Journal Of An Agent Ch 26

Feedback and suggestions always welcome. This is a continuation from chapter 25, read the note below to catch up. The next two chapters will consist of one long story line, so make sure you follow along if you want to enjoy the story to it's fullest.

Standard Disclaimer:

You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...blah blah, you know the rest.

This story may be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use, but PLEASE leave my email/name on it! That's all I ask!

This is Part 26 of an ongoing series. Yes I know the celebs don't act like this in real life, but this is a fantasy after all.

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(In the last chapter, Dean managed to track down the man who tried to kill him by running him off the road, through the help of a private investigator and the underground channels of the crime world. We pick up with Dean approaching the place where the man, Warren Aiello, is currently at.)

The light was very dim inside, the only illumination coming from the streetlight that seemed miles away down the street. The older, decrepit building had indeed been an apartment at some point, although since then had fallen into great disrepair. The front door inside was off its hinges and lay against the wall at an angle, the wood of it long since rotted through by termites and was dotted in what appeared to be bullet holes. Heading towards the shaky looking stairs, I noticed the graffiti along the walls, some old and some new. Though it had been uninhabited, this place had seen it's fair share of activity in recent years.

I knew silence was key here, so I carefully took one step at a time, watching where I was going to make sure I planted my feet on the firmest looking portion of the board. Cigarette butts, crack vials and empty beer bottles dotted the stairwell like the way a child's toys fill a normal household. Each item seemed to say volumes about the history of the building and what had taken place there.

I ascended the stairs at a slow but firm pace, the only sound in the hallway coming from my own thudding heart and the occasional car driving by on the street outside. I cleared the first floor with no problem and was almost through the second floors steps when my foot suddenly came down on a rickety step and plunged right through the rotted wood, the splintering of it sounding like an explosion in the silence. Carefully I pulled my foot back out - it had hurt like hell but I was ok - and tried not to make any more noise than needed as the wood groaned upward as my foot came out. On firmer ground, I paused for what seemed like an eternity and listened to see if Warren upstairs had heard anything. When no noise came, I continued upward.

Reaching the third floor, I again paused and surveyed the scene. Up here, not even the light of the street shone, essentially putting me in complete darkness. If it had not been for the blue glow of what had to be a television down at the very end of the hall, Aiello's room, I probably wouldn't have been able to see even a foot out in front of me. The building reeked like piss and death up here, all the smells from the other floors accumulating and rising upward like some kind of grotesque crescendo. Covering my nose with my shirt, I removed the gun from my pants and slid slowly along the inside of the right wall, taking things as slow as possible. Sweat dripped down my face in rivets, soaking my clothes and seeming to give the air an even more pungent odor.

My back now leaning against the wall, I stopped by Aiello's door and listened. It had indeed been a television that was on - I could hear Wheel of Fortune blaring at a semi-loud level - and things were much brighter in the hallway now. He must have had a light on overhead, because the blue glow was now overcome by a competing yellow dullness that spilled out onto the floor of the hallway. I had been expecting him to be locked inside of this room, doors bolted and firearms all around just in case of the inevitable, but to my surprise there WAS no door and, from my quick glance inside, I saw nothing but the bare floor, a threadbare chair and a television set in the room at all.

I at first though Aiello wasn't even there, that I had gotten the wrong building. But when something happened on the show, when one of the contestants solved the puzzle, I heard Aiello say "Finally bitch, only took you four spins," and I knew I had the right place. My heart thudded even louder now as I wiped the sweat off my head with the back of my hand, and instinct took over. Leaning slowly, inch by inch into the room, I turned and stood in the doorway, the gun raised out in front of me.

It took me a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness of light in the room, no matter how dull it had seemed from outside the room, but when I got my vision back I assessed the scene. Aiello sat hunched in the chair, leaning forward, his eyes no more than six inches from the screen. His massive back was stretching the fabric of his white cotton t-shirt and I saw a bag of empty potato chips on the floor beside him. What worried me more though was the double barrel shotgun that leaned up against the chair, just a few inches from his hand. I knew that if I made a move first, I had to make it good. Otherwise, I didn't stand a chance.

