Chapter 49: Chapter 49

THE WHITE...

Elliot Donneli is an ordinary politician, as corrupt and mean as any. But he forged a good character, so much so that he reached the presidency. Sometimes he gives a drop of water to the poor and wins their love. Because for someone who still has nothing, everything is a lot.

Senator Mares is no different. Banknotes are anything that fills your mind. During the five minutes of conversation we had, I realized that he would sell his own children to me if I offered.

– Taxation is absurd – comments Mares.

When I checked Angelic's life, I found the name of Vicenzo Mares, her boyfriend, or something. He goes into politics, probably because his father has an inheritance. I had to look into the senator's life to understand the whole enigma. Married, father of three children, investor and, out of curiosity, a pedophile.

- I need to make a call. Excuse me, I say. In front of their response, I turn away.

I head for the garden of the Donneli mansion. I confess that I had spent many years on an island. When I returned to work, I still avoided contact with other people. He was practically a Neanderthal living on the fringes of society. All of a sudden, dealing with so many people pisses me off.

I walk around the pool. The water reflects the full moon in the sky. I'm thinking about how I'm going to use the next few days to get the job done. I have the advantage of having Margot including me in all their crummy little parties. This allows me to observe the target better, more closely. I can visualize the security guards, the type of glass in the windows, the people she interacts with. It's not an easy job. Besides pulling the trigger, I have to figure out who will take responsibility. Who will be close to her? Who will have the gun with the same caliber? Who did she have her last falling out with? I need to be God and write a destiny for everyone around the target.

It's the first time I've been so involved in a case. Daniel Campbell, for example, was a quick job. However, Angelic demands caution from me. One slip from me and the whole world would come together to lynch me. There is no point in cocking the gun and shooting, I have to predict what will happen after that.

In my peripheral vision, I see Margot approaching. Strangely, she looks like Angelique. Blonde hair, light eyes, height, body shape. But she has already demonstrated that she would be a terrible mother.

"Hope you're enjoying the party," she said.

- I am.

I stuff my hands in my pants pockets when she stops next to me. Margot looks where I was looking earlier, the pool, then looks at me.

– How long will it take? - question.

Although I do not talk about my services, especially to the people who pay me for them, Margot is an exception. I have the impression that we will meet several times, and I do not want any tension between us to interfere with what I have come to do.

- The necessary.

"Three weeks," she gives me an ultimatum.

Margot would make me laugh if I wasn't sure she was serious. I had forgotten how daring an ambitious human being can be.

– Have you ever heard of me? I ask turning completely towards her. Margot frowns.

- Nope.

– Because all my work is done with perfection, not in a rush. Anyway, if you want to take care of the mess yourself later, let me know.

When the gun is in your hand, you cannot think. If your mind starts to wander, if your hand weakens, if your finger trembles even a millimeter; you make mistakes. There is only a second between your decision to shoot and the pull of the trigger, after which nothing is under control. For this reason, I trained all my life for this second to be perfect, and since then I have never made a mistake.

I am not a psychopath. I'm not passionate about killing people, but I'm good at it. There is a whole logistics behind my work, and yes, I am passionate about it. Pretending, manipulating, using, thinking. It's what I do best. I didn't come here to let a scammer tell me when to do my job.

" You're right. She shakes her head.

I nod, indicating that I heard, and start to walk away. I can't believe she thought this would be the perfect time to confront me. "What could I do?" Enter the chapel, draw your gun and shoot Angelic in the forehead while violinists play Mozart in the background?

I enter the chapel. I look around at all the people I already know because I had to research each of their lives. And by "search" I don't mean I googled their name.

Near the stage, Angelic and the senator's son, Vicenzo Mares, are chatting. She's defensive, a little tense, knowing that everyone around her is paying attention to their interaction. Vicenzo doesn't write, but I know he likes the attention. He likes the idea that a woman like Angelic belongs to him.

She smiles at something Vicenzo says. His eyes scan the room and settle on me. The smile gradually fades as the feeling that she is doing something wrong overwhelms her.

Angélique is adventurous, but she is afraid of the unknown. She can avoid Vicenzo, because she knows him, his quirks, his miserable tricks of seduction. But she can't avoid what she doesn't know: me.

A waiter walks past me with a platter of sparkling wines. He blocks my eye contact with Angelic.

“Sir,” he offers.

"Bring me some water, please," I ask, and he nods in agreement.

Understand what I'm talking about

If time is money, I need a loan

When I turn back to Angelic, I notice she's already walking towards me. I've already let go of the guilt for allowing myself to be so close. It doesn't matter if I know your contact details. It doesn't matter if I'm aware of your beauty. It remains a business, nothing has changed.

- Mr. Campbell - she greets as he arrives.

