Buffalo Soldiers (An Upstate New York Mafia Tale Book 2)

by Nicholas Denmon

  “Had to find a window. Seems someone locked the front door.” Eddie waved the fragile priest away from Dmitri with the muzzle of the AK and towards a wall to Ivan’s left. There was no smile on Eddie’s face and Ivan thought he almost looked on the priests with malice. A vein threaded its way down the Mexican’s neck and reappeared in a corded bicep that flexed under the weight of the Kalashnikov.

  He looked towards Dmitri who waited patiently behind his beard. Ivan wanted to walk forward without hesitation and plant the ivory of the snub nose grip through the priest’s off-white teeth, but he knew he needed another tact to get the information he needed. If this priest knew where the Russians and the Black Widow were, they would lead Ivan to Rafael.

  “Tell me who brought this money to you.” Ivan stood less than three feet from Dmitri with wooden pews lining the floor on either side of the men.

  Dmitri glanced over at Eddie and his Russian made weaponry and then towards Ivan, seemingly having reached some sort of conclusion. “Okay my friend. I will tell you what you want to know. But you must promise me from comrade to comrade, you will bring me to Pavel after.” He searched Ivan’s eyes. “I know he would not have told you any of this unless he were in trouble. We are priests. I care for none of this except for my brother.”

  The damned always think they’re in a position to barter.

  He pretended to mull over the priest’s offer, then shook his head in assent. “Very well. From compatriot to compatriot, if you tell me what I need to know I will bring you to Pavel.” He looked over at Eddie who was disciplined enough to not give away any emotion other than a hard look of hatred.

  Dmitri nodded his head. “Pavel mentioned this Black Widow, that is true. But he said it was for your Don Ciancetta to know. He said the less I knew the better. As far as that information is concerned I know he was going to tell some of his men or the man directly if he could find him. You have to believe me, he is Don Ciancetta’s man through and through.” Ivan stared at the priest but gave no indication as to whether or not the information registered as truth or useful.

  Silence is the best friend of someone in high stake negotiations.

  And these are the highest stakes.

  “We do have the money here. But it is not the Black Widow’s. An associate of his came by last week and picked up his payment. He had webbing tattoos along his fingers and hands.” He shifted his weight. “Pavel had us hold the money, in return we got a small tithe out of what was moved.” He looked to the other priest by the wall. “Vadim, bring the money.”

  Vadim adjusted his eyeglasses and clasped his hands in prayer as he shuffled off towards the front of the church and the decorated alter. Eddie followed close behind.

  “And who dropped off the initial shipment of cash?” Ivan asked.

  Follow the money and find the financier. Find the financier and find the Black Widow. Find the Black Widow and find Rafael.

  “I don’t know.” Dmitri’s face tightened and Ivan could tell he was fearful of the consequences of not knowing the answer. Fear was good. It meant he wasn’t likely lying. But it didn’t matter. Ivan needed more than that.

  “Unfortunately, that is not good enough priest. Try and think harder.” He cocked Dimitri’s own pistol, letting the promise of the click register in the priest’s mind. Dimitri held his hands up and waved them back and forth like they might stop an impending bullet.

  “No! Okay. Okay let me think.” He ran his fingers through his hair and his eyes scanned his memories as if they were ghosts floating between Ivan and himself. “I think he might be a cop. Or was a cop. Pavel once said cops were dirtier than all the five families combined right after he brought some of the money.” He eyed the pistol in Ivan’s hand and then continued. “I know they always meet on Sundays before dawn at the old Bethlehem Steel factory. Or at least they have the last three weeks. Each time he goes Pavel brings back more cash.”

  “Sunday? That is tomorrow.” It was technically today since it was past midnight but Ivan wasn’t in the mood to worry about technicalities.

  They could be there even now.

  Vadim returned with Eddie in tow and dropped a bag on the smooth beige tiles of the church floor between himself and Ivan. It landed with a small thud and Eddie, keeping his gun trained on Vadim, stood next to Ivan.

  “There’s only about fifteen grand in there.”

  Eddie didn’t have to say anymore. A high profile target like Rafael Rontego would mean more money than that. The danger factor alone was enough to command a fifty thousand dollar price tag. “Did Pavel say what the money was for?”

