Flames

Chapter 1 – The Brothers

“We have a problem.” The voice on the phone was not panicked, but clearly conveyed the urgency of the phone call.

“Tell me more,” was the deep, raspy voice’s reply from the other end. The caller did as requested, going silent after a few minutes of describing the incident that had occurred less than an hour previously.

There was no emotion in the reply, the voice speaking in a flat monotone. “Give me the address. Do nothing more than clean up the mess at your end. There can be no evidence left. Be ready for a visit by the authorities. I’ll let you know when it’s handled.” The phone went silent and the words ‘call ended’ flashed across the face of the caller’s screen.

Another call was placed a minute later. It was short and all business.

The brothers had gotten many similar calls in the past. They knew what to do. Even though they traveled extensively using the self-contained RV as a base, they were not far away from their newest target. The RV was a common make, sun-faded, and would not be remembered by the temporary and many not-so-temporary residents in the medium-sized campground. Both enjoyed the travelling between jobs, but kept to themselves. They had anticipated the call that had come sooner than expected, and both were already chafing after having been on location for three days.

The oldest of the pair was dark-skinned, wiry, and currently went by the name of Raul. In his mid-forties, he was fit, trim, and appeared to be of Italian descent. He kept his hair short, but not so short that it hinted of his military background. His brother was not similar in any of his physical features. He had dirty-blond hair worn long and scraggly with a week’s worth of untrimmed facial hair. He was the taller of the two by more than four inches, but was not in as good of physical condition, his athleticism covered by the extra thirty pounds his six-foot-one frame carried. Currently he went by the name of Billy.

The rental car parked outside was non-descript and blended well in traffic. A late-model Nissan Maxima, it was powerful, fast, and handled well. There had been several other types of cars available at the airport sixty miles away, but they preferred the performance of the fast and nimble sedan. The ID and credit card used were stolen from a loner whose body was reduced to ashes and no longer needed them.

If asked, Raul told others that he was retired and only worked occasionally doing audits for a large corporation for extra money. Those were the only details he ever supplied. Giving no answers to nosy questions seemed rude to outwardly-friendly southerners. They became suspicious and always remembered, then speculated about the unanswered questions when shared with others. Speculations became rumors which tended to become unquestioned facts farther down the gossip line, even though grossly inaccurate. Knowing the talkative nature of southern culture well, Raul had mastered the art of quickly ending conversations with curt mannerisms accompanied by short answers. He always wore sunglasses to ward off eye-contact.

As was their normal way of prepping for work, both were dressed in layers, even in the summer. The outer layer was water—and blood—resistant. Dark colored, they were easily removed and discarded. Both were identically armed—two handguns, folding six-inch hunting knife with a serrated blade, and a garrote. In the bag Billy carried were other tools the pair found useful—duct tape, zip-ties, garden shears, black nylon face masks, surgical gloves, and other items used to carry out their highly profitable and normally deadly jobs.

Both had extensive practice in their preferred technique of staging murders. Billy had staged a few while his brother had been in the service. He was fortunate to have never been caught, but he had been trained by his brother in ways to cover up and plant evidence when needed. It was the mark of a professional, Raul had told him. He typically ransacked their victims’ houses to provide motive for investigators, while his brother tortured—if necessary—then killed their victims. They kept very little that was found—only money and drugs—jewelry and small electronics were discarded where they would never be traced to them.

Raul was the planner of the two. Although he preferred more time to plan, he had found the internet extremely useful in gathering intel on the fly. As a team, they were fast and effective, few of their operations taking more than ten minutes after entering a residence. Kids and spouses provided easy impetus to extract information from their target when needed. Most of the time a hit took less than five minutes if that was all that was required by the employer. Others in the home were collateral damage. They left no witnesses.

In the small home town of their newest target, most people went to bed after the news and were sound asleep before midnight. Entering a home was easy and quiet except when dogs were involved.

Their victims this night had no dog, only a cat that was treated like a spoiled preschooler. Times had changed and most people only used hard phone lines for their computers and alarm systems. Most carried cell-phones, even the kids. Those were easy to thwart using a jamming device easily obtained through the internet to interrupt cell phone service.

“No dog, just a big fat cat,” Raul said, looking at Facebook on his smart phone. “I’d bet she’d rather we shoot her ole man before the cat—let’s make her choose.”

“No bet—ain’t got no life insurance on a dead pussy. If they did I could have collected a payout for my ex-wife,” he said, then snorted loudly at his own joke.

“Yeah, she smelled like she’d been dead for a while,” Raul hissed. “Time to focus.”

Billy drove by the house twice. Their target’s truck was parked in front as expected. On the second pass, Raul exited the car at the dark house two doors down and walked silently up to the rear of their target’s home. He pulled out his gun. The screen door on the rear porch was locked. In three seconds, his knife took care of that. As he reached for the knob on the door leading inside the house, it turned. Raul moved to the side against the wall.

The homeowner stepped outside, a cigarette between his lips. Before he could flick his Zippo, he felt the cold muzzle of the gun under his right ear. He froze in place as a huge hand encircled his neck from behind and guided him back inside. The hand was strong and he could feel his neck muscles being compressed as fingertips dug behind his larynx.

Billy circled the block slowly looking for potential interference from a sleepless neighbor. He saw no one and parked two doors down on the curve facing the exit two blocks away. Within a half mile were more than a dozen turn-offs that could be used to get back to the major roads, three of which were less than a mile away. Easy job, even if it was hastily planned. He checked the powerful transmitter again and got out of the car.

A minute later Billy heard the words, “I’m in” through the earpiece of his radio. He silently glided across the back yard and went in through the unlocked rear door.

The small house a few doors down from his cousins’ was immaculate as always. Sam’s aunt never cooked, preferring instead to get take-out or eat at one of her favorite restaurants. The only signs that someone lived there were in the small den and her bedroom. The rest of the house could have been a model home at one of the abundant new developments springing up in the area.

Upon arrival, he went to the porch and smoked while trying to forget what happened. When his eyes began to burn, he went to the guest bedroom hoping sleep would erase the vivid images in his mind. He changed into gym shorts and a tee-shirt, and ...