Blood From A Shadow (2012)

by Gerard Cappa

  “This motherfucker say he marry me when I was young girl. He say we go to Paris, he have uncle there, we have baby there. This is what he tell me. But his father say he not permitted with Kurd, he beat him, make him take Gypsy girl. Kurd boys not want me now, they know I was with this Gypsy, they laugh at me now. So, my father was dead, I must be whore to live, bring money to my mother. Why you care? This is not like your American Dream, hmm?”

  Her throaty laugh bounced off the walls. I didn’t say anything.

  “Punka get out of hospital. They sew him, not bad. Police take him, but he say nothing. Gypsy will be stupid for police, he not tell them nothing about you. You be safe, this is most important thing for you, hmm?”

  She had a way of cutting me off at the knees, made me feel guilty for everything bad that had ever happened in her life, and that was plenty.

  “What do you really want, Didar, if you could have anything in the world, what would you want?”

  She thought about it, sighed, twitched apart from me, looked away, at the wall.

  “I like to work in office,” she whispered.

  That was it, a job in an office, any job, any office. Right then, I would have traded everything I ever had to get that for her.

  “I’ll get you out of here first. Then we’ll see about that office,” I said.

  * * *

  We swallowed the night like that, just clinging in the dark, both thinking our own thoughts. My burn pains got worse as the painkillers and whiskey wore off, but I managed brief snaps of sleep. No nightmares. She kept them away, maybe she had her mother’s gift.

  She finished all the water and cereal bars before I woke up, and just shrugged a smile when I held up the empty bottles and wrappers. She didn’t like fruit. I lay there for an hour or so, before the door opened and three guards motioned her out. Tasers at the ready. She flounced out, came back about twenty minutes later, refreshed, my turn to follow. One of the guards was English, had clear diction, very precise. He must have been an officer one time, wasn’t like the rank and file we used to meet sometimes, most of those guys may as well not have been speaking english at all, for what we could understand of them. No, this guy had obviously been an officer. But probably not a gentleman, judging by how his eyes were all over her. She knew it.

  They led me up the stairs from the basement to a small bathroom on the ground floor, cut the wrist ties before I went in. There was a small window, but I could see two figures through the frosted glass. Nothing in there but a soap dispenser and a clean towel. I held my wrists under the cold tap, the chafing from the wire bindings hadn’t healed, looked like I might be getting a skin infection. I asked the English guy for the antibiotic cream, for my burns and my wrists. He didn’t answer, didn’t have eyes for me at all, just motioned the other two to lead me back. They didn’t say anything to me, spoke a couple of words in English to each other, but I was pretty sure these were two of the Israelis. I bumped into one of them, got no reaction. They weren’t interested, there was to be as little contact as possible. Easier, if you have to nut somebody, later on. They fixed new wrist ties, but not too tight, then ushered me back into the room.

  “Did the English guy speak to you?” I asked her.

  “Yes, he like me, this English, I know this.”

  I knew it too. Good, she could work on that. The door opened again, the English was there with the ointment. He offered the tube to me, I asked him to apply it for me, have a look at my wounds. He came in, the other two watched from the doorway. He inspected the damage, she moved closer, put her hand on his arm, as if helping him. I saw it work in his eyes. She asked him if I would be ok. He answered. She kept the dialogue going, really did know all about men. I kept my mouth shut. The Israelis watched, must have noticed too. Would they compensate for this Goy weakness, be extra vigilant? He lingered long after he needed to. How long had he been banged up in here, how long since he had been touched by somebody like her? He closed the door reluctantly, looked like he was cursing me for being in the way. Didar smiled at me, she might save me again, because she was right, these Gavur men were all the same.

