One Last Kill Read online

  One Last Kill

  A Callahan Boyle Thriller

  Spenser Warren

  Contents

  An Exclusive Offer

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

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  Acknowledgments

  Read On For An Excerpt*

  Era Of Evil Excerpt

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Spenser Warren

  First published in the United States in 2019 by Pulse Pounding Publications

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019932322

  ISBN: 978-1-7329901-0-4 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-7329901-1-1 (hardcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-7329901-2-8 (ebook)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, uploading, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover design by: Dane Low

  Formatted by: Vellum

  Version1

  Will a hit man meet his end? Discover how to read your next Cal Boyle thriller — FREE!

  Find out how to get your FREE copy of the Callahan Boyle prequel novella, Marked For Murder!

  Read until the end to discover how to get your free copy of Marked For Murder, a book available only to my readers. Marked For Murder is an action-packed thriller that showcases one of Cal’s first kills as a hit man in the Chicago mafia. I’m confident you’ll love every page.

  What happens when Cal kills the wrong man? From ferocious fist fights to careening car crashes, read as Cal navigates a burgeoning drug war between the Chicago mafia and a rival gang, whose leader is hellbent on ensuring Cal never sees another day. Will Cal find a way to take down his never-ending list of enemies?

  Stay tuned for your exclusive offer to receive your FREE copy of Marked For Murder. Not only will you get your hands on a great read, you’ll also be among the first to be notified of new releases by signing up for my “hit list.” I’ll keep the emails fast, friendly, and fun, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Until then, I hope you enjoy One Last Kill.

  To Mom and Dad. Thanks for always believing in my dreams.

  1

  Callahan Boyle sat in the back row of Chicago’s CIBC Theatre trying to get comfortable, which was tough given the complete lack of legroom for a man of his height. He was there for The Book of Mormon’s evening show, yet he wasn’t interested in the performance—he’d already seen the play ten times. The target of his interest was his next victim, who was sitting in the front row on stage right.

  He’d been following George MacErlean for weeks and figured the show’s final performance was his best and last chance to make his move. With MacErlean’s girlfriend cast as Nabulungi, the female lead, Cal had repeatedly shown up to stake out the man in a setting where he knew MacErlean couldn’t weasel away.

  Unlike his other trips to the theater, Cal wasn’t alone this time. As the most ruthless and efficient of the Chicago mafia’s hit men, Cal rarely needed backup. Yet during the previous performance, Cal had felt several eyes glued to him, suggesting MacErlean had watchdogs. Cal had brought his good buddy Alfonso “Fonzie” Benetti to help take out MacErlean’s men should they interfere. Fonzie was waiting to do his part in the car with Cal’s driver, Tony Fregosi.

  Intermission was in a few minutes, and Cal couldn’t wait. He was anxious to get this over with. Weeks of tailing and hard work would manifest itself in a brief moment of perfect execution. He only hoped it went according to plan.

  Fonzie’s voice sounded in the Bluetooth earpiece. “What’s up, my brother? We’re still circling the block. Should be back on Monroe in no time.”

  Cal coughed his acknowledgment. The last song of the first act was almost finished, then he’d be free to speak. Until then, he had to listen to the smacking of Fonzie’s gum through the earpiece.

  “Tony, turn up the goddamned air-conditioning,” Fonzie said between chomps. “I’m sweating my black ass off.”

  Even though Tony, the driver, was only eighteen and Cal preferred not to drag him into such a critical mission, he’d come to trust the boy over the last several months. Tony’s ambition and fire reminded Cal of himself when he was younger, when Cal had actually wanted something more out of life than an easy paycheck.

  The curtains closed and the lights lifted, springing Cal into action. He rose from his seat and beelined for the hallway before a crowd could form. He wanted to make sure MacErlean came outside, as was his custom, and to see if any of his goons were staying close to him.

  MacErlean was quite the conversationalist. He enjoyed glad-handing with the audience, trying to prove how good of an actor he could be. Cal hadn’t known much about MacErlean prior to being asked to tail him, but he had heard the man was the classic definition of a struggling actor, failing time after time to land a role of significance.

  Must live through his girlfriend’s success, Cal thought.

  Once MacErlean grew tired of bragging about his girlfriend and cracking wise, he often moseyed out the theater entrance for a smoke. Today, Cal was hoping to catch him before his cigarette transformed into a pile of ashes.

