Crime Duet

By Tarry Ionta

This book contains two novellas: Killer's Creed, and the sequel, Killer's Creed Redemption. Both have been issued separately, and are now released in this one volume: Sol Berman, top assassin known as Bear, finds himself caught between two fires, the Law, and an assassination organization he previously worked for. He allies himself with an FBI agent in an effort to eliminate the greater, and more immediate of the two threats.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tarry Ionta
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463940495

Tarry Ionta

Born 1933 of Italian parentage. He served in the RAF and worked at various occupations before entering Glasgow University at thirty, to study Maths, Physics, and Astronomy. He completed one year before dropping out to become a telegraphist. Finally, completing his working life with British Telecom Finance Department. His Interests and hobbies comprise mainly of chess, and reading science fiction. He has also had a keen, practicing interest in computing and martial arts (Judo and Shotokan Karate) and music (Saxophone, Clarinet, and Piano - Over twelve years with City of Glasgow Military Band). Now retired and no longer active in those fields, he prefers to concentrate on writing. He has been writing since 1988, having written over fifty varied short stories, a few articles, novellas, novels, and a children's fantasy book. Several short stories have been published in anthologies and on the Internet. A few have also been short-listed in the WRITER'S NEWS monthly competitions. He continues to write.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Six paces—that was all he had left—six paces between life and death; a few short seconds to oblivion… Or to whatever afterlife he might believe in; though he had little faith or hope in that consideration. Thoughts should have been flashing through his mind at lightning speed; cramming in as many memories as he could in what little time he had left. It is said, that in the last few moments before death, the whole of your life flashes before your eyes.

Not so for him. The rest of his expected life was spent counting the steps to the open grave before him, with an acute awareness of every precious second remaining. It was all he could see; all he could think about. Finally, he stood before the open maw that would be his resting place. Beside it, the pile of earth he had just excavated, ready to cover what would soon be his rapidly cooling and bloody body.

His mind was numb, no longer searching for ways to escape; no longer hoping for the miracle that would save him from his execution. There was just acceptance now, and a desire to have it end, quickly and painlessly.

The shot never came.

Long, long moments passed—an eternity—before he realized that everything had become silent; silent as the grave. The ironic thought had entered his mind, uninvited and without trace of humor. He could no longer hear the voice of his executioner goading him onward; no longer hear the sounds of his movements.

He turned his head slowly, expecting at any moment to hear the thunder of a pistol shot. Would he even hear the shot? In that split-second between the sound of the pistol and death, would the shot register? The least he expected, was to hear the gruff voice of his assailant behind him telling him to keep his eyes to the front, as he had done several times already; as though his assailant was afraid to look him in the eye. He turned quickly, no longer caring what resulted from his actions. He was about to die, anyway. And he would rather face death head-on.

He was alone. There was no sign of his assassin.

The clearing was vacant of any other human life. Scrutinizing the trees, which were only some thirty meters from where he stood, he scanned the area all around him. There was no sign of his would-be killer. His eyes focused for a brief moment on the pile of earth beside the grave; the shovel embedded at a careless angle. A chill ran up his spine. Not until he was certain that he was alone did he allow his feelings to wash over him like a cascade of ice-cold water. He flopped to the ground on his knees, his legs too weak to support him any longer; a marionette whose cords had just been severed.

With an overpowering sense of relief he knelt where he had dropped, his mind still in confusion. Why? He thought. Why had his executioner decided to be merciful and spare him?

Or had he? Was he still waiting somewhere; playing a cruel cat and mouse game for his own perverted satisfaction? Maybe he was hidden somewhere behind the trees, unseen, but waiting for him to develop a false sense of security before firing the fatal shot.

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, the thought came to him. He had to move and move quickly. He might still have a chance. Rising to his feet and ignoring the overpowering weakness he still felt, he made a dash for the shelter of the nearest trees, at any moment expecting to feel a red-hot projectile slam into his body.

He reached the relative safety of a large clump of bushes. Threw himself into them, totally disregarding the branches and twigs scraping his face and hands. He lay panting for breath. But the expected thunder of the Walther never came. There was only silence. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breaths.

Finally, after some five minutes or so, he took courage in both hands and stood. Nothing. He truly was alone.

Bear had been his friend. Or at least, as much of a friend as one could possibly have within the corrupt and criminal society in which he moved. But he was also Morello’s most trusted assassin. Anyone who seriously stepped out of line was summarily and expeditiously removed from the scene. They vanished, as though they had never existed. There were no exceptions. Mercy was a word totally unknown to Salvatore Morello, head of the Combine. And Bear was the appointed assassin who performed his job efficiently, and with the total lack of emotion of an automaton.

