The Kill Favour

By Peter Oredsson

Chloe has allegedly stolen 27 million euros from the Mafia in Greece, but she has no

recollection of it. Under hypnosis she recalls parts but is unaware the hypnotherapist

is reporting to the syndicate.

Chloe's best friend Martina overhears a conversation indicating there is a price on

Chloe's head. Martina is termina

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Jun 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9789362692467

Book preview

The Kill Favour

Peter Oredsson

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by.

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2024

Content Copyright © Peter Oredsson

ISBN

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher's prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

www.ukiyoto.com

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About the Author

>1<

M

elbourne 2010

Mikael had never killed another human being before. He left his hotel room thirty minutes before the set execution time of an innocent girl. He walked through the backstreets to the victim’s apartment and didn’t make face contact with anyone. Making sure no one noticed him. He had the balaclava, gloves, torch, and gun in a brown paper bag. He opened the door of the apartment complex with one of the keys he been provided by the syndicate. He put on the balaclava and gloves. He burned the brown paper bag on the floor in the corridor, putting the gun inside the rubber lining of his tracksuit.

He approached the front door of his prey, he could hear ‘On a Mission’ with Gabriella Cilmi playing repeatedly.

With shaking hands, he put the key in the lock. It was unlocked. He pushed the door open with his foot, pulling out the gun. He followed the hallway hoping to find Alena sleeping in one of the rooms. He didn’t want to look her in the face when he pulled the trigger. The syndicate held his family as ransom. If he didn’t follow their orders, they would kill them.

He regretted accepting Anthony Drakos favour, putting him in this dreadful situation. It started off when Anthony Drakos asked Mikael to attach a device under one of the roulette tables at the casino. At first, he said no but when he discovered he was a famous underworld figure in Melbourne it scared him into compliance. However, it did not stop there. Two weeks later the syndicate returned the favour by making his ex-employer pay money owed to him. They also offered him a job as a bagman when he was unemployed and financially ruined. From there on, he entered the loop of the Sicilian Favour. Only death could break the cycle or by special arrangement such as killing someone like Alena. By killing her he would not only save his family, but he would also be free from the syndicate. He could hear water dripping from a doorway opposite the kitchen. He stopped and took a big breath. He could smell blood and hear someone chocking like a death rattle. The perspiration ran down his face, the breathing reached a point not possible to hide. He pushed the door open with the gun, ready to kill. The music kept on playing.

Alena sat on the floor in the shower fully dressed, with a high-power rifle on her lap. A bullet had penetrated her face and heart, killing her on the spot. Opposite the shower cabin on the floor sat a man with his back against the wall with a large hole through his groin, bleeding profusely. He had a gun next to him on the floor, based on his facial expression he had no idea what happened around him. He was dying. Mikael went up to Alena, checking if she had a diamond on her tooth and a R.I.P. tattoo on the back of her neck to confirm her identity. He took a few photos, sending it through to his contact at the syndicate as proof she was dead even if he didn’t kill her. He turned around to help the wounded man when he heard a noise from the kitchen. He put the gun and the flashlight in his pockets, leaving in a hurry. The music kept on playing. He put his face down, walking out like a tenant going for an evening stroll.  He kept on moving with his heart in his throat to the pier to dispose the evidence.

<>

On the same day half an hour earlier Chloe arrived back from Sydney. As usual she knocked on Martina’s door. Her best friend, hoping she would invite her for a drink. No answer. She rang the doorbell, no answer. She looked through the letter slot – it was dark and empty. The smell of eucalyptus oil lingered in the air. She must have a date or something…Chloe smiled and continued to her apartment. The sound of Gabriella Cilmi’s hit ‘On a Mission played loudly as she entered the hallway.

