The Turnaround

Seemingly taking away all the light from the room, the man stood over Benny Russo.  He extended his arms and with punishing strength took hold of his neck.  Like a rag doll, Benny Russo was hauled from the floor, then jostled, then tossed...maneuvered to find the perfect grip for his enormous hands.  When he found it his grip instinctively tightened.  He then asked Benny Russo if he wanted to die fast or slow, teasing him with kind mirth in his eyes.  When he tried to reply, his throat was seized in a vicious clamp.  Gasping for air, his immediate reaction was to reach up and jerk himself free.   But he couldn’t...the man was incredibly strong and smiled at his attempt, as if it were some sort of game. Benny Russo struggled and writhed, trying desperately to tear from the iron grasp which was crushing his windpipe.  But nothing would.   His face turned red and then deep purple. After what seemed an endless horrible eternity, there came a car-rack, and Benny Russo was gone.  And his last living thought, crazy and perverse as it was, was that the whole time he never stopped thinking about the young blonde.  Would she have been a good lay?

Afterward, the huge assassin carried the body into the bathroom and laid it in the tub.  The young blonde was next.  A set of pleated curtains were pulled.  At the same time, the smaller gentleman went through the apartment, finding it empty.  Moments later, there was a smooth click of a door being closed from the outside, followed shortly by a vehicle pulling off. Though cruel, such events were necessary to keep things running smoothly.  There was a formidable operation to maintain. And everyone knew what time it was. As well as the results for incompetence. There was a golden rule in place: Whatever could go wrong would go wrong.  Murphy’s law.  And there was one particular individual who lived by it, the head man-in-charge. Nino Cutaro. In realizing this, he constantly strive to anticipate any problems, and if one did arise, have a contingency plan already in place.  The way he saw it, if you ran things right and you were smart, you stayed out of trouble by preventing it from happening.  Which was why he regularly made cash bonuses to the right people connected with his operation, and could always be counted on for a favor.  He maintained his political contacts religiously, burnishing his reputation for dependability and total discretion. He was also known to be shrewd, loyal, and resolute, as well as scrupulously punctual.  If he gave you a date and time, you could depend on it, no matter what.  As a result, in all the years he’d been in business, he never had a problem he couldn’t handle.  A delivery truck became inoperable?  An employee got drunk or high and made a fool of himself?  Or even worse, ran off at the mouth? Nothing to it. At the snap of his fingers, the irritant would disappear. Permanently. It was the only way he worked. 

In his ball game, it was one strike, and no more.