Requiem For The Widowmaker

by Blackie Noir

  Ready? Ready for what? Ready to run. Run out on his long suffering wife, who deserved none of his self-serving bullshit, but none the less had stood by him. June didn’t run. No, she was stand-up. But check him out. Ready to leave her with a dead sister, a catatonic niece, and a dead husband to boot. Wasn’t pretty, but it was typical. Typical of Vassily’s first twenty-seven years. Blowing his brains out would offer a final, vivid, testimonial to the fact that Vassily, the infamous, bad-ass “Iceman” was deep in his core, a punk. A fucking coward.

  So hard was the isometric pressure of Vassily’s body and head, pushing against the force of his arms pressing the gun between his eyes, that he lost his balance, almost falling down the trailer’s cinder-block steps when he moved the .357 away. Bathed in sweat, he de-cocked the revolver, tucked it back in his belt. Breathing fast and hard, he turned and re-entered the trailer.

  He would be back for Nadine, nothing would deter him. He wasn’t bullshiting her or himself. If responsibility was to become his forte, then perhaps he’d better start by thinking a little more clearly.

  Ralph had carried two of the Davis derringers. Nadine still held one, empty. The gun’s brother remained nestled in Ralph’s boot-top. Probably loaded. Freeing the small piece, Vassily broke it open. Loaded. Wouldn’t do to leave it behind. Even though Nadine remained still, and staring, he couldn’t begin to ascertain what was going on behind those vacant eyes. She’d already had a crash course in firing the weapon earlier that night, Vassily wouldn’t risk her turning the second gun on herself. Unlike Vassily, Nadine, having no heavy debt to pay, might pull her trigger.

  Stuffing the derringer into a pocket, Vassily made for the door. Down the steps. Across the hard-pack sand. Throwing his leg over the panhead, boot finding the kick-starter, Vassily cranked the big V-twin over. Blipping the throttle, waiting for the idle to even out, he looked to the shabby trailer.

  He’d spent many a hot, howling, sweaty, lust-filled hour there. Back door man. Never fearing the man he’d burned, Vassily had remained too self-absorbed to realize that the psychotic Ralph would eventually turn his vengeance fueled venom on Tessa. Well, there it was. Run of the mill trailer-trash tragedy. Wouldn’t even make the front pages. Made you wonder, how the desert floor could remain so dry under the perpetual onslaught of blood and tears it seemed to entice.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Wilmington, CA.

  Present

  Sitting, motionless, eyes locked, Vassily and Nadine seem unaware of each other. Mostly silent, backrounded by the white- noise hiss of distant freeway traffic, punctuated occasionally by tug-boat horns blaring out in protest of their servitude, the night has tunneled down to one solitary spot in the universe. The table separating father and daughter.

  Eons slither by before Vassily dares the wordless void, “Well, there’s my sad, sordid tale. It’s the truth. It’s what I was, and what I did. Only thing I can say, Nadine, I did you wrong. Terribly wrong, and I wish to God I hadn’t.”

  Taking a deep breath, Nadine reaches out, lays her hand over Vassily’s. “Pop, you can’t bring back what’s done. It’s gone. What happened back then may be real to you, but it isn’t to me. I blocked it all out that night, and I must have done a hell of a job because to me it just doesn’t exist. The hospital, the shrinks, the hypno-therapy, all the bullshit, none of it ever brought back a glimmer. Never happened, Pop. None of it.”

  “Now you know better.”

  Nadine shook her head “Better? I don’t think so. I like the blank, that’s what’s ‘better,’ Pop.”

  “Honey, you were a child. I left you there, knee-deep in death. Hell, I set you up, made it look like you did the deed.”

  “What? You want me to tell you what a piece of shit you are? You don’t need me to do that. Hell Pop, I bet you’ve been telling yourself that every day for the last twenty-five years.”

  “Don’t kid yourself girl. I’m the kind of piece of shit that can accept my status, deal with it, and keep on truckin’. I don’t look back.”

  “Except for tonight.”

  Vassily nods, “Except for tonight.”

  “So what’s the problem? If you can live with yourself, you don’t need absolution. Even if you did, I’m not the one to grant it.”

  “Why’s that? You’re the wronged party here.”

