(2012) Blood on Blood

by Frank Zafiro

  His voice sounded bad, like he had aged ten years. Tired, worried and stressed, big time.

  The next message from him, that came in an hour later was shorter and to the point.

  “Don’t call me. Instead, meet me at my Uncle’s house where we used to skip school all the time. I think you will remember this house well, because you will remember Brygida, eh?”

  I heard him give a sigh and then a quiet laugh.

  “It must be tonight at seven thirty, sharp. In the last few days there have been many personnel changes. Some have gone on to work elsewhere and some others have taken an early retirement. Talk only to me and if I’m not there, leave.”

  Patrik is getting pretty good at this coded language bullshit. I think he’s worried about the Feds with their little wiretaps too. I delete both of his voicemails and look slowly around the garage again. There is absolutely nothing going on out there, just a bunch of assholes walking around. I gotta get going though. It’s just one of those gut feelings I get and I always listen to my gut.

  His uncle Teodor’s house had been the place we always used to meet up, once upon a time. Patrik’s uncle and aunt worked full time all day, every day, and Patrik had a key. It was a little row house in Wicker Park and we had the place all to ourselves during the day. Well, us and the older girl who lived next door. She was like eighteen or some shit and we had been, what? Maybe fourteen, fifteen at most? She was the first for me and it hadn’t been just a one-time thing, you know? So, oh yeah, I remember Brygida.

  Wicker Park was then, and still is today I guess, the fucking heart of Chicago Polonia, just northwest of the old Polish Triangle. The house is on Ellen Street, quiet and safe, ten or twelve blocks northwest of Ambrozy’s.

  I look at the time on my phone and it’s about five thirty. Good shape on time. I’m dragging ass, though, big time. Might get over there a little early and just hang, watch things. I got no better offer than Patrik’s right now, anyway.

  Starting the car and lighting up a smoke, I listen to Ania’s voicemail before backing out.

  “Jerzy, hey, me. I uh, I hope you’re doing okay. Patrik told me there is a lot of trouble going on right now and that you’re in the middle of it. He also told me you probably wouldn’t be around for a while. He wouldn’t say much else. But I don’t want to talk to Patrik, anyway. I want to talk to you. I want to see you. Call me. I don’t do this alone thing very good.”

  There was a long pause, like she wanted to say something more, but then she just signed off with a sexy, “Want you now. Call me…”

  And I do call her, because I don’t know how much time I’ll have tonight or where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing. I get her voicemail, though, and leave her a quick message. I’m half disappointed and half glad I don’t reach her. Don’t ask me how to explain that, but that’s exactly how I feel.

  On my way to the house in Wicker Park, the traffic is shit, so I keep thinking about Ania. Her voicemail had been tense, a little pissed off and really sexed up, all at the same time.

  That was good, though. I like it when a woman goes nuts without me being there, all that sexual tension shit. Makes the hooking back up all that much better. It would also make skipping out of town an easier proposition for me to offer up to her.

  I’ll tell her the right things. Come with me, babe. I need you in my life. I can’t stand us being apart. I was nothin’ before I met you. All of that good shit. She’ll look at me with those ice blue eyes and follow me in a heartbeat.

  Problem is, I won’t just be saying that shit to be saying it. I’ll mean it. Hey, is she a great in bed? The best ever. Is she easy on the eyes, don’t talk too much and great to show around? Yes, she’s all that shit, all that and more. It’s the more part that has me hooked. Hell, I need her as much as she needs me and that is a first ever feeling.

  In a way, she’s as dangerous for me as the Russians are right now, just a different flavor. But it’s always like that with women. Difference is, I finally found one that’s worth it.

  While I’m thinking all this shit, I almost miss my exit and have to do a quick move one lane over, and then another. I cut off some fucker in a Hummer and he gives me the horn, but hey, that’s everyday shit in Chicago. At the light I turn onto Milwaukee Avenue and I can feel it right away. And what I’m feelin’ ain’t good.

  Okay, it’s time to stop daydreaming here, dickhead. Pay some attention.

