The noise seemed to bring the girl around from her fist-induced slumber. Her head lifted barely an inch on her stretched out neck. She caught sight of Rafael and her already confused eyes reeked further of bewilderment. The Black Widow saw her stir and one long stride put his fist through her face. She crumpled back into her chest and hung quite still, returned to an unpleasant blackness, Rafael was sure. Uncle Dick stood up at this, unsure what to do but unwilling to do much.
Fucking coward.
The Black Widow walked over and grabbed the old man and verily flung him up the stairs. “Go. Go now and wait.”
The whole scene struck Rafael Rontego as funny. He began to laugh. He laughed through his cracked lips. He laughed past his swollen tongue and iron glazed teeth. He laughed past the bruises in his stomach and laughed so hard tears fell from his clenched eyes as the pain ripped through his battered abdomen. The Black Widow and Uncle Dick turned to look at him. No doubt they thought he had finally cracked. For a moment Rafael thought maybe he had. But he laughed all the harder. He laughed so hard his stomach seized up and strained against his bonds trying to fold in half so that he could collapse inward on the pain. The veins in his neck tightened with the effort.
“What? What is so funny?” The Black Widow had a crease on his face that spoke half to irritation and half to confusion.
Rafael gasped for air between laughs and with water still beading at the corners of his eyes he looked at the Black Widow through a haze of salt water. “I’m going to kill every last one of you.” He laughed again. Just as hard, and bucked against his binding willing his wrists to gain freedom or crack in the attempt. He laughed and laughed until finally the Black Widow’s boot took him full on the side of his head. As he hung onto consciousness as if it were a breaking thread he heard the Black Widow mutter something about “Americans think they’re all John Wayne.” Then he slipped into the infinite abyss and dreamt of cowboys and Indians all the while yelling, “I’m the fucking Duke! I’m the fucking Duke!”
Chapter 10
Ivan had Tom Coughlin and Jimmy Jacks drop him off at Eddie’s apartment complex. For all of his desire to be part of the Don and his inner circle he just didn’t trust Tom Coughlin. He had the feeling that he might be able to trust Jimmy Jacks, the man was always nice and wore a smile, but he was never far from Tom. Besides, it was often a smile and a hitter’s façade of kindness that led soldiers to suddenly waken at the River Styx awaiting the boatman Charon.
He had no delusions about what awaited him on the other side if God decided that being a soldier wasn’t a cause worthy of exemption from Hell. Being thus decided upon his fate, Ivan wanted to be as far away from his comeuppance as possible. Even if soldiers were exempt, Ivan felt pretty sure that gangsters occupied a class of soldier that missed the cut.
He walked up a set of stairs that passed through a wrought iron fence. A small panel on the fence held buttons like a telephone and he entered the code Eddie gave him on the cell. The entry panel beeped twice, a locking mechanism clicked and the gate swung forward about an inch. He pushed through and walked through a small outdoor atrium where a set of concrete steps curved upstairs to a balcony that ringed the interior of the complex. Rows of doors greeted the grassy rectangle below just beyond the lips of a thin balcony.
He reached door 333 at the end of the balcony at the farthest corner of the rectangle. A small set of black steps trailed downward from that corner and Ivan nodded his head in approval at Eddie’s choice of living.
Nearby exits in either direction.
He knocked twice, two sure handed thuds on the door. A woman on one side of the outward facing windows looked through her blinds. The movement caught his attention and he looked over at her, making brief eye contact.
The blinds snapped shut.
A couple of locks inside of Eddie’s apartment clicked over and slid away and the door swung open. The driver wasn’t dressed in the suit and hat that he had last seen Eddie wearing. He rubbed some sleep out of his eyes though and stepped back, his baggy jeans and white ribbed tank top clearing the circle of light that hung in the hall. “Come in man. No need to stand in the hall like a fucking cop.”