  “Are you that much of a fool, Pop? The sisters, my momma and my aunt, Tessa and June, they’re the ones you betrayed. I got off easy.”

  “Only because you can’t remember.”

  Squeezing his hand, Nadine says, “No, I can’t. Let me tell you where my memories begin. Memories? Hell, where my fucking life begins. It was when you and June brought me home. When June told me I’d always have a home. A home with a mother and father, and two brothers just for extra fun. She told me I’d always be loved, because I was truly wanted.”

  “She meant it. June always loved you. She never held it against you.”

  Dropping Vassily’s hand, Nadine says, “Held what against me? You and Tessa are the ones fucked her over. Held it against me? Now you really sound like an asshole.”

  “Well, there’s good reason for that. I’ll be the first to admit it. Asshole, it’s a title I’ve earned over and again by going with my shortcomings, rather than my strengths. I’ve spent most of my life trying to alter those shortcomings, but I do believe I’ve failed, miserably.”

  “Yeah, boo hoo, Pop. Stop shopping for sympathy. You’re my father. You’ve done a good job, you love me and you’ve proved it over the years. Tell you what, let’s drop this whole thing. Lets bury it, tonight. Here and now.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “Bill and Roy don’t know?”

  “Not yet.”

  Nadine took a deep breath, “Well, I think they should know. It might be tough, but we’ll do it together. Maybe we can take a few days before we tell them, figure out some way to temper the shock.”

  “Whatever. Main thing is, you know the truth now.”

  Nadine found her father’s eyes, focused on the twin of her own, and said “Speaking of the truth, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  Vassily reached across the table, took Nadine’s hands in his. Giving them a light squeeze, he bent and kissed each one, then said, “Sure, baby. Anything you want. Just give me a minute. I want to put the panhead away, before the night mist spots the paint.”

  Standing, Vassily pulled Nadine to him. He hugged her, burying his nose in her hair, inhaling the tart citrus of her freshly shampooed hair, he said, “Love you babydoll, always did, always will.”

  Returning his hug, Nadine said, “Love you too Pop. No matter what.”

  Heading toward the door, Vassily veered off, stopped at a bookcase. Taking a bulky manila envelope from a shelf, he walked back to Nadine and placed the package in her hands. He said, “That’s for you, check it out when you have some time to yourself,” he gave her a quick peck on the forehead, turned, and was out the door.

  Nadine watched his broad back moving across the yard, away from her. She could just make out his outline in the dim light as he reached the Harley. Mounting, he lifted a booted foot to the chopper’s kick-starter, raised his bulk, and cranked the machine. One kick, and the panhead started with a roar. Vassily blipped the throttle, let the bike idle down. Staring out into the night, he never once looked back at Nadine standing, backlit, in his doorway.

  She heard the panhead’s transmission engage with a dull clunk, and then, a wall of noise. As she stood, the blare of the Harley’s pipes washing over her, reverberating in the confines of Vassily’s trailer, lightly rattling the pictures on the wall, Nadine was battered by an overwhelming sense of deja-vu. Twenty-five years instantly rolling back, leaving her frightened and vulnerable, leaving little Nadie standing in place of Nadine.

  By the time Nadine had regained control, Vassily had ridden past the garages, out of the compound, a
nd had gained the street. His pipes echoing a distant farewell, Vassily was gone.

  Little Nadie, telling Nadine, ‘been there done that. Don’t worry, he’ll be back.’ Nadine, the woman, not bothering to contradict her childish alter-ego. Keeping to herself what she knew in her soul to be true. She’d never see her father again.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Vance wasn’t drunk, but he was working on it. Not serious; pedal to the metal, gotta get there yesterday working on it, but the more relaxed approach. The, savor each and every sip, but have a hell of a lot of sips before you call it a night, approach. He’d had just enough sips to qualify for ‘buzzed’ when his cell rang. Not bothering to check the screen, he answered, “Yeah?”

  Familiar, but unrecognized, voice, “Hey, Vance?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Kozok. Vassily Kozok.”

  “Hey, Vassily. How you doing? Weird thing, I been thinking about you lately. Fact is, I been thinking about you a lot.”

  “No shit. Funny, I thought you might be.”

