Assassin’S End

By D.E. Gilmore

Someone has tried to assassinate the assassin! The only witness is a back-page reporter for the Chicago Tribune. The assassin saves her life in a tense, thrilling incident. Did he save her only to use her to find those who tried to kill him? Or did he have another reason? Will Molly (the reporter) fall under the spell of this charismatic and sophisticated killer. Or will he fall under her spell? Will they find the assassins in time to save themselves, or will one of them be sacrificed to save the other? This vibrant thriller carries the reader along to its stunning conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543455663

D.E. Gilmore

D.E. Gilmore was born Minnesota and educated at a small Christian college outside of Chicago where he earned a degree in archaeology. After college, he became an officer in Army Military Intelligence during the Vietnam War. Later, he was an occupational butterfly for many years as a village historian, community activist, railroad worker and the manager of a bus and valet company. He then began a thirty year career as a parole and probation officer, finally retiring as a lieutenant for the Nevada Department of Public Safety in 2009. D.E. Gilmore began writing as a past-time almost thirty years ago and has written four novels, including Dragonkeep, Spit Corner Blues, Assassin’s End and A Portrait of Murder. He is presently working on a book with his wife Bonnie and they reside in Carson City, Nevada.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

U NION STATION AT night, nine forty-five to be exact, and the train was typically late. Except for that moment’s recognition, Molly didn’t really mind. She loved Union Station, with its old-world elegance, slightly hidden by years of weathering and attempts at modernization. She felt nostalgic when she was there; nostalgic for a time that she had only experienced in her imagination.

She glanced around once more, taking in the Cathedral-like space with its classical pillars and cornices. The few wooden benches seemed lost in such a cavernous expanse, accommodating a little shriveled lady with her layers of discarded clothing and her shopping bags. She sat on a bench with her feet outstretched, her man’s shoes much too large, and a woolen stocking cap pulled tightly over her gray tresses. It was the middle of July. What a pity, thought Molly, turning back toward the Amtrak terminal.

She could hear the rumble of the train as she walked down the corridor toward the platform and felt a twinge of anticipation. How would Micki look this time, she wondered, and then experienced a moment of guilt. Her sister hated to be called Micki. Michelle Feldman used to be known as Micki before she had blossomed into womanhood and had learned how pretty she was. Now, only her younger sister continued to use the nick-name.

Molly stopped into the shadows at the entrance to the platform and watched the passengers disembark. Not many tonight, perhaps because it was a Monday. Four businessmen dressed in varying shades of gray and blue trudged wearily from the train, their ties askew, carrying the requisite briefcases and looking so isolated. Two young boys popped from the train’s exit and onto the platform, followed by a matronly looking woman in her thirties, who glanced apprehensively in each direction. She struggled with two large suitcases and a toddler, who shrieked incessantly into her ear. There but for the grace of God, thought Molly.

As Molly watched, her sister stepped from the train. Under a large straw hat, her black hair had the look of being gently tossed by a breeze, cascading lightly onto her shoulders. She wore a bright sun-dress sprinkled with red and green flowers that seemed to perfectly accent the deep tan of her limbs. Molly sometimes wondered how different her life might have been had she been blessed with her sister’s good looks.

Molly stepped from the shadows and waved to her sister. The dread in Michelle’s face was replaced instantly by pleasure as she hurried toward Molly.

God, I thought you were going to be late! she said, bussing Molly’s cheek. You know how I hate standing around in these places. It gives me the creeps!

I’m glad to see you too. Molly laughed, circling her arm around her sister’s waist. Where are the rest of your things?

Michelle glanced down at the two bags that she had dropped. They were part of a set, a garment bag and large weekend case, expensive and tasteful, light and durable.

I had the rest shipped out to mom and dad’s. Michelle replied. I thought that I would stay here in Chicago for a couple of days, and then go on to Galena.

Oh. Disappointment tinged Molly’s voice. I was hoping that you could stay with me for at least a week.

Don’t worry, Honey. We’ll get at least a week together. I thought that I would spend a couple of weeks with mom and dad and then come back here for a while before going home.

Great! So how are things going in New York? How is Jeff?

Molly picked up the garment bag and waited for her sister to finish adjusting the bulky overnight case on her shoulder.

New York is New York! Michelle replied finally as they walked up the ramp toward the terminal proper. Busy, fast-pasted, crowded… Always something going on!

And Jeff?

The same. Busy, fast-pasted, crowded. Always something going on. It seems these days that I have to make an appointment just to see him!

They both laughed.

So, are you disappointed that you got married? Molly asked.

No… Yes… Sometimes! Michelle gestured with futility. I guess not really. I wish sometimes that there was more.