  “No. He never did.” Dmitri’s eyes darted from Eddie’s AK to his own pistol in Ivan’s hand. “But it was always the Russians that picked up each payment. There was twenty grand in the bag minus our five grand as a… tax. They picked up three of these smaller ones after the first two payments of fifty grand.

  Eddie let out a low whistle.

  Doing some quick math Ivan shook his head. “So you mean to tell me you collected one hundred and sixty grand in cash?” The math didn’t add up to a hit on Rontego. That was obscene even for the skilled assassin’s head. But it would explain the church’s involvement. At their ‘tax’ rate they could have pulled in a cool fifty grand.

  At that statement Vadim put his hands to his face and a slow howl heaved from his chest. He fell to his knees on the hard tile with a crack and began grasping at his hair and pulling thin grey strands out in clumps. “Oh forgive me! One hundred and sixty thousand dollars! Mine and Dmitri’s thirty pieces of silver!

  Ivan kept one eye on Dmitri who stood still but clasped his hands together and began to wring his knuckles.

  Eddie took a step back from the distraught man and glanced at Ivan and then back at Vadim. “What the fuck are you talking about, old man?”

  Vadim just ignored him and continued his long howl. Eddie looked around again and deciding that he had had enough, took a brisk step forward, shifting his gun to one arm and leaning behind the other as it flung out in a swift backhand that left a resounding crack echoing through the church atrium. Vadim instantly collapsed on to the floor with the force of the blow.

  The howling stopped.

  “I said, what the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie kept his cool but brought the gun back around. Ivan almost smiled. He couldn’t have asked for a better counterpart given the circumstances.

  Vadim picked up his glasses that had fallen off with the knuckled strike that had sent him unceremoniously to the floor. Still laying belly down on the tile he put the glasses back on and looked at the three of them in turn, his gaze lingering on his fellow priest the longest.

  “You might not want to admit it to yourself. But God knows.” Then he spat on the floor. Dmitri winced.

  “What? What does God know, Dmitri?”

  Pavel’s brother hesitated. “Nothing.”

  That hesitation was all Ivan needed in order to know that nothing was indeed something. “Come. Come now Dmitri. You do want to see your Pavel, don’t you?”

  His eyes glazed over and he turned his head in defiance. Ivan lowered the gun. A bullet through the toes might loosen the priest’s tongue.

  Vadim saved the man’s foot. “If he won’t tell you, I will,” he shouted. “I must tell them, Dmitri!”

  “No, you fool!” Dmitri took a step towards Vadim but Ivan stood between them, his gun now level with Dmitri’s head, the steel pressed into the flesh of his forehead, stopping the priest’s momentum cold.

  His back to Eddie and Vadim, Ivan’s voice came out as steady as the gun in his hand. “Go on Vadim. Confess your sins to me.”

  “Those men, the same ones we gave money to, blew up that shopping mall!” Vadim fell into his robes again and his body bent over his knees as large magnified tears dripped out of the corners of his glasses.

  His eyes crossing on the barrel of the gun as it dug a small crater towards his brain, Dmitri squinted away a bead of sweat. His voice trembled but Ivan gave
him credit for trying to deflect the accusation. “You don’t know that for a fact, Vadim.”

  “You can lie to us all, but not God!” Vadim hurled back. “Last time they were here they made me tell them where to go. They were going to cut Pavel out anyway so I told them! I wanted to be done with these men.” He threw his hands into the air. “I heard them talking about the mall. I saw the explosives in their trunk. What do you think that money was for? We knew it was blood money all along!” He spat on the floor again. “Would that it was my blood, purer than it was today, instead of all those innocent people.”

  “Holy fuck.” Ivan didn’t need to see Eddie to understand his exact sentiment. This was getting deeper than either of them had anticipated.

  Ivan knew what he had to do.

  He grabbed Dmitri by the arm and swung his rigid body in front of him. As he did so he nodded his head at Vadim. “Pick that bastard up off the floor and bring him over here.”