Her stomach turned. She wanted to run away. However, her instinct made her investigate the situation. She slowly made her way to the hallway towards the bathroom. A strong smell of blood made her grab a golf club in a wardrobe ready to strike.  Her mind told her to call the police but for some reason she could not stop her curiosity. Why would there be a blood smell and loud music coming from her bathroom. She could see a pair of legs covered in blood sticking out from behind the door. Help...help, said a man with death in his voice. She moved the door slightly. To her horror she saw Andrew Ciliberto her mother’s killer. What was he doing in her bathroom? He leaned against the wall with his back holding onto a small black gun. He had been shot in the groin. The blood had stained the tiles.  She used the golf club to remove the gun from his motionless hand, raising it over her head to finish him off. The movement made her look in the mirror facing the shower. She dropped the club, screaming No – no, no… She could not believe her eyes. Martina sat on the floor in the shower with a rifle between her legs. She had a bullet hole through her forehead. Stone dead - her soul mate. Her eyes were wide open. Chloe closed them with a gentle move of her hand. She froze…there were sounds of footsteps in the hallway. She grabbed the golf club, looking around the corner towards the front door. A person wearing a balaclava dressed in black with a gun in their hand entered the hallway. The front door slammed with a bang, by the cross draft, the person looked around. She went into the bedroom. The person went into the bathroom with hesitation, once they were behind the door Chloe took her handbag, running out of her apartment. She dialled 000 running.

Two people down at Eildon Road St. Kilda. She hung up – she did not want to get involved. She put the phone back into her handbag; a key ring touched her hand. It made her stopped at the ground level. She had forgotten she had Martina’s keys to her apartment. Without hesitation she turned around and went into Martina’s apartment, closing the door like it was made of glass. She collapsed on the floor. An hour later a policeman knocked on the door with authority.

Have you seen or heard anything unusual? he said, looking her up and down. Is everything alright?

Sorry, I must look a mess…I’d bad family news. She wiped her face.

No haven’t seen or heard anything. I just arrived home from the hospital.

She forced a smile and closed the door. Chloe went into the kitchen, opened the curtains, sitting at the table with her head in her hands. She noticed a yellow envelop with her name on it leaning against an empty fruit bowl.

She kissed the paper the note had been written on, holding it tight against her heart. Turning it over in her hands she noticed another message in a rough handwriting done in red on the back of the goodbye letter. It looked like it had been done in a rush. It read: Safe under floorboard wardrobe combination 147A evidence. She knelt on the floor in the wardrobe pulling her hand over the surface looking for a sign of a hidden safe. All she found a handful of dust. She opened the other wardrobe, tapping her right foot on each floorboard not knowing what to expect. A heavy wooden coat hanger fell to the ground when she disturbed it with her shoulder. It made a clinking metal noise sounding like a dull doorbell. A spring-loaded lid opened, revealing a small modern safe with a keypad.  She entered the code, leaving traces of perspiration on each key. She took a deep breath and opened the heavy steel door, flicking her hair away from her eyes. Her bare knees were hurting on the cold floorboards making her sit on her backside instead next to the safe. It was too dark to see the contents. She put her hand in gently feeling the coldness of the metal together with Martina’s belongings. It revealed one super eight-movie reel, a black mobile phone, a small laptop, plus a memory stick in a red velvet jewellery bag, plus an envelope containing Martina’s driver’s license, Medicare card and passport. She spread the contents on the kitchen table under the light with shaking hands like Martina stood right behind her.  Instead of sitting down analysing the content she went to the bookshelf in the front room, took an e-cigarette and poured a generous glass of Scotch whisky. She opened the window, sitting on the frame with her legs dangling in the air ten metres above the concrete paving. The nicotine vapour made her feel dizzy; the whisky made her want to jump. She could feel her mobile phone vibrate in her jeans. She ignored it. She could not get Martina’s face out of her mind, how she had sacrificed her life for her according to the note. The thought made her feel bad. How could she even contemplate killing herself. Her best friend wanted her to live - not die. She leaned back and fell in slow motion to the floor with her legs still holding onto the window frame.

Still with the e-cigarette and whisky glass in her hands. She rested in that position for a few minutes before she flipped over to a standing position like a professional acrobat. I can still do it. She smiled and put the glass in the sink and the e-cigarette in the bin - after all it was the first time she smoked; she didn’t like it.

She went back to the table, carefully went through each item looking for clues in a desperate attempt to understand Martina, the sacrifice she had made. The driver license had recently been issued; the photo looked like an identical twin of herself. She leaned her head back looking for answers in the celling – or perhaps trying to connect with Martina. She read the note again. It had been written on a computer, printed onto a fancy paper with a water mark of a whale. Opposite to what she had done in the past. She preferred pen and paper if she could not tell you in person. She mentioned things in her goodbye note, contradicting her personality. The only thing making sense, the message on the back of the envelope.