Ivan nodded his head and stepped across the threshold. The place was bare except for a television in the living room that immediately greeted him and a small recliner. Several boxes littered the place and a small kitchen emptied into a bedroom that had covers strewn over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Beer bottles lined the countertop of the kitchen and he could smell stale beer lingering in the air.
“You drunk?” Ivan said it and glanced over at the bottles.
“I don’t sleep so good.” Eddie’s eyes were red but he seemed lucid enough.
“Me either. Tough night for sleep all around it seems.” The driver yawned and looked at him, waiting to hear what was going on, no doubt. Ivan felt he needed to clear something up first. “If you’re with me, I need you clear headed. Understand?”
Eddie glanced at the beer and then at Ivan. After a moment he shook his head. “Understand.”
“Good. Things are goin’ on. I can’t say much, mostly because I don’t know much. You have steel in here?” Ivan circled the room as he talked. A few pictures lined the wall. One looked like it was just a frame that Eddie had never put a picture in. A stock photo hung there with some catalogue-looking white family with perfect teeth.
Maybe if they had gold teeth.
Eddie smiled, flashing a bit of the tinsel that lined his bottom row. “Oh I have steel alright. Wait here.”
He disappeared into the bedroom and for a fleeting second Ivan felt the hairs on his neck spring up. He didn’t like sending someone to fetch guns and then losing sight of them. He resisted the urge to follow Eddie.
Respect the man and earn his in turn. Treat a man like a snitch; treat a man like nothing, do that and he’ll snitch on you like its nothing.
Ivan glanced at the next photo in line. A girl played on the sand at the beach, what beach he couldn’t tell. She was a small tan thing with dark hair and darker eyes that caught the flash of the camera as if it turned her pupils into pebbles of pure onyx. When Eddie came back toting a large duffle bag, Ivan had to shake his head to pull himself away from the little girl. The driver threw the bag on the chair and Ivan threw his thumb back over his shoulder and asked, “She yours?”
“Yeah. Well, not really now, but I helped make her. She was five then.” He unzipped the back and looked at its contents clearly hoping to shift the subject.
“And now?” Ivan studied the creases that leapt onto the driver’s forehead.
“And now she’s ten and now she’s her mother’s on account they say I ain’t a fit parent. Bitch mother of hers won’t let me see her.”
Ivan shook his head. “That ain’t right. Not at all.”
Eddie chewed on his lip and rummaged in the bag, pulling out a box of ammunition. “No. It isn’t.”
He took several boxes from the Mexican and pilled them on the counter. Various types of ammunition began to pile up. “Do whatever it takes to see her. To get her back.” Eddie nodded but Ivan continued. “I’m fucking serious. Whatever it takes. This thing with me and you works out we’ll ask that Polish fuck of an attorney to take a look at things. He knows about family.”
The driver nodded his head slowly. “What about you? Kids? Family?”
Eddie pulled out a silver Glock with a black grip; he had a twin set of them. He lined them on the countertop that bordered the living room and reached back in pulling out a much larger weapon.
“Jesus Christ. Is that an AK-47?” Ivan whistled and picked it up.
“Yep, with a collapsible stock. But I prefer this.” He held aloft a 357 SIG. “It’s a Springfield XD.”
“What’s an XD?” Ivan clutched the twin Glocks, one in each hand, feeling their weight.
“Extreme Duty.” He grinned and put the gun in his waistband.
Ivan laughed. “Fitting. You know what? I’d like a beer i
f you have one. Then let’s talk business.”
Eddie grinned. “Now you’re talking my language.” He walked to the fridge and pulled out a set of blue cans. He cracked them open and handed one to Ivan who took a sip and felt the bubbly liquid cool his throat all the way down. His time in the bar with The Pope felt like ages ago.
The two of them leaned against the counter and took a few more sips of the beer and then Ivan spoke. “I have to find a guy. It’s been ordered from up top. This guy is probably the closest thing to a father I’ve ever known. The order, well let’s say it isn’t a good one. Not one I like or want but orders, well…”
“Orders are orders.” Eddie nodded his head in somber fashion and looked into the mouth of his beer can.
