A Lifetime of Vengeance Read online

  Al broke into his thoughts, "Brian, I’m sorry, man. I didn't know you were whipped like this, but I know the feeling.” He thought about his own workaholic lifestyle. He changed the subject to get Brian’s mind away from the drudgery. “Are you getting’ a recording contract soon? I mean, you could quit your job as soon as you sign and get a big paycheck."

  Brian calmed down some and replied, "Look, Al, sorry for the outburst. I'm just way out on the edge right now. I've been working overtime at the Sentinel and with the weekend gigs and all, I'm just wiped out. The only energy I get is from the crowds. They keep me going, man. I really get fired up on the stage.” He paused and thought about Al’s question. “We should know later in the week about the contract. We're discussing numbers right now. I have an agent and everything. Even the preliminary numbers look great, and our agent is working on some improvements to those. We'll be in the recording studios by the end of the month to cut an album. I’m hopin’ anyway."

  "Excellent! You guys are . . . how do they say it these days. . .Awesome, dude! Keep me in mind when you get to be famous." Al was truly feeling good for Brian. If there ever was anyone who deserved to be a star with all the good things that go with it, Brian Purcer did. He was a selfless individual who would do anything for you; a genuine nice guy. Not many nice guys make it to the big time in this world. Brian was about to break out of that mold and go against the odds.

  Just then, two figures approached. Al didn't know either one but Brian tensed visibly. Al noticed that Brian was not pleased to see these two.

  "Brian! Great set tonight. We just got here to hear the last three songs. You were awesome!"

  Brian mostly ignored Danny Vallero except to say thanks. He immediately turned his attention to Danny's date. For the second night in a row, Ginny Parks was at his side. That was unusual for Danny. He usually didn't like repeat dates. He especially didn't like to be seen in public with the same woman two nights in a row. It hurt his image. Brian figured that it was just to get under his skin.

  "Hi, Ginny. How are you?"

  "I'm fine. It's good to see you. Danny's right, you guys are terrific. Are you going back on soon?"

  "In a few minutes." Pointing to Al, Brian said, "This is Al Michaels. He runs a nursery out in Apopka. Al, this is Ginny Parks, and this is Danny Vallero."

  "Nice to meet you." Al could feel the chill in the air. Brian didn't have a whole lot more to say to Danny, but continued to make eye contact with Ginny. This meeting had all the ingredients for a bad scene. Ginny seemed to be responding to Brian's stares. Finally, Danny said, "Let’s go Ginny, Brian's got to get back up to play."

  Ginny turned to Danny and coldly stated, "He has a few minutes, don't you Brian."

  "Sure, we're not due back on stage for another five minutes. Stick around." Brian's reply was directed at Ginny, no mistaking that. Al could tell that this might escalate quickly. Brian and Danny were playing mental tug of war and Ginny Parks was the rope. Brian pulled a chair out and told Ginny to sit for a while. She obliged, and now Danny was hot. He wasn't going to have anyone, not even a rising rock star show him up.

  He glared at Brian and sternly stated to Ginny, "Let's go." That was all he said. The chill now turned to a deep freeze. Danny expected his women to obey his commands, so when Ginny said that she was talking, he screamed, "I said, let's go! I mean now!"

  Brian and Al both jumped to their feet and told Danny to back off, that the lady wanted to stay a little while. A small crowd was circling the scene by now and Danny didn't want a scene. He looked down at Ginny and shouted, "That's it, bitch. Find your own way home."

  Brian didn't like that a bit. No one calls a friend of his a bitch. As Danny turned, Brian leaped on him, drew his fist back and caught Danny's jaw on the right side. Danny felt the attack and turned to retaliate, but Brian was already being dragged back by Al and Rick Wessler, the band's drummer. He’d just showed up on the scene to tell Brian that it was time to play. Rick and Al stood between the two combatants and told them both to cool it. Brian shook his shoulders and turned away. Danny couldn't let it pass without one last barb.

  "That's not the end of it, Purcer. You hear me? This isn't over."

