Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3)

by Ben Bequer

  “I don’t know, Bubu,” I said, angling the seat back, preparing to nap the whole way back to the city. “Think you have to be more careful with the clutch.”

  He let the matter go, though it took him almost thirty seconds to compose himself and get us on the road. I slept most of the trip to Bucharest and he woke me as we were reaching a warehouse area near the outskirts that looked part warzone, part ghetto.

  “See this place,” he said, once he noticed I was stirring. “This is the place you wanted. I gave you a castle.”

  I looked around, bleary eyed. Most of the warehouses in the area were abandoned or demolished and for a moment, I was reminded of my old base in downtown L.A. I always figured they had torn it down as part of my arrest after Hashima, but in retrospect, they had never charged me with possession for the illegal chemicals stored there, and the more I thought about it, the more it was likely the place was still there, untouched. If I ever made it back to the U.S., I had to make a trip to Los Angeles and see my old base. The design for that portable hydrogen generator alone would make me a fortune, and the hard drives on that system had dozens of nascent projects that could make me a bundle.

  Moe’s talk about money had me thinking that I needed to be independent, to have my own loot, if I wanted to be with Apogee. I didn’t want to be, as Moe called it, a “held man.”

  “What’s so funny?” Bubu asked as he pulled up to a warehouse that had three cars parked out front. They were slick, black Mercedes 550s that looked totally out of place in the dilapidated neighborhood.

  “Nothing. We should just buy those,” I said.

  “Those belong to Mihai, bro,” he said popping out of the car. “Not for sale.”

  “Is that our contact?” I said opening the door to follow.

  “Yes, but you stay in the car. Okay?”

  I looked around the street and saw it was empty.

  “You afraid I’ll see how you’re gouging the prices?”

  “Gouging?” he said. “What is this?”

  I hopped out, talking to him over the roof. “It means that you’re charging me more for things. You’re getting them as cheap as you can and charging me full price.”

  He looked at me as if I were speaking in riddles.

  “Me,” he pointed at his chest. “You think I’m stealing from you?”

  I walked around the car.

  “It’s okay, man,” I said. “I don’t mind if you make your cut. I just want to see who we’re dealing with.”

  “I don’t steal, bro,” he said, genuinely hurt. “You think I’m stealing, go find someone else.”

  “I want you,” I said. “And I don’t think you’re stealing. It’s just…nevermind, okay? Sorry I said anything.”

  He took a step back and gave me a strange look, as if regarding me for the first time.

  “Bro, I don’t even know your name.”

  It was true. I hadn’t shared it with him yet, though I wasn’t sure exactly why.

  “Right,” I said. “Well, I’m Mister Black.”

  “Mister Black?”

  I nodded. “Call me Bee,” I said, recalling Cool Hand’s old nickname for me. “But if you have to introduce me, I’m Mister Black. Now you know my name. And you’re Bogdan, okay?”

  “Arcos,” he said. “Bogdan Arcos. I’m telling you my full name because I’m not afraid.”

  “I have reason to be afraid, Bubu.”

  He cast a glance at the taxi, recalling my feat of strength in the snow. “Any problems,” I said.

  Bubu shook his head.

  “Good,” I said. “Let’s not keep your friends waiting.”

  He let me take a few steps before following. Already a few large men were congregating at the warehouse entrance.

  “Bro, let me talk, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, Bubu. I don’t know Romanian.”

  He stopped me, reaching for the money satchel.

  “Let me hold satchel,” he said, and I let him take it.

  He looked at the guys at the warehouse gate.

  “Pretend you’re my cousin. You don’t talk, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “This guy Mihai is in the army,” he said, sliding the zipper open and rummaging through the piles of cash. “He won’t be curious if you’re quiet and look like you’re working for me. These stacks are twenty thousand?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He took eight stacks and stuffed them into his inside coat pockets, then threw the satchel back at me and started toward the warehouse.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said again, not bothering to look back at me.