  “True to script so far,” Cal said into his microphone. “I can’t wait until we find out what this jerk has to say and can end this.”

  “Don’t get too excited. This motherfucker is mine to grab. Time to show the boss what I can do.”

  “You’ll be able to get your hands all over him, Fonzie. Just let me be the bait to get him outside.”

  “Why the hell are we grabbing this guy anyway?”

  Tony’s voice was audible through Fonzie’s mic. Cal felt annoyed at the boy’s question but figured it w
as best to explain the situation.

  “MacErlean had a meeting with the mayor. At least that’s what Alfredo’s been made to believe. Remember the mayor’s State of Chicago press conference a few months ago? He specifically cited the mafia’s activities in his speech. Alfredo thinks he’s onto us and that MacErlean was the one to spill the beans.”

  Cal had to lower his voice as he ended his explanation. A large crowd of theatergoers flooded the lobby and headed outside, despite the sweltering late-August heat.

  Fonzie exhaled into the mic, creating a harsh sound in Cal’s earpiece. “I still don’t think it’s a great idea grabbing him in public, even at night. He hasn’t been one of us for a while, right? What could he know that could rattle Fredo’s old bones?”

  “I’m not sure, but if he’s giving dirt to the mayor, it could be dangerous.”

  “How do they know it was MacErlean? Could’ve been anybody.”

  Cal sighed and kept his eye on his mark. MacErlean was visible from Cal’s vantage point in the lobby. Any minute now and the target would be acquired.

  “They all insist it was him. There are a lot of people on the payroll in City Hall, and any of them could be leaking stuff back to Alfredo.”

  Tony’s voice sounded over the mic again. “When you say this guy was one of us, you mean he was a flunky?”

  “You may be an errand boy, but I ain’t no flunky,” Fonzie said. “I may not be made yet, but I’ve killed more men than you ever will.”

  Cal tuned out the arguing and watched as MacErlean drew closer. There were no signs of the men Cal had previously seen protecting the potential informant.

  Out of the corner of his eye, two men in brown tweed jackets and matching slacks began charging up the aisle inside the auditorium, arousing his suspicion.

  MacErlean was only feet away from Cal, his jacket brushing against a short old lady. Cal watched him exit and turn to the left for his usual smoke break. All according to plan.

  “Are you guys out front? He just left, heading right for you,” Cal said into the mic. “Let him light up first. When his back is turned, make the grab.”

  Cal thought he saw the old lady’s eyebrow rise. He matched her gesture and turned his head to the left. The men in the tweed jackets were trying to push their way through the crowded lobby, both pairs of eyes fixated on the exit doors.

  Cal knew he had to step in. The taller of the two men, bearded and donning Ray-Ban sunglasses, brushed against a poised, slender woman conversing with the eyebrow-raising dame. Cal dashed around the old lady, much faster than he probably should have, and stopped the two men in their tracks.

  “What do you want?” the shorter man asked in a thick Eastern European accent. Cal couldn’t tell whether it was Ukrainian, Romanian, or perhaps Russian.

  “Yeah, out of the way,” Bearded Man said.

  Cal wasn’t the best at creating distractions with words. He was a man of action. On instinct, his fingers reached inside the pocket of his black dress slacks, grasping his jackknife. The men’s eyes were like daggers attempting to tear through Cal’s pocket. Cal met their gaze with a steely glare of his own. A loud, feminine scream pierced the air behind them.

  The shorter man charged forward, attempting to pass Cal and get outside. Cal decked him with a sharp punch in the stomach. The man slumped forward, and Cal threw him back into the crowd, eliciting more shrieks inside the theater lobby.

  Bearded Man clubbed Cal in the back of the head and attempted to follow with a punch to the gut, but Cal blocked him and threw a hard right hook at his assailant’s face, knocking the man’s sunglasses off in the process.

  Cal heard honking outside. Time to go.

  He dashed out of the lobby, unconcerned about the panic-stricken eyes trailing him outside.

  The first thing Cal saw was Fonzie holding his Glock 9mm in his left hand. In plain view of a large crowd of theatergoers, he was dragging a petrified MacErlean, who had his hands raised like a police suspect, into the back of Tony’s black Hyundai Sonata. This was not how MacErlean’s pickup was supposed to go.