  Al couldn't resist the temptation. "Bag it punk. Do yourself a favor and go take a cold shower."

  Through all the rustling, Ginny Parks sat quietly. She didn't want to be with Danny anyway. She was hoping that Brian would give her a ride home since her ride was walking out the door of the "Rock" as she stared. Before Brian went back on stage, he talked to Ginny for a few minutes, mostly small talk. He offered her a ride home.

  Rick Wessler said, “Come on, lover boy. We gotta play if we’re going to make a living at this.”

  They left Al and Ginny sitting at the table alone. Al's first night out in several years was an eventful one. He'd seen a different side of a close friend, one he liked. Finally, Brian Purcer had some fight in him. Al figured that he would need that spunk in the industry that he was about to enter.

  He turned to Ginny Parks and talked for a few minutes, mostly about Brian. He asked how they met and the usual casual conversation that two near strangers have. Al could see that this woman would be good for Brian. Then the man himself raced out onto the stage, and a whaling Stratocaster took control of the crowd.

  Chapter 14

  Pat McKinney finished the tenth chapter in the spy thriller that he was reading to pass the time. He wasn't much interested in books until he went into the Navy and ended up on a submarine. There wasn't much else to do on a sub if all the work was done and you saw all the movies that were played. He decided that reading was the best way to pass the time; time that otherwise seemed to drag by painfully. So reading filled a big void, as it was doing now. He looked at his watch. 1:55 AM. He began to think about Diane and how he wished she were there with him in this empty house, furnished only with a cot, refrigerator, and coffee maker. He was drinking decaf because he didn't want his hands to shake on the "job." But Diane wouldn't understand why he was doing this. She didn't know enough about his past that she could see justification in this act. If she knew more about his past, maybe she wouldn’t be with him. She would never know anyway, Patrick thought. She didn't have a "need to know," according to military jargon. Besides, all this happened before they met. This was unfinished business from a previous life. The circle will be closed after the plan was completed.

  Patrick's mind drifted to another empty house, the one Danny Vallero used to live in. Pat went there to collect on just over $50,000.00 in drug money. When he arrived at the house, Danny and all of his belongings were gone. He’d disappeared with Patrick's money. Pat told himself then that he should never have trusted Danny. He was a street wise punk from Boston and he always seemed to have one scheme or another up his sleeve. The signs were right there in front of Pat's nose but he refused to believe them. For all of his street smarts, Danny Vallero didn't know one thing; he should never have screwed with Pat McKinney.

  Pat's attention was captured by the approaching lights of a car. The 1985 Cadillac DeVille pulled up to the house across the cul-de-sac and stopped. The lights went off and the occupant got out. He went up to the front door. Pat could see by the actions of the person at the door, a dark skinned man with dark clothes, that he was agitated. He rang the door bell several times then began pounding on the door. He looked back to the car momentarily and motioned to another person inside the car. They also got out of the car came up to the door beside the first man. They both looked around nervously. Once again the first man pounded on the door. They started talking to each other in loud, agitated voices. The second man appeared to be taking charge. Pat could hear the voices and could easily tell that they were not speaking English. Spanish maybe, he thought to himself. He could also tell that the two men were up to no good. One of the men left the front door and began looking in each of the windows around the front side of the house. Satisfied that there was no one home he motioned to the other man and they got back in the car. Pat
rick watched intently and could see movement in the car. What were these two greasers doing? It was pretty clear that they were no fans of Danny and this concerned Pat. He came here with one thing in mind; that was to kill Danny. This was a complication he did not need. He already knew this was going to be a long night and this would only make it longer. Why did these two clowns have to show up now? He wondered what Danny had done to get these two spun up. He realized long ago that he wasn’t the only person that Danny had double-crossed. He just didn’t think that he’d run into any of them.

  Pat decided to wait to see if the new arrivals would leave. He went back to reading his novel because he didn't have anything else to do to pass the time. The tension was mounting with each passing minute. It didn’t help that the heroine in his novel was trapped in a seemingly inescapable situation.