  Dmitri tried to pull away, but the gun in his spine made the pull half-hearted at best. “What are you doing?” His voice reached a higher pitch than earlier. “You said you would take me to Pavel!”

  Ivan kept his voice steady. Nothing inspired anarchy more than chaos feeding upon chaos. “And so you shall. I keep my promises Dmitri, but I can’t very well make it easy for you to call the cops the second we leave here. Now come on.”

  Dmitri’s body became visibly more pliable and he walked side by side with a defeated Vadim who walked in silence, Eddie’s Ak-47 prodding him in the back every few feet. They reached the plush red steps that led up to an elevated platform in front of an altar. He pushed them up the steps to the wall with the gigantic Jesus suspended by a crucifix looking down on them.

  “Go to the feet of Jesus and pray.” Ivan ordered them, waving his pistol towards the wall.

  Vadim couldn’t be told soon enough and he ran to the wall, nearly diving into it as he attempted to say his prayers for redemption at the feet of his savior. Dmitri was less enthusiastic but knelt next to his brethren and began a softer prayer of his own.

  “By the time you are done, we will be gone and all this will be as if it were a dream.” Ivan signaled to Eddie.

  Eddie handed him his Ak-47.

  Ivan gave the pistol back to Eddie. He raised the rifle to his armpit, looked down the sights, and pulled the trigger. He gun popped in loud protesting retorts and the smell of gunpowder immediately wafted up toward Ivan’s nose.

  The first two bullets struck Vadim in the back, sending his blood in a splatter across the white-wall and streaking in thin red droplet’s in front of Dmitri’s face. He turned partially around as the bullets continued to rack from right to left, a half dozen holes leaping towards him along the plaster before red puffs burst from his side and swung him around just in time to take several more hurtling clumps of lead in his chest. His blood hit the wall as if someone had thrown a dark red paint brush at it and he fell over Vadim’s body in an unnatural twist. His head lolled towards Ivan who ceased firing, the barrel of the AK-47 issuing a thin stream of pungent smoke. Eddie watched the whole scene in silence. Again the man didn’t flinch. Ivan walked up the red carpeting and towards the feet of Jesus where the two men lay. Vadim was very much dead, his mouth hung open, a string of blood oozing from his mouth; his glasses lay crooked across his unblinking eyes.

  Dmitri’s mouth kept moving, his wet lips trying to say something. His left foot twitched spasmodically back and forth but his arms hung limp at his side and over the back of Vadim. Ivan set the AK-47 down on the stairs and dug into his pocket while he walked closer to the fallen priests. He found what he was looking for and upon reaching the mangled mass of limbs he squatted down, clutching the items in his closed palm. With his other hand he grabbed Dmitri’s hand in his own and squeezed it.

  Eddie walked around behind him and picked up his AK-47 and tucked the pistol into his waistband, then stood over Ivan’s shoulder as he looked into the greybeard’s eyes. “We should go.”

  He held up a hand to illicit patience from the driver. The priest’s lips still trembled and he heard small amounts of air escaping Dmitri’s lips. At first he thought he might be asking for water but on the third attempt Ivan made out the man’s words clear enough.

  “Why?” Dmitri whispered.

  Ivan held the man’s hand with both of his now, so close that the three hands rested near his own lips. He could smell the iron that had poured from holes in the man’s torso and down the length of his arm.

  “Because I keep my promises. This is the way to Pavel.” He unrolled the man’s weak fingers and put the items from his fist into Dmitri’s and rolled his fingers back up, enclosing them in his palm.

  “No,” he breathed. “No.”

  “Yes. At the River Styx you will find your brother.” He lowered Dmitri’s closed hand onto his punctured chest, careful to keep the fingers closed. “There is toll enough for the both of you there. I forgot to leave Pavel the fare. He should be awaiting you to get across. Tell him his friend Ivan will see him soon enough.”

  Dmitri’s eyes seemed to register the realization though it wasn’t a fearful one. He merely understood. He looked into his hand as Ivan stood and then issued a long exhalation and his entire body relaxed. Ivan watched his eyes dilate and then walked past an agitated Eddie who clearly thought they had lingered too long. That didn’t stop him from talking a mile a minute as he shouldered the bag of fifteen grand.