  Cal rushed through the crowd, drew his Beretta from his inside-waistband holster, and held it in the air. He wanted to scare the crowd back indoors and prevent the goons he’d encountered from following.

  “Everyone back inside. This man is a crook and he is being brought to justice.”

  Before anyone could whip out their cell phone to record the incident, Cal jumped inside the passenger seat while Fonzie tackled MacErlean into the back seat.

  Cal’s plan to use the scared theatergoers as a shield was dashed as the short goon came racing through the crowd. Cal saw him reach inside his jacket. He was pulling out a gun.

  “Punch it, Tony!”

  The kid put the car into drive and sped away from the curb. Screams pierced the air. Cal ducked when Bearded Man ran out, gun drawn, and joined his friend shooting at the car.

  “Holy hell, Cal. I didn’t think anyone would be shooting at us.”

  “Dodge this traffic, we can’t have our tires shot out.”

  Tony swerved between two cars after making it through the Monroe and State intersection. They sped down the street before turning right onto South Wabash Avenue. Cal let out a deep exhale from his closely held breath once they were headed south.

  That was close. Too close.

  2

  Smoke wafted above the heads of the four mafia leaders seated on the black leather sectional in the great room of Alfredo Petrocelli’s Gold Coast penthouse. Other than the stirring of a drink or the exhale of cigar smoke, none of the members of the mafia leadership had made a sound since a phone call beckoned Alfredo to his office.

  “If one of you guys don’t say something, I’m gonna shit my pants.”

  Al Meransky, the North Side caporegime, wrinkled his brow and shifted in his seat. The movement of his pants against the leather sounded like a loud fart. The other leaders’ eyebrows rose in disgust.

  “When you’re done ripping ass over there, we’ve gotta figure out how to calm Alfredo down. This isn’t good.” Frankie Ramone, Meransky’s equal for the South Side of the city, always had a way of starting a serious conversation with a joke. It was his humor that Vinnie appreciated most about the fat caporegime.

  Seated to Vinnie’s right was the consigliera of the Chicago mafia, Melissa Ranieri. She relaxed her entire body into the cushion behind her, her long tan right leg crossed over her left, her black skirt barely halfway down her thighs. She smoked a thin black cigar. It seemed fake, like something from the movies. Even though she was Vinnie’s cousin, he had to admit she looked good smoking it.

  “Relax, boys,” she said. “Uncle Alfredo’s a little nervous, that’s all. We still don’t know what the mayor knows.”

  Meransky broke in. “Yeah, what’s all of this hoopla with the mayor? How come I ain’t heard about it?”

  “’Cuz it’s not your business. Cal is handling it. Cal works for me,” Frankie said.

  “Oh really? Last time I checked, fatso, Cal wasn’t a soldier. He’s our best hit man. That means he works on both sides of the city. Not just the South Side, though you sure as hell could use him down there. How do you get any business done with all the murders?”

  Frankie rose off the couch and shook his fists, ready to challenge his fellow capo. Vinnie rolled his eyes and stood up to set his empty glass down on the counter. Melissa didn’t miss a beat and gave Vinnie a knowing wink before rising to her feet.

  “Fresh drink for the gentleman?”

  Vinnie shrugged his shoulders and watched as his cousin grabbed his empty glass. It was exactly like Melissa to observe the next item that needed attention. No wonder she’d been so effective leading the mafia’s prostitution ring as the top madam before being picked for consigliera.

  As business savvy as she was, Vinnie was upset that he hadn’t been chosen for the mafia’s top advisory position. It was enough that his father risked putting a family member in the position and made them vulnerab
le to attack by rival gangs, police, and politicians alike for anyone who wanted an easy way to get to Alfredo. Vinnie could handle any such threat, whereas he didn’t think Melissa could. But it was also a discredit to all of the work he’d done behind the scenes over the years to learn the family business and think of the best way to take advantage of new business opportunities to secure their future.

  Vinnie shook away the thought and set his gaze on Frankie and Meransky, willing them to get their acts together. As underboss of the family, both men answered to him. In turn, Vinnie only answered to his father. Yet he knew Alfredo took Melissa’s feedback more seriously than his own.

  He took the band holding his ponytail together and removed it with his fingers before running them through his brown hair. The capos watched this ritual with puzzled looks on their faces before Vinnie shook his hair out and let it hang long to dust the tops of his shoulders.