Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy (43 page)

T
he following evening
Clay began clearing a ramp for the snow mobile to ascend and
removed the snow gripping its appendages like white mud. He had
vowed when he woke to put the death of the un-named woman behind
him and only draw on the positive experience of his wilderness
trials. She was an unfortunate victim and he felt great sorrow that
she had become involved. He abhorred the idea of how he had killed
her, but she had been dying anyway, and he rationalized he had
actually made it easier for her. The snow cave had provided warmth
and shelter to save his life, but the confinement and isolation had
almost driven him mad. When the storm passed and the winds abated
the cave was as quiet as a graveyard; he felt as if it were he who
had died and was entombed. He was relieved to be out in the open,
faced with new challenges and decisions to be made. With the
headlight illuminating a path in front of him he eased the machine
out of the snow trap and began the last leg of his journey.

The run down the mountain was made carefully,
and before midnight he was again at the east end of Lake Kintla.
Running in the light of a half moon under a clear sky he searched
the center section of the lake surface for signs of ice fishing.
Cutting a trail through a foot of fresh snow he finally saw several
depressions where holes had been cut through the foot thick ice
sheet. The below zero temperature had formed a plug of ice in the
bottom of the hole, but it was not more than three inches thick.
Using the rifle barrel as a pick he chopped at the hole until it
was opened to near its original eight inch diameter. First he
dumped all of the spent casings through the ice hole. Next the
rifle, silencer, scope, revolver and automatic pistol were dropped
through the hole where they would lay hidden forever. Holding the
woman’s jewelry in his hand, as he had many times over the past
several days, Clay fought with himself emotionally. For some reason
he felt a strong sense of pity for the unnamed woman. He had an
insane urge to retain some kind of material tie to her; something
to keep her with him and somehow mitigate the barbaric act he had
committed against her. Slowly he allowed the ring, minus the blue
precious stone, and the gold bracelet, minus the diamonds, to roll
out of his palm, and fall through the hole in the ice. The gold
wedding band would stay with him, despite the risk.

Less than four hours later Clay was at his
truck. After digging snow away from in front of it and making a
trail for the rear tires and the trailer to run through he pulled
the truck forward into the roadway to load the snow machine. He
planned to drive through Polebridge, on to Columbia Falls and down
to Missoula before stopping. There he would find a place to pull
over and nap in the cab of the truck long enough to get rested for
the run out of Montana. Once he was in Iowa he would stop for a
room where he could take a shower and clean up. After more than a
week without a shower or change of clothing he suspected people
might hold their noses if he got too close. Before leaving he
changed all of his clothing, including socks, underwear, jeans, a
heavy flannel shirt and a coat. With a knife he shredded the white
arctic gear and planned to distribute the pieces in separate trash
containers along the way. His last act in the job would be to find
a post office in Missoula and mail De Grand’s ring to Tony as proof
he had fulfilled the contract.

Back home Clay learned from Tony the murder
of the wife of an Assistant Secretary in the Canadian Government
had been blamed on her scandalous behavior with her current secret
lover, Charles De Grand.

Tony was saying, “The papers reported her
husband was the logical suspect, but he had a solid and
undisputable alibi. Since no evidence of his involvement could be
found he was exonerated. The Canadian cops don’t have any clues as
to who committed the murder, why it was committed, or how the
killers disappeared.” After taking a sip of hot coffee he
continued, “Since three weapons were used to kill the four of them
it was assumed multiple assassins committed the murders. They think
whoever authorized the crime had a real hard on for the woman and
singled her out for especially gruesome treatment.”

Clay sat across from Tony, enjoying his
friend’s amazement of the feat he had pulled off two weeks earlier.
“I learned a lot on that job Tony. I’m convinced with good
planning, and some measure of luck, I can hit anybody,
anywhere.”

“But”, Tony cut in, “How did you know about
the woman being his girlfriend; Genevieve Vil…?”