I slide my eyes over her. The hair, the red dress, the color of the varnish on her nails, nothing goes unnoticed. With the job I have, watching has become a habit. And, I admit, the discomfort she presents when I look at her is almost pleasant.

- MRS. Donelli.

– I heard your conversation earlier. Looks like you fired someone, or something - she points out. Her chin is up, her eyes locked on mine, her posture erect.

- Something like that.

Angelique is a curious human being. She likes to stick herself where she shouldn't, just to have a reason to confess. I know the type. Currently, the adrenaline in his life is me, so he spends his time with me.

– Do you only work with grapes? - she asks. Angelic knows they're creepers, but she wants to hurt my ego.

– Yes, just grapes. Is that you?

"Engineering." She maintains eye contact, showing that she hasn't been shaken.

- And even? Are you a graduate?

Before she can answer, the waiter returns with the water I ordered, in a crystal goblet. I accept, thanking him and he leaves.

"Soon", replies Angelique.

Looking around me, I realize that people, at one time or another, look away from us. Wherever Angelic is becomes a point of curiosity. And considering it belongs to the senator's son, our conversation is fun.

Vicenzo Mares hasn't taken his eyes off me for a second since Angelic approached. He doesn't know if I'm a rival, if I'm up to it, or if he has nothing to worry about.

Yes, it does.

"Good luck," I said after a second. She nods politely and starts to walk away, but something crosses my mind. How ready is Vicenzo to watch his wife interact with another man? – But you are the owner of the NGO which renovates the abandoned buildings of the city – I broach the subject.

Angelic returns, this time moving closer so the conversation stays just between us. In peripheral vision, I notice Mares's expression tightening.

– This is not in the public domain. How do you know? She frowns.

- Maybe I'm God.

"Or a priest," Angelique whispers.

She knows. This is the gift of every adventurer: the absurd capacity for observation. She knew she wasn't talking to a priest in the diocese. However, I can't help but wonder when she discovered it was me, the supposed Bruce Campbell, inside the confessional.

"I don't know what you're talking about", I lie.

"Did my father hire you to watch over me?"

She takes a step forward. His approach allows me to smell his perfume. It's not groundbreaking, but it's soft and feminine. I admit that I expected something more powerful from Angelic, but I'm not necessarily disappointed.

"Maybe," I say, then take a sip of water.

“If I do something stupid, will you run and tell him?

“If you do something stupid, how will I know?

"I thought you were a god." She raises a sarcastic eyebrow, and sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.

"Do you want to know if I get paid to watch over you?" Trying your luck. Do something stupid - dare.

I see the blue of his eyes shine. She doesn't know the feeling of having someone doubt her courage. All Angelic knows are rules. However, as quickly as he appears, his glow fades. She shakes her head, takes a deep breath, again putting an appropriate distance between us.

“Unless you're hired by my father, stay away from me. I don't trust you – and with those words, she leaves.

It's okay, ma'am. Do not trust me.

I watch her return to Vicenzo. He, on the other hand, continues to stare at me in disgust. I almost want to smile. If it was my wife, the last thing I would do is look.

After Margot's party, I have some business to attend to. I must take advantage of my visit to resolve any outstanding issues I have in the United States.

There is a saying that goes, “Keep your friends close and your enemies close”. I was never a fan of the cops, but I realized at some point in my career that I needed them, so I kept them close.

Captain Jason, for example, doesn't consider me a best friend, but I have an ace or two up my sleeve, so he knows better than to open doors when I arrive.

I park the car near the curb. Across the street is the Captain's house, with a white picket fence, a flower garden, and all that margarine ad stuff. It was the home of his father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather and all the generations that preceded him.

He retired from the army two years ago, but continues to serve in the special forces.

Jason leaves the house with a black bag and puts it in the trash. It looks comfortable with jeans and a t-shirt. When we last met, he was wearing his uniform with hundreds of medals hanging from it.

I get out of the car, stuff my hands in my pants pockets and walk over to her. As soon as he sees me, Jason's expression becomes troubled, just like Father Bee. I'm starting to think my old acquaintances don't like me.

“Il diavolo is back,” he whispers.

He diavol? Is that what I've been nicknamed since I left?

“It took time for my presence to be noticed in the country,” I say.

I've spent some time under the radar, but I don't discount the idea that they contacted me. Although, of course, Jason never wanted me to show up at his house.

- I'd rather believe you're dead - he lowers the lid of the trash can - What do you want?

– A small favor.

- Negative. You have exhausted your favors.

Jason begins to return home. He opens the gate of the fence and closes it when he crosses it. I watch the man walk away from me like the devil walks away from the cross.

“Jeffrey Banks,” I say, and only one miserable name can stop Jason.

