The Last Rose
The knife went in just below the sternum. This was lower than he intended. The idea was to sever the aorta which meant a quick death. Now Tony had to do what he hated; twist the knife. This was effective but widened the incision resulting in a blood bath and a long cleanup operation. He felt the life oozing out of his target as he fell to the floor, the blood gushing out in spurts as the heart finished its final beats. Tony pulled the cell phone out of his pocket.
Hey, Johnny. Your problem is gone but it’s not as clean as I would have liked. I’m going to need a cleanup crew. I have the best. When they finish the cops won’t find a trace of blood anywhere.
What is this gonna cost me?
Usually 12 grand, but for you Johnny only 10.
Ok, get it done.
Tony hung up and put the phone back in his pocket after carefully wiping it down with the Kleenex he always kept in his back pocket. He didn’t usually think much about a job after he finished, but this time was different. Maybe because he had an interview with a writer that evening. A friend of a friend who wanted to do a piece on the confessions of a hit man. He wasn’t sure why he agreed; maybe part of him wanted to confess. He always justified it by thinking he never whacked anyone who didn’t deserve it. OK, sure there was that one woman who didn’t do anything but had to go because she knew too much. But that was her fault for hanging out with the wrong crowd. You lie with dogs, you end up with fleas.
So tell me something about your life growing up, the young writer said, flipping her medium long blond hair to the side. Where were you born?
The waterfront in Brooklyn, Red Hook, an Italian American working class neighborhood. Dad was a stevedore, and was active in the labor movement. Later he got involved in radical politics and I was sort of indoctrinated into it. I got involved in the party and was sort of the muscle at strikes. Sometimes I would beat the strikebreakers or I would pretend to be one so I could break up the strikers. Anything to draw publicity to the movement.
The party? Which party was that?
Sorry that’s what we called it. It was the CPUSA, the Communist party.
And you were a true believer? Did you read any of Marx and Lenin and come to believe in what they advocated, armed overthrow of the government?
No. I never read any of it. I just seemed to have a talent for fighting and it gave me the approval of my dad. To some extent, I always felt alienated from society, so tearing it down and starting over had some appeal to me. Plus I saw the oppression of the working class in my neighborhood. The workers struggled to get by while the bosses lived in luxury.
When did you make the transition from working for the party to working for the mob?
I became disillusioned with the party in the late 50’s when Khrushchev denounced Stalin. Many members quit the party when they realized that the Communist party in the Soviet Union was little more than a mafia. But the real mob paid more so it was an easy transition.
I imagine up to that time you could justify the violence as being in pursuit of a greater good. How did you justify it when this was no longer the case?
I never thought about justification. Besides the guys I was whacking were bad guys. I never gave them a second thought with a few exceptions.
What were those exceptions?
I remember the first one was one of my earlier jobs. He was a tall, heavy set guy like me and he even walked and talked a bit like me. I think we were from the same neighborhood. Hell, we could have even been classmates at one time though I didn’t recognize him as one. Anyway I pulled a gun on him in a deserted alley way. I had him cornered and for a moment I saw the fear is his eyes as he pleaded for his life. He said I got the wrong guy, but I was sure he was the right one. I hesitated for a moment but in this business hesitation gets you killed. I realized that he was probably armed too and he could draw his weapon and shoot first. So I shot him twice between the eyes, the blood splattering on my shirt before I got away. I did think about him for a while because he reminded me of myself so much.
Do you have another example?
Sometimes you have to whack someone for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s always tough, but when you do a job you have to be thorough. I wouldn’t be much of a hit man if I allowed witnesses to live. It’s just part of the job. I’m sure there are parts of your job that you don’t like, right?
Sure. But of course they don’t involve life and death decisions. Do you think that one day another hit man could take you out, or an intended victim may strike first?
Of course. I already had intended victims strike first. It didn’t matter because I use my victim’s fear of death against them. One time I drew a knife at the exact same time when the target drew his. We both put our arms back in position to strike. If we both continued we both probably would have been stabbed to death. I never flinched, but he did. As I brought my arm down he put his arm back in an attempt to deflect the blow. Too bad for him it was just a second too late. He who hesitates is lost. I got that idea from “The Art of War.” I almost never read, but I read that one cover to cover when I studied martial arts.
What about your family? Do you have any and do they know what you do?
Of course my buddies know. Most are in the mob. I don’t have any family except one sister after my mom died a few years ago. She thinks I’m an insurance adjuster. I did have that job once so it was easy to say I continued working there. I only hear from her once in a while.
I think we can just about wrap up for the day. It’s getting late. Is there anything you want to ask me?
Yeah, what about your family?
I’m married and have 2 children. Cody is 6 and Chloe is 2. I grew up with a brother and sister. My dad just retired as an accountant and my mom was a teacher.
Nice. Sounds like you have a lovely family. Shame if something happens to them.
What? Why do you say that?
I’m just saying I know where you and your family live so I don’t want anything incriminating coming out about me in your story.
You’ll be able to review it and approve before it is published.
Ok then. I’m glad we understand each other. Sorry if I scared you but I have to protect my identity. You seem like a nice lady and I hope my story helps your career said Tony as he got up.
See you tomorrow then.
Yes. Oh, one more thing. What color roses do you like?
Red carnation. Why do you ask?
