Blood on Blood

by Frank Zafiro

  I nodded. “It does. But somebody has to lead.”

  Her expression seemed to hover for a moment between hurt and anger. Hurt won out and tears sprang to her eyes. “I thought we had something. I thought — ”

  “No, you didn’t,” I interrupted. “I was a play thing while Stevie boy was away. Then I was inconvenient when he came back. That’s how it was for you. And now that he’s graduated to smacking you around, I’m somehow the answer to your problems.”

  “Well, what was it for you?” she said, angrily brushing tears aside. “If you’re so goddamn smart, answer that.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter what it was for me before. What it is now is what matters.”

  She fell silent. I watched while she took a deep, wavering breath and let it out. She wiped her eyes some more, but the tears kept coming.

  I wondered why she picked me. She was a nice looking woman. She could’ve picked any number of guys for the absentee boyfriend dance. I was no prize. So why me?

  But I knew the answer. She picked me as part of the same fucked up reasons she picked Steve. It was all part of the drama she felt compelled to play out over and over again. Be the victim, be rescued, be reconciled. It was all drama and that was the fuel her engine ran on.

  So, did I owe her? Because she came to me and I fucked her? She fucked me, too. Did that mean she owed me?

  Connie dumped her coffee down the sink and stalked to the side of the bed. I watched as she gathered up her clothes from where they’d been tossed aside last night.

  Did I owe her?

  Maybe. But I was tired of that bullshit. Tired of owing. Tired of duty. Tired of living between two worlds.

  Time to pick a side.

  I stood up. She didn’t notice. I grabbed her by the wrist. She shot me a glare and pulled away. But I didn’t let go. I jerked her toward me, reached out with my other arm and enveloped her. She gave me a moment of token resistance, but when I grabbed her hair and snapped her head back, she stopped.

  She stared up at me, her breath coming in short, trembling gasps. Her eyes were full of fear, of hate, of lust, of satisfaction.

  “I’ll help you,” I said.

  And I would. But not for her. For me. Because maybe Stevie boy needed his ass kicked. More than that, because I needed to win. Even if the big prize wasn’t Connie. Even if the real devil wasn’t Steve. It would work for some batting practice. And it was time to start winning on all fronts.

  I kissed her, and goddamned if she didn’t turn into a wildcat again.

  SEVENTEEN

  Jerzy

  The morning is clear and brisk as I come out of the apartment entryway. I walk to my car and my stomach is growling like a bastard. I’m heading to Joe Campo’s, a great little place to get a coffee and a little breakfast.

  I didn’t sleep worth a damn, as usual. Dreams of running, can’t get away, that kind of shit. All the rest about last night, though? Oh, that had been just fine.

  As I open the car door and start to get in, I happen to look up at her little third floor bay window and Ania is standing there, looking down at me.

  She’s holding a blue robe loosely around her and even from this distance, I’m looking to see if I can get a glimpse of pleasant valley. Damn if I don’t think about climbing the steps right back up there. Just for a minute. Or an hour.

  I tried to sneak out of her place before she even woke up. No kissy kiss good morning with breakfast on a tray. I mean, that just ain’t happening, not for anybody. Then again, I guess if it was to happen, she’d be the one.

  She’s sleepy and has that ‘where the hell am I’ look on her face, but then she waves slowly and gives me a weak grin. Damn.

  I wave back and give her a big smile. For a minute I’m just like little Johnny boyfriend saying goodbye until another date tonight. Johnny, who can’t stand to leave his sweet Susie, not even for a second.

  But hey, last night had been what I needed to get smoothed out and leveled up. Some athletes say that before the Super Bowl or a big game or whatever, they don’t have sex for two weeks. They say they are hungrier, angrier and meaner that way.

  Well, I say bullshit. That may be good for them and all but this isn’t about playing no fucking football game today. I’m killing people today. She was exactly what I needed.

  After about three mugs of coffee, three eggs and sausage patties at Campo’s, I’m good to go. And hash browns. Yeah, I had some greasy hash browns too.

  I go back to my little shack apartment for the shit, shower and shave routine. I square my things away, pack what I want to take with me. Just a small gym bag. I’m taking some clothes, cash and some other stuff just in case I’m either on the move or hunkered down for awhile. You just never know with something like this, how things are going to go down and all.

  I lightly clean my berretta although it doesn’t really need it. She always goes with me. I don’t care if I’m using their piece for the deal or not. I will have my gun too. That’s just the way it is.

  A short drive and I pull into the hotel parking lot, going around to the side of the building. It’s just now eleven and I have an hour to spare. Sliding down in the seat a little, I look straight ahead at the concrete wall of the building and smile.

  I’m getting that familiar early killing buzz, but it’s all about keeping that energy stowed until later. It’s low level right now and it’s good. I’m relaxed, calm and smooth but I can still feel that tension.

  I look in the rear view mirror at myself and smile again, knowing this is the right kind of tension. Keeps me sharp, I see all and hear everything. I react and just do it.

  I leave the bag in the car, light a cigarette and walk around to the hotel’s front door. I smoke and walk slowly with my hands in my pockets. Newspaper under one arm, casual, like I’m just another goof that stayed at the Marriott Courtyard last night.

  Inside, there is mini lobby and a little breakfast nook for people to get a stale bagel and a banana or some shit. I walk to the coffee canisters they have setup over in the corner and get a cup.

