The Reaper Iii: Loaded Die

By Paul Kool

After all the hardships chronicled in the second installment in the series, C.C. and the lads elect to take a year off to reflect and recharge. C.C. takes a vacation in Las Vegas and once there, decides to take up permanent residence and call it home. After a year apart Rizzo, Oscar, and Felix join him...and the rest is history.

C.C. and the boys soon find themselves handling some of the most important contracts of their carreer as professional assassins through an old friend that had vanished years earlier. The lads also finally get a chance to start their community service work cleaning up some of the garbage that has fallen through the cracks of the justice system. This installment, possibly the last in the series, recounts and encapsulates the final years of C.Cs career and affirms his position as one of the most revered and feared professional assassins in the history of organized crime.

The action is intense and C.Cs trademark wit abounds throughout; its a must read for Reaper fans that have enjoyed the two previous installments!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475930009

Paul Kool

Paul Kool is the author of several books including the wildly popular three book series THE REAPER as well as the romantic comedy A PERFECT FIT, the dark psychological thriller INTO THE UNDERNEATH: SHE KILLZ: the quirky fictional crime comedy BALLONI AND RYE; and now the quirky and at times comical ‘who done it’ ALWAYS AND FOREVER Paul resides both in Canada and the United States and draws his inspiration for his writing projects from both sides of the border integrating both Canadian and American elements and ideals culminating in a truly unique approach and style.

Book preview

Chapter 1

‘Getting caught up’

After all the crap that went on in my life around the time of the Rita debacle the boys and I decided to go our separate ways for a year just to let things cool down; fact is we couldn’t be sure that she would keep her mouth shut regarding the untimely demise of her hubby nor could we be certain that she wouldn’t surface looking to blackmail us for money when her insurance money ran out.

Fuck it! I needed a vacation; a complete getaway; so I grabbed the first available flight to Las Vegas ...and I never went home again; five years and counting and I still live out here in the desert.

The lads stayed home back east during that year. Felix and Oscar continued to work for the local mob and attended to whatever it was that they attended to; drugs, collecting debts, playing peacemaker and arbitrator and liaison between the mob and the bikers and all that stuff.

They also had amassed an impressive array of legitimate business interests over the years; real estate sales and acquisitions, used car lots, repair shops and so forth so they had plenty to keep them busy. But by then they really were the masters of their own destiny so they could pretty much structure their time any way they liked and stay as busy…or not…as they liked.

And my long-time partner in crime the illustrious Rizzo Falcone? He continued to operate his sporting goods and guns business and vacationed often with his wife, adult kids and their families in southern Italy; and for the most part took a much needed break from ‘the life’ and just dropped off the radar grid.

During my first year here in Las Vegas I did a pretty good job staying off the grid myself. I didn’t do anything illegal let alone take on any contract work or even attempt to kick off my community service shitbag hunt and kill operation. As much as I needed ‘work’ ….ok, someone to kill…I didn’t give in to temptation…yet.

I needed to stay busy doing other things…constructive conventional ‘normal’ things… so I joined some desert riding clubs; dirt bikes, quads and Jeeps…they’ve got clubs for everything out here; and made a couple of acquaintances along the way.

And of course I also took every opportunity to get out on the open road and explore California, Arizona, Texas, and New Mexico; the most beautiful scenery I had ever seen.

When you grow up in an eastern climate like I did, which basically consisted of a couple of semi-sunny months in the summer and dog shit for weather the rest of the year the almost constant sunshine and warm to hot dry temperatures in the desert aren’t too hard to take. If I never see snow again it’ll be too fucking soon; I guess that about sums that up.

Anyway, I also spent an obscene amount of time engaging in candlelight dinners with many a lovely paid female escort. Don’t get me wrong, I’m obviously not the kind of guy that has to pay for sex or female attention but at that particular time it was the logical thing to do.

And given my track record with ‘real’ relationships at that juncture in my life I had come to appreciate the practical utility and simplicity of artificial relationships….no surprises; no emotional entanglements; no drama, no hassle.