Her mobile phone rang - it was Mikael her on and off partner.

Where’re you? I tried to call you – I’m worried, said Mikael.

Ah – in a meeting … Sydney… She coughed.

"Are you okay? She didn’t respond.

Never mind – none of my business … do you remember the Kiwi guy with the eagle tattoo on his temple?

He went to the window facing Melbourne city skyline with a worried look on his face. He tried to erase the picture from his mind of Alena sitting in the shower dead. What he did not know was, Martina had made herself look like Alena, scarifying her life, so she could take her identity to avoid being killed by the syndicate.

"Of course - what’s up? she said with a loud voice with a nervous undertone.

He’s back on the streets – I saw him with Anthony Drakos yesterday at the casino having a drink, said Mikael.

Oh my God – here we go again … I should be back in Melbourne tomorrow.

She hung up the phone without saying I love you. It made Mikael realize the seriousness of the situation. He regretted not trying hard enough to flush out Anthony Drakos and his associates when they had the opportunity. They decided not to inform the police about his drug operation in Snake Valley two years ago. At the time it could reveal their identities, putting their lives at risk.

Mikael had the recordings of his last two assignments he did for the syndicate with Anthony Drakos trusted inner circle Donna and Zola, but he could not find anything which would incriminate him now. Or had he missed something? He closed the curtains by pressing a remote control. He made sure the front door was locked, by pressing down the handle. With a short jerk he pulled out the fridge from the wall to access a hidden safe. His stomach turned and hesitated before he opened it. He pushed the on button of the iPhone containing potential evidence against Anthony Drakos. The battery was dead. He put the phone in the breast pocket of his shirt, closing the safe but before he scrabbled the code, he opened it again, taking a small sample bag of NANL hoping it would make him feel better. 

It’s the drug Mikael and Chloe confiscated and used it to con Anthony Drakos without revealing their identity and whereabouts. They removed a few sample bags from his laboratory in Snake Valley. They also set up a drug deal with his syndicate in exchange for fake diamonds. It was considered one of the biggest cons in the underworld, one million dollars reward had been posted for any information leading to the identification of the con artist. 

NANL stands for No Addiction No Low it’s the drug of choice for the top one percent of the world’s population. Chloe and Mikael wanted to keep it as evidence against Anthony Drakos and his associates if there was an opportunity to put them out of business and behind bars.

He plugged in the phone, leaning back in his leather armchair. Before he pressed the play button, he rubbed his gum with the NANL and opened the curtains. He listened to each recording over-and-over-again without anything indicating Anthony Drakos involvement in any crime. However, he noticed both Donna and Zola used the same words when they handed over the black bag to Mikael, like it had been rehearsed. In hindsight Anthony Drakos used the same words as well when he originally appointed Mikael to the assignments. Weird - there must be a reason. He desperately tried to keep his mind busy to erase what happened at Alena’s apartment. He could not understand what made him take photos of her dead body.

All the authorities and the media knew Anthony Drakos was the Godfather of the Night in Melbourne, but they had no proof. His was clean like a Sunday school teacher, not even a parking fine. He had developed paranoia about security - he personally never used phones, computers, or any electronic devices.  All meetings were face to face. He always changed gathering places a few minutes before they were due. It made it difficult for his enemies and the authorities. If someone had booked a table at a restaurant, he would pay the waiter to move him to another table on the opposite side.  He did not even trust his own bodyguards…they were on standby, never knew which one or how many of them would get the honour to serve him. He would normally instruct Donna, his personal assistant, to call them ten minutes before they were required. Most of the time the assignments were delegated as they drove to the locations.

Alena could not focus on Martina’s belongings after Mikael’s phone call. Her mind drifted like new snow on a mountain. One minute she saw her mum’s headless body, the next minute Martina’s face. She could also hear in her mind the laugh of the men who had tortured and raped her in a warehouse somewhere in the Greek Islands. Her hands were shaking.

One week later the sound of the doorbell made her stop looking at Martina’s items she still had on the kitchen table.  She could hear her own heartbeat.

