On the way out of town we stopped at Pete Flannery’s apartment. Pete is a collector of guns and had a small arsenal stored at his place. He also stored my things. Things that I never thought I would use again.
I picked up my Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm. It was light and always felt good in my hand. Plus it carried 17 rounds plus one chambered. You never know when you might need a few extra rounds and like a good boy scout I like being prepared.
I also picked up my knife; given to me by am Australian friend. He called it a crocodile hunter s knife. A ten inch blade and razor sharp. The tools of my former trade felt good back in my hands. A feeling I never wanted again but here it was and I would need all of this in the coming hours.
We arrived in the town of New Britain an hour after the sun came up. New Britain is 9 miles south of Hartford. The city houses some seventy thousand people, has a heavily Polish ancestry and is about 100 years older than The United States. A perfect place for a person like Johnny Martin to make himself look and feel respectable.
Finding the house was a matter of 15 minutes work. It was a white two story salt box affair with an attached garage. Everything looked quiet. We had several hours of surveillance ahead of us and we were running on empty as far as food and sleep were concerned.
After 2 hours of watching we had only seen one person, not Johnny Martin, come out of the house and that was just to pick up a newspaper. A plan started to form. We drove to a small motel and checked in so we could get a little rest. After a meal we rented another car and went to try and get a few hours sleep. Keane was so hyped up he could not eat or sleep. Just like in my old life; I slept like a baby.
The plan was a simple one. At around 3pm we would go back and survival the house for another hour. It would be getting dark by 5 pm. I wanted to hit the house just before dark and before the automatic security lights, which all houses seemed to have these days, became a factor. The extra car was for me to get back to the city. Keane would drive back with Franny. I would clean up the mess.
I noticed that people in the neighborhood were bringing out their garbage cans and putting them near the curb. I moved up next to the house using bushes and shrubbery as cover and concealed myself next to the garage. Now it was a matter of time. It was getting cold and the wind started to whip up. After an hour of being pressed up against the house it started to snow. After almost two hours of waiting the garage door finally started to open.
The man we saw earlier walked out. I was on him before he could even move the garbage can away from the garage; my gun stuck in his ear.
“Do not say a word!”, I whispered into his ear. My breath visibly brushing across his cheek in the cold.
Dragging him around the side of the house and out of the light; “How many people are in the house?”, I said.
Why do they never just answer the first time they are asked a question? Must be built into the criminal DNA. I gave him a tap on the top of his head with the gun and asked again.
“How many people in the house?”
“Three.”. he said, while grasping for air as I applied some pressure to his throat.
“Where in the house are they?”
“The kitchen. Top of the stairs as you enter through the garage.” The answers were coming easier as he realized there was no way out for him.
“And the girl? Where is she?” I could tell he finally realized why I was there.
I waved Keane over to the side of the house. “Hold you gun on him while I look in the garage.”
The garage was empty of any cars. Mostly junk. After checking out the entry door and seeing that there was a quick entry to the kitchen, I returned to Keane. Pulling the guy away from him; I quickly pulled out my knife and slit his throat. He went down with just the gurgle of air mixed with blood. “If we want to survive this trip; we take no prisoners!”
“I will move in fast and you clean up anything I might miss. Franny is in an upstairs bedroom.”
Moving back into the garage quietly; I slowly opened the door to the house. They were sitting at the kitchen table eating. I opened fire before I hit the top step. All three went down quickly. They barely had time to react.
Keane rushed up to the bedrooms. Kicking in doors until I heard him yell, “Franny!” In a matter of a minute they were down stairs and headed out the door. Keane took her straight to his car. It was so quick she had not even seen me.
I searched the dead goons for ID. None of them were Johnny Martin. A quick look at the rest of the house revealed nothing useful. I shut off the lights, slipped out of the house through the garage door lowering it behind me.
After driving for 20 minutes I called Pete Flannery and filled him in. Told him to let Erik go.
“If I let him go Martin will be alerted.”. Pete.
“That is what I want! Need to flush him out and finish this now!”
The ride back to the city was quiet. It did not take much to draw me back to my former life.
“I am what I am!”