Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / The Surgeon Chapter I
1.
Turning onto the dark, quiet street, I sipped the coffee I had just bought from Dunkin Donuts. I hated coffee, honestly, but it was just one part of my very complex disguise.
I pulled into the driveway, retrieving the reading glasses I kept in the visor. I repositioned the rearview mirror, and made sure my tie was crooked before lifting my briefcase from the passenger seat and exiting my Jaguar XF. It was a little over-the-top, but I couldn’t resist fine cars... and women.
I made my way up the walkway slowly, breathing slow, getting myself in the right frame of mind. Outside of the door, I furiously rubbed my eyes, trying to redden them just enough to seem exhausted.
Before I could slide my key into the lock, the door swung open.
“Think a tired man can get a bed in this house?” I pleaded innocently.
The beautiful woman smiled at me, her bright white teeth lighting up the dark night. “We missed you honey, you look horrible. Why do they insist on overworking my husband?”
I returned her smile, dropped my case just inside the door, slid the glasses into my breast pocket and embraced her, hungrily pressing my lips against hers. We held each other for a few moments until she pulled away.
“Well someone missed me too,” she picked up my briefcase as I closed the door behind me, “but you smell like bad coffee... and shame.”
I playfully pulled her against me, “Well I do need something to get the taste of coffee out of my mouth…the shame stays.”
She wrinkled her nose, something that I had told her many years ago was a fierce turn on for me, “Well maybe if someone hurries up and takes a shower…” I let go of her, and bounded up the steps before she could even finish her sentence.
As I headed to our room, I passed three other doors. One belonged to my father-in-law, Jonathan Reid; diagnosed with Alzheimer’s -- Felicia refused to even consider a nursing home after her mother died. I peeked into the next room, which belonged to our daughter, Samantha. She was only seven, and if she were awake I could clearly see her smiling at me, her two front teeth missing, screaming with glee. Rex, our two year old puggle, lay asleep in the center of her room. If he had been awake I would've heard his chorus from the driveway. The third room was Felicia’s gym. When she wasn’t cleaning, cooking, or otherwise taking care of her home and family, she was toning her thighs.
In the master bedroom of the two story Colonial I had bought for these strangers eight years ago, I pulled out clothes to change into before heading into the shower.
Letting the warm steam surround me as the water pounded onto my back, I finally got to be myself again. My thoughts drifted to Felicia. She was tall for a woman, about 5’8”, with long blonde hair. Her pale skin only brightened her stunning green eyes. Her body seemed specifically designed to seduce and entice, while her eyes peered into your soul. And making love to her was one of the most pleasuring experiences I’ve ever had. Keyword being: was.
As beautiful as she appeared on the outside, few knew she was a selfish bitch, and an emotional wreck. I had purposefully taken this long to come home, arriving after midnight. If I had come earlier, while the family was awake, I’d never have any peace. And when she wasn’t nagging, she was accusing me of sleeping around. At this point, whether I was or was not was hardly the point.
Her father, the old senile kook, was a serious pain in the ass, almost as much as his daughter. Must run in the family.
Samantha, our daughter, was the only part of this life that I actually enjoyed. She was very intelligent, mature-- reminded me a lot of myself at her age. She wouldn’t for long, I knew. Other than the obvious differences between men and women, it was at age ten my father first showed me who he really was. It was the first time I had watched him end a life with his bare hands…
“Honey, are you living in there now? Because I thought you might like to be come to bed soon.”
Felicia’s honey-like voice broke through my reverie. “Sorry love, I’m on my way out.” I took my time washing myself off.
“Oh, well then you better hurry, I don’t want to wait long, boy.”
I turned off the water, grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my waist before stepping out of the shower. She had changed into a sexy nightgown, its material was see-through. I plastered a smile onto my face.
As much as I hated these people, I needed them. They were a part of my very complex disguise.
***
Mathew Severiano and Michael Brent approached the crime scene, briskly crossing the four lane intersection diagonally. They looked different enough in appearance; Brent was only 29 years old, 5’9” and about 160 lbs. His dark brown eyes didn’t hide the fire within them and his complexion was just as deep.
Severiano however, was over six feet tall, and his brown hair had begun to gray at the edges since his 50th birthday a few weeks ago. Though he was the son of European parents, his accent was less foreign, and much more recognizable as that of a resident of Brooklyn.
“You know, I could end up like you if I’m caught doing this,” Brent mumbled to his new found friend as they safely evaded a few angry drivers. He tried to look calm, but he was a little unnerved.
“You don’t have to worry buddy, just let me do the talking.”
Yellow crime scene tape sealed off the whole block, including the one across from it, but they planned on getting in and out before the reporters showed up. It was after 2 in the morning, and now was the time to get the information they needed. Severiano noted that there were officers in the abandoned Meat Market across the street. He promised himself he’d remember to ask about that. They ducked under the tape and barely flashed their badges before the police officers could stop them.
“FBI. We need to get inside.” They pushed their way inside without waiting for a response as the officers looked at each other dumbfounded.
