Ghosts of the Past by Mark H. Downer Page B

the nose of Karl, sending him back into the chair as both flipped backward into the wall.
    “Take it easy Jimmy!” Nieron stepped in between the two. “This ain’t gonna get us our money.”
    Karl crawled out from behind the chair, stood up, and slowly backed away toward the dining room entryway. He was starting to realize the seriousness of the situation. These two miserable boys were big trouble and he wondered why Irwin Jones was associated with them. He tried to think of a way out. He would try Jones on the number he had given him, since these two most certainly had to answer to him. He was bound to have some control over their actions.
    “Please! Please, calm down!” Karl implored. “Let me get in touch with your boss. I have his number… right here.” Karl stumbled through the dining room into the kitchen, picked up his briefcase off the kitchen table knocking the cold bagel to the floor, and retrieved the card with the phone number from his Daytimer.
    Syron drug himself to his feet, staggered through the foyer, and entered the kitchen from the other door, “If that’s anybody else, you’re a dead man!” He produced another stiletto knife similar to the one he had lost at Ferguson’s, and flicked open the blade.
    Karl had already entered the number into the phone and Jones answered on the second ring. “Mr. Jones, Dr. Karl here. We have a problem.”
    Syron reached over and snatched the phone out of Karl’s hand. “Who is this?”
    “I’m sorry, who is this?” Jones retorted.
    “This is Jimmy Syron you stupid fucker! Now who’s this?”
    “Mr. Syron, this is Walter Smith, what seems to be the problem?”
    “The problem is we got the letter like you wanted. We didn’t get Ferguson, but we will. This old turd here in front of me tells me we didn’t get the entire letter. No one told me there was more than one page. You said, ‘The letter with the Riechsmarshall Goering head on it’. Shit, I don’t care. All I know is we got what you wanted us to get, now we want to make sure we get paid.”
    “You will be paid, Mr. Syron, please calm down. I’m on my way now, and we can discuss payment when I get there. Let me speak to Dr. Karl please.”
    Syron turned the phone back to Karl. “Yes?”
    “Dr. Karl, I’m in route to your house, I’m only a few minutes away. Please remain calm and review whatever they brought you and tell them it should be sufficient. I will deal with those two punks when I get there.”
    “Thank you.” Karl hung up the phone and turned to Nieron who was holding the crumpled up letter. “Let me see that again. It may be enough.”
     
    Mr. Jones entered through the front door of the house unannounced.
    “We’re in the kitchen.” Syron called to him.
    Jones entered the kitchen to find Karl seated at the kitchen table with Syron seated in a chair next to him. Nieron was standing behind them, leaning against the counter next to the refrigerator.
    “We’re having a party I see.”
    “This ain’t no fuckin’ party Mr. Smith, Jones, whatever your name is. You asked us to do a job and we did it. Now we want to get paid.”
    “I told you that you would be paid when you got the letter and took care of Mr. Ferguson. You completed the first order of business, however we have some problems that still remain. The second item has yet to be fulfilled. You will be paid in full, through the account as we agreed, when the job is completed.”
    “Well, that’s where we have a difference of opinion.” With that, Syron pulled his hand out from under the table and plunged the stiletto into the side of Karl’s throat. Karl’s mouth opened and his eyes bulged in shock, his hands clutched at his chest for a brief instant and then he fell forward. Syron slid the knife out while Karl’s life bled away onto the table. “We’d like our money… Now!”
    “That was a very stupid thing to do Mr. Syron.” The whole sequence had caught Jones off guard. He thought he was prepared,