  The guys at the door knew him and did the whole “shake one hand and hug with the other” thing. Both were massive mountains of men, muscled and dressed in black. Each guy had an MP-5 slung around his shoulder and dangling in the back.

  Bubu introduced me and I did the shake/hug thing too, noting the heavy smell of alcohol and cigarettes lingering on them like perfume. They were so familiar with Bubu that they let us pass without a search.

  Inside were rows of parked cars, packed so tight that moving a single car would be like a sliding tile puzzle. There were all kinds of cars here, from fancy sportsters like Lambos and Ferraris to big, comfy sedans like the 550s parked outside, to the big SUV’s we were looking for. I did a quick count of the cars in my head, estimating that there were about eighty or so vehicles, worth in excess of $10 million, though I doubt they had paid retail for them. Most were probably stolen from other European countries.

  A few lights hung from the ceiling and we could hear a conversation going on from the middle of the warehouse, a space carved out in a sea of cars, set apart from the rest by a series of carpets thrown haphazardly. Atop the expensive-looking Persian rugs sat a wooden desk, a series of cabinets and several chairs. A gnarled man sat behind the desk, his small body lost in a massive leather chair. He was talking to someone on the phone and suddenly exploded in laughter. Two other men rose from seats in front of the desk as we approached. They were big goons like the two outside, but one of them was a monster, so big that I thought he might be a super. He looked like he wanted to charge me, scowling like an angry pit bull that sniffs another big dog in his territory. I wasn’t going to play that game, not with a normal that I could kill with a nudge. Instead, I played the part Bubu had given me – silent cousin – flashing a disarming smile.

  The man at the desk waved Bubu over, while still on the phone the other two positioning to intercept. Muscles’ attention was on me, but the other guy walked over to my partner and gave him a shake/hug, clasping his shoulders, and did the same to me when Bubu introduced me. I noticed that he just waved at Muscles, whose wince must’ve been what passed for an acknowledging smile.

  The other guy started talking to me, prompting me with questions, and Bubu jumped in for the rescue, explaining to him in Romanian that I couldn’t talk and they all had a laugh at my expense. Muscles grimaced and said something dismissive to me. I smiled and nodded.

  From their conversation, I could discern that the other guy’s name was Dorin and that the big boy was Petru. Dorin invited us to sit and moved to a counter top along the side of a Mercedes SUV where they had a coffeemaker. He chatted with Bubu while pouring us a couple of cups as we waited.

  Mihai was older than everyone in the warehouse by thirty years, with a lined face, blue eyes peeking out as slits and a shock of white hair as thick as sable fur. He wore a khaki military shirt with rank shoulder boards I couldn’t recognize, his jacket thrown over the back of the chair. He hung up the phone and looked at me.

  “American?”

  I smiled looking over at Bubu, who fired off his prepared story. Mihai kept his gaze on me, though, shaking his head.

  “What is your name, friend?”

  “Mister Black,” I said.

  He stared at my partner, unhappy at the attempted deception. Bubu cast his eyes down, trying to keep his features neutral. I knew him well enough to understand he was pi
ssed, probably wishing I had stayed in the car.

  “You want cars from me, huh,” Mihai gestured at his lot.

  I looked over at his shoulder boards which were gold with an edge of blue and a cluster of leaves running the length with a single star entrenched in the middle, “General?”

  “Fortele Ariene,” he said, which sounded like he was in the Romanian Air Force.

  “So you want cars and…” he rummaged through his desk for an old-style fax paper that was rolled up. “All this other shit. Cables and power supply. This is military grade stuff, Mister…”

  “Black.”

  Mihai’s smile widened, creasing the lines in his face. He stood up and lit a cigarette, offering me one and lighting his when I declined. Coming around his own table, he sat at the edge, facing me.

  “You are in charge, no,” he said. “Or is there other man I talk to?”

  I pointed a thumb back at my chest.

  “Okay, this is good. We talk, you and me.”

  “We can talk.”

  “So, Black. This is the name we’re going with. Black, right,” he said and continued after I nodded. “What is the business for all of these items?”

