For Nothing Read Online Free PDF Page A

Not only had the bottle smacked him down, the damn thing looted him while he was in his sleep as wel . Alex Vaughn walked to the bottle and grabbed his chain.
    “Mine,” he said.
    Alex stepped out of his bedroom with the chain safe, tucked under his jacket and white T-shirt.
    The coffee was ready. In a whirl, Alex grabbed his steaming mug and walked out of his townhouse apartment.
    He got into his Ford Taurus. After two attempts at getting the engine to start, it rol ed over with a moan. Alex drove through the city streets; he was heading back toward Walden Avenue, the scene of the crime. He already knew what he had to do, with a smirk he reached into his coat pocket and pul ed out the cigarette butt from the scene.
    “A h , MY latest victim,” he said with

    “A h , MY latest victim,” he said with satisfaction.
    This little baby was going to give some information to work with. This was a rare cigarette, Vaughn was sure of it. Al he needed to do now was go into some convenience stores and ask around, ask who knew a guy that had a very particular taste in nicotine. Once he found out whom, it would official y be on.

    *

    The assassin stood stil in the gloom of the night club. His eyes needed a moment to adjust as the blackened double doors closed behind him. As his eyes came back into focus he noted the familiar surroundings.
    Off to the left was a bar that came out into the center of the room in a semicircle. In front of the gunman, extending outward from the bar was a dance floor that was settled underneath a twirling disco bal . At the head of the dance floor was a DJ
    booth that was enclosed by a metal cage on three ends. On the right, after two doors leading toward separate gender restrooms was a door that led to a manager’s office.
    Rafael Rontego swept his hat from his head and tucked it under his arm along with the newspaper he purchased earlier; with his free hand he brushed his hair back from his face.
    Two large men came out of the back office, but with one look at Rontego, they nodded their heads and went back inside. Rafael walked up to the office door and raised his hand to knock on it.
    Before his hand could lie to rest on the sturdy oak door, he heard the expected “Come in,” from within.
    The assassin eased opened the door and slipped inside.
    “Hel o Rafael. I have been waiting for you,” said an old man at the desk.
    The man was slender but had strength built into his frame that age developed. The veins that stretched tight under his thinning and aged skin obscured his corded muscles. He wore a suit, but the jacket was hung over the back of his large mahogany chair and his white shirtsleeves were rol ed up to the elbows. His right hand was somewhat yel owish in color and the large cigar that was half smoked in the ashtray explained the discoloration.
    “I supposed as much Don Ciancetta.
    However, the business of which you and I discussed previously is now complete.” As he spoke to the Don, Rafael tossed the newspaper on the old man’s desk.
    Circled in black ink on the lower right hand column of the front page was a headline that read Local Cop Slain in Shooting .
    “Hmm, I see our little friend is no longer a problem.” The Don shifted the paper and started reading the caption under the headline.
    As he read it, Rafael studied the old man’s eyes. Though his eyes were a light green and might even be considered kind, Rafael knew the deception hidden beneath that gaze and marveled at the contradiction. Those green orbs of his were set deep into the angular features of his face. He was always clean-shaven but Rafael was almost positive that it was because he didn’t want the gray of his beard to show. Speckled into the Don’s slick black hair were patches of gray that brought a distinguished look to the boss.
    “Because of the nature of the target’s position and the inevitable fal out surrounding its completion, I am going to have to ask for double my usual rate,” Rontego said as a