Taking a tentative step into the room, I held the gun steady out in front of me. Aiello was only a few paces in front of me now, his makeshift stuff sitting in the middle of the room, a giant (and cracked) glass window giving a view onto the street below.

He didn't seem to hear me approach behind him, lost in the show he was watching. However, when I clicked the safety off of my gun as I held it a few feet away from the back of his head, it was obvious that his body had tensed up. Very slowly, his hand reached down to the remote and flicked off the television. I moved the gun along his arm as he did this, just to make sure that he didn't try anything. With the TV off, we were left in silence in the room.

His body still tense, Aiello said "Alright man, whoever you are, let's just talk about this ok? Don't do anything rash and we can both walk away from this in one piece,"

I took a step closer, pushing the barrel into the back of his head "Ok, I'm listening. You probably don't even know who I am," I said.

"You got that wrong Simonds. I know exactly who you are. I KNEW I should have blown up your car, rather than sink it. But life is full of lots of should haves. You aren't dead, that much is obvious. That doesn't mean you won't be before I get done with you though," Aiello said. The coolness in his voice as he spoke showed me that he had obviously been in situations like this before.

"You're forgetting that I'm the one with the gun to your head, not the other way around. Now you are going to answer my questions and then I'll be out of here, letting you finish watching your show," I said.

"I ain't answering shit," Aiello said toughly, rocking a little in the chair. I pushed the gun harder into his head.

"No, you will. Don't think I won't hesitate to blow you away, not after what you tried to do to me. Now answer my questiosn and let's, as you said, both walk away. Who hired you to kill me?" I asked.

"Fuck you," he replied. I was growing angry, but didn't want this to last any longer than it had to. Acting out of this anger (and the adrenaline pumping through me), I reared my hand back a few inches and pistol whipped him on the side of his head hard, violently enough to rock his head to the side and for him to cry out in pain.

"Aghh! Fuck, alright. I'm too old to be dealing with this stupid rich-guy-with-an-attitude bullshit. Who hired me? I was hired by a woman, she said her name was Betty Rubble. So, as you can guess, it's an alias. I spoke to her only once, she wanted to keep our connection as distant as possible. Which is something I run into a lot in this business, I'm sure you understand," Aiello said.

"What did she look like? How else did you communicate with her, was it through other people?" I asked.

"Like I said, I only talked to her once. And it was over the phone. The rest of our dealings were done through mutual friends and middlemen. Look Simonds, I know you think you are some big dignitary or bigwig whose brush with death should be headline news, but to me you were just another paycheck. And a small one too. Fucking woman didn't even give me the bonus she wanted because there wasn't a body," he replied.

"So then someone paid you pretty shittily. What else can you tell me that would convince me not to shoot you in the name of self-defense?" I said.

"Self-defense? Shit! You're the one with the gun to my head, I'M the one who should be entitled to self-defense," Aiello said smugly.

"See, that's where your wrong. All I have to say is that my car broke down, you jumped me and I shot you in defense. That puts me here, at this time, with an airtight alibi whose only dissenting voice would be dead. So get off your fucking high horse and cooperate with me so that I don't have to use this reasoning, alright?" I said as coldly as possible. The truth was, I had hoped it wouldn't come to killing him - I wasn't the type of person who could do that. But for a killer like Aiello, I had to put on as solid and cold a front as possible.

My comment seemed to make him hesitate now, a little uneasy about his situation.

"Now," I continued. "I just have one last question before I back out of here and we never see each other again. Can you give me a way to contact this woman who hired you?"

Aiello sighed for a moment, thinking it over. He must have realized that I was serious about killing him, and replied "Yeah. I got her number over there with my stuff," he said, pointing towards a duffel bag in the corner. "Lemme go get it,"

Now it was my turn to think. Things were happening so quickly now, and I knew that if I let him get up from the chair, I would be in serious trouble. Then again, if I went to the bag myself, I'd have to turn my back on him and who knew what kind of weapon he had hidden in some place around the room.