Things were going great and although it wasn’t easy being apart from the lads, it did present a much needed opportunity to reflect upon my life and try and figure out where I was headed....if anywhere.

It was like starting over from scratch and rethinking the whole thing; questions of morality and social responsibility and their philosophical underpinnings filled my thoughts nightly; usually after a hot night of meaningless sex with one of my call girls.

But here’s the weird part…well I shouldn’t say ‘weird’ per say…let’s say out of character. I actually started doing some volunteer work at a local homeless shelter. Don’t ask why...I don’t know...it just felt like the right thing to do at the time…and I’m still doing it.

I’ve thought it through a hundred times but all I can come up with as a reason for my foray into humanitarianism is that it might have been a result of the introspective mood I was in at the time which was probably the culmination of a few things like separation anxiety, a pinch of social conscience and of course Mr. Guilt looking for a little payback for allowing me the privilege of living such a charmed life for so long at the expense of my contract targets.

Whatever the reason it just felt good! ...a different kind of ‘good’ …not the kind of good I feel when I’d pull a trigger to end a shitbag or the kind of good I feel when I’m out spending the money that comes from pulling the trigger that fired the bullet that killed the shitbag…you know what I mean.

Anyway, I helped out in the kitchen, cleaned off tables, served meals at the soup line, mopped the floors and even donated a shitload of money anonymously to make sure the place stayed afloat so anyone that went there looking for help and a square meal got exactly that…as advertised!

A couple of years later I bought the place from the old couple that owned it; and it’s still there doing what it does.

Those were good days; usually at the end of the week on a Friday after working at the shelter I’d go home, have a swim in my pool, take a nice hot shower, put on my favorite cologne, call up some of my favorite ladies, order dinner and expensive champagne; and fuckin thank God for providing me with a seemingly never ending supply of shitbags to kill so I would never need the services of a homeless shelter.

And I don’t say this to be funny or trite; there are a lot of people out there suffering when they don’t need to be. Hey, it’s great to feel sorry for people like that but it’s not enough; those that have the means to make a change need to get off their asses and do something to help.

Ultimately life is nothing but a roll of the dice; sometimes those dice are loaded in your favor and sometimes they’re not. I guess the outcome depends on how many times you’re willing to roll the little dotted fuckers and what the name of the game you’re playing at the time is.

So let’s bring this boring little catch-up session to a close; you didn’t tune into this latest episode of the Reaper for the well written but fuckin boring accounts of my sightseeing tours and my humanitarian work.

There are a lot more interesting things to talk about in the pages ahead; things that involve shitbags dying.

Anyway, after spending an entire year apart living our respective saintly existences I received a phone call from Felix saying he and the boys had been talking and had decided to all come out to hang with me for a few weeks here in lovely Las Vegas.

Long story short; they flew out here and that was the end of my retirement for the moment... and essentially the beginning of a new chapter for all of us.

So ladies and gentlemen…grab your favorite beverage, get comfy, and let’s take another little trip down memory lane together.

Boo ya!

Chapter 2

‘Arrivals’

Next thing I knew I was sitting in my Jag outside the arrivals terminal at McCarran Airport waiting for Rizzo, the first of the lads to join me here in Fabulous Las Vegas.

It was the middle of my first desert summer and I found out firsthand what people out here mean when they say you can fry an egg on the pavement on a hot day; it was easily over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade and it wasn’t even noon yet; kind of like living in the devils kitchen.

I had the A/C cranked to the icicles hangin off yer nuts while the missus or girlfriend reaches for a sweater while complaining that it’s too cold and will never give you sex again unless you back it off setting in the car. The dial just says ‘cold’ which really doesn’t even begin to describe the implications involved.

So there I sat enjoying the cold, mainly because I didn’t have a wife or girlfriend to ruin it for me; happily typing some preliminary notes on my laptop. I figured there might be another book in the making so I started recording things that day just in case; it turned out to be a good idea.

Anyway, the airport security guard kept coming to the window to tell me I’d have to move the car. At least I think that’s what he was trying to tell me; I pretended not to see or hear him. But I do recall wagering with myself regarding how much bigger his sweat stains would be on his next trip back my way.

