CS: Dead (Cont V)

Max walked straight down the hallway of the manor, observing every single inch of detail without even moving his head, his eyes set dead-focused on the large mahogany door straight ahead of him.

Black limousine. Two way mirror remains down throughout the trip so that Reno Cappolla can see me. Age twenty-four. Height five-foot-eight. Weight one hundred and sixty pounds. Compulsive gambler. Psychology degree from Princeton. Three possible homicides, known heir to the Cappolla crime family. Father is Tony Cappolla: my ’employer.’ Mother is Genevie Cappolla, current wife of the Don.

Back to the limousine. Manufactured in the good ol’ USA. Top speed only eighty miles per hour fully loaded. Can hold ten men including driver all heavily armed. Lighten the load and the limo, with only driver and passenger can reach probably one hundred. That’s pushing it. Gas tank on right back side. Left front wheel low on air, bad shocks. Oil light on, brakes have begun to wear. Windows are all bullet-proof, withstand several armor piercing shells. Car itself rather flimsy, not reinforced. Transport for general purposes, no obvious threats percieved by any such Cappolla limo.

Limo driver was right-handed. Approximately six feet tall, weight between one-fifty and two-hundred. Wore sunglasses, blue eyes. Bad vision, slow reaction time. Excellent driving skills. Knows that there are problems with the car. Winces whenever we hit a shock, the kind of wince one gets from knowing a car doesn’t like it when its shocks are shot. Reno, no threat. Hot-headed, brazen, underestimates my currently displayed potential. Carries a forty-five on his right, just inside his suit coat. Same with his bodyguards, they have one on both sides. Large men, good six-foot-four, weigh close to two-hundred and fifty. Left bodyguard has faster reaction time than right. Reno probably still the fastest.

Cappolla Estates. Large, 25 acres, most behind the manor itself. Eight foot high stone walls, held together with cement, very tightly and solidly built. Gates flimsy. Made of stainless steel, five inches between bars. Well tended grounds. Driveway is dirt, small rocks, well kept. Extensive network of trees around manor, good for concealing business inside. No clear view inside from out of the patio area.

The garage was clean. Impeccable, not used for anything more than car storage. Large array of tools, no one probably knows how to use them beyond the driver. He didn’t wear gloves, hands were worn, probably does a little with cars around here, vintage not the limo. Limo hasn’t been tuned up in awhile. Garage smells still of disinfectant, maids probably clean it despite no one using it. Arranged like a woman would. Meticulous. All appearances. Twenty feet across by twenty feet long, a perfect square garage.

Twenty paces from garage to the stairs to patio, eight stairs, easily boundable, small. Ten by fifteen patio, reinforced mahogany rails. Clean deck as well, groundskeeper’s territory, smells of turpentine. Glass patio doors, two inches thick, not bullet proof. Living room inside, rarely used. Baroque motif, couches and chairs stately and perfect, no one has sat in them since last cleaning. Leopard design on the couch, four throw pillows of dark brick red and beige. Well put together room, someone has sense of style. Fireplace, large, not been used in recent history. Bricks are all clean, no ash or scorch marks. Pokers all perfectly clean. Pictures ontop of mantle, two of Reno, one young, one current. Family photo, large family, fifty in the picture, at least. Gaudy rugs. Grandfather clock on right of hallway, tells time still, kept wound. Narrow hallways with small four orb lights hung from ceiling every twenty feet. This is all natural to me. How easy it is anymore.

Max reached the end of the hall and looked back once more. Just inside the next door, Tony Cappolla was waiting for him. He knew that the man was probably just as impatient as his son. He’d give the man a minute to stew. That was the way these things went. Negotiations and assignments were best given when the client was not quite clearly thinking. Clear-thinking clients might just try to set you up, the hot-headed ones will just gloss over the basics. And Max hated long discussions. He knew what he was doing.

Welcome to the Cappolla family. With that, Max opened the door and stepped through.