Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy (26 page)

“You have changed. So have I. We all change
constantly. Some changes are slow and deliberate while others are
forced on us quickly. Yours was forced upon you and it was quick.
But look around you. Neighborhoods change, cities change, societies
change, hell the boundaries of countries all over the world are
still changing. Everything changes over time, nothing is permanent
and forever. You made a life altering decision when you chose to be
a hit man. Now you understand this is what I was warning you about.
Not all the jobs are going to involve strangers. Over the years a
few are bound to be people you know or people who have ties to
close friends or favorite relatives.”

“I guess. When I accepted the Memphis job I
prepared myself emotionally to do people I didn’t know and had no
ties to; a detached, emotionless connection, if you understand what
I mean. This is different. It’s more like when I did O’Neil. There
are feelings and emotional ties to someone I love and care about. I
wasn’t prepared for this to be an ongoing part of it. Even though
my sister would agree she was shit on and these bastards deserve to
be punished, I doubt she would want me to kill them. It’s just one
more secret I can’t discuss with anyone but you.”

“Look kid, you’ve found the power to make
permanent and decisive changes to alter situations, whereas before
you might just chip away at the edges and hope they turned out the
way you wanted. Listen, we’ll talk anytime you need to, except for
right now I’ve got to get to the airport and meet Anna. She’s been
visiting Adrianna and is due to land in an hour.”

“Thanks, Tony. And say hi to Anna for
me.”

Both men walked back inside the bar and Clay
stopped to have another beer with Joey while Tony went out the back
door to his car.

He and Joey had developed a strange
relationship since working together. Each respected the other, even
though they would not describe themselves as good friends. There
were no common ties to bind them except for their past working
relationship. But in the end they could talk amicably and each felt
he could trust and count on the other for support if needed.

The following morning Clay was at the bar,
after spending from seven to nine hitting some promising yard
sales. He had found three pieces of cut glass and a set of four
matching oak chairs at good prices, plus a good Winchester 30-06
hunting rifle with a scope.

“I’ve got the information you asked for,”
Tony informed him when they had gone upstairs. “The guy you’re
looking for is named John Allen Rocco. Here’s his address. He’s a
punk, been involved in some minor shit, got a two page sheet and
has three previous charges of sexual abuse, one of a minor. He’s
never been convicted because the victims always drop the charges
and won’t prosecute.”

“Well, he’s going to get worse than charged
this time. I’m getting an idea for solving both of our problems at
the same time. I’ll need a couple of days to work out the details
but I think I’m close to a solution.”

“The information on my problem is in this
envelope with your guy. Here, and don’t take any more time than you
absolutely need to; my snitch say’s internal affairs is leaning
real hard on this guy and he’s ready to crack. If he talks I’ll
probably be able to avoid jail time, but some other high ups might
not. According to my snitch the bastard thinks he has real
incriminating testimony. The snitch doesn’t think he has any hard
evidence on me, but he might on the others.”

“He’ll be taken care of soon. Something else
I need is a hot pistol with a silencer. Is it possible to get one
linked to some other serious jobs in the short time we have? I
could use a car too; a fast one.”

“No problem. I have such a gun put away and
can lay my hands on any time it’s needed. And you know the car’s no
big deal. In fact, if you have a particular make, model and year in
mind just name it.”

“Just get me something fast and agile; and
not too conspicuous. Here’s a list of two other items I’ll need
also. Could you have Joey get these for me?”

Clay continued, “One thing I am concerned
about is police surveillance on this guy. If they’re pressuring him
to flip over, they may be watching to see he doesn’t run, or to
avoid the very thing we’re planning for him. I don’t want to walk
into a situation I can’t get out of. But I also want to use his
death for my own purpose also.”

“Be careful you don’t get these things too
complicated by trying to tie them together. Two separate and clean
hits would be a lot simpler.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But I want this Johnny
bastard to suffer longer than just killing him would
accomplish.”

“Just be sure you don’t screw up.”

