The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara (17 page)

Ryan got up to leave and made a special point of saying good-bye to Finnegan. He wanted to see if his suspicion that the three men had an interest in him was just his imagination or if it had merit. It didn’t take him long to find out.

About half a block from the bar, he heard footsteps coming up behind him.

Rounding the corner into an alley, he took out his magnum and slid into a doorway. He hadn’t been a moment too soon—in an instant, the two Arabs appeared. Ryan stepped out of the doorway and into the path of his stalkers before they had time to react. “Do you goat-herders want something from me?” he asked in a subdued voice.

Ghannam looked at Maloof. If they had any intentions of making a move, it didn’t survive the split second that it took for them to acknowledge the blue steel pointing at them. “We just goin’ to get our car, friend,” said Maloof.

“So your car’s in this alley? Why, it must be invisible, because I don’t see any car,” Ryan replied sarcastically.

The Arabs were at a loss for words.

“If you have any weapons on you, dump them now, because if I find them I’m gonna make you eat them,” Ryan instructed.

Ghannam reached into his jacket and produced a small snub-nosed revolver, which he placed on the ground. Maloof followed suit by throwing down a switchblade.

Keeping his eyes on the two men and motioning for them to back away, Ryan reached into his pocket and retrieved a pair of gloves, which he put on. He picked up the weapons and put them in the pocket of his coat. “Let’s take a walk back to Finnegan’s, fellas. I think we should all have a nightcap and get better acquainted, don’t you?” He snickered.

“We got no quarrel with you, friend. We just go now, okay?” Ghannam protested.

“No, you don’t just go now, friend. You will accompany me back to the bar. We will talk to your friends and try to sort this thing out, and maybe find out if they had anything to do with you intruding upon my evening. Now move your fucking jihadist butts out before I give you each an extra asshole,” ordered Ryan.

Finnegan and Vitanza looked surprised when Ryan and the two Arabs reentered the bar. They were even more surprised when Ryan locked the door behind him and told them that he’d caught Ghannam and Maloof tailing him.

“Your friends were following me down the street and I thought I’d come back here and ask you two if you know anything about it,” Ryan said as he pulled his gun from beneath his coat.

The expression on Finnegan’s face changed from one of concern to one of fear as he glanced over at Vitanza and then back to Ryan. Ghannam and Maloof stood speechless.

Ryan motioned to Finnegan and Vitanza. “Paddy, come out from behind the bar and stand over here with these two scumbags. You too, wop. I want you all over here where I can see you while we have a nice, friendly little talk to get to the bottom of why you sent these two out to follow me.”

Ryan watched the men and smiled. Looking over at Vitanza, he said, “You know, greaseball, I had you pegged from the minute you walked in here yesterday. You couldn’t keep your fucking eyes off me as you sat down at the other end of the bar whispering to your friend Finnegan. And it just got more pronounced when these two subhuman desert-dwellers arrived tonight. So which one of you wants to be first to tell me what this is all about?” Ryan asked.

“Why don’t you tell us what it’s all about? You’re the one who’s waiving the gun around and making innuendos,” Finnegan said, trying to feign calmness.

“Okay, Paddy, that’s a reasonable request. Let’s just say that I’m a teacher and I’m here to give you a class on history and current events,” Ryan replied.

“I’s don’ts get it. What’s current events has ta do wid us?” asked Vitanza.

“Yeah, what to do with us, friend? We don’t know you or what you want with us,” Ghannam added.

“Well, you’re right. This shouldn’t have concerned you and it never would have if you hadn’t decided to get involved, which you obviously have. So now you’re in it up to your asses and I’m going to have to decide how to include you in my plan,” Ryan answered.

“What plan?” asked Finnegan.

“Come on, man. Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out. I’ve been watching the action around here for the past couple of days. These goons you hired are so amateurish that a six-year-old could figure out that you were worried about something and hired them to watch out for you. Too bad for you that you hired such idiots. They telegraphed everything. Didn’t even have enough sense to bide their time and watch me from a distance for a while. Had to shoot their wad all at once and blow your whole deal,” Ryan said.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Finnegan lied.

“Yes, you do. But I’ll pretend you don’t and go through the motions of giving you a hint. Turn around and look at your wall and maybe we can start our history lesson on the same page,” Ryan said with a sneer.