  * * *

  Everything that was happening now had been planned. Planned by some expert guys, behind a desk, or in a bar, or in a hole somewhere. And the plan looked good, too. This was a secure operating base, professional crew, probably some collaboration with an important law enforcement agency. Ferdy was right, insofar as the crew weren’t ordinary gangsters. They were from a military background, that was unmistakable, probably ex-special forces too, they had the swagger, after all. Trained in all sorts of shit, including guarding prisoners. But, like I always say, all plans are only an estimate, an approximation, of what may happen. These guys were only expert in being trained to guard prisoners. Probably worked through simulations where they pretended to be prisoners. The pretend guards would have been hard ass instructors, screaming in their faces, slapping them about, sleep deprivation, soaking in freezing water, all that shit. Good, but it’s not the real thing. Unless you have been there, really been there, all that other stuff just comes down to play-acting. I had been there plenty, and I could keep my focus at an intensity these guys just couldn’t match because the routine breaks them down. They start off at 100% concentration, but the repetition takes its toll, they become complacent. They were only doing a job, I was finger scraping for my life.

  Our routine was that we would be taken to the bathroom in the morning and evening. Meals brought to the room three times a day. Usually the same Israelis, but always the same Brit. That was at least five times a day the Brit could look forward to seeing her, exchange a few words, be close to her, feel her smile seeping all over him, maybe even touch her. I made sure not to have any eye contact with him, didn’t speak, didn’t give him a need to speak to me. I wanted all his attention to be on her, he needed no help there.

  I absorbed everything once I was out of the room. The first few times, there was silence, no movement or voices anywhere else in the house. By day two, I started to hear sounds, TV or radio, in the kitchen area. By day three, I heard voices and laughter in the evening, sounded like the guys were watching a soccer game on TV. They cuffed and uncuffed me each bathroom trip. Didn’t carry firearms, just tasers. I guessed that was part of the plan, making sure I couldn’t get my hands on a gun by jumping a guard. If they were special forces, that wouldn’t be easy anyway, and I was pretty sure they could bring their weapons into play quickly if they felt the need. By day four, there were no figures that I could see outside the window, but plenty of mess hall banter in the kitchen. As far as I could make out, there were eight of them, no American voices, no Ferdy. Two Brits, the rest Israeli or Turkish. Didar said she heard two or three Turks speaking English.

  By this time, she had the Brit eating out of her hand. She wasn’t cuffed anymore. Maybe too good, enough to make me nervous.

  “I like this English boy, Gavur. He is nice lonely guy, not married. He say he owns big house in London. He say maybe I go visit him when this all over. What you think? Maybe I should go with this guy, hmm?”

  She always did that “hmm?” thing when she was jerking with me, but if she really thought he was a better prospect than me, I was in big trouble.

  “Keep thinking straight Didar. We have to get out of here. These fuckers aim to kill us, and maybe your English guy won’t do it, but the Israelis won’t think twice about it. Understand? Don’t buy that lover boy shit, ok?”

  She giggled.

  “I think you are jealous, Gavur, you don’t like other man to like your Didar, no?”

  She was right, again, but I wasn’t going down that road.

  “You better get him to like you a lot more, so we can get out of here.”

  The devil woman giggled some more. Tomorrow would be day five. There was no guarantee they would keep us as long as December 13th, despite what Ferdy had told me. No guarantee they would keep us in this house, or wouldn’t split us up or change the guards. Somebody should have already
spotted the spellbound Brit as a liability, we didn’t have much longer. She had tantalised him enough, she had to create an opportunity for us soon.

  Luckily, he was thinking the same thing, he came back for her after my evening toilet trip. She had just been up there, with the Israelis, now he was on his own. I put my head down and turned my back on them. None of my business, pal, go right ahead. She came back about an hour later, they opened the door quietly and she crept in to the dark room, like she was my teenage daughter.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Well what? Gavur, what you want?”

  “Stop screwing me around, Didar. Where did he take you? What did you see?”

  “In that room beside the bathroom. The others are gone somewhere, just the English boys left now.”

  Shit, this would be our best chance. I had to get him down here again. She would have to call him.

  “No, I not call him, he know this is trick. Just wait, Gavur, keep cool, no?”

  I told her to get off her ass and get him down here, but she did the sulky teenager thing again, wrapped the bedcover around herself. After about twenty minutes, I was ready to bang her head off the wall when we heard footsteps on the stairs, saw the light from the stairs come on, leak under our doorway. She smiled at me.

