CS: Blood Lines (Cont. III)

“Wake up.”

Max opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the face of a maid who smiled happily at him. She was quite attractive and obviously chosen because of certain unnamed assets. She was dressed in the stereotypical maid outfit that filled the erotic dreams of young men and masters of the house. He didn’t make a cliché move for his gun or use his body to subdue the intruder, because all that did was rouse suspicions. Secondly, he remembered where he had laid down and there was no doubt he was still there. If he was to be killed, he would already be dead, not being stared at by a woman who probably spoke just enough English to get her past a border inspection.

He didn’t bother to check the clock. There were no deadlines as of yet and he was a practical man. Time meant nothing to him, he followed instinct and intuition and not the general habits of the normal populous. He rose out from under the covers and set his feet firmly on the floor, the sleep already gone from his eyes. The maid wondered how a man could so quickly shift from unconscious to wide awake, no signs of even a moment’s drowsiness.

“The master of the house invites you for breakfast,” she said with a slightly Spanish accent. “There is a shower just beyond that door.” She indicated which one pleasantly and trotted from the room with a happy swagger that could cheer any man up. Max watched her go and proceeded to get himself cleaned up and dressed. The shower was short and sweet, he didn’t waste water or time. There was a lot that needed to be done and to Max, there was nothing more important than duty. He moved through the house as if he had lived there for years, dressing in a black-ribbed turtleneck, a maroon vinyl jacket, and khakis. It wasn’t the normal casual look one would expect for a hired gun, but it was a style all Max’s own. He moved into the dining room where Reno and Tony sat, several chairs apart. A few others sat at the table, Randall and Hudson, along with a few other men that Max did not recognize. There was one who he knew very well, though he hadn’t met him personally.

His name was King Gambini, the first name not a title but his actual first name, given to him by his long dead father. While the Gambinis and Cappollas were usually at odds with each other, they had shared a common ancestry and King had been known for doing some very illegal and brutish things. Fifteen counts aggravated assault, four possible murders, rape, and sixteen counts of fraud. Max’s mind recalled facts as if he was a computer, he had little room for memories, they were all unpleasant. King was obviously staying in the house under the protection of the Cappollas in exchange for some peace between the two families. The police wouldn’t look here anyway.

He had thick, grey hair, not the kind you would expect to see on a man about Reno’s age. He wore a thick grey suit with a navy tie, a very stylish combination that put him far ahead of both Tony and Reno, although Tony was dressed in the bland black and white suit that was so often stereotypical of the rich. Reno, however, was wearing what seemed to be a hawaiian shirt and jeans—he also was wearing sunglasses as he ate. A plate of over-medium eggs, buttered toast, orange juice, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and hashbrowns was placed before him by the same perky woman who disappeared into the kitchen as Max watched her leave.

“Pay attention to the food and not the help. We’ve got things to do.” The words were Reno’s, who hadn’t even looked up from his meal which he ate with brooding deliberateness. The tension at the table was as thick as brick walls: a domineering father and bitter son along with a rival’s relative and a total stranger who happened to be a hitman. For anyone not accustomed to this sort of situation, they would not have been able to eat as quickly and with such enthusiasm as Max. Food was a weak point in him, he loved it.

Reno finished a few minutes after Max started and rose. “Let’s get going. Drop what you’re eating.” Max finished the bite in his mouth, drew the sunglasses from his pocket and was escorted outside by two bodyguards that were unfamiliar to his eyes. They were probably just little men being brought along to make sure Max didn’t do anything foolish. The two wound around to the garage as Reno lit a cigarette and puffed on it quickly. He waved the smoke in Max’s general direction and continued walking. “Get in the car.” Reno slid into the passenger side seat of a Benz as one bodyguard got int the driver’s seat and the other held the door open for Max. He obligingly entered and made himself comfortable.

The door slammed and Reno turned around with a gun pointed at Max, after a moment without reaction from his intended victim, Reno spun the gun around and handed it to Max. “Nerves of steel, I see.”

“I just don’t really care.”