Bourbon & Blood: A Crime Fiction Novel (Bill Conlin Thriller)

by Garrard Hayes

  He looked at me with a big grin. “Those Mexicans are tough on cars,” he said.

  “I thought they were Colombians.”

  “Nah, they just buy dope from the Colombians and then sell it here,” Kenny said.

  We drove across town with four motorcycles roaring behind us. As soon as they caught up to us, they started shooting. Bullets ricocheted off the car and I ducked my head down. I pulled my Glock out and returned fire out of the back window. One of the motorcycle assassins went down, his bike flipping over parked cars and into a flower shop.

  The others continued to fire and were getting closer as we slowed down, stuck in traffic. Kenny jumped out of the car. Holding his gun in two hands he aimed and shot another biker.

  People screamed and scattered for cover as the bullets bounced off parked cars. The sounds of sirens were getting closer as the gun battle continued. Kenny walked over to an injured biker lying in the street and fired one bullet into his helmet.

  As the police got closer, the bikers retreated. We grabbed the plunder from the back seat and abandoned Kenny’s car.

  “Damn, I really liked that car,” he said.

  “Come on, there’s a subway station at the corner,” I shouted.

  We headed back to the apartment on Tenth Avenue making sure no one tailed us. When we walked in, Jackie was there, watching TV.

  “Take a walk Jackie. Go to the store and get us a carton of cigs,” Kenny said.

  She looked at him with pure hatred. She grabbed her keys and left, slamming the door behind her.

  Kenny sat on the couch and emptied the gym bag on the table. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as he counted thirty stacks of hundred dollar bills.

  “Bill, this is a lot of fucking money,” he said. “We gotta give most of this to Mr. Sullivan. It will keep him off our backs.”

  “What about the dope?” I asked.

  “I’ll get rid of that with some people I know,” he said.

  “If the Mexicans hated me for killing Manny, they’re going to be steaming for you,” I teased.

  “Let me see what you found in the freezer.” I handed it over to him, and he examined both bags. “A kilo of cocaine is probably worth about forty thousand dollars. This baby here is worth a whole lot more,” Kenny said. He held up the bag filled with heroin. “I think it’s a wash,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “This is probably worth around two hundred thousand dollars. We made a big huge haul bro. I knew they had some stuff, but this is fucking crazy.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next morning I was lying in bed thinking about the whole ordeal that Kenny got me into with the drug dealers. He could easily have gotten me killed last night. I started to think there was something I’d missed. What was it?

  Oh fuck! I missed my date again with Dana. Oh no, she would never accept another apology for my ditching her again. What could I do?

  I picked up my phone and dialed her number. It rang, and rang, rang. After the fifth ring her voicemail picked up the call. I heard her sweet voice and my heart dropped at my stupidity. “This is Dana I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message.”

  I breathed into the phone for a few beats trying to figure out what to say. “Dana, hi this is Bill, I’m sorry for standing you up again. I got stuck on an assignment at work and couldn’t call you. I know you’re probably pretty steamed at me, but I’m so sorry. Give me a call later… Umm, or I’ll try you again soon.”

  I felt like crawling under the table. “You’re such an asshole,” I shouted. I smacked my forehead and let out a giant sigh. I flopped backwards onto my bed, listening to the bedsprings squeak. I was staring at the stucco ceiling when all of a sudden my phone started vibrating. I bolted straight up hoping it was Dana calling me back. I grabbed the phone; of course not, it was Kenny.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “That’s how you answer the fucking phone?” he asked.

  “Oh sorry. I meant to say ‘Good morning, this is Bill’,” I replied.

  “Cut the shit. I’m down at the curb.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  I looked at the time and saw it was already eleven o’clock. I pushed myself out of bed and went into the bathroom. I shaved, slapped on some cologne, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. I got dressed fast then rushed out the door.

  Kenny was waiting in a new grey Mercury Grand Marquis, jamming to something dark on the radio; I think it was Nine Inch Nails. He was rocking and tapping on the steering wheel. He was in a stellar mood, full of electricity in anticipation of our meeting with Mr. Sullivan.

  “I bought Mr. Sullivan some new shoes. I know he’ll love them,” Kenny said, grinning.

  “You know his size?” I asked.

  “Fuck no, I don’t know his size,” he said, looking at me with disgust, like I ruined his moment. “It’s the fucking money, you idiot.”

  “Do we need an appointment?” I asked.

  “No, he already knows what went down. After all, he is the boss.”

  He pulled away from the curb, tires smoking as he floored the accelerator. When we arrived downtown, he parked around the corner in an outdoor parking lot. Kenny got out, opened the back door of the Mercury, and pulled out a Macy’s shopping bag. There were three shoeboxes in the bag, all filled with money from the Mexican drug house.

  Kenny looked down at the bag, and then up at me, smiling like a little kid.

  “He’ll love these shoes,” he said.

  “I hope they’re his size,” I added.

  “Oh they’ll fit. Or he can take them back,” he said.

  We walked around the corner and over to McKenzie’s. Morgan waved us over.

  “I heard you boys had a busy night and you still had time to go shopping for Mr. Sullivan. How nice,” Morgan said, with a smile.

  Kenny looked around. “Is Mr. Sullivan here?” he asked.

  Morgan stood. “We expect him any minute,” he said. “I can put that in the office for you.”

  “This is a very special gift and we prefer a personal touch,” Kenny said, patting the side of the bag.

  “Very well,” he said.

  We walked over to the bar, and Kenny ordered two doubles of Jameson. “I’m a little short right now,” he said. “Pay for the drink.” He grinned at me.

  We were sipping the whiskey when Mr. Sullivan’s Lincoln pulled up at the front door. Two guards came in with him, one in front, and one behind. Everyone stopped to acknowledge the boss as he walked into the room. He immediately went over to Morgan, who whispered in his ear. Mr. Sullivan nodded with his eyes locked on the bag Kenny was carrying. He went up the stairs, and Morgan came over. “Mr. Sullivan would like to speak to you about last night upstairs. Please follow me.”

  We finished our whiskey, and followed along. When we entered the office, Morgan closed the door behind us. Mr. Sullivan sat behind the desk and leaned forward, a pained expression on his face. He paused for several seconds, and then said, “You boys have created quite a ruckus last night. The police have nothing to go on except a bunch of dead Mexicans.”

  I started to say something, but Kenny cut me off. “I apologize for bringing you any additional trouble, Mr. Sullivan. I was just running a little training exercise with Bill, and wanted to show him how to be a good earner.”

  “I see,” Mr. Sullivan said, placing his hands in a steeple over his lips. He paused in thought, eyes closed. “And how did the training work out?” he said.

  Kenny handed Mr. Sullivan the bag, ginning ear to ear. “It was a little messy, but I think you’ll be pleased. If you are disappointed in any way we will stop the training.”

  He took the three shoeboxes out of the shopping bag and laid them on the table. He removed the lids to peek inside. A big grin grew on his face. He held out his hands, gesturing for us to come closer.

  “Well done, boys. Very well done. This will send a clear message not to shoot up our clubs,” he said.


  Mr. Sullivan put his arm around Kenny and squeezed. He came over to me, patted my face, and pinched my cheek.

  “Now listen boys, you hurt these guys enough, they’re gonna come after us hard until they feel vindicated. Be very careful until this settles down.”

  “Okay, boss. I’ll keep an eye on Bill,” Kenny said.

  We left the office and headed out to the street. I fired up a cig, took a drag, and blew smoke into the air. “Now what?” I said.

  “We gotta sell this shit fast,” Kenny said.

  I tapped the cigarette, and ashes fell to the ground. “Who’s gonna buy it?” I asked.

  “The Russians will,” he said. “Let’s take a ride.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Brooklyn.”

  We drove downtown, then over the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn. I gazed at the water view, boats, and people strolling on the bike path. I drifted, mesmerized by the rhythm of the waves. If only I had a normal life and a normal job, I might be able to spend time with Dana and walk on the water's edge and really give her the attention she deserved. My mind saw an image of her face, smiling and looking sad from that morning after we had spent the night together. I wasn’t even sure she would let me get close to her after all this bullshit. I was feeling like a real dirt bag “This is real nice,” I said, trying pull myself back from my thoughts.

  “Yeah, I took the scenic route. Enjoy.”

  Kenny exited at Coney Island Avenue and pulled up in front of a brick apartment building. He parked and we waited in the car.

  Kenny reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. He slid the mechanism back and chambered a round. “I’ve known these guys for a long time, they can be touchy and unpredictable. Their business is drugs, Eastern European girls, and loan sharking.” He opened the door, and said, “Let’s go.”

  “Okay,” I said, and followed him.

  “Dmitry’s the super of this building, and a lieutenant in the local Russian mob. Let’s just hope this goes well,” he said.

  I was nervous, and my palms were sweaty. Kenny scanned the apartment numbers and pressed apartment 1A.

  A voice with a heavy Russian accent responded. “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “It’s Kenny Shea.”

  The door buzzed and Kenny pushed it open. We walked through the lobby, our shoes echoing in a combination of squeaks and taps. The door slammed behind us with a loud bang and I almost jumped out of my skin.

  When we got to 1A, the door suddenly opened. A block of a man stood at the door. He scanned us up and down. “Come in, Dmitry is in the back.”

  In the first room six men played cards at a large rectangle table, money scattered around the edge, with a big pile in the middle. I noticed a couple of the guys wore gun holsters. Bottles, glasses, and ashtrays were everywhere. Their yelling and laughing stopped abruptly as we entered the apartment. After we passed, the game resumed, with banter in Russian and English as they played.

  In the back was a small kitchen, back lit by a dirty window. Two men sat at a square table, a bottle of vodka and shot glasses in the middle. As Kenny approached, one guy stood up and gave him a big hug. He was tall, with bushy black hair and a full beard.

  In a thick Russian accent, he said, “It’s so good to see you, my friend. Remember Viktor.”

  Viktor got up and shook hands with Kenny.

  “Sure, it’s been a while, but I remember.”

  Viktor had a shaved head, black goatee, and bulging muscles. Dmitry poured a shot and drank, knocking it back fast. “Who is this?” he asked.

  “This is Bill, my new partner,” Kenny replied.

  “Sit, and drink with us.”

  We pulled out the chairs and sat at the table. Viktor put two more shot glasses on the table and Dmitry filled them. Dmitry held up his glass. “Za Vas! And now, down with the business.”

  Kenny took out the two bags, one white and the other dark brown. “Feel free to test it if you like,” he said.

  Dmitry said something in Russian to Viktor. He left the room and came back with a black leather pouch. Viktor pulled out a knife, cut open the bag, and began testing the heroin. Dmitry seemed excited and focused on the white bag in front of him. He opened a drawer, pulled out scissors, and cut the bag. He licked the side of the scissor, and said, “Uh huh.” Then he tapped a little onto a mirror and chopped at it with a credit card. He snorted it through a rolled up hundred dollar bill, sniffed a few times, and wiped his nose.

  “You know, Kenny, I have plenty of this stuff. I’ll take it off your hands, but it’s gotta be worth it,” he said, smiling.

  “Okay, let’s see when Viktor is done testing.”

  Viktor leaned over and whispered into Dmitry’s ear. Dmitry looked at us. “The coke is good, nothing special, but black tar heroin is a different story. Top shelf stuff. I’ll give you one twenty-five for both,” he said.

  “Wow, you’re really cutting down my profit. Two hundred or it’s not worth the trouble.”

  “Okay, be fair. You make some, I make some. Let’s meet in the middle, one fifty.” Dmitry said.

  “I can’t do it. Come on, you can get double on the street,” Kenny pleaded.

  “There is truth in that. I’ll tell you what, one seventy-five. I’ll even throw in this fine bottle of vodka,” he said.

  “I’ll accept your offer only if we drink on it,” Kenny offered.

  Dmitry spoke Russian again to Viktor, and he left the room. After a few minutes he came back with a brown paper bag, and laid it down.

  “Hey Bill, is this your first deal?” he asked.

  “Yeah, first drug deal,” I replied.

  “Kenny, you check the bag, and then we drink,” Dmitry said.

  Kenny picked up the bag, took the money out, and stacked it on the table. The three of us watched as Kenny counted it, and put it back in the bag.

  “Let’s drink,” Kenny said.

  We drank, smoked, and laughed. They were very likable. I couldn't figure out why Kenny said they were touchy, but we still hadn’t made it out alive with the money.

  After we finished the bottle that was on the table, Dmitry pulled out another bottle. Kenny stood up. “Okay, my friend, it’s time for us to go. Any more drinking and the cops will pick us up on the way home,” he said.

  Dmitry opened the new bottle and poured another round.

  Kenny stood up and knocked back his glass. “Thanks for the business,” Kenny said, and picked up the bag. Viktor grabbed his hand, then said something to Dmitry in Russian. It had an angry tone. Dmitry replied in Russian, agitated.

  “I’m sorry about this, Kenny. Give me a few minutes to speak to Viktor.”

  They both got up and went into another room off the kitchen, closing the door. Suddenly we heard some loud shouting. I looked at Kenny and he put a finger to his lips. Dmitry returned alone.

  “Let’s go now, and I will walk you to your car. There are some bad folks in this area, and we wouldn’t want any trouble.”

  As we walked by the poker game, silence filled the room. All eyes were on the brown paper bag Kenny carried. Viktor came out of the back room and whispered into one guy’s ear. He put his hand on a gun that was sitting on the table next to him.

  I could feel sweat dripping down my back. This must be the touchy part Kenny spoke of. We could’ve been blown away at any time.

  Dmitry turned to Viktor, and said something low under his breath. They all stood still, eyes darted from one another. The tension was thick.

  We slowly made our way out of the apartment and into the corridor, with Dmitry behind us. He rushed us to the car, practically pushing me the whole way. Even Dmitry seemed nervous. He brushed sweat from his brow. “We’ve been having a power struggle in the group. Unfortunately this deal may get the whole ball rolling. I may have to… um. How do you say? Um… nip this in the bud. You call me in a couple of weeks, Kenny. Okay?”

  “Okay, Dmitry. Good luck.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN
TEEN

  We didn’t say a word on the way back from Brooklyn. When we finally crossed the Manhattan Bridge I asked, “Are they always that uptight?”

  “Yeah, the Russians are always breaking off into their small crews. Sometimes it works out, and they get along. Other times bodies start washing up. I told you they were a touchy bunch.”

  “Man! You were right, that was scary. One second everything was all friendly, the next they were ready for war,” I said.

  “Let’s go over to my place and split up the cash,” he said.

  Kenny’s apartment was in the west 60s by Central Park. In a lot of ways it was similar to where I was living. It had a doorman and a reception desk, but no one else was living with him. “Where’s your girl?” I asked.

  “Got rid of her,” he said. “I don’t need anyone reporting back to Sullivan about what I’m doing.”

  “I had no idea that’s why Jackie was there,” I said.

  “Why else would Sullivan give you an awesome apartment with your own Geisha?”

  Kenny’s apartment was on the tenth floor. It had modern furniture and stainless steel appliances. Tall windows overlooked the Park. I walked over to the windows and took in the view.

  Kenny came out of a back room with a shoebox and the brown paper bag. He dumped the cash out on the coffee table. After he finished counting, it turned out to be two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. I thought I was dreaming.

  Kenny split the left over money from the drug bust, and what we received from the Russians. He put half the cash in the brown bag. Then he leaned back on the couch and fired up a cig. “This is a nice big haul for you, Bill. You’d better not go crazy spending it, and don’t let Jackie know, or she’ll report you to Sullivan. Rudy made that mistake, and you saw what Whelan did to him, poor guy.”

  I nodded.

  “I always give Sullivan big money. If Sullivan found out about my split I’d end up strapped to a chair in the basement. There’s no way I could pull this off without contact with rival gangs. Don’t think it was me that put Rudy in that position. He shot off his mouth way too much with that chick in the apartment. The only difference is I don’t sell info about Sullivan’s organization. Rudy became too friendly with Dmitry and started leaking.