  This is my old stomping grounds, my turf, but it’s no man’s land now. A week ago, I could’ve walked down this street like a Polish prince but there’s a war going on now. It also don’t help that there ain’t really that much real estate in between the Russian and Polack neighborhoods.

  I haven’t seen a paper or listened to the news at all but there’s no doubt our hit on old man Skansi and his old lady has blown things up. Patrik will give me the line score, but I can imagine things have been hopping since. It’s in the air all right. Like I said, you can tell things are tight.

  Down a couple blocks, on my left, I drive by two marked police cruisers sitting in an empty parking lot. Driver side to driver side, like they do. As I pass, I don’t need to look at them to know they’re looking at me, or at the car, or both. This rental had been a good idea. It might just save my ass.

  Two blocks more and I turn onto North Paulina. I’m a street away. I look at my watch and it’s like a quarter to seven already. Like I said, the traffic was shitty getting here and it slowed me down. The sun is already down and it’s definitely getting dark now.

  I drive up on the dark house on Ellen Street and realize that old uncle Teodor has got to be dead by now. Hell, he was almost sixty back then and the poor bastard was still laying brick. If he ain’t dead, he’s sure as shit drooling on his pajamas in an old folk’s home. His wife was older than he was, so I’m sure she’s checked out.

  About half the houses on the street have lights on, inside and out. I cruise by slowly. These are the typical neat little two and three story brick houses. All lined up in a row. You see them everywhere in the city. Postage stamp yards and little black iron fences. A fucking nightmare for a guy like me to ever live in, but for the immigrants who came here once upon a time, it was heaven on earth.

  I can also tell that this section of the neighborhood has turned into a trendy ass little area over the years. Still Polacks around here and all, but they got money now. They’re softer and spoiled. I’m sure they like to have long meaningful conversations with their neighbors over glasses of good wine. Nice cars with blond wives from fucking Iowa or some shit. A far stretch from the tough shits before them who fought, cheated, worked, sweat and scratched for everything these little pukes were now enjoying.

  It’s quiet, hardly any traffic and not any kids. I drive around a couple of blocks for a few minutes more, check my gun, check it again and then circle back onto Ellen Street.

  I’ll have to park on the street like everybody else so I find a place about six houses away on the other side of the street. Last thing I want to do is park right the hell in front. I don’t waste any time turning the car off. My watch says ten after. I lean back, smoke and wait. It’s getting much darker now and the old fashioned globe streetlights flicker on. I’m looking at the rearview mirrors as much as I’m looking at Uncle Teodor’s old house up ahead. I smoke and wait some more.

  It’s time and as I walk up the sidewalk past the other houses, I’m thinking about why Patrik needs to see me so bad. Why wouldn’t he want to stay away from me instead? He’s got plenty of problems as it is.

  Part of me just wants to accept it for what it probably is, an old buddy trying to help another one out. I got made and he knows I’m in trouble.

  Another part of me wonders, though. I told him I wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. I mean, we’re square money wise and he don’t owe me a thing. So, are we really that tight, or what the fuck?

  I guess we’ll see, because like I said, I got nowhere better to go right now. When I reach his uncle’s house, b
oth my hands are in my jacket pockets, my right one has the Beretta.

  I notice that there is a street light right in front of the house next door. It’s out. Chance? Maybe, but the rest of them are all on, up and down the street.

  The iron gate squeaks a little as it opens and closes. I take it nice and slow up the brick steps then onto the dark porch. There’s still no lights on inside that I can see. I can’t find a doorbell either so I knock soft, twice.

  I’m standing sideways, so I can do the parrot eyes on the door and the street.

  Nothing. All quiet. No traffic, no walkers.

  I reach, knock again and then in the distance I see headlights sweep the end of the block. The car is headed down the street slow, towards me. I check with my thumb and make sure the gun’s safety is off. I’m ready to party if that’s what happens.

  I knock again real quick, then kind of use one of the porch pillars as a block. It’s dark as hell, but I’m not taking anything for granted tonight. The car goes under a light about four houses down and it looks like a silver Lexus. It glides by at about ten miles an hour but it doesn’t slow down either. I watch the taillights until whoever it is turns onto Hermitage Avenue at the end of the block.