  “Am I talking to a general of the Romanian Air Force,” I said. “Or am I talking to Mihai…whatever your last name is…private businessman.”

  He looked at me a moment, then at Bubu, who did a better job translating what I meant. Mihai then exploded into laughter. “Businessman,” he said. “You want food, coffee,” he said, then gave Petru a series of instructions and the big man ran out of the warehouse.

  “We get breakfast, coffee, and we talk business,” Mihai said, still chuckling. “We get you eggs and bread. Americans always eat eggs and bread for breakfast. I visited the U.S. after the towers fall. Nine-eleven, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, we go to military base in Arizona for training exercises and every morning at the…” he paused, struggling for the right word. “Chow line? Is this it?”

  “Right.”

  “Every morning, big huge trays of eggs, scrambled. More trays of eggs, hard-boiled. And your American officers stuffed their plates with eggs, and bread…and bacon.”

  He laughed.

  “You like bacon, too?”

  “Love it,” I said.

  The general chuckled, lighting another cigarette and offering once again, offering me one. I declined, noticing he didn’t offer one to Bubu. “Eggs every morning. Kilos and kilos of eggs. I go to train with your Army for six weeks and that is all I remember. And at the end of my trip, I go and eat eggs every morning too. Now I think of it and get sick to my stomach. But for you we get eggs.”

  “All I care about is the list,” I said, trying to keep it business. “The food isn’t necessary.”

  He stared at me for a second, flashing a glance at Bubu and talking to him in Romanian. Bubu responded, and then translated for me. “He wonders if you’re a criminal. I told him the money you’re going to spend here is real and he should worry about that.”

  “Bubu, as always, is right. Anyway, I look at list,” the general said picking up his notes, and walking back around to his seat. As he did, I noticed Bubu’s leg nervously twitching “I look at you. I think; you’re a serious man. With serious business.”

  He sat and tossed the note back on the desk, where it landed among a sea of other papers.

  “I think; why don’t we do business together? Bubu is right. Money is money.”

  “Good,” I said.

  He smiled.

  “You and me,” he said. “I take care of Bogdan for myself.”

  I looked over at Bubu, but he was staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. I wondered what was in the cards for him if I agreed. Would the general pay him a finder’s fee or eliminate him? More likely, he’d get a beating before they tossed him back into his cab.

  “What’s wrong with Bubu,” I said.

  General Mihai shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s young, you know. A kid. I know him since he was a little piece of shit, throwing rocks at Ceausescu’s tanks. Back then I was in Securitate. You know what it is?”

  I nodded. It was the former strongman’s secret police. The threat was clear. He and his boys were killers, regardless of his present rank in the modern, non-communist Romanian Air Force.

  “Was a good time,” said, smiling as he reminisced. “A man like me, I had many cars, and guards. I was important. Respected. This is right word, respected?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now things are different. It’s all business, and if you want these things, Mister Black, then I think you deal with me and not ‘Bubu’ over here. I think we say goodbye to our young friend.”

  “It’s a deal breaker,” I said, my face devoid of emotion. Mihai wasn’t the only killer in the warehouse.

  He didn’t understand, requiring translation from Dorin.

  “Deal breaker if no Bogdan?”

  I nodded.

  Mihai cocked his head, giving me a smile as he reached out with his hands, as if to touch me. “No negotiations?”

  “If he goes, I go,” I said, looking over at Bubu, who was so still, he didn’t even seem to breathe. “And more importantly, my money goes.”

  “Why so loyal to someone you don’t know,” Dorin said.

  I looked over at Dorin, noticing his jacket slid open, the revolver dangling forward in his shoulder rig. I had little to fear from him or his guns, but I had to be careful. If trouble broke out, a stray bullet could hurt Bubu.

  “How do you know?”

  “What,” Dorin asked.

  “That I don’t know him,” I said. “How do you know?”

  Dorin smiled, leaning back against the counter, “Bogdan and I are old friends. I’ve never seen you before. You know he has wife and child, right?”