“I didn’t.” Clay replied quickly. “I just
followed an instinct to put the focus on her.”

“Whoa! Something happened there didn’t it? I
can see it in your expression and hear it in your voice.”

“Yeah, something happened. What I did to her
got to me. She was my first
innocent
victim and it still
bothers me. I didn’t, and still don't, want to know her name. I
know too much about her already and I’ve got to forget her and put
it behind me.”

“Be careful here Clay; you’re getting into
some deep emotional shit, be very careful. Maybe you should take
some time off, or even consider quitting; I know you don’t need the
money.”

“I don’t want to quit Tony. In between jobs I
start craving the excitement; I’m an emotional junkie.” Clay
chuckled, “I guess I need the rush from killing in order to
live.”

Clay hesitated staring somberly at the floor
while Tony continued to study him, “I’ll be alright Tony. I just
need some time for this one to pass.”

“Well anyway, as I was saying, you’ve got
damn good instincts.” Tony opened a desk drawer, took out a large
fat envelope and handed it to Clay. “Here’s the money. They were
tickled shitless when the investigation was focused on the woman
instead of their guy .The consiglieri suggested they throw in an
extra twenty five grand for your expenses. Will this cover it?”

“Yes, it will more than cover all my
costs.”

“He also appreciated getting De Grand’s ring.
The son had to be convinced his New York customers were behind the
deaths. He believed what the cop’s released; the woman was the
target. So now he’s convinced if he fucks up like his old man did
he’ll have you come looking for him. He’s already returned the
money the old man was holding and adjusted his cut to ten
percent.”

Then Tony changed the subject, “What the hell
are you gonna do with all the money you’re making? Do you want to
go into partnership with me on some legit businesses?”

“Thanks for the offer Tony, but I’ve been
talking with some investment advisors who exercise at the club. I
plan to start putting money into the stock market. They were
recently recommending something called software companies;
something to do with computers.”

“Good luck Clay. Me, I’ll put my money where
I can see it and control what happens to it. I like small local
businesses that I know about.”

“They're good too, but I’ve got enough to
worry about with the antique shop. In fact I bought some good
glassware and a small amount of furniture while I was in Kansas and
coming back across Missouri. But I need more, so I’m going east
again on another buying trip.

A month later Clay was sitting in his office
when George Mangiurea knocked before opening the door and entering.
Wasting no time he sat down and got right to the point of his
visit. “My boss, Special Agent Trowbridge, asked me to talk to you
again to solicit your help in our investigation. Based on further
interviews with nurses and doctors at the hospital we’re convinced
you must have had knowledge about arrangements leading up to the
murder of the gang members who attacked Tony Giliano. In return for
your cooperation we’re prepared to offer you immunity and
protection to testify against the Giliano gang.”

“I’m afraid you and your other guy, what ever
his name is, are way off target. I admit I was, shall I say rather
forceful, in demanding the hospital staff cooperate to get Tony out
of there, but that was the full extent of my involvement. If you
want to arrest me go ahead. Otherwise, please get out of my office
because I have business calls to make.”

Mangiurea was taken aback at his abrupt
dismissal and visibly showed it. “Well, I’m sorry you feel this
way. If you don’t change your mind our next step will be to
continue to build a case against you and convene a grand jury.”

“Are you threatening me; it sounds I can say
what you want to hear or be prosecuted. As I said from the start I
don’t know anything about the Giliano business interest. Tony and I
are friends, not business partners.”

Clay stood and pointed to the door, “Now,
please leave.”

George Mangiurea stood and at the door calmly
said, “I’ll be back; we’ll be talking again.”

After closing the door and sitting at his
desk, Clay leaned back and closed his eyes to think about what just
transpired. He quickly decided Mangiurea was on a fishing
expedition. The F.B. I. agent hadn’t been able to find any hard
evidence to use against him and was just applying pressure to see
if he would panic. What they had accomplished on his side was to
instill a sense of caution. He would need to be cognizant of their
attention to him in everything he did; not only his hit man role,
but also his legitimate investments. He didn’t want to get caught
by the I.R.S. like Chicago’s infamous Al Capone.