"Fine. Get it. But move slowly and take one step at a time with your hands in the air," I said. He stood from the chair with his hands raised above his head like I had asked. I moved behind him, keeping the gun just a few inches from his head. He took the steps one at a time, following my instructions. When he reached the bag, he bent down slowly.

"I'm just going to get out my address book and get the number, alright?" he said as he slowly bent forward.

"Fine, but the address book and nothing more," I replied.

His hand inside the bag, I was too preoccupied watching his hand to notice that he was watching me from the corner of his eye. He took the address book from the bag and moved to stand up, but then suddenly his left leg flew out behind him in a roundhouse style kick, hitting me right behind my knees and causing me to have my legs knocked from under me as I fell to the ground. Before landing though, I acted on reflex and pulled the trigger, causing the gun to fire a wild shot high above both of our heads. It slipped from my hand and skidded across the hardwood floor, out of my immediate reach. The bullet buried itself in the ceiling and dust floated down slowly as I hit the floor with a thump.

Aiello wasted no time moving towards the gun as I scrambled to grab it before him. I got to it first, but he promptly planted his foot hard on my hand, crushing my fingers. I recoiled in pain as the gun slipped from my grasp again. He bent down to grab it, but now it was my turn to knock his legs out from under him and he fell to the floor.

We wrestled around on the floor with each other for a few minutes, both of us fighting as hard as we could to get away from the other and grab the gun. With a firm headbutt that caused me to almost black out in dizziness, he managed to debilitate me for just long enough to get the gun and scramble to his feet.

Before he could regain his balance, I ran at him with head down like a football tackler and shoved him with all my might back against the wall of the building. The whole structure seemed to shake around us and I couldn't help but wonder if the place might fall apart completely. The gun slipped from his hand and hit the floor on it's butt, discharging another shot into the opposite wall, whizzing by me no more than a three feet away.

With neither of us holding the gun, Aiello began to circle around me like a boxer. He crouched down into a firm stance and began to throw a few punches at me, to which I did the same. I knew that any blows I landed on him would have to be in the face, as his hulking body would hardly feel a thing if I hit him in the chest. Aiello managed to sucker punch me in the side of my chest, which hurt like hell, but I managed to stay on my feet. Throwing another punch, I caught him off step and hit him as hard as I could on the nose. His head rocked back violently on his massive neck and he took a step back or so, obviously a little dazed from the punch. I hardly compared to him in size, as he probably had 60 pounds or more on me, but my adrenaline was pumping completely now and I could probably hit just as hard as he.

Aiello didn't see it, but where he was standing in relation to the room was only a few feet back or so from the large, pane less window I had first seen from the street. If only I could get him near it...

It turned out that he did it for me. Having refocused, I saw him reach into his boot and pull out a long, 7 inch knife. His mouth was dripping in blood as he advanced towards me, the knife in hand. I knew I had to act quickly.

"End of the line Simonds. I'm going to enjoy cutting you like a fish," he growled, diving for me. This was my one chance - I moved to meet him and, rather than try to hit him with a punch, I kicked my leg out forward like a kicker on a punt and managed to introduce his groin to my foot.

A wave of pain rushed over him as he dropped the knife and grabbed himself. His face turned pale and he was gasping for air like a fish, crippled by the kick. I stood only a few feet from him, but he was lined up perfectly with the window now, and so I ran at him. Putting my head down again, I hit him like a battering ram right in the middle of his massive gut. His arms flew out wildly around him as they landed on my back, but he was too weak to do anything to me. My head still buried in his chest, I pushed him forward as hard as I could, the feet on the floor disappearing as I headed towards the window.

With one final thrust, I pushed my arms into his shoulders and flung him backward. He lost his footing and bent slightly at the waist, just as his massive back slammed into the glass of the window. It was old and not sturdy and broke like glass does in the movies. At first I thought he was going to catch himself, his hands long enough to reach the windows edge, but he instead just simply fell through. His legs fell out from under him now and he rocketed out the window. I saw the look of pain, surprise and astonishment on his face as he flew out the window, falling out of my site. I rushed to the window just in time to see his body slam into the concrete below with a thud.