“If I have any doubts about any part of it
I’ll hit him independently. Have the gun and hollow point bullets
here tomorrow and let me know where to pick the car up. I’ll have a
plan together by then. I’ll come by before noon. I’m going to stick
around a little while and study what’s in the packet.”

Tony went back downstairs and Clay began
looking through the file on the crooked cop. His name was Ronald
Weaver, fifty one years old, married with three kids, living in a
small sub-division four miles from the police station he was
assigned to. The man worked a rotating shift and the enclosed shift
schedule indicated he was working evenings through the coming
weekend. A picture showed him to be a little overweight with a
slight paunch, a pleasant looking fellow. Three commendations had
been awarded to him over his career, the last one nine years ago.
He was a patrolman, with no special skills or job enhancing value.
Looked like an average cop who had taken the bait of easy extra
money. The information on John Rocco gave an address in a good area
of town, in an apartment complex. His rap sheet ran from early
teens to his present age of twenty eight. He had graduated from
minor thefts to a charge of receiving and distributing stolen cars.
Johnny had turned against his accomplices and testified for the
state in exchange for not being prosecuted. His last listed
employment was a Cadillac dealership where he was a salesman. At
least with him, Clay knew what his plans were for Saturday night.
His personal section showed two ex-wives and three kids.

When he drove down the street where the
Weavers lived Clay found it to be a well maintained neighborhood.
Yards were mowed, bushes trimmed and woodwork on the houses
painted. Most of the houses were ranches with brick fronts and
attached single car garages. At the house number he was looking for
a 57’ Chevy hard top with big rear tires and a hood scoop was
parked on the street in front of the house. Most likely it was a
teen aged son’s car. A small single bulb yard light on a post stood
near the sidewalk and thirty feet from the house. Thick, mature
bushes ran along the side of the garage and continued down the side
of the house toward the back yard. There were no side yard fences,
but a chain link fence stretched across the back yard. Tall
evergreens stood guard on each side of the garage, crowding the
entrance. Across the street and down two houses a dark blue sedan
contained two other guards. The cops on surveillance duty were
trying to look casual, but why the hell else would two men spend
the day sitting in a car in this neighborhood? As he drove by them,
Clay turned his head away and down, as if adjusting the radio and
maintained his speed to the first corner. Turning right, he drove
to the next street, and again turned to the right. On the right
side a community swimming pool took up most of the block, with a
playground extending to the chain link fence behind Weavers house.
A parking lot was located behind the west end of the pool area and
adjacent to an asphalt basketball court. Having seen enough, Clay
left and drove to the address listed for Rocco.

Apartments lined one side of the street while
upscale single residences hid across the street, out of sight
behind eight foot high brick walls. The apartment complex contained
at least twenty separate three story units, each with sixteen to
twenty four apartments of various sizes. This was one of the higher
priced rentals in the area and catered mostly to professional
people. Johnny Rocco must be involved in more than selling cars to
live in these surroundings. Clay located the apartment Rocco lived
in and parked in a space at the rear of the adjacent building.
Uncovered parking was available in front of and behind the
buildings, while garage parking was available to tenants behind
each building.

Walking over to Rocco’s building Clay
followed a couple in front of him through the locked entrance and
down a wide hall way toward the front of the building. All of the
doors to apartments had entrance locks with deadbolt locks mounted
above them.

A credit card won’t open these, he thought to
himself. The building had twelve units in it, four on each of the
three floors. Rocco’s apartment was on the second floor at the rear
of the building. Another apartment entrance was across the hall
from Rocco’s, and two more were at the front of the building.

After leaving the apartment complex, Clay
found a pay phone and called the dealership where Rocco worked to
inquire about making an appointment with him for eight o’clock one
evening during the week. The secretary who took the call informed
him Mr. Rocco would be available every night the remainder of the
week and was scheduled to closing, nine o’clock.

Clay decided to go by the club to work out,
and then drove home for dinner with the family.