He decided to skip lunch with his mother for
the week and stay at the office instead. For some time she had been
distant and down right combative with him. Perhaps they needed some
time apart and he should just back off. Instead he called Lizzy and
made a date to take her and Irish to dinner the following Friday
evening.

Two months later Adrianna called to ask if he
could get away for a week to vacation with her in Florida. He had
been making trips to Washington every month or two and he felt
their relationship had steadily strengthened. He agreed to meet her
there in two weeks. He still hadn’t mentioned it to Tony; even as
close as they had become he didn’t know what might be said about
him banging Tony’s only daughter.

Clay turned on the light and viewed the
lovely vision belonging to him for only a few more short hours.
They made love almost non stop until he collapsed from fatigue and
dosed off. The last thing he remembered seeing was a smile of
satisfaction and gloating on Adrianna’s face. She had met him on
even ground, matched him act for act, stroke for stroke and watched
as he lay exhausted, falling asleep. With a smirk she declared
herself the winner.

The previous week she had hinted to her
mother about seeing someone who might be a keeper, but had decided
to wait a while longer to put a name to her mystery man. When they
announced their engagement would be a great time to surprise both
parents.

T
he ensuing months
found Clay again enjoying a satisfactory relationship with his
parents. The FBI agents had visited Margaret a second time, but she
had refused to speak to them. She had backed off attacking his
relationship with Tony and he had resumed his weekly lunch visits
with her, as well as attending occasional dinners at their house.
Occasionally he made a point of taking his parents and Lizzy and
Irish out for dinner.

One afternoon Clay was sitting in a Chicago
traffic jam and had the opportunity to relax and think about
Adrianna. Their love making was stupendous and he longed to be with
her more, but lately she had been pressuring him with talk of
marriage. He had been putting her off but when they were last
together in Washington he sensed she had come close to issuing him
an ultimatum. She had even spoken jokingly of seeing other men if
Clay wasn’t serious about advancing their relationship. She wanted
children and apparently intended to start a family soon; with or
without him. But he knew there was no way he would break his self
imposed pledge to stay single. His private career was more
important to him. Even though the antique business was bringing in
more money than he had ever dreamed possible, he had learned he was
addicted to his hit man role. More than once he had tried to
imagine quitting and devoting all of his time and energy to the
antiques. Each time he had laid out a business plan on paper and
had projected the possible increase in sales and profits. Each time
he had torn the paper into small shreds and tossed it in the trash.
Several times he had kept the plan for several days, reviewing it
carefully daily. But in the end he had to accept the fact that his
killer role provided much more than just money. It gave him an
emotional high; a feeling of achievement buying and selling
couldn’t touch. The danger was a drug to him; it provided more
excitement and personal reward than anything he had ever done or
could imagine doing. Even the recent attention of law enforcement
wasn’t enough to dissuade him and cause him to effect a change. No;
a family meant inquisitive children underfoot and additional
friends and relatives to deal with. Any of those could be the
catalyst which could cause him to be caught; too many prying eyes
and suspicious minds pointed at his peculiar habits. He would have
to deal with Adriana on the present level and find a way to satisfy
both of their needs with out succumbing to a wedding yoke around
his neck.

On Wednesday, June 16, 1976 Margaret called
Clay at ten in the evening from a hospital emergency room. She had
driven Walter there because of chest pains and nausea. The doctor
had immediately admitted him and started running a series of
test.

After locating the emergency room waiting
area Clay found his mother sitting beside Lizzy. Both stood to
exchange greetings with him and then Margaret spoke, “After supper
this evening Walt was complaining about mild pain in his chest.
Then he said he had pain running down his left arm and he just
really felt awful. He said he was nauseous and his skin felt clammy
and cold. I finally convinced him to let me drive him here.”