  I put an ear to the door trying to pick something up. Nothing, I don’t hear a damn thing. I pull my gun out now and hold it straight down along my leg, reaching for the knob with my free hand.

  Then from nowhere comes, “Mister Jerzy.” Low and quiet but it gives me a jolt anyway.

  Crouching down out of instinct, I pivot to the side and go to a knee but I can’t see him. I know the accent and deep voice, coming from the side of the porch. Hey, crew cut was a damn good man in the park, but tonight, who knows?

  “It is Andros,” he whispers hoarsely. “No problems.”

  I’ve got the gun on where I think he is but I don’t say anything.

  I see him now as he stands up real slow from the bushes lining the porch on the left. I have a porch rail to jump over on my right or we can just shoot each other, right here, right now. I quickly decide against both. I mean, what the fuck, if he had wanted to shoot me I’d be dead already.

  “Like I said before, big guy, just Jerzy okay? None of that mister shit.” I watch the large dark shape of Andros as he walks around the porch rail and up the steps.

  He’s holding what looks like a Mossberg 500, pistol grip and he has a shoulder holster on too. Dressed in a black sweatshirt and dark pants, I can barely see him.

  “Yes, of course. We must go in now, it’s not good out here and Mr. Dudek is very anxious to see you.” He sees my gun but doesn’t say anything.

  Inside, it’s almost darker than the porch, but there is a faint light coming from what looks like the kitchen area in the back of the house.

  The open living room we walk into is not wide but very long. It’s unlit too but I can still see that it and the rest of the house, has been totally redone. Sleek furniture, nice polished hardwood floors, modern accessories, all the latest shit.

  At the base of the stairs I see the outline of another shotgun leaning against the rail. Andros heads up the stairs to the second floor and I follow. We go down a hallway heading towards an open door and a lighted room.

  Patrik walks out as we’re approaching.

  “Heyyy, Jerzy.” He looks tired but his eyes are all jazzed up. The smile on his face is forced.

  “Yes, I’ll have a drink.” I smile back at him and decide to holster my gun.

  He gives me a quick hug, then grabs my shoulders, gives me a little shake. “Are you and I good?”

  What the fuck does that mean?

  “Hey,” I say, “we’re all square by my count.”

  He holds my eyes for a long second, smiles that razor thin spooky ass grin of his and then turns away.

  “Want to buy this house? I sunk thousands into it and now can’t unload it.” He tries to laugh at that but just ends up clearing his throat.

  Andros and I get ushered into a study, lined with bookcases, floor to ceiling. There are several big windows that have the blinds shut and drapes pulled. Andros stays in the doorway, filling it up.

  “Can’t afford it, Patrik. I don’t think I want to know how much these row houses go for these days.”

  It’s like he didn’t even hear what I said. He just stares at me again and I can tell he’s feeling the pressure. Big time.

  “Sorry Jerz, but no drinks tonight. Sadly, there is not time anymore for you and me. To remember, to laugh and to drink to ourselves. There is a bottle of whiskey for you later, though.” Patrik points at it on the desk and I see something else too just before he pockets it with his other hand. A small baggie of snort, I think, at least I’m pretty sure it was.

  “That shit will kill you, Patrik.” I look at him closer and can tell I was right on what I saw. “It’s one thing to sell it but…hey, whatever, I ain’t gonna sit here and lecture you.”

  “That would be a very good idea.” He gives me a look and I stare right back.

  Well fuck you too, I think to myself. Then he looks over at Andros and scowls at him, angrily waving him into the room. All impatient, and way coked up.

  The big man just nods, coming all the way into the room. As usual his face is blank, showing no emotion.

  Patrik sits down hard in one of two leather chairs and motions me to sit in the other. He runs his hands through his hair, then puts his elbows on his knees and just stares at the floor.

  When he looks up again, his face is like stone. No, I can see there won’t be any talk of the good old days or happy ass toasts, or any bullshitting around at all this time. None of that. This will be all business.

  “We must talk.”

