14 Jul 08
The Whacking of Charlie (by Two Tonys Part 2)
Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming."
Part 1 left off with Two Tonys getting angry at Charlie after Berego (a connection Charlie had vouched for) took Two Tonys’ money to Mexico and didn’t return with the agreed upon cocaine.
And as I proceed to have a few drinks with Sal and a few grams of bullshit coke I’m getting fucked up – especially when I keep calling Louie and he tells me no show on Berego, and Charlie’s not around.
So the bars close at 1am. Me and Sal go for coffee. Then he drops me off at my rental car (it’s a comp from the lame drunk on the fourth floor). I go back to the hotel. Louie is up in his suite. He’s got some personal blow. So I ask if Charlie is back.
He says, “Yeah, he’s in his room down the hall.” He heard him come in.
Now we got guns galore. I always pack a lightweight .38 snub nose 5 shot in an inside holster in the small of my back. Real James Bond shit. It’s hard to see but easy to get too. And it’s real secure. When I went clubbing, I got up and boogied. Yeah, I was a disco duck. If you wanted broads, you couldn’t just sit around and talk out of the side of your neck, you needed to dance and the blow was always nice. A lot of coke whores around.
So I go down to Charlie’s room, knock on his door and he opens it. He’d been asleep. It showed on his face. He has on no shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts.
So I go in and tell him, “We’ve got to talk.”
He lies back on his bed.
I sit in a chair across from his bed.
The only light is in the bathroom. The door is open so it’s shining in.
So I get right to it. I say to this cowboy, “Where’s Berego?”
Now Charlie is grumpy. He’s been partying all weekend with probably my money or half of it. Plus he had just gotten to sleep and here I come waking him up at 3am with 20 questions.
So he actually replies in a shitty tone, “I don’t know.”
So I say to him, “Where’s my dope?”
Again, he says, “I don’t know. He’ll be here.”
So I jump and as I do I’m reaching for my .38 out of my back.
He’s reaching for his Bulldog in the nightstand.
I get to him. I put the .38 in his mouth and say to him, “You, motherfucker.” As I pull the trigger I feel a fine spray of like wet sand shoot up in my face. I do it again. Two in the mouth. The wet sand spray was this assholes teeth and blood. Two is good. I pull out and leave.
I figured the drunk down the hall or Louie’s aunt heard the shots. So I go out in the hall. Louie’s head is looking out of his room.
I say, “Get back inside. I’ll be back.” So I go down the stairs not the lift. Go to my car. Shoot over to Sal’s house. He was still up. Coke does that. I take a shower. Change clothes. We wear the same size. We put the bloody clothes in a bag, take it to the desert and throw it. I stash my .38 under a cactus that I can retrieve due to the milepost marker and I go to a pay phone and call Louie.
He says, “Nobody heard a thing.”
So I say, “Good. I’ll be back down.” I go back to the hotel. It’s early dawn.
I take Louie’s master key and go back in Charlie’s room, now the asshole’s death chamber. I wipe down the arms on the chair, door handles, etc. He’s sitting up lying in his bed but he’s a fucking mess. Lot’s of blood has come out of his lying mouth onto his chest. I take nothing. I leave his guns, his knives. I don’t even look for money.
This wasn’t about money or dope. This was about judging who you’re fucking with. A human life is worth more than $5000, but since then I’ve seen guys killed for $50. So it’s not about money. That coke has a way of making you think you’re all that and a roll of print toilet paper.
Bottom line, the maid finds him two days later. Cops come, investigate, and want to interview me. I refuse. My attorney’s a real fine crook himself, who finally commits suicide, but that’s another story. He tells the cops I don’t want to discuss anything with them. Arrest me or kick rocks.
Berego never comes back.
Charlie’s case goes unsolved for 17 years, because nobody gives a fuck about dope dealers.
Click here to read Part 1
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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood