by S A Tameez
Boreas got up and walked over to the mirror on the wall. He enjoyed looking at himself, especially when he was listening to music. He studied his strong jaw from all angles, believing it to be his best feature. He traced a finger gently over the contour of his left cheek bone and then smoothed his short, neat beard and moustache. His mother had always loved his cheeks. It was a shame, though, he thought, that age had been cruel to his skin, leaving him with many unwanted wrinkles. He preferred to think of them as laughter lines. Age had, however, been good to his hair, allowing it to remain, though it was now turning grey. He felt the dark hair-dye suited him and helped to keep him looking young.
Suddenly, the phone rang, bringing him out of his narcissistic zone.
“Speak,” he answered.
“Boss, we have a problem…” It was one of his men. “There has been an explosion at the card factory.”
“Car explosion? What are you talking about? An accident?”
“A man calling himself Goldstein crashed a car into the card factory and caused it to explode! Then he knocked out Gus and shot the sprinklers and… well, the confectionary ended up getting ruined.”
“This better not be some kind of joke? Who am I speaking to?”
“Constantine, Boss. It’s Constantine.”
“Well Constantine, what else happened? Please tell me you exterminated this Goldstein?”
There was silence on the end of the phone. Boreas clenched his teeth and slammed the phone down, then picked it up again and shouted, “Get in here right now!” His yelling sent him into a fit of coughing. Within a few seconds, his henchmen appeared, dressed in black combat style trousers and black jackets.
“I want to know exactly what happened at the card factory and I want to know who the hell Goldstein is! If this is one of Dimitris’ cunning plans, it will be his last.” Boreas clenched his fists.
“Boss, Dimitris wouldn’t be so foolish, we’ve had peace with him so for so long. Besides, he wouldn’t have called the police. And he wouldn’t have given a toss about those little refugee bastards,” one of the men responded.
“Let’s hope you’re right, besides, Dimitris is a greedy old buffoon. He would have taken the drugs, not forced them down the drain.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Whoever this Goldstein is, he has just cost me millions. I want him found, and I want him alive, preferably, but I will accept dead… What are you waiting for? Get out there and find the bastard!” Boreas picked up the phone again and dialled another number, this time speaking quietly. “The man that went to the hospital didn’t make it and the one in custody has a fatal accident — have I made myself clear?”
“Yes boss…” the voice on the other end replied.
“Good. Make it happen.”
He hung up and then lifted the receiver up again, “Get me Stelios now!”
The voice on the other end of the line responded, “Boss, I have just had a call from our guy in the Police, and he has informed me that Stelios has been reported missing by his family — it was his car that exploded at the factory.”
What? Stelios missing? His car, exploded at the factory? “This is ridiculous… he wouldn’t have the guts… nor is he that stupid. Get a guy to his home and await my call, if I find that he has betrayed me, then kill them all.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, all of them, everyone in his family, his friends, the neighbours, I even want his doctor dead… have I made myself clear?
“Yes… got it.”
“Good. Now, make it happen... and find Carolos, I don’t want him getting mixed up in this mess.” He slammed the phone down and took some deep breaths to calm himself. He opened the draw next to the table and removed a small bottle of pills, swung the bottle to his mouth, and swallowed a quarter of its contents. How could he not worry about his brother Carolos? He was the only real family he had left. He removed a black wallet out of his pocket and opened it. He stared intently at a photo inside. It was of his mother, father, and older brother Carolos. Painful memories flooded back of the day that his mother and father were mercilessly murdered. They’d lived in a safe neighbourhood, at least his father thought it was. Boreas thought back to the night, when he was a nine-year-old, and three armed burglars broke into the house. Boreas remembered he was woken by his brother who hid him in a cupboard just before the burglars barged in and shot Carolos in the head. Boreas witnessed the shooting from the little gap in the wardrobe. He’d watched in horror as the masked men fired, without hesitation, at a thirteen-year-old boy — as if he meant nothing to anyone. Miraculously, the bullet didn’t kill him but left him with brain damage and he was never the same again. Nor was Boreas. Carolos spent months in hospital and the doctors said that he would be paralysed from the neck down for the rest of his life. But Boreas knew Carolos, he was a fighter. And he was right, a year later Carolos was back on his feet. Boreas and Carolos went to live with their Uncle Arsenios, a raging alcoholic, who beat them regularly. He couldn’t look after himself, let alone look after two young boys. The worst part was that because Carolos was mentally slow, he took the brunt of the beating.
Boreas would often find himself hiding in the cupboard, listening to the screams of his brother as he was beaten with a leather belt.
He wiped the tears from his face and put the wallet away. He picked up the phone, and said, “get me Tasos and Kostas now,” he yelled. His face burned and he ground his teeth as he recalled the day when he couldn’t handle his brother screaming anymore. He couldn’t take it anymore. How could he continue to hide in the cupboard, knowing that his brother, the person that saved his life was getting the life beaten out of him for no reason. He stormed out of the cupboard, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed the biggest knife he could find. He went to find his brother and his uncle. His hands were shaking and his brother’s screams, were terrifying. He could see the fat body of his uncle. He could even remember the dirty vest he was wearing and the awful odour that emanated from him. He was disgusting, an animal. Boreas killed him, stabbing him seventy times.
Tasos and Kostas, well-built men, walked through the doors, interrupting his gloomy reverie. Boreas gave them an angry stare.
“You called for us Boreas, sorry, I mean, boss?” Tasos said, his face looking worried. Boreas knew his men feared him, and right now, they would be shitting themselves. It was how Boreas liked it. He liked to see the fear in people’s eyes.
“I want this Goldstein found... anyone stupid enough to mess with my business is dangerous. And if you find that he is one of Dimitris’ men or that Dimitris had anything to do with my card factory drama, then don’t do anything, call me straight away. Dimitris and I have a delicate relationship,” he narrowed his eyes, purposefully, “are we clear?”
Boreas and Dimitris were once friends and business partners to businesses that weren’t a hundred-percent legit, not the ones that they made millions from anyway. They met when they were both young and shared the ambition of wealth and control. They soon became so powerful that even the police backed off. They struck fear in the hearts of everyone around them and became untouchable. But like all empires, they eventually began to crumble. Greed overtook them both. They tore away from one another like two magnets repelling each other. The war for territory comprised of two long years of violence, kidnappings, and unquantifiable, unsolved homicides. They eventually called a truce and agreed to stay away from each other’s businesses. It had been six years since anyone rocked the boat, until now that was.
I really hope that this wasn’t you Dimitris my old friend… I really hope this isn’t war…
Boreas looked over at the wall where there was a small wooden cross hung up. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, forgive me… for I am about to sin.
****
“So, you on some sort of business trip?” the taxi driver asked, trying to make small talk.
“Something like that,” Ahmed responded. He felt numb, emotionless, as if the part of him that ‘cared’ had shut down.
“Cool... my mother always dreamt about me being some hotshot business man.” Ahmed smiled, glad that the taxi driver didn’t recognise him. He gazed out of the window, wondering what was to come next. The textiles factory will be heavily guarded… they’re probably going to be expecting something to happen… what if Malik isn’t there? Thoughts bounced around in his head.
“But I never really did that well in school and my cousin got me into the cab business and you know how the next ten years go... right?” he chucked quietly.
“How much is a taxi like this worth? Ten-thousand?” Ahmed asked, looking around at the well-used Audi.
“Euros? You must be kidding, this isn’t even worth half of that. I’ve been saving up to get a new one for a while... this one has been having a few problems. But you know what it’s like, either you buy a car or pay for your daughter’s schooling.” The taxi driver looked at the photograph of a little girl that he had stuck on the dashboard. She didn’t look a day over thirteen and her long, dark-brown hair was so long it disappeared from the bottom of the photo.
Ahmed had an idea and thought of killing two birds with one stone.
“Would you sell it?” Ahmed leaned forward and asked.
“Hmm... maybe... why, you want to buy it?” The man laughed.
“Yes. I want to buy it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” the man said looking at Ahmed in the rear-view-mirror. “You don’t really look like the taxi driver type.”
“Yes, really. And I will pay you twenty-thousand Euros for it.” The man pulled the car over abruptly and then turned to look at Ahmed.
“Are you having me on?” his eyebrows met in the middle as he screwed up his face.
“No, not at all. I will pay you twenty-five-thousand Euros, in cash, right now, if I can have it – right now.”
“Like now, now?”
“Yes... like now, now.”
“Right now, here?”
Ahmed nodded.
“My uncle told me once that if a deal is too good to be true, it usually is!”
Ahmed opened his bag and removed the money. “Maybe it’s your lucky night.”
The man stared in shock.
“I need to pinch myself, it’s not everyday someone hops into your cab in the middle of the night and offers you a small fortune for it. It’s an offer I cannot turn down, but I don’t want to lie to you about this car… it’s had a fair few problems and it isn’t the most reliable car on the roads, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s fine. And I appreciate your honesty. But if it is ok with you, I would like to take it.”
“Sure, you can have it. Money like this will sure sort out a lot of my troubles.”
“Then we have a deal.” Ahmed put out his hand.
The man shook his hand and took out the car’s paperwork from the glove compartment and handed it to Ahmed. His eyes opened wide when he held the bundles of crisp bank notes.
Ahmed got into the driver’s side as the taxi driver moved across to the passenger side and got out. Ahmed wound down the window, “You want a ride anywhere?” Ahmed smiled, “it’ll only be half the normal fare.”
“No... no thank you,” the man replied, still looking shocked. ‘I don’t live far from here... and I need a few moments to digest what just happened.”
“Ok... now, you make sure that little girl gets a good education.”
“Yes sir,” the man said, putting the bundles of money under his jacket. “Thank you!” He repeated it several times as he walked away.
Ahmed smiled and drove off, picking up speed. He didn’t stop as he typed the textile factory’s address into the sat-nav. His emotions were coming back and he started to feel nervous.
The suit… its making me stick out like a sore thumb… talking about sore thumb, I hope Stelios is OK. he thought, remembering that the poor man was still locked up, all alone, in a cold, dark factory. Unfortunately freeing him was not an option, if I let him go, he would go to the police, or even Boreas. Besides, he was involved in this as much as all the others. He didn’t care when he was covering up Boreas’ drug smuggling. Drugs that destroyed the lives of so many. Ruined families and entire communities. He didn’t care that Boreas was abducting children and using them as slaves. He probably cared more about his flash car and the expensive Rolex than he did about those kids. No one cared about those kids. People only care about their own kids — blood is thicker than water and all that… why should things be different for me? Its only me who cares about my son. I am all he has left… and I won’t let him down.
He pulled up outside the textile factory. It was a much less dilapidated building than the card factory. In fact, the entire street seemed more affluent than the last, well lit, and the buildings better spaced and not so huddled. The factory walls looked fresh and it didn’t have any broken windows. The window ledges looked like they had freshly been painted and the front door looked brand-new. He took off his suit jacket, removed his tie and un-tucked his shirt. This would have to do.
He was shocked that there weren’t any cars parked in the car park, or men standing guard outside. There were even less CCTV cameras. And it felt safe. Maybe this was a different factory, a real textile factory. Ahmed looked at the address on the paper, nope… this is definitely the right place!
He took a few deep breaths and as usual, told himself that this was stupid idea a few times before getting out of the car and banging on the door of the factory. The adrenaline running through his body made his legs feel like jelly. He had no idea what to expect. It seemed so quiet, maybe because they were expecting him and this was a tactical ambush. He did just destroy a huge drug operation and was now probably the most wanted man alive.
Ahmed jumped as a small metal flap suddenly slid open, exposing the dark-brown eyes and arched nose of a man. “Yes... what do you want?” a deep voice spoke.
“I am the taxi driver... you called a taxi.” Ahmed said in Greek, trying to sound as natural as he could. He was aware that his voice shook as he spoke and his Greek accent was far from perfect.
“No one called a taxi from here... you must have the wrong address.” The man said and then shut the flap.
Well, at least he didn’t figure out I was the guy that just caused chaos at the card factory, right? he thought to himself before knocking again.
“You again... I told you, no one ordered a taxi!”
“I am pretty sure that I have the right address...” Ahmed took a step back and looked up at the building, “yes, this is definitely the place.”
“No, this is definitely not the place, now get lost.”
“You listen to me, idiot, this is the address and I have driven a long way to get here.”
“No, you listen to me you fool, if you bang on this door once more, I will come out and send you and your taxi to the cemetery!”
“How dare you disrespect me! Come out here and I’ll deal with you, you bastard!”
Ahmed moved to the side as he heard the heavy locks opening and waited for the man to step outside. His heart thumped and he felt it in his fingertips.
“Where the hell are you, you coward?” the man yelled, and Ahmed could see through the gap the door hinges made, that he was a fat, blustery type of man.
Ahmed decided that he couldn’t take any chances. The minute the man walked out into the yard, he would rush towards him like a raging bull. He closed his eyes as he barged into the man as hard as he could. Ahmed surprised himself with his sheer strength and when he opened his eyes, he heard a loud thud as the man went down and his face slapped the pavement unexpectedly hard.
Ahmed picked up the man’s red baseball cap that had fallen as he went down. He calculated that he had a few seconds before the man got up again. He ran inside and locked the door behind him. He put the cap on his head and tightened it from the back.
Inside he encountered a large, dimly lit space, that contained a computer desk and a worn chair, some rotting wooden boxes and rusty nails tha
t were scattered on the floor. The grey walls appeared to be damp from the smell. Thick cob-webs hung from the walls and soaring ceilings like decorations. The floor was carpeted with thick dust, and footprints could be seen going in almost every direction, as if someone had been pacing around it aimlessly.
In one corner, he could see a hole, which looked like the top of a metal, spiral staircase that led down to a basement.
Ahmed approached it and proceeded to descend the stairs which led into an antechamber and a door, similar to the outside one with a metal flap. He did not want to imagine what sort of danger lurked behind that door.
He said a prayer to Allah to protect him, and knocked on the door, keeping his head down, so that whoever saw him would only see the cap.
The flap slammed open. Keeping his head down still, he heard a high-pitched voice, “What the heck was all the noise about?” It sounded like a young man.
“Just some kids! Open up,” Ahmed said. The flap closed and there was a long pause. Ahmed had tried to mimic the man’s tone, but the pause made him worry that he had failed, and that any minute, the guy would come charging out with a gun to shoot him. He put his hand in his pocket and felt his gun. He feared he wouldn’t be able to keep hold of it, his hands were so sweaty. What if he accidently pulled the trigger and shot himself?
After a few seconds, the door was unlocked. Ahmed held out the gun. Images of Maryam and Malik flashed through his mind. The story of his struggle would end here. A thousand thoughts and visions flashed through his mind. The squeaky voiced man would open the door with a loaded shot gun, or even a machine gun, and immediately open fire, filling Ahmed’s body with holes. Ahmed imagined himself panicking, unable to shoot. Or maybe his hands would be so shaky that he would miss every shot he took.
When the door opened, Ahmed was surprised that nothing like he imagined happened. The young man was unarmed, and he looked strangely at Ahmed.
Ahmed raised the gun to the man’s face.
“Who the hell are you?” the tall, skinny man said. His face suddenly lost its colour. “You’re him aren’t you... you’re Goldstein?” Ahmed nodded and moved into the room, slowly. The man stepped backwards. “You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into. There’s men… lots of men… on their way here… and they’re going to kill you.”