He turns to me, his brown eyes, tired from years of restless toil, narrowed.

- What? - murmurs.

“Jeffrey Banks is your daughter's doctor. She was diagnosed with cancer two months ago.

I have many informants all over the world. No matter how much time passes without turning on the television, I always know what I need to know. And as for Captain Jason, I prefer to know everything.

'How…' Her voice breaks.

– The treatment was absurdly expensive, but the doctor did not charge for it. And then you found out your wife was paying. Quickies in the back of his Porsche pay for all his meds, right? I ask. Jason's expression goes from surprise to anger – How's the spirit of a man who accepts this situation?

"Fucking sadist," he mutters under his breath, but I can hear him.

I approach the door to make sure he can hear me.

– Honestly, I'm just trying to understand. When you kiss her, you can taste the...

- Shut up! - Jason screams, but soon seems to regret it. He runs his hands through his hair, looks around to make sure no one has heard him, then turns to face me. Say!

"Let's go in," I suggest.

I open the gate, enter his property and start walking towards the front door. I walk past Jason, tap him twice on the shoulder, and open the door. I leave you no choice but to follow me.

The first room is the living room. The house isn't big, but it looks suspiciously like Jason. The raw decoration, without colors or details. It looks like a mechanic's shop, actually.

I walk straight into the kitchen. In the hallway, there are picture frames on the wall. The wife was cheating, the sick girl, the ugly dog. I observe all aspects of the family. I stop in front of a photo in which Dalila, the woman, is sitting on the lawn. She's pretty, but not pretty enough for Jason to take her case to the doctor.

I am watching him. Do you have to be crazy to believe that love is worth anything?

- Do you have coffee? I ask. Jason points his chin towards the kitchen. I start walking again and he follows me.

– How long are you going to hide like a mouse? You have a name in every country, a fingerprint in every database,” he whispers.

In the kitchen, her dog is slumped on the carpet. It was supposed to be a Belgian shepherd ten years ago, but the animal is too old. Virtually deteriorates.

"Like a ghost", I suggest.

"Like a coward," he corrects.

I walk past the dog and grab the coffee pot. I open cupboards looking for a cup. I don't know Jason's house, but it's easy to guess that every American keeps a large collection of cups and mugs in the upstairs cupboards. I pick up the cup, pour the coffee and take a sip.

“You did better five years ago,” I say. I take another sip, look at Jason, and only then do I respond to his teasing, “I may be a coward, but if my daughter needed expensive treatment, I would never prostitute my wife to pay for it.

"Your…" He starts to mumble something, but stops.

The Belgian Shepherd gets up and crosses the kitchen, dropping to the floor. He is living proof that people have a masochistic conception of love. The animal begs to die, but its owners are not ready to lose it.

“Let's get down to business,” I said, “I heard there's someone in the ghetto who's rowdy. It started after Elliot Donneli's tenure.

“Minerva,” Jason replies, not even needing any further information.

- What would it be?

Before coming to America, I needed to know how things were going. I hadn't been out of Europe for years. I got a lot of information, and one of them was about a certain thug who was driving around the Bronx late at night, graffiti, burglary, burglary. Until then, it hadn't mattered, but I learned later that the little troublemaker had started his rampage when Elliot Donneli took over as president.

- In Greek mythology, she is the goddess of war. On the streets of New York, a pseudonym – says Jason – is a guy who participates in street races. He uses exotic cars, collectibles. A Dodge Charger was seized last year, but Minerva managed to get away. He paints walls, breaks windows. He's a fucking teenager with revolutionary syndrome.

- A teen? And you can't understand?

- Minerva has a hot back. The expensive cars, the fact that he's always attacking when there's no patrol. He knows things.

“He has a connection to the president,” I suggest.

“My job is to pretend that I don't see you dragging tires on the streets. Jason shrugs.

"You were better before," I mumble, tossing the rest of the coffee into the sink.

"I can't say the same about you. It was always rotten, LeBlanc.

“At least…” I start, but he cuts me off.

- Don't you dare mention my wife.

I smile sideways.

- As you wish.

I stuff my hands in my pockets again and leave the kitchen. Jason follows me, worried. No one ever knows what to expect when I show up. I walk down the hall, looking at the pictures one last time.

Delilah treats Jason like they treat the dog. The miserable concept of love is the same. Shame on a man with such honor.

– LeBlanc – he calls, and I pause with my hand on the doorknob – If anything out of the ordinary happens in this country, I'll know it's your fault. Don't rely on my goodwill forever.

- See you soon, Captain - I open the door and leave the house.

Exit the property. From the outside, it looks like an old but well maintained house with a nice garden and a white picket fence. A scam. It's precisely because I know families like Jason's that I don't feel guilty for what I do. In the end, no one is telling the truth.