“Yeah, well my order is to find him. And then…we’ll deal with that when we get there. There are other interested parties so time matters. I don’t trust anybody.” Eddie raised an eyebrow at him. “Anybody, yet,” he continued. “But that can change and so can orders. But we do this for them and the big guys are going to give me quite a lot in exchange. You help me and I’ll do more than a grand a week for you. Much more. What I need to know is, right now, are you in this for the long haul? Are you my man?”
Eddie issued a small quick stutter laugh. “I mean, fuck. Do I have a choice? It’s not like I can get a job selling stock portfolios. Life of a soldier is all I ever knew anyway. Plus that grand you gave me was almost what I made in a month. So I guess I mean, fuck yeah. Let’s do this.”
Ivan and Eddie clasped hands; the Russian clasped the Mexican’s crown-inked wrist as they confirmed their pact to find the Italian assassin.
A little while later, Eddie took the wheel while Ivan reclined in the rear seat. The two of them were now heavily armed with Eddie shoving his collapsible AK-47 into a side compartment built into the door of his car. The resourceful ex-con was full of surprises. Besides the gas-operated automatic rifle, Eddie had his SIG strapped in his waistband and Ivan took the pair of shoulder holsters that hung in the Mexican’s bedroom. Stuffed under each arm a silver Glock snuggled in for comfort.
“So why are we going to see this guy?” Eddie looked back at him.
“Because he’s the brother of a guy I met earlier tonight. He might know a bit about all this. His brother wasn’t in a condition to do much talking and when he finally decided to, I was passed listening, if you know what I mean.” Ivan felt weariness wash over his body and he slouched in the back of the car as rows of street lamps passed the car in ghost like drifts of illumination. “I need some food before we head over there. Anything open at this hour?”
“There’s a Mighty Taco not far.”
“Let’s get that so we can keep driving. They got a drive through, right?” He felt his mouth salivate just thinking of food.
How long has it been since I ate?
On the Hill you never missed a meal. They told you when to eat, where to eat, and how to eat it. Afterwards they told you where to shit and how big.
A few minutes later and Ivan was tearing into the best taco of his life. They served tacos now and again at Elmira but he was pretty sure they used dog food or horse meat in those. This wasn’t much better as far as the meat content, but even a bit better tasted like heaven. Eddie sipped on a soda in the front and looking back at Ivan said, “That’s the fake shit. You should taste the tacos my mom used to make. Delicioso. That’s Spanish for tasty in case you didn’t know.”
“I fucking know. Asshole. Keep driving.” Ivan shook his head and took down a small cup of water as they drove further away from the heart of Buffalo and back into Cheektowaga. He could see Eddie grinning through the rearview. They were heading to 44 Benzinger Street, a place people on the street called the temple of Moscow. It was really just a Russian Orthodox Church called Saint Peters.
They pulled up to the building of grey brick that rose up from the earth and buried itself against the dark sky’s underbelly. Two green caps rested on two brick towers that escorted the building on its way up and then left it behind for about another dozen feet. A curved crimson hat rested on top of the central building and rose almost to a height with the towers. Three large crucifixes adorned the building. Two bronze ones that had turned to an oxidized green garnished the green caps that perched atop either tower. A third faced the street from the middle building and hung over them from in front of the curved crimson roof. All three structures were graced with arching windows, the only difference between them being the dark holes that filled the arches of the towers versus the stained glass windows that colored in the larger set of triple arches across the front of the cathedral. They shone gold from the light bouncing off of the internal illumination.
Large double doors made of light cedar wood set in the stone at the top of a wide but short set of stairs. On either side of the double doors, a solitary cedar door stood in lonely flanking duty ready to be used for the large exodus of people when the final sermon was over on the next holiday that drew the masses forth.
“Want me to go in with you?” Eddie asked.