  I stood, a gesture so sudden that everyone jumped in surprise.

  “Are you threatening him,” I said, then turned back to Mihai. “I think we came to the wrong place.” I came here to do business, and you people are trying to renegotiate on set prices, and threaten the middleman that put us together in the first place. That’s not how I do business. I’m sure there are plenty of people in town that can take my money and give me what I want, without all these fucking games.”

  “Wait, friend,” the general said.

  “Come on, Bubu,” I said, turning towards the exit. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Bubu stood next to his chair, eyeing the gulf between me and Mihai. The blood had drained from his already pale face, leaving him ashen. Whatever else happened in the next minute, the threat on his family was real.

  “Don’t go,” Mihai said hurrying around the desk. “Tell him,” he urged Dorin.

  “Don’t go, bro,” Dorin said.

  “Don’t go,” Mihai said, grabbing my arm in a light conciliatory gesture. “The thing about Bubu bother you?”

  “You threatened his family,” I said.

  “We don’t threaten anyone.”

  “Forget about it, bro.” Dorin stepped in, with the general they were both pinning me against the desk.

  “I don’t do business like this,” I said.

  “No, no, no,” the general said, holding on to my arm, pulling me back to the table. “We don’t threaten Bubu.”

  “Don’t go,” Dorin said.

  “We just spitting it,” Mihai said.

  “Spitballing,” Dorin corrected.

  “Spitballing,” the general said. “Yes, spitballing.”

  “Is okay, bro.”

  “We do business,” the general said, shepherding me to the chair. “Much business, then we be friends all day long.”

  “For a long time,” Dorin corrected.

  “Please accept apology, Mister Black,” Mihai said.

  “This is just a misunderstanding,” Dorin said.

  “Is just silly misunderstanding,” Mihai said, then he turned to his aide and roared, “Say you’re sorry!”

  “I’m sorry,” Dor
in said. “I only meant to say that we know each other, Bogdan and I. Since we’re kids, you know? I would never threaten him or his wife.”

  Bubu’s face told a different story.

  “Please sit and we wait for breakfast and coffee,” the general said, taking his own seat. “We eat eggs and talk of America and you tell us about yourself, no? Then we do business, and because it is beginning of friendship, I give you a discount.”

  I nodded and sat down.

  We ate, we talked, and I lied about my background, using my brother’s life as a blueprint for the story. I said I was former army – glad that no one asked for specifics – who founded a dot-com company and made a fortune, upon getting out of the military. Now I had my eye set on making a factory to manufacture special parts and components for sale to military markets. The General and Dorin were fascinated by my story and even Petru softened up on the other side of food and coffee.

  Two hours later, Petru was escorting us outside as the other boys moved cars around. Petru had several heavy wooden boxes filled with the items on the list that were braced on a wooden pallet. He motioned for me to help him carry it. I figured the whole thing weighed more than he and I could feasibly carry if I was a regular man. The pallet wasn’t just ungainly, it also weighed a ton. We really needed five or six guys to lift it into the back of the Range. As we worked, he faltered and needed a moment to compose himself.

  Dealing with the general and his cronies had left me tired and cranky, despite the good food. I was going on four hours of sleep, Sandy’s death was eating at the back of my mind, and I was pissed at the way they treated Bubu. I was marshalling my patience, formulating new reasons not to kill everyone, convincing myself that taking what I needed, and keeping my money was not somehow the most pragmatic option. What I needed was a little exertion.

  Waving Petru aside, I bent at the knees and lifted the pallet. It was effortless, and it felt good to use my gifts again. I’d never been clear on whether my intellect was somehow tied to my powers, but there was no doubt my strength was superhuman. It was as much a part of me as my hair or my nose, and I had missed using it. I gently slid the pallet into the back of the Range Rover, the big SUV’s rear wheels sinking a good six inches bearing the weight. I slammed the hatch shut and saw Petru gaping in awe, his wide shoulders heaving as he sucked air. Bubu had seen me as well, but he had a different look on his face. None of our other new friends had been near enough to notice.