At eight thirty he drove to the Auto Center
dealership and located the red Caddy. Since he had time to kill he
wandered through the luxury foreign car showrooms and ended up at
the Cadillac showroom just before closing. The salesmen were easily
discouraged at this late hour and left him alone after feeble
attempts at striking up conversations. As the salesmen gathered in
groups preparing to leave, Clay exited the showroom and walked out
to his car. Five minutes later Rocco left the building with several
other men who separated as each went to his car. After driving off
the lot Rocco made a left turn and drove three blocks to a titty
bar. Several of the other salesmen pulled into the parking lot and
the group went inside together.

Clay parked across the street and went into a
diner, bought a newspaper and ordered a cup of coffee. On his
fourth cup he saw the group come out of the bar and head for their
cars, laughing and cutting up with each other.

Following the red Caddy was no problem. Rocco
drove the speed limit and was cautious not to arouse attention from
the patrol car they passed At the apartments Rocco drove around to
the garages and into number 2306. Clay parked in a reserved parking
slot and watched as John Rocco came out of the garage, flipped a
half used cigarette butt to the center of the driveway, closed the
overhead door and walked toward the building entrance. As Rocco
entered the building Clay got out of the car and retrieved the
still smoldering butt Rocco had just disposed of.

It was now close to ten thirty and there was
just enough time to drive to the police station and see if Weavers
car was still in the parking lot. Clay passed the lot and drove
further down the street, made a “U” turn and parked where he could
see the exit. I’m starting to feel like an under cover cop myself,
with all of this surveillance and tailing he mused. At nine minutes
past eleven, Weavers dark blue Chevrolet Biscay sedan went under
the raised exit gate arm and headed in the direction of his house.
Ten seconds later another unmarked car left the lot and turned in
the direction Weaver had taken. Clay waited until the second car
was almost out of sight before he pulled out. He followed at a
discrete distance all the way to Weaver’s street and turned off two
blocks from the house. The die was cast. He had a plan. Earlier he
had watched the evening news weather segment and learned
intermittent rain was predicted for the next two days.

Thursday night at five minutes past nine John
Rocco left work and stopped at a bar for thirty minutes with
another salesman. By ten Clay had followed him to the Woodlands
apartments and watched as he entered his building for the
night.

At ten forty five Clay parked a stolen, black
Pontiac Firebird in the swimming pool lot and sat looking at the
house occupied by the Weaver family. A light was on in the kitchen
at the back of the house. An hour earlier a light rain had started
and had continued sporadically since then. He was dressed all in
black but would not be wearing rain protection. He anticipated
getting wet and believed he would be alright in the low fifty
degree weather for the short period he would be out side. He was
simply dressed: black running suit, black Ked tennis shoes, one
size larger than his usual size tens, a black stocking cap and
brown jersey gloves. An old 9mm pre WWII Italian automatic was in
his right jacket pocket and a new .38 caliber S & W revolver
was in his left pocket. Leaving the comfort of the car he kept to
the shadows and made his way to the chain link fence separating the
community area from his targets home. Jumping over the fence he
landed on both feet in the shadows behind a metal shed at the
corner of the yard. The only lights casting shadows were back at
the far corners of the pool area.

Crouching low, he quickly moved to the back
of the house at the corner leading to the garage and took refuge
under the roof overhang. He assumed the wife and son were still up
watching TV. The neighbor’s house was fifteen to eighteen feet away
and he would need to stay cognizant of any movement from there. It
shouldn’t pose any problem because the bedrooms were on the other
end of the house and all of the lights were off. Staying between
the house and evergreen bushes Clay cautiously eased toward the
front of the garage, squatting down before reaching the brick
front. Approaching the corner, he peered over the shrubbery into
the darkness looking for the police car assigned to harass Weaver.
He spotted the dark shape two houses away and quickly evaluated the
view they had from their car. The light rain was in his favor,
causing the policemen to keep the car’s windows closed. The only
light came from pole mounted street lights at each end of the block
and three yard lights standing like sentinels offering protection
against evil lurking in the encroaching shadows. Clay determined if
he stayed low while moving around the corner and into the garage he
wouldn’t be seen by the men in the parked car. The large mature
bushes would block their view and the dim single bulb yard light
didn’t cast enough light to help them see through the light rain
beading up on their windshield.