face as she turned and stared at the baby. A hand still to her lips she turned and looked at the dark-eyed man again. Looked with eyes of silent pleading.

  “Jacob knew this was going to happen if he died unexpectedly. Something, or someone, warned him someone was coming after him. Unfortunately he didn’t find out who that someone was in time. But he made arrangements to protect you. He loved you and the baby more than anything, Mrs. Menten. He was determined to make sure no harm came to either of you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping toward Smitty and using one hand to gently touch the dark-eyed man’s arm before sliding it away. “Thank you. And please. Please call me Charlene. I hate it when people are so deferential around me. Hate when people move around me like they’re walking on eggs or fine china. I’m just Charlene. Charlene Connors before I became Mrs. Menten. Nothing special. Just a kindergarten teacher. But now... but now...”

  “You’re still that same person. Still Charlene Connors. Nothing has changed except your name. Except what that name means to others.”

  The house Jacob Menten purchased for his new wife and baby was large and comfortable. It sat on a small bluff overlooking the Mississippi River on six acres of land. It wasn’t palatial in size. It didn’t scream out illegal money or obscene wealth to passers-by on the country road two hundred yards away. It was a house that matched perfectly the soft personality of a Charlene Connors.

  There were no servants – other than the silent giant named Otto who had been Jacob Menten’s trusted driver and bodyguard. There were no expensive paintings of old masters hanging on the living room and dining room walls. No exotically expensive cars sitting in the driveway. Nothing to suggest who might be living here. Which is exactly what
Jacob wanted for his family: anonymity. A normal life. But there was a flaw in his plans. She was Jacob Menten’s wife. She was the heir to the Menten Syndicate. She was worth millions – hundreds of millions. She was an asset that had to be acquired and controlled. Or... if not acquired and controlled... removed. Removed permanently.

  “The safest place for you to be is right here in your own home, Charlene. Otto and I have talked it over. Otto has some friends who were loyal to your husband. Old employees whom we trust. There is going to be a group of them staying here, out of sight, twenty-four hours a day. You’ll see them moving about in the yard occasionally. Maybe see them in the kitchen off and on. But they’re your friends. They’re here to protect you when I’m not around.”

  “Where are you going to be when you’re not here?”

  The husky voice was filled with fear. And curiosity. As were her eyes.

  “I’m going to try and convince the others that you and the baby are not in the picture. That the two of you pose no threat to anyone. Perhaps a little friendly persuasion might do the trick. Let’s hope so.”

  For a moment or two she stared into the black eyes of the man in front of her. A stranger. Quiet. Frightening. Yet... exuding a sense of purpose. A confidence. The deadly confidence of a Bengal tiger. She felt so... so safe in his presence. Secure for her and for the baby. A feeling she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  “Can you persuade them? Will they listen?”

  Smitty took in the statuesque beauty of the woman in front of him and smiled. Lips stretching more into the smear of a wicked snarl than a friendly grin. A snarl that made Charlene Menten involuntarily shudder.

  “I can be persuasive when I have to be. Persuasive in my own way. We can talk later. I have to go. Get some rest, the both of you. I’ll be back later tonight. Let me handle this, Charlene. Everything will be all right for you and the baby. I promise.”