His arms twitched a little by his sides, but judging from the pool of blood around him, it was probably involuntary. He was dead.

I stepped from the window cautiously, my legs shaking. There was no one else around so no one had seen it. I surveyed the room and grabbed the address book and gun that lay on opposite ends of the floor. Putting the gun in my waistband, I leafed through the address book, searching for the name I needed. The names inside of it were laid out like this - a name on the top, crossed through with a red pen and then a name underneath it, some with a phone number- the victim and the hirer. It felt creepy knowing that all the names that had been crossed out were people who were dead. And judging by the sheer volume of them, Aiello had been busy. I leafed through the pages quickly, looking for my name. Towards the back, I finally spotted my name. It had been crossed through like all the others, but the name below it was simply a pair of initials: R.M. And there was indeed a phone number, which made me feel, knowing that I had not come up here in vain.

Closing the book, I tucked it under my arm and quickly left the room, turning off the overhanging light on my way out so as not to raise much suspicion. Heading out of the building, I pulled the gun from my waist and held it calmly down by my side, even though calmness was the furthest thing from my mind. The streets were still deserted as I headed back to my car. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see Aiello's leg sticking out behind a dumpster. This was good - that meant no one would find him till morning and even then, I'd be long gone. It was strange knowing I had just killed a man, but if it hadn't been him it would have been me lying motionless on the concrete out there.

Climbing into my car, I sped off as quickly as possible, trying to put as much distance from what had happened as I could. Aiello's death wouldn't be in the papers and since he was just a hired goon, no one would seem to mind him being gone. My body was filled with excitement as I drove, the adrenaline coursing through my veins like liquid fire. I could hardly keep still in my seat as I left the ghetto and entered into more populated areas. Had a car backfired somewhere on the street, I probably would have jumped out of my skin.

After all the stress I had just been through, not to mention the night's previous events, you'd figure that I was exhausted and wanted to sleep. But my body was wound up tight, and I knew that if I went home I wouldn't be able to sleep.

Driving back, I passed the Get Buff Health Spa. The agency had an account there, complimentary for all of our stars, where they could go to unwind a little when they were still in town. It was considered to be one of the best fitness clubs in all of Los Angeles and I knew that only the elite few could afford to use it. It catered to the wealthy and the on the go, for the type of clientele who wanted to stay in shape but couldn't afford to spend hours on end waiting in line for equipment to become available, not to mention the gawkers of the general public who would doubtlessly nag the stars for an autograph. Coming to a stoplight, I checked my wallet to see if I had the company membership card with me - yes, I did. It was made out of a thick, gold colored paper that sparkled and glittered in the dim light of the car. My name was hand stenciled on it, so I knew that I could get in.

Turning around, I headed back towards the club. The parking lot was gated and guarded by a night security staff to only allow members in. Being 24 hours, I knew that the place would be practically deserted and just the place to go to burn off my energy so that I could get some solid sleep.

I pulled to the gate and idled out front while a security guard, a humongous asian man with a tightlipped face and a sparse mustache, came over to my vehicle.

"Member card please," he said gruffly. I had disturbed him from his nightly nap and I'm sure he didn't want to be dealing with anyone, let alone me, at this late hour.

I handed him the card. Pulling an electronic scanner of some sort, similar to a bar code scanner, he zapped the card with a red laser. I heard a "beep" come from the back of the gun like device and he handed me the card again.

"Thanks Mr. Simonds. Have a safe workout," he said, walking back to his booth. The gate opened a moment later and I drove in, pulling into one of the many empty parking spots. Getting out of my car, there was only ten or so other cars in the lot as I approached the brightly lit entrance. The building was quite large from the outside, although it was striking that there were no windows to be found on the front or the sides. As I passed inside, I checked in with the front staff.