Murder Aforethought

by Parker St John

  “Rivetti?” Vito squinted until his eyes looked like two raisins over a pugnacious nose.

  “Hey, Vito.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s your car?” He looked confused as he scanned the surrounding area. Maksim must have been following the rules, because Vito’s eyes slid past his location without pause. Val breathed a little easier.

  “I took a cab.”

  The driver snorted. “Isn’t that convenient?” he asked nastily.

  “I need to speak with Mr. Russo.”

  Vito’s scowl darkened. “Then you go to his offices in Portland or Seattle, and you make a request. You’re out here in the middle of nowhere to have a chat? I don’t think so.” He took a menacing step forward. “You packin’?”

  Val held his ground and turned his hands palm out away from his sides. He was aware of the driver’s restlessness in his peripheral vision, but he kept his gaze trained on Vito. “Of course, I’m packing. But it stays where it is unless you draw on me. I really am just here to talk.”

  “Why here?”

  “It couldn’t wait.”

  Vito glanced around again. There was nothing but green grass and giant windmills as far as the eye could see. “I’ve got to take your gun.”

  “Nope.”

  Those small, black eyes glittered. He jabbed a finger at Val. “You just show up here out of thin air and think I’m letting you anywhere near Mr. Russo without frisking you?”

  “There’s three of you and one of me. I didn’t come here for a bullet in my skull. I just need to talk to him. Tell him it’s about Esposito.”

  The driver’s expression sharpened. “What do you know about Esposito?” he asked.

  “That’s what I’m here to tell Mr. Russo,” Val said levelly. “But you need to get him first.”

  The men shared a silent exchange. Vito backed up and opened the rear door of the SUV before sticking his head inside.

  The driver returned his attention to Val, standing with his legs apart and his hands on his hips. Val knew it was an attempt to make himself imposing and show off his weapon, but it reminded him of the old John Wayne poster his pop kept tacked up in his workshop. He couldn’t help but smile.

  “Something funny, clown?” the driver snapped.

  Val shook his head.

  The driver was young, probably early twenties, and he kept his jaw thrust forward like a battering ram. He wasn’t any younger than Val himself, but Val felt old. He’d felt old for a hell of a long time. Had he ever been so eager to take it on the chin as this kid? Maybe. But if he had, he couldn’t remember it.

  Vito was back. He stood to the side so he and the driver flanked Val.

  A man stepped from the SUV. He was small of stature and swarthy complexioned. Val would have called him petite if not for the way he carried himself, which was roughly ten times larger than his physical appearance. His hair was barely sprinkled with gray, despite his age, and his eyes reminded Val of polished stones.

  “Valentine.” Dominic Russo’s voice was rich as bourbon. “I hear you’ve been finding trouble lately.”

  “Trouble’s been finding me, sir.”

  Russo’s smile was thin, like a mask that didn’t stretch quite right over his face. Val didn’t think he’d ever been handsome, but age had given him a distinguished charm. “What do you want to say to me about Robert Esposito?”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Russo didn’t react. Not even a blink. He just waited, as if it was a foregone conclusion Val wouldn’t be wasting his time with protestations of innocence. He reminded Val of his first drill instructor.

  “Whoever did kill him is also trying to kill me.”

  Russo reached casually inside his suit jacket. Val’s hand twitched toward his waistband, but he aborted the motion when the mafioso drew out a thin cigar between two fingers. He clamped it between his teeth while he dug around in his pocket for a lighter.

  Val recognized the stall tactic for what it was, and he wondered at it. Whatever Russo knew about the situation, he had an opinion, and he was debating whether to share it.

  Finally, he blew out a puff of fragrant smoke and asked, “What makes you think the guy who killed Esposito is the same one who shot at you in front of the cop house?”

  Val didn’t take Russo’s knowledge of the event as a sign of guilt. The man had eyes everywhere.

  “Who else would it be? They know I’ve been looking into Pop’s death, they figure I know something, so they try to take me out.”