  “They don’t tell you that you shit yourself when you die. No one tells you that.” He walked quicker than Ivan towards the front doors of the church. “Piss yourself, too.” He held the door open after glancing out to make sure no one waited on their exit. “Why’d you leave them coins? That’s mythology. It ain’t real Jesus stuff.”

  “I don’t know what’s true and what’s not but if it was good enough for Achilles, it’s good enough for me.” Ivan frowned. He didn’t like explaining himself.

  They ran the rest of the way to the car and Ivan climbed into the front seat next to Eddie who whisked them away in a controlled hurry. “So where to now?” Eddie slowed down after they cleared about a mile of tar and yellow lines.

  “We need to go to Bethlehem Steel. We can wait on this fucker who’s dropping bags of cash to everybody in town except Don Ciancetta.” He watched the city tumble by in streaks of different fluorescent yellows and towering shades of black and grey. “We find him, we find our man.”

  “Fuck yeah. Good move taking out those priests too, quick score of fifteen grand.” Eddie flashed a gold toothed smile.

  “I didn’t kill them for the money.” Ivan looked at the driver who shot him a glance and then returned his eyes to the road. “I killed them because every cop in the city is going to be looking for the link to that blast at the mall. It would be just a matter of time before they found the priests and once they found them they would be on our heels looking for our man. We bought some time.” Eddie nodded his head. “Not only that, but now we know they won’t be running to their Russian friends or whoever this guy is that is dropping bags of cash like Santa Claus. I killed them because it was necessary.”

  “And we got fifteen large in cash.” Eddie smiled again.

  “And we got fifteen large in cash.” Ivan allowed himself a small chuckle. “Oh and by the way, fuck you Eddie.”

  The driver raised his eyebrow. “What? Why?”

  “You’ll shit yourself when you die. Not me.”

  Chapter 15

  He watched Nuncio's body roll across the hood of the car propelled by the force of the blast. It was more of a shadow of Nuncio's body though, the white flash of the explosion making his silhouette look like a partial eclipse in the shape of a flying body in the moment before he tumbled over the hood in a succession of thuds. The Pope ducked into the back seat and towards the door, facing the road and away from the blast. He reached for the door handle thinking he had somehow survived a car bomb and that he better get out of the vehicle before a secondary blast took him o
ut for good. Then the flaming wood and ash began to pour down in black snowflakes that hung camouflaged in the air before settling for a slow drift earthward. He let go of the door handle as the ash collected on the windshield and he realized his initial assessment stemmed from shock. In the same second Nuncio stood up on the road near the driver’s side fender. The back of his jacket was aflame but he didn't seem to notice. The Pope saw the cuts on his face and the boxer-like punch drunk look in his eyes and knew he was either in shock or concussed. He pushed out of the car and the instant the door opened his nostrils filled with the smell of burning paint, wood, and plastic. The heat from the burning house made him sweat just as fast as the scent in the air made him nauseous. He had little time to worry about any of it. He ran to Nuncio and took off his own jacket and tossed it over the large man. His legs seemed weak and when The Pope began to beat on the man's back, Nuncio fell forward towards the front of the car again landing on the hood.

  Then he retched on it.

  The Pope smothered the small flames that had attached themselves to the man. Smoldering cloth embers had melted into the man's skin but the wounds were small and despite the ugly look, seemed surface level. His immediate concern became getting the hell away from the scene of an explosion at the place where they had just committed breaking and entering. He fished his hand into the nonsensical Nuncio's pocket and grabbed the keys.

  "We should go and get a drink or something boss," Nuncio muttered.

  The Pope couldn't believe he heard the man right. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  He pushed Nuncio into the back seat as a cough split his chest, but he ignored it and climbed into the driver's seat. Nuncio had the seat pushed so far back that he could barely reach the pedals. He adjusted it and put the key in the ignition at about the same time the unwelcome sound of sirens shattered the evening sky and the thrum of the twenty foot bonfire to his right. He glanced in the rearview mirror and didn't see anything so he pushed the ignition and slammed the pedal to the pavement. The tires squealed in anger but shot forward anyway, sending Nuncio sprawling across the backseat.