  He’d found himself trapped between the mob and the FBI in a no-win situation. Just when he thought that there was no escape . . .

  He heard the engine start on the car across the street. He peered out the window and saw the car back out of the drive and head towards US Route 17-92. Pat sat motionless for a few moments then breathed a sigh of relief. I may get this done after all. He sat back and began to relax once again reading his novel. Even without the distractions, it was going to be a long, tension-filled night.

  * * *

  After leaving the Rock Alliance Danny Vallero drove up 17-92 towards his house. His altercation with Brian left him in a foul mood. He'd planned on spending the evening with Ginny again but Purcer had screwed that all up. How could that skinny little punk mess up my evening, he fumed. He was talking to himself, getting himself pumped to take some action. He wouldn’t do it tonight. Maybe he’d go back out and find another mark tonight. Maybe a better looker than that bitch, Ginny. Who the hell does she think she is, embarrassing me like that? No chick does that and gets away with it. He was so angry, concentrating on what he was going to do to get even, that he missed the turn into his neighborhood. He ended up stopping at the ABC Lounge on South Orange Blossom Trail for a night cap. He spent 45 minutes in the lounge but no one there was up to his standards so he left and headed for home, still fuming about the scene at the Rock. He pulled into his drive at 2:20. He was very much awake and expected that he would be for quite awhile.

  Pat could see the lights coming on and staying on in various rooms. He could see that things were being thrown around the house. This man was seething with anger. Pat didn't know or care why, but someone had pissed this dude off. No matter, Pat thought to himself. He’ll only be pissed off for a few more minutes.

  He looked through the scope of the RAP Model 500, Iver Johnson AMAC-1500 sniper rifle and adjusted his eyes for the most comfortable position. His rifle had been fitted with a fairly bulky silencer so that the noise of the report would be unrecognizable to the average person. He had a clear view into several rooms in the house across the cul-de-sac. His nerves were calm and the cross-hairs of the scope were steady as he acquired his target. The target was still moving frantically around the house from room to room. Finally, after about two more minutes of apparent raving, the target settled down in the easy chair in a direct line through the front screen door. Pat McKinney placed the crosshairs on the bridge of the target’s nose, took a deep breath and began to apply pressure to the trigger of the powerful rifle. The target jumped suddenly, slamming his fist onto the coffee table directly in front of him. Pat eased off the trigger, but maintained the gun’s sights positioned on the target. Again Danny settled back into the easy chair. Pat again leveled the scope cross-hairs on the top of the nose, took a deep breath and slowly squeezed the trigger.

  The recoil of the powerful gun rocked Pat back several inches. The report was little more than a whisper of sound. Pat immediately smelled the cordite from the weapon.

  Across the cul-de-sac, the projectile hit Danny’s forehead about one inch above the bridge of the nose, slightly to the left of center, and ripped into his skull. As the projectile flattened, it ripped bigger and bigger portions of brain matter to shreds. The projectile then ripped the back of Danny’s skull out and spread its contents into a messy pattern on the wall behind him. Pat looked through the scope and saw the body bounce to the floor after recoiling off the soft cushion of the couch. He saw the pattern of human guts on the wall, immediately became nauseous, and threw up his dinner beside him. He took several deep breaths then wiped his face clean with a paper towel. After a few moments to get his nerves under control he cleaned the mess from the floor and packed it in a bag.

  Whatever Danny was angry about didn’t matter now. He would never be angry again. Pat was certain that there was no life left in him. He calmly disassembled his Iver Johnson rifle, packed it into the suitcase, and knelt to one knee and prayed to God for forgiveness; a forgiveness that somehow he knew he would not receive. He stopped for a moment and thought to himself. He should feel better, relieved, or at least partially vindicated. He felt none of it. Instead he felt dread. The black cloud that was hanging over his head was still there, except now it was a darker shade of black. Maybe revenge wasn’t the answer. Was there another way to even the score? No matter, the plan was in motion. There was no turning back. As he walked to the carport to put the suitcase in the trunk of the car, he knew for certain that he would see hell.