  Russo squinted through a drift of lavender smoke. “Do you?”

  “Do I what? Know anything?” Val shook his head. “I’ve figured some things out. I guess maybe Pop and Esposito had something going on the side. Maybe it made some people angry.”

  Russo’s smile flashed like a shark bite. “People like me?” He laughed. “You think I killed Gio?”

  Val’s gaze didn’t waver. “Did you, sir?”

  “Jesus, the balls on you. I knew I picked you for a reason.” Russo scoffed. He glanced toward his men, inviting them to share in the joke.

  The driver chuckled obediently, but Vito’s face was stone. He watched them both with an intensity Val didn’t like.

  “I’ll tell you something you don’t seem to know about your father, Valentine.” Russo pointed at him with his cigar. “Gio was loyal. He was a damn fool. I’d be lying if I told you he hadn’t made himself a liability once or twice. But I’d trade ten of my soldiers for one man as loyal as he was. He didn’t have a damn thing going on the side, except a midlife crisis that had him running around on that beautiful mother of yours.”

  Val quaked at those words. He thought of the alley where they’d found his father, all crumpled up and tossed away like somebody’s garbage. “Then why was he murdered?”

  Russo contemplated the glowing tip of his cigar. His eyes, when they turned back to Val, held a dark exhaustion that probably hadn’t been there in his younger days. “Why was your predecessor killed? Or Lenny?” He sighed. “Use your head, kid.”

  “Loyalty.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Someone’s trying to take you down.”

  “Trying.” Russo raised his eyebrows. “They’re not the first and won’t be the last.”

  “What about Esposito? He doesn’t fit the pattern.”

  “No, he’d sell his grandmother’s pussy for an extra buck. But, like I said, what makes you think he’s got the same killer?”

  The eerie way the man tipped his head, the smugness of his tone, had Val looking at him closer.

  “You?” he asked.

  Russo stared at him blankly. His lack of expression said it all.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to do it? I’m your trigger man.”

  “Some things are personal,” Russo spat viciously. “Some things a man needs to take care of himself. I wanted to look into that sonofabitch’s eyes as he died.”

  “Then you took out a hit on me after I got busted for it?” he asked incredulously. It made no sense, and he knew his face showed his confusion.

  “Nah.” Russo spoke around the cigar clamped between his teeth. “I have no reason to want you dead, even if you aren’t loyal like your father was.”

  “I can be,” Val bit out, though he knew it wasn’t smart, “to people who don’t blackmail me into service.”

  “I needed you.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Gio understood.”

  “My mother didn’t.”

  “No.” It was said sorrowfully, but the factual acceptance of his mother’s death, with not even an attempt at an excuse, infuriated Val.

  His fingers itched to snap the man’s neck like a wishbone. Russo saw it. They all did. The driver shifted eagerly. Vito’s attention snapped back and forth between the two of them.

  “Family is a complicated thing,” Russo said softly. “They break our hearts in a hundred different ways.”

  The crack of a gunshot had Val instinctively hitting the ground.

/>   Above him, Russo’s face dissolved in a red spray—

  He could feel the prickle of dry grass against his cheek. Insects were chirping in his ear, and in his other ear…

  “600 yards, zero wind factor…”

  Val breathed in…

  He let it out…

  The target’s head exploded in a geyser of red, and he was falling…

  —He was falling. Russo collapsed, folding up like a paper doll, dead before he hit the ground.

  Vito aimed in his direction, but Val was already palming the Glock from his waistband. Before either of them could squeeze off a shot, the rain barrel exploded.

  Maksim’s M95 had been originally manufactured as an anti-material rifle. It was designed to decimate military equipment, so the barrel didn’t stand a chance. Water shot into the sky like a geyser.

  Vito flinched behind the door of the SUV, while Val used the distraction to skitter around the corner of the building. Gunshots followed in rapid succession. One, two, three, four.

  Val kept low and peeked around the building.