Who’s it? she said out loud with no intention to open the door.

The Herald Sun, said a young female ringing the doorbell again with authority.

What do you want? said Alena, approaching the door, biting her lip.

I’ve valuable information about Alena… There was a long silence.

Ah…hmm…just a moment.

She closed the kitchen door, adjusted her hair, and took a big breath before she slowly opened the door. She left the safety chain on.

Your name and identification… she squeezed the door handle.

Frida Stenmark, investigating reporter for the Herald Sun, she said with a soft confident voice, showing her the identification tag around her neck.

…huh – why do you want to…

You’re Martina Gordes, aren’t you? she said, hesitating with a clinical smile.

…hmm – ah…Martina…I’m…of course I’m Martina Gordes. I live here. She undid the safety chain and took her to the front room.

It had been seven days since she had found Martina’s body in the shower with a bullet through her head. This was the first time she had taken advantage of the situation. Martina’s note had suggested she should take over her identity and make Alena disappear forever. It should be easy because the police had confirmed the dead body’s DNA belonged to Alena. She could not understand how it was possible. She had difficulty answering to the name Martina Gordes. She could not erase the horrible night out of her mind. Every day she could see the image of Martina’s face with a bullet through it.

<>

Please sit-down Frida … would you like a drink?

Coffee with milk - please. Alena went into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. She grabbed a plastic shopping bag, scraping Martina’s belongings into it with her arm. She placed the bag in a cabinet.

Can I help? said Frida and opened the door into the kitchen like she owned it.

No – it’s all under control, said Martina, switching on the kettle with her breath in her mouth.

Are you alright? said Frida, touching her gently on the elbow.

Ah – I’m still struggling with … mmm … Alena’s death. She sat at the kitchen table looking out through the window. Frida sat on the chair opposite her, making eye contact.

I believe you two were very close … like sisters. said Frida, looking at Martina’s reflection in the window. She fiddled with her watch.

Yeah, we’re soul mates … Oh my God – I miss her. Her eyes glazed over.

Who organized and paid for Alena’s apartment to be turned into a memorial?

It’s a celebration of her life – not a memorial … I don’t know, obviously someone with lots of money.

The kettle boiled; the whistle made Martina look at it. She eyeballed Frida.

What about a glass of wine?

It’s a bit early isn’t? said Frida.

I don’t care – you can have coffee if you wish … I’ll have a glass of wine.

If you put it that way – okay… I’ll get a taxi home. Do you mind if I record our conversation? said Frida with a genuine smile.

Whatever.

They went into the front room again, sitting opposite each other at the coffee table. Frida put her smart phone on the table, indicating everything from now on is recorded.

Aah – this might sound silly, according to my research – Alena never existed. There’re no official records of her anywhere to be found.

Mmm … aah … they found a body, didn’t they? How dare you tell me Alena didn’t exist! She was my soul mate … I loved her with all my heart. Martina stood up ready to show Frida out.

Sorry… please sit down … it might sound harsh, I’m on your side … I want to find whoever wanted her dead. Martina sat down.

Wanted her dead … that’s a new twist. They apprehended the killer Andrew Ciliberto, didn’t they?

Yes – but who has erased her identity? Frida sipped her wine looking Martina in the eyes and raised her eyebrows.

Martina responded shrugging, raising her hands towards the ceiling without saying a word.

She must’ve some family, somewhere. Her name suggests, she might originate from Greece. If it’s her real name… 

She put her wine glass back on the table.

What objective would the person or persons have to do that? said Martina, pulling her fingers through her hair looking out through the window.

Maybe if we could find out her identity it might lead us to something of great importance, perhaps a threat? That’s the only objective I can think of. According to my perception it must be someone in a major organisation, who has the right contacts to erase a person’s identity, like they never existed…

>2<

"O

h my God … so, you want to know everything I know about Alena?" said Martina rubbing her forehead with her fingers.

It’d be great if you could… Frida filled up the glasses with more wine without asking for permission.

Where do I start ... to be honest we were best mates, but she never told me much about herself. All I know, she travelled a lot … I think – but all I really know is she only stayed in her apartment a few days a week. She always used to knock on my door. She sipped her wine.

There was a long silence.

