Page 6 of Meet Odin

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the meaning of my life. It was laughable that my mind had wandered there after last night’s adventures. I should have been more focused on my aching bladder.

Taking a leak, I could hear my computer chime with the morning’s email. It was too early to deal with this shit without coffee.

I made myself a cup and sighed as the first drop hit my tongue.

Graduating med school had been a turning point of sorts for me. School was over, and I could fully embrace the life of a Syndicate. By day, I made house calls to members of the underworld. Runny noses, sick stomachs, you name it. By night, I'd quickly complete any jobs that came my way. It didn't matter how much money I had, I craved more. It was never enough. My life had been upgraded, but emotionally, I was still the hungry kid from the streets. When there was a lull in work, I didn't handle it well.

It was during one of those lulls that I was called into Mr. De Angelis' office. He told me that he understood my need for more, but I couldn't continue down this path. I'd make a mistake and either be dead or in jail. He convinced me that I was too smart to be taking jobs that were beneath me. I should have been leaving them for the other Syndicates.

Mr. De Angelis smiled wide. "Odin, my boy," he said. "I have a proposition for you."

"A few weeks ago, I instructed the Nerds to quietly solicit outside contracts for the Syndicate. There's plenty out there, and we can use those connections to our advantage. You'll have first choice, and whatever you don't want will be offered to another Syndicate. However, there are stipulations. The Nerds will filter through all available contracts, and the legitimate ones will reach my desk for approval. Deviant work will always come first, but this should keep you from going unhinged when things are slow."

It was the solution I needed at the time, but over the last couple of years, I had felt a shift. I couldn’t pin point exactly when it had occurred, but I had started to become wary of new work emails. Works work, and I was not one to judge, but there’s something to be said when you had to contact a hitman. A well-connected hitman.

I may be a killer, but even I had standards. Most of these people wouldn’t receive a response. They didn't even get a second look. This is a pay-to-play world.

I noticed there was a wire transfer to my unmarked account for the hit last night. Contract complete.

I started to scroll through my requests, not really seeing anything of interest, until the last email sent a chill down my spine -Atticus De Angelis.

What could the old man want now?

I owed him my life. He had made me into the man I was today. However, there had always been something off about him. The man never aged. It was unsettling.

Office, 2 PM

-AD

Fuck!

I wondered what he had up his sleeve. It wasn’t like him to call me into the office in the middle of the day. I’d have to have a wig, a prosthetic nose, and maybe a new chin. It’d take time to craft the pieces and make sure I was unrecognizable.

***

IwalkedintoMr.De Angelis’ office precisely at two in the afternoon. I knew better than to be late. He had given me a life, but he held the power within his pinkie to take it all away. I wasn’t going to risk it.

He sat at his desk as I walked in. Looking up from his computer, he smiled at me. “Odin, my boy. It’s been a while.”

It didn’t matter how old I was, I always bristled when he called me boy.

He stood from his desk and stretched his hand out towards me to shake.

“Mr. De Angelis.” I’d never called him Atticus. First names were for friends. We were not friends, not even acquaintances. I worked for him, and he owned me. I wasn't resentful of that fact, although I hadn't really known what I was getting into all those years ago. It is what it is, and the only way out was death.

“Sit, my boy.” Taking a chair in front of his desk, I waited for him to make the first move.

He ran his eyes over me. I could tell he was taking stock of my appearance. It wasn’t uncommon for the Syndicate to use disguises to go undetected within normal society. I stopped questioning years ago how Mr. De Angelis was able to recognize me.

“What do you know about the Giuseppe Lombardo and the Italians in Chicago?”

“Just the basics, sir. How Lombardo started off doing odd jobs to support his family, and when it wasn’t enough, he turned to a life of crime. Recruiting Italian men in similar situations, he established the Italian family over forty years ago. The rest is history. I thought the police raided them a few months ago.”

“They did, and no one knows why.”

Ah, I knew where this was going. Mr. De Angelis liked to keep a finger on the pulse of the underworld, no matter the location. From a business standpoint, I could understand why. We didn't have friends, so we kept our enemies close. To me, it didn't make any difference as long as I was getting paid. My childhood scars ran deep. Realistically, I would never be the kid on the streets again, but I also wasn't going to slack off.

“There are four factions in Chicago: the Italians, the Greeks, the Bratva, and the Yakuza. It used to be that each faction maintained their own boundaries, but, in recent years, they’ve started to intermingle. Partnerships, marriages, and the like. Ilya Volkov is marrying his Greek bride in two weeks time. The Italians are close with both factions, so they’ll be in attendance. I have it on good authority they need a bartender. I recommended you.”

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