  The driver’s gun was in his hand, but it wasn’t doing him much good. He lay half upright against the substation. Dark purple patches were spreading over the center of his white dress shirt.

  Vito popped up over the barrier of the SUV and fired three shots.

  They didn’t come anywhere near Val. They weren’t even in his zip code. They were all for the windshield of the black Dodge shrieking down the hill like a missile.

  Val took a breath, stepped out from around the building, and fired. Vito went spinning to the ground with a yell. He’d moved right as Val had been squeezing off a headshot, but he’d winged him.

  A second later, gunshots from a new source struck the building six inches from Val’s head. Wood shingle exploded outward. He shielded his face with the crook of his arm and felt the sting of splinters pierce his neck.

  He fired back into the SUV this time. Or, he tried to, but the bulletproof windows held.

  The truck was almost on top of them now, roaring like a hurricane. Mud churned beneath the spinning tires as it careened off the hill and onto the dirt parking area. Val saw Maksim through the windshield, jerking the wheel hard to the left, spinning the truck dangerously so its body momentarily shielded Val from the direct path of the bullets.

  He kept low and sprinted for the passenger door, nearly ripping it off the hinges as he dove inside.

  “Go!” he yelled. “Go!”

  Maksim was already flooring it. The tires spun for a brief, horrible moment while the Dodge fought for traction on the wet ground.

  The truck banked hard enough to toss Val onto the floor. His head struck the glove box, and black spots cluttered his vision. If there were any further shots to the vehicle, he couldn’t hear them over the roar of the engine and the pounding of his heart.

  “Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinking?!” he yelled as he wrenched himself back into the passenger seat. “You promised!”

  Maksim stared out the windshield grimly, sending the truck careening down the dirt road in the same direction they’d come. Both hands were clamped so tight on the wheel that his knuckles were bloodless. Despite that, his voice was all calm waters when he replied, “I lied.”

  “Yeah, thanks a fucking lot! You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Val nearly tore the visor off its bracket as he examined his neck in the mirror.

  He viciously yanked out a few jagged pieces of wood. One splinter was nearly an inch long, but he was too angry to feel the bite. He grabbed a few paper napkins from the glove box and slapped them over the sluggishly oozing cuts.

  Giant windmills whipped by the windows at dizzying speed.

  “I would have been fine,” he snarled. “All I needed was one more clear shot. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “So did I,” Maksim said bemusedly. “But it turns out self-preservation isn’t my primary motivation, after all. At least, not where you’re concerned.”

  Val clamped his teeth together so hard he might have cracked a molar.

  He checked the side mirror, and then spun in his seat to be sure, but the SUV hadn’t given pursuit. Hopefully, they were too busy keeping Vito from bleeding out to follow.

  The tide of adrenalin ebbed, leaving him shaking. He sank back against the leather interior and took a deep, trembling breath.

  “What happened?” Maksim asked calmly. “Is Russo dead?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Val muttered. “So is his driver. I can’t be sure how badly I nailed Vito, though, and someone was firing on me from the car.”

  “Who?”

  Val closed his eyes. Russo’s head shattered against the backs of his eyelids. He opened them. “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll figure it out.” As if sensing the weakness in him, Maksim reached over, gripped his hand, and gave a firm squeeze. “The town is too small for us to stick around. Let’s head back. We can talk while we drive. Do you need a doctor?”

  Val shook his head. He tested pulling away the napkins and found them already sticking to his skin with congealed blood. “Nah, I’m good. Just get us home.”

  Except he couldn’t go home. Home hadn’t existed for him since the day he found his mother slumped over the steering wheel in her garage.

  20

  Maksim

  They discussed nothing. They barely spoke, despite the long drive.

  Val had sunk into a dark place. Maksim wasn’t sure where he’d gone inside his head, but wherever it was didn’t beg for company. So, he played Gillian Welch on the radio, and her sultry voice filled the silence. Oncoming headlights sliced through sheets of rain, the wipers creaked, and Gillian sang about broken hearts.

