Rimanoa

Buttoned up unbuttoned

7:31 p.m. Aug. 18

There's probably no house in all of America like Zipped's: tile roof, brick walls, oak front door spare metal.

This time Brosman stayed in the car "on the catch" and Lightning and I used the emergency entrance.

Amoramente struck the lock area with all his might, and no sooner had it opened all the way than the man in the jacket appeared in front of us at full height. Lonje reacted lightning fast and struck a blow with his fist straight to the stomach. From the blow, the supposed bodyguard bent a few steps back and, turning 90 degrees, began to slide slowly but surely off the wall.

I ran inside a little farther away from the dying man and took cover, while "Lightning" was finishing his work: he came closer to him, hit him again, but this time in the jaw, which caused the latter to open, and put the silencer of the Jericho into the opened mouth, firing once. The bullet flew into the palate and, flying out of the back of his head, "plunged" into the wall.

"Let's move," — I whispered to the youth.

Behind the door was a corridor, at the end of which there was a hallway, a smart one, with hangers (obviously all guests come through the second entrance, that's why the ambo was ventilated there. We turned right to a small door. Amoramente kept guard, and I turned the doorknob with a slight movement of my hand and opened the door.

In these apartments as it turned out, and was "Zipped" (to understand it is not difficult at all — he is wearing leather clothes with a lot of zippers, zipped, of course).

"What do you want?"

"I want to buy a Ferrari!" — I stepped inside, slammed the door shut, and smiled. "What's that got to do with me?"

"It's always you. How about a cup of coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee at night."

"The main thing is that I'm drinking, and on the way we'll have a chat about the Sicilian Mafia, for example… You know what I mean?"

"Uh… Ame… Ame… Ame… Ame…"

"Where's the paperwork, dummy?" — my face took on an intimidating look. "They… Uh… I'm going to get killed."

"Who? Papers?" "Ffffff… FBIers…"

I shot him in the kneecap (it's not hard to find where it is under his pants, the subject was sitting on a leather chair with leather armrests). The poor guy howled at the pain worse than a wolf at the moon.

"I'll have you not only howling but moaning… Where are the papers?"

"Wonnnnnnn there…" — He jabbed his finger at the bottom of the small oak cabinet next to me. With one eye still on the victim, I started rummaging through the cabinet and… found the entire pile of documents on the Koza-Nostra case. Not bad at all.

I could hear jamming behind the door, obviously Lightning is behind it, fending off attacks. And that's a sign that it was time to leave, but I continued talking to the client: "Where are the copies?"

"Noooo…there are no copies…"

"What's wrong with you? Don't you get it? Where are the copies?" "They…aren't…"

I shot the "living knee," causing the poor guy to groan. "Where are the copies?"

"I don't…"

I ran to the victim and punched him in the nose, then took him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the door. When I got there, I opened it. Amoramente was standing in full alert, waiting for more attacks from the enemy, whose remains I saw on the floor of the hall, on the stairs, almost everywhere. The hero turned in my direction for a moment and blurted out: "Well?"

"Help me carry this piece of shit to the car, that's what!"