More of what? Molly asked, as they reached the top step leading to the street.

I don’t know! More romance, more excitement, more of what we had that first six months. I feel torn sometimes, Molly. Jeff has finally gotten the job that he wanted in a good architectural firm. He is doing very well. But he is so committed to it! I mean he lives and breathes that job! He leaves early, comes home late, and then he is too tired to do anything but sleep! Or else he brings home work that has to be ready for the next day! Where are you parked?

The door opened out onto Canal Street, where a line of buses waited.

Ah… I didn’t drive.

Michelle stopped. What do you mean you didn’t drive? How are we to get to your apartment?

Molly smiled innocently. I thought that we would take the North Shore bus.

God, Molly! Why do you always do this to me? You know how I hate these buses!

But it’s so easy! They start right here! Besides Micki, that way we can talk and I won’t have to concentrate on the traffic!

If you would drive, I would promise to shut up!

They walked along the line of buses, until Molly found the appropriate one. She paid the exact fare for both she and Micki and looked for a good seat. The first few seats on each side were backed against the walls of the bus, facing the aisle; the remaining seats all faced forward. Molly preferred to sit in the front row facing forward in order to have easy access to the door and to be able to see the streets as they pass by. She felt less crowded that way as well.

As she moved down the broad aisle to her seat, she noted the other passengers on the bus. The few passengers were as usual, diverse in appearance. An elderly lady with a bandanna tied about her white hair and large cloth bags stuffed to the breaking point with personal items, sat nearest the driver. Her legs were thick and clothed by heavy stockings and sturdy shoes. Molly tried to imagine what her home would look like. Two black, middle-aged women sat behind the first row of seats facing to the front of the bus and seemed to be in the midst of animated gossip.

Across from the rear exit sat a younger man who was intent on staring out the side window. Molly admired his profile, his dark brown hair which was perfectly manicured, framed a deeply tanned face and neck. He was possessed of a strong, masculine nose and chin and his lips were pursed as if in thought. While his shirt was open at the collar, he wore no jewelry, a point which pleased her immensely. Molly hated the effect of men who displayed their wealth in thick gold chains and pendants about their necks. This man seemed different, although his dark leather jacket spoke of quality and fine tailoring.

At the rear of the bus sat two teenage boys locked in a world of sound. They beat a rhythmic pattern on their legs while listening to music that was audible even though their headphones seemed glued to their ears.

Molly eased into the seat by the window and waited for Michelle to plop noisily, disgustedly into the seat beside her. The driver was busily reading a magazine and barely glanced up as one of the businessmen from the train hustled onto the bus. He asked the driver a question, appearing to be uncertain of which bus he should ride, and received a grunt in response. It seemed to be enough of an answer. The man paid the fare and slid into the seat closest to the door, facing the lady with a bandanna.

Molly made it her business to be aware of the people around her. Although she loved being a part of the living movement of the city, she understood the subtle fear that possessed those who observed the city from a distance. They knew Chicago only in the way that was expressed in the newspapers and on television; the crime in the streets, the murders and rapes, the disease of poverty afflicting the street people and those who lived in the projects. The city represented a jungle to them, teaming with a life that was as foreign to them as it would be if they were marooned in the middle of a rain forest in South America. Their motorized forays into the city, behind rolled-up windows and locked car doors, only confirmed what they already believed to be the entire truth.

Molly, on the other hand, was possessed of an unquenchable curiosity. She had grown up in Lake Forest, a suburb that, in her mind, was as sterile as a desert compared to the vital lushness of the city. She came from affluence and understood the fear of those who commuted to work and shopped with excited boredom in huge malls that offered every extravagance. She understood, but was not compelled to it.

Molly was a passionate observer. She saw the city as a stage upon which the most basic arts of survival were enacted every day. She longed to be an actor in this play, but knew that she lacked the skills and the primal motivation that were essential to this kind of survival. Without her resources of affluence she would flounder. She didn’t understand how desperation could lead to anything but hopelessness. This was the basis of her curiosity, a desire to understand how someone who had nothing to look forward to but another similar moment of indistinguishable labor could find happiness or even contentment.

Yet, she was not naïve about her environment. There was danger in the city, as there was everywhere. People victimized others every day, every hour. And so, she preferred to be aware of those around her. She didn’t walk alone along darkened streets at night, or enter places that seemed unsafe.

How long is this going to take? Michelle asked as the driver put the bus in motion.

Not long, maybe forty five minutes. Tell me something. Why did you take the train this time instead of flying?