Did you know, the triple zero emergency call recordings of the murder night, had two calls seven minutes apart reporting the same crime?

Frida looked at her wine glass, avoiding eye contact.

Nah – what’re you aiming to say? She touched Frida’s hand gently, trying to establish eye contact. Frida looked up.

Both were female voices coming from the same location – Alena’s apartment…

Wow – what do I say? Two eyewitnesses – or perhaps both Andrew Ciliberto and Alena was shot by someone else?

Her voice changed pitch; she bit her lip. She could not understand the connection between Andrew Ciliberto and Alena and why they were shot in her bathroom.

<>

Frida used to work as an investigative journalist for Aftonbladet in Stockholm Sweden. Very well respected for her skills of getting to the bottom of all her assignments. She was considered the best in her field. The editor sent her to Thailand to investigate how paedophiles could adopt children legally. Frida entered Thailand as a Swedish backpacker without a work permit. She mingled with the local people trying to understand the reason parents sold their children to strangers. Her knowledge about their culture and language made it easy for her to gain valuable information. She formed a close relationship with a group of girls from the age of nine to fifteen years of age. They all came from an orphanage not far from her backpacker hostel. They attended school during the day but at night they were forced to beg. The money went straight into the pockets of a stand over man called The Boss and the manager of the orphanage.  The girls had to work alone at specific locations. Frida used to visit each one with a cold drink. She formed a close relationship with a girl called Mabel who had lost both her parents in an accident. A drug-affected client had killed her big sister in a brothel. She had no other relatives.

One night Frida could not find Mabel. She asked one of her friends who told her Mabel had been sent to Patong Night Market. The thought of a twelve-year old girl begging among the strip clubs promoting Ping-Pong shows put shivers down her back. Instead of taking a taxi, she decided to walk. The traffic was bumper to bumper, like a car park. Her Swedish background made it difficult to handle the heat and humidity. From a vanity point of view, she hated it because it made her long blonde hair go curly. Every morning, she used a straightener with the knowledge it would come undone in a few hours being outside. She walked much faster than normal; she ran from time to time. The perspiration made her top wet, making her nipples visible through her white t-shirt. She didn’t notice until a few young boys whistling, stroking their own nipples laughing. She looked at the ground ignoring them. She was on a mission. Nothing could stop her from finding Mabel. There was no sign of Mabel on the main street. Perhaps they had placed her in the reception area of one of the strip clubs. She checked all of them on the main street. Nothing - she feared the worse.

Frida felt like she had let Mabel down – like a bad mother with a guilty conscience. She stopped, showing Mable’s photo to another beggar girl roughly the same age.

Have you seen this girl anywhere? She wiped the perspiration off her forehead with her hand, drying it on her navy-blue shorts. The girl looked at the photo with big eyes, looking down a lane way nodding. In the distance Frida could see a man talking to a girl sitting on the footpath.

Is it her?

The girl closed both eyes, looking at her like please… Frida gave her a hand full of notes. The girl smiled like a child receiving a gift for the very first time.

Frida slowly followed the footpath. Her body almost touched the walls of the buildings. She didn’t want it to look obvious she looked for Mabel and under no circumstances wanted to get her into trouble. The man sat down holding Mabel’s hand smiling. Frida stopped, pushing her body tight into a doorway. She recorded the interaction on her iPhone. The man and Mable talked like they were close friends. Mabel smiled and nodded. The man spoke Thai. He had a tattoo of a silhouette of a burnt tree on his neck. A drunken tourist walked past the doorway.

How much is the pussy in the window? He sang, taking up his wallet.

Fuck off… She pushed him in the chest. He fell to the ground on his bum, dropping his wallet.

Huh? No reason to be violent. he mumbled under his breath. She ignored him and continued towards Mabel pretending she did not know her.

Frida … what’re you doing here? said Mabel in Thai looking surprised.

The man let go of Mabel’s hand. He stood up in a hurry and went away on a motorbike.

"Who’s that? said Frida in Thai, looking worried.

He’s going adopt me and bring me to the lucky country – Australia, she said proudly.

He can’t do that… She adjusted her top when Mabel eyes were staring at her wet t-shirt.

"The Boss and the manager at the orphanage have said yes. They only need to get government papers. Maybe four