  Vance sat up, groped for his cigarettes, “You did? Why would you think that?”

  “Cuchillo Medina. Once they found him, smart dude like you, I thought you might be getting a glimmer.”

  “Actually, I had a glimmer quite awhile ago. Medina, he kind of fanned it into a flame. But, you know, Vassily? That flame, I’ve managed to keep it under control, so far. You talked to Nadine yet?”

  Vassily’s voice came through strained, “Yeah, I did. Little while ago.”

  “You talk about this business?”

  “Fuck no. Family stuff. I split before she got to this shit. She was moving in that direction, but I didn’t want to go there. Not with my daughter.”

  Vance knocked back a shot, gasped, said, “That’s understandable.”

  “Hey, you drinking?”

  “You bet.”

  “Me too. Salude.”

  “Back at ya. So, you want to come in?”

  “You must be drunk. I wanted to come in I’d show up with a brace of lawyers.”

  “Right. You want to get together, have a few shots, talk about it? Believe it or not, I’m open to suggestions on this. Hell, I’m looking at retirement very seriously. I like Nadine, very much. Shit, I even like you. What I’m trying to say, you might be surprised, what I do, or don’t do, in this situation.”

  “You’re good people Vance. I’m not gonna let you do something, fuck yourself up.”

  “Vassily, I go into something I do it with my eyes open. My choice, my decision.”

  “Me too. Already made my choices, made my decisions. None of them involve you. That said, I’m sure you’ve got some questions.”

  “Only a couple of hundred.”

  Vassily laughed, “You’ll find all the answers in your Ford. Package under the passenger seat.”

  “Shit, I locked that car. Tell me you didn’t break a window.”

  “Hey, you think I don’t know how to use a slim-jim?”

  Vance said, “Right. So, this package, what’s in it?”

  “Your Widowmaker case. Everything you need to break it wide open.”

  “So you say. Physically, what’s in the package?”

  “You got a video, the Widowmaker confessing. You got a safe-deposit box key, and a letter, notarized, granting you access to that safe-deposit box. You have another letter, it lists every Widowmaker hit chronologically and describes, in detail, just how they were carried out, from conception to execution.”

  Vance laughed, “Pretty punny.”

  “Glad you liked it. So, go down to your car and get your stuff. My gift to you, the Widowmaker case, everything you need to close it.”

  “Everything but the Widowmaker himself.”

  “Sorry bout that, Vance. Way I see it, ain’t no motherfucker on the planet qualified to pass judgment on me.”

  “Look, like I said, it might not have to come to that.”

  “Shit, even if you could cover for me, which I don’t believe is possible, what about Nadine? You think I’d want her to be a party to something like that, something that could destroy her?”

  Vance sighed, “You gonna run?”

  “Run? Fuck no. I’m gonna jump.”

  “Jump? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m on the Desmond bridge. Soon as we finish this little heart-to-heart, I’m jumping off.”

  Vance cursed the whiskey he had consumed, and the sluggish thought process that was a consequence of that consumption. He ran a hand over his face, said, “What, you’re going to bunji jump, off of the Desmond bridge, in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m gonna jump off the Desmond bridge period. No fuckin bunji, Vance. Just me and my sins. I’m jumping off the planet.”

  “Vassily, listen to me. You are fucking drunk. Don’t do something stupid, please. Look, wait for me. I can be there in fifteen minutes. Hell, ten. I’ll come alone, let’s talk.”

  “Talk? Let me finish talking here. I’m standing on a guard-rail abutment, not quite at the apex. You know, they got about a hundred feet of cyclone fence along the guard-rail at the apex. I never could figure that out. Is that to stop a guy like me from jumping off at the highest point? Like jumping from 340 feet will kill you, but jumping from 310 won’t?”

  “Vassily, what about Nadine?”

  “Don’t go there, Vance. I’ve already made my peace with my daughter, righted old wrongs as best I could. No way I’d lay this on top of all the rest.”

  “Don’t be a fucking idiot. She knows.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ve known for weeks. You were made. Fucking derelict, lives in the riverbed back of JuicyTown, he saw you do Wolf and Ray Bob. Described you to a T, your pickup too. I took his testimony. Kept it to myself, except for Nadine. I told her, she was in denial about it. Didn’t believe it, then you killed Cuchillo.”

