Dirty Deeds by Armand Rosamilia

off the highway towards the hotel, which loomed in the distance. By the time I drove into the parking lot and looked around to make sure no one was watching me, my candy and Coke rush was expired.
    I covered my face and cried for awhile.

TEN
    I landed back at JFK and was greeted by an older driver with salt and pepper hair, his suit nicely pressed and the driving cap angled on his head like he’d spent an hour with it looking at a mirror. By the steely look in his eyes I knew he was going to be another no-nonsense man like the last one.
    I didn’t bother asking for his name, either.
    My initial thought was to go straight to the jazz club, but I was hungry. I’d spent the rest of yesterday in my hotel room, wiping mini-donut crumbs off my belly and washing down the last of the candy bars with the soda. I was a nervous eater, and when I finally fell asleep with late night talk shows on the television, my stomach was growling.
    I wanted a greasy-spoon diner and a greasy burger with greasy fries. I asked the driver if he knew of a good spot.
    “I know an excellent one. You want grease? Even the water is greasy,” he said and laughed.
    I got into the back of the car and checked my phone messages. Marisa had called twice when I was in the air, which is never a good sign.
    I called her back, hoping she wouldn’t ask me about last night’s dinner and she couldn’t hear my stomach threatening to riot.
    “I got some news, boss, and you aren’t going to like it,” she said. Cutting right to the chase without small talk is never a good sign.
    “I’m all ears.” I don’t know why I said that all the time to her but I made a mental note to stop it. Yet again.
    “I had a guy watching out for Will and he was at the jazz club last night but slipped out the back door. There’s an added wrinkle, too: a thug associated with Chenzo is in town as well, and he’s been asking questions. I think they figured out the kid isn’t dead,” Marisa said.
    Damn it. The botched job had gotten me behind the eight-ball now. I was a day late and a dollar short, and every other cliché I could think of. I was hoping to be able to work the jazz club and get to Will before anyone else, but it looked like I was going to have to stand in line now.
    “How is it possible they know so much already?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure. Even Marco has gone quiet to me,” Marisa said.
    Marco was a tech hacker working for Chenzo’s outfit. He was one of the best at getting into any computer system with ease. He loved a challenge. He was the guy who’d told me about the wiretapping by using a common cell phone. He’d helped me out in a pinch quite a few times as long as it didn’t interfere with his Chenzo work. I guess now I was getting too close to where he did his business and he was cutting all ties.
    “Rumor has it they sent Marco and his buddy Chazz down south after a bad job but Chazz is back in Jersey without the hacker,” Marisa said.
    This was all getting to be too much for me. There were too many players in motion at once, and this wasn’t even my normal job. This was usually much simpler. I got paid to eliminate a child, I kidnapped said child and put him or her through the vast network so they would disappear to live happily ever after in some family that cared about them.
    Usually. I remembered Frank Black and wondered again how bad the situation had been for Will growing up, although I had a sneaking suspicion the kid would’ve been trouble no matter where he ended up.
    “I’m trying to stay away from Chenzo as much as possible,” I said to Marisa. “If Will vacated the jazz club, what leads do I have?”
    “You don’t as far as I can see. The guy is in the wind right now.”
    “Then why am I here?” I asked with anger in my voice. I guess I’d gotten loud because the driver looked back for a second.
    “Because I didn’t know any of this until you’d already gotten on the flight. Unfortunately, the fortune tellers and