Michelle thought for a second. I don’t know, honey. I guess I just didn’t want to feel rushed. I needed some time away from everything that I know. Besides, I had never ridden a train.

Molly smiled. Don’t tell me that you are developing a spirit of adventure in your old age!

Laugh all you want, but always remember that I am only a year and a half older than you. Sometimes, at twenty six, I do feel old; and the train is extremely overrated. It’s noisy and it smells!

The bus paused at La Salle Street to allow five additional riders to enter. The first two, a man and a woman, were not connected. They were obviously experienced with public transport and stood casually waiting by the curb as the bus approached. The man, in his early thirties, looked bored, his expression changing little with the advent of the approaching bus. The woman, dressed in a crisp business blazer and skirt, shifted the pumps in her bag to make room for the book that she had been reading. She wore tennis shoes over her nylon hose. Behind them stood a young man with the look of a student about him, talking to an elderly couple who were most probably his visiting parents or perhaps grandparents.

Molly smiled and wondered if the parents would react as Micki had to the thought of being exposed to Chicago’s notion of public conveyance.

The boy and his parents sat at the front of the bus, next to the lady with a bandanna, while the experienced passengers drifted toward the back of the bus. The bus proceeded on toward Michigan Avenue where it turned left to begin the journey to the near North Side.

At Dearborn Street the bus stopped once again to pick up three young men who waited nervously at the stop. An alarm sounded somewhere in Molly’s consciousness as the three boarded. She watched them, trying to see a cause for her instant discomfort. The three boarded with a certain furtive cockiness and they wore colors that could be gang-related. She wished that she could remember which colors represented which gang. Perhaps she was just being paranoid, she thought, turning back to what Michelle was saying.

Suddenly, she was aware of a disturbance at the front of the bus. The bandanna woman had tried to rise from her seat and had been pushed back by one of the new boarders. The other two men stood around the driver blocking him from Molly’s view. One leaned forward and seem to be saying something close to the driver’s ear. The other turned suddenly to face the rest of the bus. He held a large, black object in his right hand that looked alarmingly like a gun, and swept the bus with a broad grin.

My, my, my! He exclaimed, loudly. I believe we’ve found ourselves a truckload of sheep! Bah-h-h!

The man who had pushed the bandanna woman down, began moving down the aisle as the speaker continued.

Now folks, were going to take a little ride down to the South side, where we got a little business to settle. I want you all to take out your valuables and hand them to the man as he comes by. Do it now!

The bus started moving again, as one of the three men stayed by the driver, speaking into his ear. The other two began moving through the bus, the speaker working his way back from the driver’s seat and the third moving directly to the seats that faced the front of the bus.

The student’s mother began weeping as she struggled to remove the wedding band from her finger. The student and his father put their arms around her protectively, trying to console her. The gesture seemed to intensify her pain, as her wailing took on form and she began to verbalize the bitter epitaphs toward those who assaulted them.

The speaker screamed at her to shut up and shook the pistol ominously before her. She screamed back at him, labeling him as truthfully as she could with words describing the nature of his birth and low heritage. She seem not to care about the danger of what she was doing, feeling only the anger and fear combining, giving focus to her hysteria.

Something welled up inside of Molly as she watched this drama and anticipated the climax. She could not account for it later, or its origin, but at that moment she sensed the need for a pressure release, anything to distance everyone from what was happening.

Her lips formed the words without a clue from her mind, which had gone numb trying to assimilate all of the possibilities against the only probability.

Leave her alone! Molly commanded, her voice shocking her mind back to the moment. Can’t you see she’s frightened?

Molly had a sudden urge to cover her mouth with her hand, as if she had burped, and say excuse me! In a kind of slow motion, she watched the man with the gun turn in her direction, his eyes narrowing with fixed intensity. Michelle expelled a breath next to her, a breath that had been held for minutes and with it came the words, Oh my God!

My, my, my! He muttered as he slowly advanced toward them. Looks like we’ve got a crusader, a real fighter! He stood before Molly, his legs spread, his feet on either side of hers, pinioning her knees between his. He looked down upon her, disdainfully, contemptuously, and leaned back, thrusting his pelvis forward toward her face.

She tried to avert her glance but couldn’t avoid the site of the bulge in his tight jeans, practically pressed into her face; and she felt revulsion. She covered her mouth quickly, afraid that she might vomit. She knew suddenly what the defeated dog must feel like with the dominant dog standing over it, its genitals exposed in triumph. The disgust that she felt was not only for him, but for herself, that she could be humiliated in such a way.

He slapped her hand away from her mouth and, with the one motion, lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. A sneering grin twisted his face.

"When we’re finished with our business, how would you like to come with us, baby? I’d like to