  Chapter 15

  Detective John ‘Johnny’ Poleirmo sat back in his unmarked car and tried to relax. He and Detective Ray Krebs had another five minutes before they and twenty other law enforcement officers were to storm a suspected crack house on Orlando's West side off of Church Street. The neighborhood was a run-down section of town within walking distance of an area that had become one of Orlando's hottest night spots: Church Street Station. The Orlando City Council was anxious to use its new power to board up, condemn, and tear down "known drug houses" within the city’s boundaries. It was a powerful new law and was supposedly having positive results in other cities across the nation. The law was of no consequence to the two detectives waiting to perform one of the most dangerous maneuvers in law enforcement. They were going over the procedure in their minds, trying to make sure that they weren't forgetting details of the coordination and execution phase of the bust.

  The surveillance over the past month had demonstrated a need for the bust. There had been almost five thousand dollars in crack sales to undercover informants over the last month. The men involved in the sales were not just street dealers. They were trying to move larger quantities of crack cocaine to other street dealers in an attempt to increase their income from the potent, addictive drug. Johnny and Ray hoped that they could put an end to this group's trade today.

  Johnny looked at his watch which was synchronized with the other officers involved in the raid. Four minutes to go. Four minutes! Has my watch stopped? Johnny's thoughts were echoed out loud by Ray.

  "Jesus! This seems like it's taking forever! I hate all this dead time before the move. Every time I'm on one of these things, it seems like the last few minutes drag on forever. Have you checked everything over?"

  "Only a dozen times or so," Johnny replied. His response had an edge to it, letting Ray Krebs know that Johnny was not in the mood for small talk at this late juncture. It was nearing showtime and the senior detective did not want to be side tracked by chit chat. A veteran of the Orange County Sheriff’s Department for over twenty-two years, John Rolando Poleirmo had been involved in dozens of busts. Almost all had gone well, but every cop seemed to have a story about one that had gone bad, and people got hurt. One of Johnny's best friends was gunned down in one of those ‘busts-gone-bad.’

  Johnny and his partner, Dick Randall, were the lead group through the front door of an apartment building where it was suspected that a group of Cubans were warehousing and selling large quantities of cocaine and heroin. Johnny kicked the door in and raced in with gun drawn, his partner Dick, right behind him. The Cubans had been alerted to the bust; the element of surprise, so important to a bust, was lost, and the
Cunbans were armed and ready. As soon as Johnny saw the drawn guns pointed at him, he yelled to his partner to get down, but it was too late. As Johnny laid out flat on the floor and rolled to cover, the Cubans opened fire. Four lead slugs ripped through Dick Randall's chest, piercing his heart and both lungs. The assault team returned fire and in the ensuing battle, two more team members were killed, three were wounded and all five Cubans were killed. An investigation into the incident cleared the officers of any wrong doing, but it was never determined how the Cuban dealers were tipped off. That incident was always an extra burden on Johnny's mind while preparing to execute another bust.

  Johnny's stomach was starting to churn. He could hear the growls from his stomach in the near silence of the unmarked detective's car. The tension was thick as his watch told him there were three minutes to go. In the back of his mind, he wished the signal, the words "green light", would not come over secure radio on the seat next to him. He knew that was a pipe dream. It would only be . . . what, two minutes, now. Let's get this over with! Come on, time.

  He again went over the procedure in his mind. He and Ray would approach the front door behind the officers with the battering ram. They would have ten seconds once they left the car to get themselves positioned. At that moment, officers in cars around the perimeter would turn on the police car sirens full blast. That's the signal to ram the front and back doors down and enter the premises and take control of the occupants. The idea of the sirens screaming is to throw the apartment occupants off guard for a split second and allow the assault team the gain quick entry. Once through the front door, they would immediately scan the room and determine what threat exists, and "neutralize" that threat. Who comes up with these sterile terms for killing people? Neutralize. It's really blasting the hell out of them, scattering their guts all over the room. Neutralize. Right.