The Algonquin blues

It all started when I shot down Playboy X on the roof his upper Algonquin apartment. Dwayne asked me to do it, and right now I am a gun for hire. I’m in it for the money. And I’m looking for someone. But I feel like making that choice robbed me of something, some part of my humanity that still remains.

I miss the old country, and I miss my mother. My cousin Roman told me this would be paradise, but so far there’s been more blood than money, more war than pleasure. Yes, the women are beautiful, but Michelle’s betrayal has left me cold. I see Kate now and again, but more out of obligation to Packie and Gerry than any true desire.

Each time I throw an old woman out of her car onto the hard gravel in Alderney, or stick a raw knife blade into some random beggar on Mohawk Avenue, there is a sadness that sinks deeper into me. And I fear it’s the grenade that splattered X across the concrete that did it.

Last night, I took a drive out to Alderney Prison and stood on the wall and looked out toward the big city, that incredible skyline with Rotterdam Tower at its centre, and just thought. Through the scope of a sniper rifle I watched the people of Liberty City walking here and there, oblivious to the power I held over them, to the last moment of their lives just before I pulled the trigger and left their blood as a transitory image on the pavement.

Have I turned a dangerous corner? I have taken X’s apartment, I can sit in his hot tub, sleep in his bed, remember each bullet. But am I happy? I seem to die over and over, waking up suddenly on some strange road and starting all over again. It’s driving me crazy and I don’t know how to escape the madness.

Dwayne and I celebrated at the Triangle Club in Northern Gardens, a club I took back for him by force. The blood had been cleaned up nice, and the girls showed us a good time. I could have had any of them in private, but I found myself wanting to burn them, my molotovs itching to find a home against their exposed flesh.

What’s happening to me? I can’t remember how many I’ve killed in my life. But in this city, I’m doing things I never thought I’d do. And I don’t know who my real friends are. The McRearys, with their cocaine and growing greed scare me. And Jacob seems too caught up in his own world, doing smalltime drug deals in a city he doesn’t seem to belong in.

All I know is my $1000 suit and stolen yellow Infernus aren’t enough anymore. One day I will kill Dmitri, and then, then I will find him. And I will kill him. And if I can live that long, maybe that will be freedom.

I’m sorry X. I am a man on a mission. And you just got in the way.

I have a call now, it’s Mallorie, I hope my cousin hasn’t gotten himself in trouble…