  Val stared out the window as if he’d forgotten the truck had another occupant. Maksim wondered if he was truly as angry as he’d seemed earlier.

  The possibility didn’t distress him much. For two decades, his only motivation in life had been doing what was best for himself. In the space of a few months, both a young woman and a young man had pushed their way into his orbit. They had caught his attention in very different ways, but they both had a kind of wild loneliness behind their eyes. It called to Maksim. Like recognized like, after all.

  He’d discovered he didn’t mind caring for people, especially people who needed him. And Val definitely needed him. He was strong, but he was lost, and Maksim shuddered to think where his downward spiral would end if he were alone.

  No, he didn’t regret disobeying Val’s command. Not for an instant.

  He used his phone to pull up a list of hotels outside the city and chose a private inn near Woodburn. He wasn’t in the mood to stay in another dive, and he theorized that a small, privately owned business might be more willing to let him pay cash without a credit card on file. He didn’t know if the cloak and dagger tactics were necessary, but he also wasn’t willing to risk it.

  After that, he dialed Miguel.

  “How’s Emma?” he asked before the man could finish a hello.

  “Emma who?” Miguel asked.

  “Dammit, Acosta—”

  Miguel snickered. “It’s fun as hell to see you so worked up, my man. Who would’ve guessed you had a heart buried under all that supercilious attitude?”

  “If you don’t—”

  “Maks?” Emma’s voice cut in. Miguel must have him on speakerphone.

  “How are you holding up, sweetheart?” he asked. He tried to tamp down the irritation in his voice, but he suspected he’d failed when Miguel laughed in the background.

  “I kicked Miguel’s ass in COD4, but he won’t let me play Grand Theft Auto.”

  “You’re too young for that shit,” Miguel growled.

  “I’m fourteen! That’s T-E-E-N. I’m almost an adult. Tell him, Maks.”

  “I don’t think you need a game like that to be giving you any ideas.” He couldn’t help but smile as he exited the highway at Woodburn. “You’re enough of a terror as it is.”

  “Should�
��ve known you’d gang up on me,” she muttered. “Also, you made The Oregonian. But Miguel took his phone away before I could read the article.”

  “He probably didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Too late,” she scoffed. Then, more hesitantly, “Are you… okay? And Val? Is he okay?”

  Val looked startled. He cleared his throat, and Maksim shivered at the roughness of his voice when he said, “I’m fine, Emma. We’ve almost got everything cleared up, so you can get back to school.”

  “You’re too young to talk like that, like adults who think they can convince anyone that school is a fun place to be.”

  Maksim chuckled. He pictured her elfin face, all scrunched up and full of haughty indignation. Leave it to him to pick up a stray that hissed and scratched for fun. It was undoubtedly the only reason they got along so well.

  “We’ll call again tomorrow. If something doesn’t shake loose by then, we’ll figure out a way to get you back to your parents.”

  She might be safe as houses if she went home. What was the likelihood of a lone gunman identifying her after that clusterfuck in his apartment? But it wasn’t worth risking her life.

  “Now, put Miguel on,” he commanded.

  “Yo.”

  “Take me off speaker.”

  There was a rustle of movement, and then Miguel’s voice, serious this time. “Talk to me, Kovalenko.”

  “Is Reese still there?”

  “Drinking all my beer.”

  “Good. Keep him close. I don’t know what the fuck is going on right now, but it doesn’t look good. Russo is dead.”

  Silence. Miguel’s voice was solemn when he asked, “Do you need counsel?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You’d be a terrible backseat lawyer. What happened?”

  “I don’t know all the details yet.” He slid a glance to his passenger, but Val’s gaze was opaque. “It looks like Russo’s bodyguard took him out. Then someone in the back of his vehicle started shooting, and we had to get out of there.”

  “Huh. Okay, so this is more than a turf war. Some heavy shit’s going down. Any clue who would be in the car with him?”