“No. You might want to keep your distance. It’s been many years since I entered His place. I might draw the flames of every candle in that building.”
Eddie unlocked the back door and Ivan slid across the seat, exiting the car on the side that opened onto the sidewalk. A cool breeze drifted across his face as he left the Lincoln. The scent of pine trees and freshly fallen leaves rode the gentle twist of the wind. At just before midnight the city was silent, apart from the distant rumble of a car going by and the rustling of the wind as its fingers curled beneath scattered and forgotten leaves and heaved them towards the heavens in helpless flights of fancy destined to fall short and slowly glide back to rest on the sidewalks once again.
Ivan drew the crisp air into his lungs and zipped his hoodie up over his twin firearms. He bound up the concrete stairs two at a time and in moments he was in front of the cedar doors that led into the sanctuary. Each one he tried was locked; as well it might be at this hour. The light inside beckoned however, and as far as Ivan could recall from his youth, the priests of this church had their quarters inside the building.
Ivan raised his fist and pounded on the wooden doors. “Father! If you‘re awake please open the doors!” He pounded the door several more times just to make sure the priest heard him.
For a long moment there was nothing but silence. Ivan looked back towards the car, shrugged his shoulders, and then raised his fist to knock again. Before he could knock, the door began to open with a slow groan. Despite the cedar’s protestations, it ground open and a small man with eyeglasses so thick they looked like bottle bottoms squinted out at Ivan from beyond a crack in the doorway. A bright yellow glow sliced the gloom in a vertical line of light that caught Ivan in his eyes. The old man, much older than Pavel, squinted at Ivan as he squinted back trying to let his eyes adjust to the light. Having little immediate success he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the brightest part of the glow within.
“Eh? What do you want?” The man pushed the door open a bit more but stood squarely in the doorway, clearly not ready to let Ivan pass. He crossed one arm in front of him, holding his other arm by the elbow, while his free hand stroked his long grey beard. Flecks of white nestled among the grey and his fingers seemed to find those strands more often then the rest of his beard.
“A word, Father.” Ivan gave the man the best stare he could, trying to let the Father know that he didn’t have time for games.
It served of little use.
The greybeard stood up straight and snapped his eyes open, which seemed to magnify beneath their fishbowl lenses. With orbs three times the size of a normal man, he stopped stroking his beard and folded both arms across his chest. “Words at midnight hardly seem appropriate, sir.” He began to push the door closed. “Come back when it’s daylight.”
Ivan pushed his foot in the path of the door and bit his lip when the wood smashed into his foot. But he ignored it as best he could and said,
“It concerns Pavel. Dmitris’ brother.”
The priest’s desire to crush Ivan’s foot fled instantly, and his hands went into his plush purple robes as if a chill took him.
“What do you want?” he said. He swallowed and the beady eyes shrunk again into a squint.
“Like I said, a word.”
Ivan pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked into the church. A large entryway lined with small pictorials of the crucifixion lined his left and right. In front of him were row upon row of wooden pews in three columns. On either side of the wooden benches, stained glass windows greeted him in a myriad of blues, and reds, and greens. Various biblical scenes were played out in frozen murals of colored glass. His eye was drawn to the ten foot crucifix almost immediately though. His head adorned in a crown of thorns, the image of Jesus hung suspended from a cross which in turn hung suspended from the wall behind the alter. He stopped walking and looked at it, the sad eyes of Jesus tilted downward as if staring directly at him.
Then he heard the hammer of a pistol click behind him.
He froze.
A second later he heard the bang.
Chapter 11
He awoke with a start. Nearly falling off the leather seat of the car he glanced up and saw the red gleam of the light cascading off the window while the car idled. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His throat felt raw and usually it would bother him enough that he would make Nuncio stop for water but he didn’t even think about that. He was dozing off but his own thoughts echoed back at him.
One is retired.
Buffalo Soldiers (An Upstate New York Mafia Tale Book 2) Page 12