A dose of adrenaline shot through Finnegan as the blood drained from his face. If there had been even the slightest doubt about the man in his bar pointing the gun at him, it was gone now.

“Well, turn around, Mr. Cop-crippler. Look at the newspapers you have decorated your dive with. You’re a big hero to the scumbags of the left. Be proud. I want you to join in my celebration of your life and enjoy the gifts I’m about to bestow upon you. It’s just too bad you’re going to have to share my offerings with your friends,” Ryan said.

Finnegan looked terrified. “So you’re the one.”

“Yes.”

“You come for Finnegan?” Maloof asked. “You come kill Finnegan? Why you don’t let us go? We don’t have nothin’ do with him.”

“Yeah, nothing,” Ghannam piped in.

“Cut the crap, Osama. You fuckin’ A well do have something to do with it. You were trailing me like a couple of hyenas on a scavenger hunt when I caught you in the alley and this asshole put you up to it. How much did he pay you? I hope it was worth your life, because that’s probably what it’s gonna wind up costing you. Unless you can give me one good reason not to off your asses right here and now.”

“Good reason? I don’t know what you talk about. I do anything you say. What you want? Just tell me. I do,” pleaded Ghannam.

“I don’t know what I want from you, Osama. Let me think on it a while. Maybe I’ll come up with something,” Ryan replied as he shifted his gaze over to Vitanza. “So, how do you fit in to all this, greaseball? I’ve been watching your slimy little ass for the past couple of days and tonight you show up with these sand fleas. You on Finnegan’s payroll? If so, why? Don’t lie to me.”

Vitanza didn’t even try to make excuses. With all the tough talk and braggadocio about his connections to the mob, he came apart and spilled his guts without any further prompting.

“Finnegan hired me to get someone ta puts a tail on him ’cause he tinks someone’s out ta get him. He tolds me dat some a his frens got bumped off and he tinks it comes from when dey was all in da radical movement backs in da sixties. All I’s did was get deez two guys and dey was gonna deal wid anyones dey saw followin’ him. Dats da truth, man. Dats all I’s got ta do wid dis. Honest. Ya gotta believes me, man. Come on, I’s got no bone ta picks wid you. I don’t even knows you.”

Ryan smiled. “And there you have it, kiddies, the current events part of the class. You are all about to become part of it. You’re all here because of Finnegan, his past, and his fear of the inevitable, which is to say that he knows he’s about to be croaked. You got nothing against me. I know that. It’s just a business deal and your end of the bargain is to kill me. I get it. Nothing personal and all that crap, but now I’m your problem instead of your prey. So how are we going to solve this little problem? Got any suggestions, Paddy? Give me some reasons why your pals here shouldn’t go down with you.”

“I, uh… Can’t we make some kind of a deal? I mean, what’s your stake in my past, man? You were too young to have anything to do with what was going on in those days. I don’t get it. Is it money you need? I’ll give you money. I…” Finnegan trailed off.

“Yeah, we have money,” Maloof offered. “He give us three thousand. I got it in pocket.”

Ryan shook his head. “This isn’t about money, but since you offered, you might as well put it on the pool table. I’d be glad to accept it. You probably won’t be needing it where you’re going, so I’ll make sure it’s put to good use.” Ryan smirked mockingly at his captives.

Maloof put the money on the table as Ryan reached into his pocket and removed the switchblade he’d relieved him of earlier. “Tell you what I’m going do, boys. I’m going to introduce you to a little game I made up. It’s called Gladiator. The object of the game is survival. There are four of you here and you’re going to compete against one another to see who gets to live.”

“What the…” started Finnegan.

“Shut up, you pile of shit, and just listen,” Ryan interrupted. He switched his gaze to Maloof and said, “I want you to be first. Here, take the knife.” Ryan tossed the switchblade to the Arab and then looked over at Vitanza. “You, greaseball, you grab a pool cue.”

“What for?” Vitanza asked.

“Just shut up and do it,” Ryan snapped.

Vitanza grabbed a cue stick and looked at Ryan with a puzzled expression. “So wh…wh…wh…what now?” he stuttered.

Ryan grinned. “Now we have a little war of attrition. You and the dung smoker are going to be gladiators and I’m going to be the emperor. One of you is going to kill the other and then I’m going to decide whether the one who survives gets to live. It’s simple, really. Kill or be killed and maybe be killed anyway, even if you win. But then if you don’t even try, I’ll just kill you outright, so what have you got to lose?”