By the time Riz came out I owed myself a hundred bucks.

It felt like I hadn’t seen him in years but suddenly there he was in all his glory charging through the exit door of the arrivals terminal towards me like a fuckin Rhino with what looked like the entire Samsonite luggage collection and a tiny porter in tow, dragging it all along on a cart trying to keep up with his giant strides.

I’ll never forget the first words out of his mouth when he saw me;

"What the fuck, another Jag? Ever hear of GM, Chrysler or Ford?"

Well hello yourself dickhead, now shut the fuck up and give me a hug you big oversized Italian salami sniffer

Almost instantaneously it felt as if we had never been apart; him insulting me; me insulting him; the rude language and degrading comments, the racial slurs tossed back and forth about my Irish heritage and his Italian ancestry topped off with a big hug that looked like something from an intervention.

Interesting concept though…the hugging thing; maybe I should write a self-help book called ‘HITMEN NEED HUGS TOO’ ...could be a best seller...might get invited onto Oprah to cry on her couch about my shitty childhood while Dr. Phil holds my hand and tells me my inner child is a good person right before it pulls out an Uzi and pumps a few hundred rounds into his shiny skull; I’m cured!

Anyway, Riz as expected, looked a little older since I had seen him last but I was most surprised by the increase in girth; he’d gotten fuckin fat as hell; must have been pretty close to the three hundred pound mark; way too heavy even for a guy that stands six foot three.

I assume it was the trips to Italy and the big pasta meals; yummy Italian bread and wine and basically a lack of exercise that was the culprit. But he knew it; and conversely it didn’t take him long to get back into top form once we started working again.

We’ve always treated each hit like a pseudo-military operation; and part of that entails staying in excellent physical and mental condition when we work; the day you take your eye off the ball is the day it takes your eye.

But it got me thinking about how people tend to let themselves go when they don’t feel that they have a purpose in life; the mind goes to shit and the body goes with it. I guess it comes down to the fact that everybody needs a reason to get out of bed in the morning...for about a year I don’t think any of us could say we truly had one.

Once we got in the car and were driving along I noticed that Riz kept looking over at me for some reason…well I knew why, but just wanted to give him a hard time;

"I know you missed me buddy but you’re creeping me out with the staring ...if ya wanna ask me out on a date don’t be shy and just go ahead....but there better be flowers and a thoughtful card mister...I’m not easy despite what you might have heard"

"Yeah…great…keep dreaming pretty boy...."

"Ok seriously dude what the fuck are you looking at....do I have a fuckin’ hamburger strapped to my head or something?"

"Actually a burger would be nice now that you mention it"

I bet

What’s that supposed to mean...never mind; you look different Verdana…what did you do?

"First of all my friend you don’t need any more burgers; been on a scale lately Shamu? And second I got rid of my grey hair and uh you might wanna consider getting rid of yours too."

"What grey hair!"

"Really?"

There was definitely a little denial going on there but I let it go and told him I started using one of those men’s products you shampoo into your hair at home before a shower and wash it out...do it once a month and it keeps the grey away. As expected he took the opportunity to rib me about it;

"HOLY FUCK…big bad legendary hit man C.C. Verdana is coloring is hair" he said while chuckling and pointing at me like I was the kid that just shit his pants in the playground during recess in grade two. And it got to me so I had to do a little backpedaling;

Dude, it’s no big deal; especially out here…just wait till you walk into one of these casino’s; you’ll see guys that are damn near a hundred with hair that looks like it came off a twenty year old male model; so to finish my thought my misinformed friend I’m simply eliminating the grey...women color their hair...men remove the grey.

"Yeah…ok…keep telling yourself that. You can’t remove grey hair unless you fuckin cut it off; so technically and as much as I hate to be right; you’re coloring your hair"

Geezuz, I really wanted to argue with him but the fact of the matter was that I had nothing. So I gave up on the graceful backpedaling and just caved in;

"OK fine, I’m coloring my fuckin hair; guilty as charged! But it keeps it brown and I look and feel better....now let’s stop talking about this, it’s starting to sound a little gay"

Hey, I’m not the one that colors my hair… Miss Clairol

How ‘bout you sink your big Italian teeth into my right ass-cheek and take a nice bite; and hey….