Ben had known what the result of his actions would be. He had been fully aware of the consequences of his decision, knowing only too well that Bear would be sent after him. There could only be one penalty for his transgression. But it had been a calculated risk that he had been forced to take. To remain a member of the corrupt and degrading circle in which he moved, had become so distasteful to him that he had been left with only one choice.

With the odds stacked heavily against him, he had made that choice. He had run. His aim, to get as far from Morello and his thugs as he possibly could. There was the remote hope that if he got far enough away from the Combine, they might not be able to find him. It was a forlorn hope, he knew. As junior assistant to the crooked lawyer who kept the Combine safe from the law, he knew enough to break the stranglehold it held on society; enough to put Morello and his immediate supporters away for good. Though, without some proof to support his knowledge, Morello’s lawyer would have little trouble getting any claims against the Combine’s head dismissed out of hand.

Ben had been no innocent; no simple-minded fool sucked in by the appeal of money and notoriety. He had known exactly what he was doing when he agreed to take the well-paid job he had been offered. What he hadn’t known, was the depth to which the criminal syndicate would stoop to, in order to maintain its ill-gotten wealth and corrupt power.

He had turned a blind eye to Bear’s role in the organization, believing that he used his considerable muscle to encourage the would-be dissidents to toe the Combine line. To begin with, it had been his opinion that those roughed up in the process, generally deserved what they got. It had been an attitude that had rested on his conscience fairly easily; accepted with little real consideration and pushed to the back of his mind—most of the time.

Then, news of one of Bear’s targets had appeared in the national press, fished out of the river with several bullets in his body. It had been the first indication that Bear wasn’t just used to dissuade dissenters from straying from the Combine’s policies. The victim had been a young priest, well-known for his overzealous views against crime in the City. And specifically, those views expressed against the Combine, which seemed to be behind ninety percent of the city’s crimes.

That had been Ben’s jolt back to sanity; back to the real awareness of what was really happening behind the scenes; back to an awareness of just how much he had stifled his conscience. Bear had never appeared the same after that, especially as more and more of the Combine’s opposition started disappearing.

Gradually, as the months passed, he had disassociated himself from the Combine’s assassin as much as he possibly could. And if Bear had become aware of the cold barrier that had come between them, he had never as much as hinted at the change; almost as though he had expected that his growing notoriety would distance him from everyone else. Even the one he had loosely called his friend. It was as though everyone had become afraid, afraid that one day he too might become the target. Always the cold loner, isolation seemed to sit easily on the assassin’s shoulders.

Ben’s disassociation with Bear had not stopped at that. More and more he had distanced himself from members of the Combine, as his disillusionment and distaste of the organization’s methods had grown to the point where he could no longer stomach being a part of it. He had continued to do his job; but only just, as his mind schemed to find a way out of the impasse he found himself in. The unspoken rule of the Combine was, that you could only break free from it in a casket. Even police protection gave him no assurance of safety, as the long tentacles controlled by Morello reached even within the partially corrupt Force.

So, in desperation, he too had become a loner; a fugitive with knowledge that could not be allowed to reach the authorities. He knew only too well just how slim his chances were of surviving. But try he had to.

And why had Bear spared him, in the first place? Why had he risked his own life by failing to carry out the contract against him?

Chapter 2

― □ ―

Morello was a small man; small in height, that is. But what he lacked for in height he made up for in girth; a rotund figure of some one hundred and twenty kilos. His dark thinning hair, chubby face and slight twist to his thin lips gave him an almost benevolent appearance; and what seemed a perpetual smile.

But there was no humor in his mien as he glared at Bear with a pink-faced rage that was only barely controlled.

‘You… You’re supposed to be the best I have…’ He pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. ‘And you let him slip from your grasp?’

Bear made an attempt to speak but was silenced by the venomous glare that Morello gave him. A lesser man would have shriveled noticeably by the admonishment, but Bear was no lesser man; emotionless and brutal and as tough as they came.

‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ Bear said, after a few moments. His tone an expressionless monotone.

Morello was silent for several seconds, the pink rage gradually subsiding. ‘You’ve never failed me before,’ he finally managed, his voice much moderated. ‘Was it something to do with the fact that you two were friends, once?’ He asked, a clearly suspicious tone in his voice.

Bear’s look never wavered for a second. ‘My gun jammed, and he was off like a scalded cat…’ The lie was totally convincing. ‘Besides, a target’s a target,’ he added, still with the same lack of expression. ‘You target my grandmother and she disappears… If the pay is