Carlo refused to cry. The love of his life was dead and he would not mourn until her killer was brought to justice. He clenched his fists and rose from his knelt position over Jules’ grave.
“Carlo Capelletti, may I have a moment of your time?” A stranger said.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No, but I have a proposition for you.” The man was in his late forties; aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.
“I don’t have time for this.” Carlo swore in Italian, his native language, as he did often. Who did this guy this guy think he was talking to? Obviously Carlo’s bulky, muscular appearance, slick black hair, and sharp jaw line didn’t intimidate him as it did every other sane human being.
“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. It’s about Julia.”
“She’s dead, or could you not tell by the grave?” Carlo pointed to the fresh mound of dirt.
The man nodded once as if Carlo’s words were not news.
“If you’re interested in what I have to say, come to this address tomorrow night.”
The man handed Carlo a scrap of paper with messy handwriting then started to walk away.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“You may call me G.”
He had no intentions of going. G—what kind of name was that anyway?
Carlo was not a man given to curiosity, but something about the whole situation wouldn’t let him walk away. He had to know if the guy was legit or just full of it. He had to know what he knew.
So Carlo went to the address, but not without certain precautions: a pistol on his hip, a knife in his boot, and a sniper rifle hidden in his black Buick.
Rottweilers barked viciously as he approached the enormous house. G seemed like the type who took crap from no one. The house was surrounded by security cameras, fences, and guards who escorted him across the premises. What did the man do that required all this?
A knotted firmly planted itself in Carlo’s stomach. He also wasn’t a man given to superstitions. But something didn’t sit well with him, and somehow he knew that things would end badly for him. But still, he had to know.
Once inside, Carlo was instructed to wait in the “living room” which was twice the size of any normal one.
A moment later, G emerged and sat down.
“I’ll get right to the point Mr. Cappelletti. I would like you to come work for me. I’m in need of a certain set of… skills.”
“You’re offering me a job?”
“Do you even know who was actually behind Julia’s murder? The man at the top?”
The question caught Carlo off guard. Something that didn’t happen often. There was no need to answer; G knew he had no idea.
“The fact is, I do know who is responsible, and I can put you in a prime position to take him out.”
This is my entry into the Friday Night Write weekly challenge at Sweet Banana Ink.
- 1 Song (this week’s song was I Ain’t Superstitious by Jeff Beck)
- 48 Hours (Friday @ 5pm to Sunday @ 5pm pacific)
- 500 Words
I wrote about this character last week, but this story line was beckoning me to write more. You can read the rest of Carlo’s story here.