Brent was surprised to see that the inside of Charlie’s Steakhouse felt very comfortable. Though it was filled with police officers at the moment, he could tell that during business hours it would be a beautiful place to eat. The large windows had an illustrated Charles Romero pasted on the outside inviting passersby to feast, while the inside was filled with clean booths and tables.
.“Honestly, I think I wouldn’t have minded eating in here… if it wasn’t for it being a front for the mob and everything,” Brent commented, his deep voice light with humor.
“Oh, I’m sure. Bet the steak tastes like cheap wine and feet, though.”
They made their way through the maze of officers and reached the staircase in the back of the establishment. It was hidden out of sight behind the baby grand piano.
The carpeted stairs led to a hallway on the second floor. Despite the fluorescent lights it seemed gloomy, more than likely due to the dark carpet, walls and art. There were a few doors on either side of the hallway, more officers just leaning against the walls and peeking in, but the real crime scene was within the room opposite the stairs down the long hallway.
Inside they found a little more than they had anticipated. Romero’s corpse was expected, along with at least one of his most trusted associates, but they certainly had not expected to find the bodies of so many other powerful leaders of the underworld. A broad shouldered, pot-bellied detective approached them. His eyes were lined with deep bags. Severiano could tell he was pulled out of bed to get here.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
“FBI,” Brent flashed his badge again, “I’m Special Agent Brent and this is my partner, Special Agent Severiano.”
“Figures the feds would be all over this,” he muttered to no one in particular.
“We’re not here to take over your case, just observe. We had… personal interests in Romero,” Severiano added.
He nodded, and seemed invigorated by the knowledge that he hadn’t woke up for nothing. He’d get to handle this on his own, and if he solved it… The press wouldn’t be able to get enough of him. “You guys got here pretty quick, though.”
“We’re the FBI,” Brent joked.
“And I’m Detective Lambert, I apologize for not introducing myself sooner,” he stuck out his hand but they had already turned their attention back to the scene.
The nine men in the room, most of which were still in their seats, were all still soaking in their own blood. There was one on the floor near the door, apparently trying to escape and another lying under the window. The hole the bullet bore into his skull indicated that he’d been looking outside when he was shot. Severiano glanced out of the window, right into the second floor of the Meat Market he had noticed when he had arrived, the questions he had concerning that were pretty much answered now. Romero’s carcass was a few feet away, still in his chair, his head slumped against his chest.
His body was different from the others though. Everyone else in the room had been eliminated with a single well placed head shot, either between the eyes, or in the back of the head. Romero, however, had been shot in the chest, on the left side, close to his heart.
Severiano leaned in closer, paused, then nodded as though satisfied with what he was looking at. Brent noted that he seemed like a father critiquing the work of one of his children.
“Yeah, he was definitely here, definitely the shooter,” Severiano said, a light smirk threatened the corners of his mouth as he stood up, ready to leave.
“That’s it?” Lambert was noticeably surprised, they hadn’t been in the room five minutes and they were already on their way out.
“That’s all we needed to see here. Thank you Detective, have a lovely day,” Brent said as they left the room.
They made their way back out of the building and once outside Brent lit a cigarette for himself and his partner.
“What exactly was it that you were looking for?” Brent inquired, he had no idea what they were doing here, or why.
“I’m trying to find this guy. The killer," he graciously accepted the Newport Brent offered, "They call him the Surgeon. I’m trying to put him out of business.”
Brent motioned towards the Marty's, "Then shouldn't we be checking there?"
Severiano shook his head, "No, there's nothing there. He was here, which means he didn't leave anything we hadn't seen already."
“And you’re sure you’ve found his last hit because…?”
“Romero. The bullet just missed his heart..." he pulled on the cigarette again, "...pierced his lung instead.”
Brent laughed, “Well I’m guessing he wasn’t a heart surgeon.”
“He did it on purpose.”
Brent took a long last pull of the Newport, then dropped it and ground it under his toe before stepping into his all black sedan, “Why do you say that?”
Severiano flicked away his butt and entered the passenger side, “It’s his trademark.." Brent noticed Severiano paused in the middle of his sentences, more than likely for dramatic purposes. He waited patiently for him to continue, "A shot to the lungs forces the victim to die slower, they drown in their own blood. He’s probably the only guy alive who can do that with such consistency. It’s pretty much how he got his name. His precision is unmatched, like a surgeon in the operating room.”
They pulled away, leaving the crime scene behind them before Severiano added, “Well there’s also the fact that he has an affinity for using scalpels up close.”
“Damn… I’d hate to meet this guy in an alley.”
“You and me both,” Severiano added as they passed four black sedans identical to the one they were riding in, headed in the direction of Charlie’s Steakhouse.
The only difference: they were filled with actual federal agents.
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The prologue was good but this was much better. I was waiting to see what kind of home life he had. So this was the perfect follow up chapter. I liked how the desrcription of his family start off sweet and then web sour. Also that we learned the meaning of his name. Cool plot and characters so far
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