  “Fuck was I supposed to do? Cocksucker was coming after my daughter.”

  “How’d you know?”

  Vassily laughed, “You have your sources, I have mine.”

  “Yeah, but did you have to use that .22, sign it as a Widowmaker kill?”

  “Hey, Vance? Enough of this shit. Listen to me. I’ve got a little Sony video-cam duct-taped to a girder, where I’m jumping. I lined it up perfectly with my take-off point, it’s set to start recording in about a minute. Once it does, I’m taking my flight. You leave now, you can get up here pretty quick, pick up the camera. You’ll have it all on tape, ‘End of the Widowmaker.’ Hell, if you can sell it to the networks, go for it. Make yourself a bundle, be my guest.”

  “Vassily, I’m leaving. Right now. Don’t you do a fucking thing.”

  “Wait. One more thing. Easy way for you to find the camera. There’s my bike, 62 Panhead, beautiful fuckin scooter, on the bridge, chained to the guardrail right where the camera is hidden. That bike? I want you to make sure it gets back to my son Roy.”

  Vance jumped up, “Hey, man. This is fucking insanity. What we need to . . . ” Vance dropped his phone on the couch, he’d been talking to dead air.

  #

  Carol took the call. They’d just finished making love and Bill was in the shower, Carol planned a long soak in the tub after he’d finished. It was late, but when she saw Vassily’s number on the caller-ID screen she answered immediately. “Vassily?”

  “Hey, Carol. How are you hon? Sorry about the hour, but you think I could speak to Bill?”

  “Oh, shit. He’s in the shower.”

  “No big thing. You think you could give him a message?”

  “Of course. Or, I can have him call you back, soon as he’s done.”

  “No, that’s OK. Just tell him, doesn’t matter he never beat Maxon, never ended up with the title. Bill put on his first pair of gloves when he was ten, been boxing ever since. You tell him, from the moment I laced up that first pair of gloves on him, he’s always been a fucking champion to me. A champion as a fighter, a champion as a man, and a champ
ion as a son. I love him Carol, very much. Tell him that.”

  Perplexed, Carol said, “Certainly, I’ll be glad to. Vassily, are you all right?”

  “Fine. Something else, I’m happy you and Bill are giving it another shot. You’re good for him, Carol. Take good care of each other.”

  At a loss for words, Carol hesitated, by the time she had formed a reply Vassily had ended the call.

  Bill was toweling-off when Carol told him about the call. Concerned, she said, “Kind of odd, no?”

  Bill shrugged, “Pop’s emotional. He gets to drinking, sometimes his emotions get away from him. Hour, and nature of the call, I’d say Pop was doing the talking, but Jim Beam was feeding him his lines.”

  Smiling, Carol said, “You’re probably right,” but she had her doubts.

  #

  When his cell vibrated, Roy had one arm around a tanned, muscular, long-haired blond; the other around a tall, willowy, spike-haired, brunette with skin the color of alpine snow. The blond, rubbing up against the phone, purred, “Oooh. Feels good.”

  Freeing one arm, Roy took the call, “Yeah?”

  “Damn, it’s noisy by you. Where the hell you at, Roy?”

  “Hey, Pop. I’m in Reno. What’s up?”

  “The hell you doing in Reno?”

  “Big custom bike show. I’m here with Wiley and Jigger, they’re showing their scooters.”

  Vassily said, “Give them boys my regards. You be careful, running with those two maniacs, they might get you into some shit you’re not ready for.”

  “Not to worry, Pop. I’ve got a couple of new friends here, Moira and Lois. These girls are devoting their evening to keeping me out of trouble. Say hi to Vassily, ladies.”

  After receiving a chorus of throaty “hi Vassily’s” from the women, Vassily said, “Roy, you throwing your money away on hookers?”

  “No way. The girls are models, we’re doing a photo-shoot at the show. Shit, about a dozen of the bikes showing here are running my engines. I’ll probably be in one or two of the magazine spreads. Hey, you can add them to my scrapbook. Not that that will make it as thick as the one you got on Bill, but I do what I can.”