I’d be lying if I said that I trusted any of what Elena had said during our meeting, after all she was still my adversary’s wife. However, this was an opportunity that was far too good to pass up.
The bullet had gone into my left shoulder and richocheted off the bone. A .30 caliber cartridge.
A .30 caliber was what killed Benjamin ‘Bugsy’ Siegel back in the 1940s.
The grotesque looking scar was a sort of macabre parting gift courtesy of Charlie Duran.
Honestly, I was lucky to still be able to use my arm but I could remember ever so vividly just how and when it happened. It came flooding back to me in real time like some kind of on demand video playback. The sound of the rain combined with the hustle and bustle of city nightlife; the sound of cars dodging and darting through evening traffic and congestion of motorways. Then there were the lights. The bright lights of marquees. As I exited the doors of the theater, they made their move.
The lady friend admired my well tailored suit and was anticipating an evening with Antonio Geist; one of the most prominent names in local society.