I’m also a gardener and I have a rose garden. After each job I plant another rose. This will be the first time I plant one for someone living. I think this will be my last rose. I’ll take a picture of it and send it to you when it blooms.
Thank you Tony.
Hey, Johnny. Your problem is gone but it’s not as clean as I would have liked. I’m going to need a cleanup crew. I have the best. When they finish the cops won’t find a trace of blood anywhere.
What is this gonna cost me?
Usually 12 grand, but for you Johnny only 10.
Ok, get it done.
Tony hung up and put the phone back in his pocket after carefully wiping it down with the Kleenex he always kept in his back pocket. He didn’t usually think much about a job after he finished, but this time was different. Maybe because he had an interview with a writer that evening. A friend of a friend who wanted to do a piece on the confessions of a hit man. He wasn’t sure why he agreed; maybe part of him wanted to confess. He always justified it by thinking he never whacked anyone who didn’t deserve it. OK, sure there was that one woman who didn’t do anything but had to go because she knew too much. But that was her fault for hanging out with the wrong crowd. You lie with dogs, you end up with fleas.
So tell me something about your life growing up, the young writer said, flipping her medium long blond hair to the side. Where were you born?
The waterfront in Brooklyn, Red Hook, an Italian American working class neighborhood. Dad was a stevedore, and was active in the labor movement. Later he got involved in radical politics and I was sort of indoctrinated into it. I got involved in the party and was sort of the muscle at strikes. Sometimes I would beat the strikebreakers or I would pretend to be one so I could break up the strikers. Anything to draw publicity to the movement.
The party? Which party was that?
Sorry that’s what we called it. It was the CPUSA, the Communist party.
And you were a true believer? Did you read any of Marx and Lenin and come to believe in what they advocated, armed overthrow of the government?
No. I never read any of it. I just seemed to have a talent for fighting and it gave me the approval of my dad. To some extent, I always felt alienated from society, so tearing it down and starting over had some appeal to me. Plus I saw the oppression of the working class in my neighborhood. The workers struggled to get by while the bosses lived in luxury.
When did you make the transition from working for the party to working for the mob?
I became disillusioned with the party in the late 50’s when Khrushchev denounced Stalin. Many members quit the party when they realized that the Communist party in the Soviet Union was little more than a mafia. But the real mob paid more so it was an easy transition.
I imagine up to that time you could justify the violence as being in pursuit of a greater good. How did you justify it when this was no longer the case?
I never thought about justification. Besides the guys I was whacking were bad guys. I never gave them a second thought with a few exceptions.
What were those exceptions?
I remember the first one was one of my earlier jobs. He was a tall, heavy set guy like me and he even walked and talked a bit like me. I think we were from the same neighborhood. Hell, we could have even been classmates at one time though I didn’t recognize him as one. Anyway I pulled a gun on him in a deserted alley way. I had him cornered and for a moment I saw the fear is his eyes as he pleaded for his life. He said I got the wrong guy, but I was sure he was the right one. I hesitated for a moment but in this business hesitation gets you killed. I realized that he was probably armed too and he could draw his weapon and shoot first. So I shot him twice between the eyes, the blood splattering on my shirt before I got away. I did think about him for a while because he reminded me of myself so much.
Do you have another example?
Sometimes you have to whack someone for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s always tough, but when you do a job you have to be thorough. I wouldn’t be much of a hit man if I allowed witnesses to live. It’s just part of the job. I’m sure there are parts of your job that you don’t like, right?
Sure. But of course they don’t involve life and death decisions. Do you think that one day another hit man could take you out, or an intended victim may strike first?
Of course. I already had intended victims strike first. It didn’t matter because I use my victim’s fear of death against them. One time I drew a knife at the exact same time when the target drew his. We both put our arms back in position to strike. If we both continued we both probably would have been stabbed to death. I never flinched, but he did. As I brought my arm down he put his arm back in an attempt to deflect the blow. Too bad for him it was just a second too late. He who hesitates is lost. I got that idea from “The Art of War.” I almost never read, but I read that one cover to cover when I studied martial arts.
What about your family? Do you have any and do they know what you do?
Of course my buddies know. Most are in the mob. I don’t have any family except one sister after my mom died a few years ago. She thinks I’m an insurance adjuster. I did have that job once so it was easy to say I continued working there. I only hear from her once in a while.
I think we can just about wrap up for the day. It’s getting late. Is there anything you want to ask me?
Yeah, what about your family?
I’m married and have 2 children. Cody is 6 and Chloe is 2. I grew up with a brother and sister. My dad just retired as an accountant and my mom was a teacher.
Nice. Sounds like you have a lovely family. Shame if something happens to them.
What? Why do you say that?
I’m just saying I know where you and your family live so I don’t want anything incriminating coming out about me in your story.
You’ll be able to review it and approve before it is published.
Ok then. I’m glad we understand each other. Sorry if I scared you but I have to protect my identity. You seem like a nice lady and I hope my story helps your career said Tony as he got up.
See you tomorrow then.
Yes. Oh, one more thing. What color roses do you like?
Red carnation. Why do you ask?
I’m also a gardener and I have a rose garden. After each job I plant another rose. This will be the first time I plant one for someone living. I think this will be my last rose. I’ll take a picture of it and send it to you when it blooms.
Thank you Tony.
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