  “You think I not know these Gavur men?” she said.

  I got up, heaped the bedcover as if I was in there and hid behind the door, just as it opened and a shadow whispered a call to her. She pretended to be stirring from sleep, he stepped inside the door, didn’t hit the light switch, I could smell his deodorant, almost feel his heat. I held my breath, ready to strike, but the shadow was cloned with two twilight heads, they both hovered at the door. One stepped forward to lead her out, I shouldered the door and knocked the second one back, I was in the hallway now, he was off balance, I gripped his head and banged his skull off the wall, two heavy thuds before he dropped like a stone. The first one pulled the door open to get back out at me, I caught him with a solid kick to the gut, knocked the breath out of him, but he lunged forward as he fell, grabbed me around the waist. We fell back against the stairs, I was axing him hard but he was around me like a vice, I couldn’t connect where it counted. The second one was still out of it on the floor, but this one was holding on until he recovered from the kick, he started to move his torso up my body, his legs straining for position around my waist, his arms reaching for my neck. I twisted to get on top, but he countered, I was almost pinned down by his Ju Jitsu shit, if he could get around my neck, I was dead. I coiled again, locked his right ear in my teeth and shook like a terrier with a rat. I tasted his blood, had to swallow, had to keep breathing. He ignored it as long as he could, but wasn’t getting the hold on me he wanted, grabbed my hair, I got my left hand free and gouged two fingers into his right eye socket, as hard and deep as I could go. He didn’t even whimper, just pulled his head down to get away, but I still had his ear clenched in my mouth, felt the tissue tear away as he tried to save his eye. I spat out a mouthful of ear and blood, and scooped my fingers around the eye socket, he released his hold and grabbed my wrist. In the split second before he broke my arm, I sprung my core into a lunging head butt, caught him on the side of the head, dazed him, elbowed him on the same spot, he was weakening, clasping to hold on. I twisted again, and he fell back a couple of steps down the stairs, but still holding on, I lay back on the stairs above him and stamped his head, two, three times. He should have been finished but wasn’t, grabbed my ankle with both hands and started to spin around into another hold. The second one was starting to move, Didar looked out from behind the door. I kicked again, he wavered, I escaped his clutch. I got myself free and clawed my way up a couple more steps, the second one was dragging himself to his feet, three more steps and I would be at the door to the ground floor. The second one was on his feet, steadying himself, the first one was shaking the fog out of his head. I jumped for the door above, fell into the hallway, knew there was a bolt to lock them down there, rammed it home.

  I lay there and got my breath back, heard them banging on the door, no way they were getting out. Heard her muffled screaming. No sounds anywhere else in the house, I was free, but what about her? Nothing I could do, if I opened that door again, those two would kill me. Into the kitchen, pulled a knife, cut my wrist ties. Out to the porch at the main door, I had seen sets of car keys hanging there when we first arrived. Empty, all gone. But below that there was a cupboard, a box with four handguns, ammo, cleaning kit, sights. I pulled the box out and ran out the front door, tripped the security lights, could see the traffic flashing past the high gate. Took a pistol, Israeli Jericho 941, like a Magnum, some ammo, and threw the rest into the darkness. I was at the gate in seconds, dropped to the other side, jolted my ankle, my body went numb for a couple of seconds. I recovered, but then was hit by a stabbing pain in my ribs, that fucker had squeezed me good. Looked back, nobody after me. Across the road, 300 feet, a petrol station. Half ran, half hobbled down there, saw five automobiles at the pumps. That’s the one, a woman finishing filling up her SUV, a child strapped in the back seat. Pushed her away, jumped in, sped onto the main road. The child cried, she screamed. I stopped 100 feet along the road, unstrapped the kid’s seat and set him on the grassy bank, jumped in and took off again. Pain in my ribs kept catching me. Looked in the mirror, could still see the house gates, no movement, nobody after me.