"What!"

"I missed you ya prick!"

Missed you too bud; now…can we pleeeease think about manjaaray and get some lunch?

Absolutely!

During the drive back to my place a miracle occurred right before my eyes; Riz actually forgot about food for a while.

He was too busy gawking out the window like a ten year old oohing and ahh-ing and saying "luggadat, luggadat" about a hundred times a minute as we made our way down the strip occasionally slowing to hurl playful insults at tourists wearing socks and sandals; I don’t know why they do that.

But anyway, I could totally understand his amazement; I had the same reaction when I first arrived here in Vegas.

Tourists in socks and sandals aside, I don’t even know what it is about Vegas I love so much but I guess the short answer is ‘everything!’ The weather is incredible; sunshine ninety percent of the year; hardly any rain at all; the most beautiful desert views you’ve ever seen and when night falls the strip comes alive with sound and lights and a vibrant intensity that is nothing short of breathtaking.

Make no mistake; once lovely lady Las Vegas puts her arms around you, you’re hers forever!

And you know what? I gotta put in a shameless plug for the mob here; I’m not saying that they’re good or bad as that’s not my call but no matter how you feel about those guys you can’t dispute the fact that if it wasn’t for them there would be no Las Vegas, at least as we know it today.

Bugsy Siegel had a vision and he and the mob made it a reality; not so called legitimate businessmen, not the government; not legitimate corporations if there is such a thing.

No sir, organized crime built the place from the ground up; and it may very well be one of the few good things they’ve ever done….or rather one of the few good things that has come about as a result of their actions regardless of intention.

No, of course they didn’t do it for the greater good of mankind; they did it to line their fucking pockets! But who gives a flying squirrels left nut what the reasons were!

They transformed it from what was once just a small desert town filled with saloons and gambling houses and brothels into a modern multibillion dollar mecca where people can have anything, and I do mean anything they want, if they have the cash; and given that it’s in the heart of the devils kitchen it’s only fitting that most people call it Sin City.

But never mind all that hype and tourist geared stereotypical glitz bullshit; the fact of the matter is that Vegas is also an incredible place to live for those that aren’t interested in playing it hard and fast on the strip; there’s a heck of a lot more to her than the strip.

Desert life in Vegas can be as tranquil and spiritual as you want it to be. The desert landscape is in my opinion, simply the most beautiful on earth. I’ve already had my Will adjusted to include the scattering of my ashes from a hilltop out in the desert in Primm by the California borderline when I finally kick the bucket.

Anyhow, that night Riz and I just hung out at the house; put some burgers on the grill and enjoyed a few cold beers out by the pool in my backyard….nothing fancy. It almost felt like old times again; I say almost because the only things missing were new contracts and my brothers.

Felix and Oscar were to arrive a few days later but in the interim I attempted to give Riz the grand tour of Fabulous Las Vegas.

We hit all the hot spots in town...or as many as possible given the limited time frame; I think it would take months or maybe a whole year to see everything. We also managed to get out to Henderson, Lake Las Vegas, Lake Mead and of course the Hoover Dam; even took a jaunt into Arizona.

That’s when we started talking informally about his relocating to Vegas with his family…and perhaps trying out the stuff I use to get rid of the grey hair…ok….color the hair….whatever….I’m still a little sensitive about it.

Chapter 3

‘Great expectations’

A few days after Rizzo’s arrival we were lounging around the pool having a few cold ones after a grueling morning of ATV-ing out in the desert when the dynamic duo; my brothers; stomped into my backyard six hours before we were supposed to pick them up at the airport.

"Rizzo you fat fuck! For a minute I thought we took a wrong turn and ended up at the watering hole at the polar bear exhibit at the Zoo!"

Fuck, I gotta admit, Oscar nailed it that time; Riz