  “Floor is all yours, governor.” I look him straight in the eye and wonder just where this little ride is going.

  “First, I must tell you that we are safe here. I have two men on each end of this street. There is another man inside the house with us, and, of course, Andros, who I trust like a son. No one else knows we are here. No one even knows this is one of my homes. No one.”

  “Another guy in the house?” I hadn’t seen anyone else on the way in.

  “He’s in the kitchen. There is a backdoor there.” Patrik was looking up and talking to the ceiling now. I imagine he is looking up there for some kind of answer out of all this shit.

  “This other guy, is it Dobry?”

  “Dobry is dead.”

  I didn’t pause.

  “Too bad. I liked the kid.”

  “I had him killed.” He looks at me for a reaction.

  My reaction is to show him my left hand. “I’m going to smoke, Patrik.” I’m still doing the stare down with him. He can’t match me and looks at the floor again. I reach into my pocket, pull out a smoke and light it up. The real discussion, the real talk is coming. Whatever that may be.

  He doesn’t have a gun and there isn’t one in sight, but I don’t think it’s going to be anything like that, anyway. I glance at Andros who is leaning against the back of a couch now with his big arms crossed, the Mossberg propped against his leg. Pistol holstered. He’s looking down, too.

  “Did he flip on you? Dobry, I mean.”

  Patrik doesn’t answer me, it’s like he’s talking to himself. “We have lost six more men since we took Skansi out. Six good men in less than two full days. That’s six killed. Several more have deserted me.”

  “Well, I can think of five people the Russians definitely lost.”

  He doesn’t react to that, either. His face is pale and slack, no expression at all. Again, he just keeps talking. “The little killer from the West Coast has already been taken out because they think he helped you and we let it happen. That little bastard is not one of the six I’m counting.”

  “Okay?” I’m still not sure where this is headed.

  “Kos?” He asks me this right out of the fucking blue, like I mentioned it or something. Before I can answer, he goes on. “He will die tonight. We have found him, know where
he is. It will be easy.”

  “Well, the only thing I don’t like about that is I won’t be the one killing him.”

  “Dead is dead.”

  “True, but I’d sure like to see it.”

  He shrugs, and sighs, “Here’s the truth, my friend.”

  I take a deep drag and I see Andros push off the couch and walk to a roll top desk in the corner. I’m ready, watching him like a fucking hawk, but all he does is grab an ashtray and comes back over with it.

  “This is the only kind of situation where the truth is any good, eh?” I smile and he doesn’t.

  “I sacrificed Dobry. Killed him and then delivered his body to them. To the Russians.”

  “Some kind of truce or a deal?”

  “We have been in relayed communications off and on with them the last two days. A group flew into Chicago the very night Skansi was taken out. In this group was Nikolay Popov, the number three man for them in New York. He is a tough bastard. Young, hungry and merciless. It’s the very worst thing that could have happened for us.”

  I didn’t say anything. Just put the cigarette out and kept listening.

  “He has brought more people. Not out of some respect or revenge for Skansi. The New Yorkers see the opportunity for Popov to pick up the pieces, set up shop. He has vowed to get those who killed Skansi but only to gain loyalty with the ones still here.”

  “So, are you losing, Patrik? Are you fucked? The truth, as you said.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Right. What the fuck does that mean?”

  “We’ve killed many of their men that you won’t ever hear about in the news. They have killed many of ours. Both sides have been recruiting new men. But if they knew how weak we really are right now, there would be none of this peace talking between us. Are we losing? Yes. Fucked? No.”

  “So, Dobry was an offer of some kind, then?”

  “Yes, but it will never be Andros. They don’t know about his involvement and it wouldn’t matter to me if they did. Never Andros.” He slid a quick look over to Andros and nodded at him.

  “Well, that’s fucking swell. I’m sure Andros is glad to know that he won’t be getting thrown under the bus. Not tonight, anyway, huh?” I decided on the spur to get a little shitty with him. Get the all the fucking cards laid out on the table, like right now. “So how ‘bout that third guy involved Patrik? Just where the fuck does that asshole stand with you?”