  I was free. Didar would be fine, she wasn’t really involved, they would let her go, she would forget about me and get back to her own life. What else could I have done? If the second one had come into the play, I would be in there now, getting my neck stretched. I would get home, send her some money, she would be fine. Forget about it, some things can’t be helped, it wasn’t my fault.

  I caught myself in the mirror, about a mile down the road. Fucking scumbag! They were probably taking turns to rape her and beat the shit out of her, no way they were letting her walk out of there. I dithered, felt the handgun in my grip, breathed in deeply a couple of times and pulled the SUV around. They should still be locked down there, I hadn’t seen any weapons, not even the taser. Let’s see how good these Brits are.

  I pulled off the road, parked beside the next house. Over their wall, a dog barked, was tied up. Made it to the house wall, over, easy, ankle and ribs slowing me down, no movement, security lights off again. I skirted around and tried the french windows, unlocked, stepped in. Waited, listened. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Smothered sounds from the basement. Checked the Jericho, moved out to the hall, sounded like they were down in the room, could hear her cries.

  I slipped the bolt back, they heard it, called up somebody’s name, I stood back in the hallway. They started up the stairs, she was crying. Let them get half way up then jumped in, one of them had his belt around her throat, ready to break her neck, using her as a shield. I jumped down three steps, grabbed his belt, pulled him towards me, reached over her head, stuck the gun in his face, and blew him away. The second one jumped back down the stairs into the room, I fired three quick shots, think I missed. Grabbed Didar and pulled her up the stairs, the lock had been loosened by their kicking.

  Didar’s face was veiled in blood, she clutched her stomach, doubled over. I half carried her out, but she couldn’t walk, had to put her over my shoulder and stagger to the wall, just had to bite my own pain. She couldn’t climb, I jumped up, dragged her after me, dropped her to the other side. Lights came on behind us in the house, the second one must have got out, hoped they didn’t have weapons stored anywhere else. I trailed her across the lawn, the fucking dog was berserk, out the gate, back around the side to the SUV.

  Didar was unconscious now, I lay her on the floor in the back. Burst out onto the road and swung right, back to the city. She was hurt bad, but I couldn’t risk a hospital. Tarlabasai was out of bounds. Kaffa was dead, McErlane gone. The only door left was Artie’s guy, Reverend Walker at the American Church. Little pants of breath from the back, Artie’s name better
be good enough to keep his door open to me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The Asian priest didn’t ask for an explanation before helping me carry her into their home. He did hesitate before going for the Reverend Walker, only leaving her when I assured him he could call for a doctor as soon as I saw Walker.

  George Walker was a tall man of about 70, a minister in this American Episcopalian Church, but had the physique of a building labourer, with an oversized red dome of a head and modern designer glasses nipping his purple veined nose. He sounded exasperated when he admitted Artie had told him about me.

  “What drama has Monsignor Arthur butted into this time?” he said. His Boston accent had been tempered but not abandoned.

  “The people who did this will kill her if they find her,” I said. “Can you help us?”

  A third minister came in. The three of them looked at Didar, then at me, I could feel my guilt in their eyes.

  “We will certainly help her. But the violence against this woman cannot go unreported. I warn you, we will inform the authorities,” the Asian minister said.

  “Look, it’s a long story, but believe me, there are people out there who will kill us if they find out where we are,” I said.

  Walker signalled to the other two.

  “Could we possibly give him the benefit of the doubt for now, Joannes? Monsignor Arthur McCooey asked me to help this man if I could.”

  The other two ministers looked doubtful. Joannes, the Asian guy, was the boss, Artie’s name didn’t seem to carry much weight with him.

  “Fine, George, we won’t contact the police immediately, but get Dr Silay here to examine this young woman straight away. We’ll see what he has to say, then take it from there,” Joannes said.

  I knelt beside Didar, holding her hand, stroking her cheek. Her face was chalk white, lips gun metal, hands cold. She felt like a corpse already, but her shallow breathing was interrupted every minute or so by spurts from deep in her chest. Her eyes flickered open a couple of times, revealing the thick blood cords shot through her perfect white sclera.