Free The Assassin's Prayer by Mark Allen

consciousness, he wondered what he would dream
about.
    Nothing,
as it turned out. Thank God for small mercies.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 6
     
    He
awoke an hour later. A glance at his alarm clock told him it was 4:33 p.m. Perfect.
By the time he reached NYC, the rush hour traffic would be thinning out, the
madhouse of cars and trucks that clogged every road, street, and avenue finally
clearing up. Every time Kain suffered through the crush of traffic on the
city’s highways, he was convinced he was trapped on one of Dante’s circles of
Hell. He wondered what allure the city held for the honking, cursing,
finger-giving fools in the vehicles clustered around him so tightly that the
term “sardines in a can” seemed spacious by comparison. That anyone would
voluntarily choose to live in such a traffic-jammed hellhole boggled his mind.
    Not
that Frank Giadello actually lived in the city. Like so many of the wealthy and
powerful before him, he owned a luxurious ten-acre beachside estate on Long
Island, in the hamlet of Montauk. The acreage was ringed with a ten-foot brick
wall to ensure privacy. There were only three ways to get a glimpse inside
Frank Giadello’s estate: by invitation, by air, or by climbing to the top of
the Montauk Point Lighthouse three-quarters of a mile away and using
high-powered binoculars. The only means of access was a large steel gate
controlled from within a bulletproof shack manned twenty-four seven by an armed
sentry. Not your typical run of the mill security guards either that would fill
their pants if someone so much as farted in their direction. No, Frank Giadello
only employed serious hardasses.
    One
of those hardasses, a cold-eyed sentry with a face that looked chiseled from
granite, gave Kain a steely once-over when he pulled up to the gate, then let
him through. Kain navigated his Jeep up the drive, paying no attention to the
lawn so manicured it made PGA golf courses look like rough-mown hay fields by
comparison or the immaculately-clipped shrubs illuminated by soft, landscaped
lighting. He had seen it all before. He wasn’t impressed then and he wasn’t
impressed now. Because right now all he wanted to do was get his money and go
home.
    The
end of the driveway expanded into a large circle of pavement which served as a
parking lot of sorts. In the center of this circle grew a rose garden, the
flowers now gone, plucked by the frozen fingers of fall. Only bare, thorny branches
remained, winding their serpentine way around a thick marble pillar erected in
the midst of the roses. Atop this pillar perched a stone gargoyle and Kain
imagined the creature’s lifeless eyes were glaring at him as he drove the Jeep
around the circle and parked in front of the main entrance.
    A
wide stairway led up to the porch, which stretched across the entire front of
the mansion, its roof supported by six marble columns that lent the place a
Southern air. Kain took the steps two at a time and at the front door was
greeted by a guard he actually knew, a towering mass of rock hard muscle named
Jean-Luc. He was dressed in black jeans and a windbreaker that did nothing to
conceal his thick chest and bulging biceps. Kain had seen him in action and
knew there was nobody better in a brawl. Blows that would knock most men
senseless just bounced off Jean-Luc’s six-foot-four frame like tennis balls
thrown at a steel wall. Kain gave him a nod. “How’s it going, Jean-Luc?”
    Jean-Luc
had immigrated to New York from Quebec and his accent was still thick. “Business
as usual,” he replied. “You here to see the boss?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He
expecting you?”
    “He
better be. He owes me money.”
    “Right.
The Perelli job. Heard that went down smooth.”
    “It
went down. Don’t know about smooth.” Kain’s voice betrayed nothing, but in his
mind he could hear the heartbroken sobs of a little girl.
    “Hold
on a second.” Jean-Luc turned to the intercom next to the front door and
pressed a button. There was