“You’re a sick son of bitch. This is demented. What kind of a mother gives birth to a monster like you?” Finnegan blurted out before thinking.

“A mother who watched her family destroyed by the offspring of mothers who hatched chicken-shit terrorist bastards like you and your pals in Lenin’s Legion, who bombed, maimed, and murdered in the name of communism and then walked away without spending a day in lockup—that’s who, asshole,” Ryan replied.

Vitanza began to plead, “I’s can’t fight, man. Look at me hand. It’s all fucked up. How’s I’s supposed ta grab da stick? He’s gonna kill me. Da odds is stacked against me.”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I see your point.” Looking over at Ghannam, he said, “Hey, Osama, take off your belt.”

“What for?” came the reply.

“Because, stupid, I’m pointing gun at you and I’m telling you to, that’s why. Now do what I say,” barked Ryan.

Ghannam took off his belt and waited for further instruction.

“Now go over and tie your buddy’s hand to the back of his belt so that this greaseball will have an even chance,” Ryan ordered.

Ghannam did as he was told and Ryan watched with satisfaction as beads of sweat appeared on the other Arab’s face.

Vitanza was twitching uncontrollably and he breathed rapidly as his eyes darted back and forth between Ryan and Maloof. Suddenly, he sprang forward in a futile attempt to reach the door of the bar, but a well-placed foot to the groin sent him to the floor crying out and reeling in agony.

“Gladiators don’t run away, greaseball. They fight. Now get up and assume your position so the games can begin,” Ryan scoffed. He was glad the bar was located in a business area, away from residences. That would minimize the possibility of anyone hearing the commotion that was about to ensue.

“You’re nuts!” Finnegan yelled.

“Maybe,” Ryan replied. He looked at Maloof, then at Vitanza, and repeated, “Let the games begin.”

Neither one of them moved, so Ryan pointed the magnum at them. “This is my starting pistol. It only fires horizontally, so if you don’t start without me employing
it, your brains will be splattered against the wall. NOW GET ON WITH IT!”

Maloof darted forward, slashing at Vitanza with his knife. The Italian stumbled backward. Regaining his balance, he ran from the Arab and circled the pool table before turning around and swinging wildly with the pool stick. “Yous fuckin’ asshole, I’lls kill yous,” he screamed, sounding more like a panicky little girl than a man fighting for his life.

Finnegan and Ghannam stared as Maloof, who was at least forty pounds heavier than the skinny Vitanza, finally cornered him between two pinball machines. “Now I gut you, infidel.”

Vitanza plunged the cue stick forward, sending Maloof back with a bloodcurdling scream. Dropping the knife, the Arab grabbed for the mass of jelly that had been his left eye as Vitanza pulled the stick from the socket and went to work on his skull.

Slumped to the floor with the pain driving him out of his mind, Maloof was unable to fight back as Vitanza started kicking him repeatedly in the face. Several teeth fell from his mouth like Chiclets from a gum machine.

Ghannam started toward his cousin but stopped when Ryan pointed the magnum at him. “No, Osama. It’s not your turn yet,” he cautioned.

Vitanza finally came out of his frenzy and backed away from Maloof. He looked over at Ryan but said nothing.

“Pick up the knife, greaseball, and go over and see if your fellow gladiator is breathing,” Ryan ordered.

Vitanza did as instructed. “Yeah, yeah, he’s stills breathin’,” he managed to gasp.

Ryan looked at him for a moment and then pointed his thumb to the floor and shook his head. “Finish him.”

“I…. I mean, I don’t know…. if…uh…” Vitanza tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out.

“You don’t know what, greaseball? You either kill the son of a bitch or I’ll kill you,” Ryan said.

Vitanza hesitated for another couple of seconds, but when Ryan pulled the hammer back on the magnum and pointed it at him, he plunged the knife into Maloof’s heart. Vitanza sat staring, as if in a trance, as the last sounds of life gurgled from him.

“Very good, greaseball. I’m impressed. See what you can do when you put your mind to it? I’ll bet you never thought you had it in you, did ya?”

Vitanza said nothing. He just continued to stare as if trying to contemplate what he’d just done. It was as if he were thinking, “I’m still alive, but for how long? What does this nightmare who calls himself a man have in store for me next?”