  I smile at the old Mexican gal that is busy cleaning up everything after the continental breakfast. Then I stroll over to the main desk clerk who is busily typing away at his little keyboard. He’s young, got his hair all slicked back and I can just tell he hates this place. He thinks he’s better than this shit. He should be downtown at the front desk of the Conrad, on the Magnificent Mile.

  I stand there for a minute.

  He types away, pulls out a drawer, looks at something, and goes back to typing.

  I take a sip of my coffee and then lean over the fake marble counter.

  “Could I get a late checkout? I know that it’s only eleven fifteen but can I have until twelve thirty?”

  “Sorry. Checkout at noon.” Type, type, type.

  “All right. Thanks, anyway. The room was nice.”

  “Great, that’s good.” The phone rings and he picks it up. He finally looks at me as I’m turning, but not really. I’m just one more asshole that he needs to deal with, a faceless customer. And that is exactly what I wanted to be.

  I go over and sit down in one of the chairs they have ringed around a big digital television. Some other stroke in a suit and tie is sitting on a small couch, watching CNN with his little roller bag and laptop next to him.

  How do people do this? I mean seriously. How the fuck do you spend your life doing this kind of shit? Traveling, staying in hotels, or hell, working in hotels, whatever. I look at the business geek a little longer and can see he hates this, just like the desk clerk over there hates this. Poor fucks, but it’s their own fault.

  I open the Tribune and flip to the sports page to read about how this is finally gonna be the year for the Cubs. I got the paper up but I’m listening to the elevators just off the lobby.

  Andros, the big crew cut monster, and Dobry, I’m guessing, come down at about five till noon. I see them over the top of my newspaper and they walk to the edge of the lobby an
d look around. Only the two of them and they look like they’re supposed to, I suppose. Nice enough clothes and all but they can dress up all they want and two soldiers are still two soldiers.

  The business geek is still sitting there and a middle aged couple is also watching the TV, all slack jawed and eyes glazed over. Patrik’s two men quickly see me and Andros gives me a small raised chin. There is a new desk clerk now and he’s on the phone. I get up, pat my pockets and find my pack of cigarettes. I get my cell phone out and look busily at its blank screen. Walking outside, I light up and wait for them.

  “Mister Jerzy. It is good to see you once again.” Andros actually gives me a thin smile, then nods to his partner. “This would be Dobry. He will assist us.”

  Dobry doesn’t say anything but instead gives me a short nervous nod. He doesn’t look at me. The kid is scared. I can smell it on him.

  “It’s Jerzy. Just Jerzy, okay? No mister shit.” I smile at them both and put my cell phone away.

  They wait like two big dogs at heel. Attentive and listening for the next command. Fetch, kill, roll over. Neither says anything more and they both just look at me. Andros could be waiting for a bus right now, emotionless and patient.

  Never seen this guy Dobry before but he’s the short stocky type. When I say short, I just mean he’s not as tall as me and he, like everybody else, looks like a fuckin’ midget standing next to Andros. The kid probably goes five eleven maybe but he’s built like a wrestler, with the face to match. He’s really no kid, either. I’d say probably mid to late twenties. So, hey, he’s a tough shit no doubt but there’s also no doubt on this being his first time with this kind of deal. A kill, I mean.

  I clear my throat and smile again, “So, what’s your room number boys?”

  “Room number is 419, Jerzy.” Andros shifts to a casual parade rest, hands crossed in front of him.

  “I’ll meet you up there in five minutes. Also, you guys better start taking this shit a little more serious. Quit jackin’ around so much.”

  Dobry’s dark eyebrows come together. He shoots a look to Andros, who has actually gotten the joke and has a tight grin on his face.

  At the room a few minutes later, Andros lets me in and then bolts the door behind me. He shows me the map of the park and it includes about a city block around the outside of the park. He’s got it spread out on the bed and points out several spots on the map. Dobry sits at the small desk in the room, watching from a distance but listening intently.

  “Yeah, okay, we’ll get back to the map in a second. Show me the gun I’m supposed to be using.”

  Dobry stands up and goes to the other bed, unzips a small roller suitcase and takes out a couple of shirts. There are three felt shoe bags in there. He brings over the bags, loosens the string ties and pulls the pieces out one by one.

  They’re fucking beautiful. All three are identical, silver Ruger MK11s. Built in suppressors, ten round clips. If this is a throw away gun, I’d like to see a keeper. Great gun. I’ve never used one but definitely know of them. I pick one up, clear it, bounce it gently up and down in my hand. It has excellent weight and balance.

  “Hey, Andros, while I’m thinking about it, turn the television on. Not too loud but loud enough, okay?” I don’t look up. I’m still studying the piece. “We just need a little background noise, is all.”

  The pistols have no markings that I can see. Serials are gone. Nothing. I sit on the edge of the bed and spend a few minutes with it; clear it again, work the safety, pop the clip in and out, hold it in each hand and sight down the barrel.

  It’s a.22, but in my mind that’s exactly what you want for what we’re going to be doing. I don’t want a cannon or any two foot long Dirty Harry pistol. This is close in stuff. So, as far as the gun goes, I’m good with it. I’m real good with it. Patrik has wasted no expense. Let’s face it, the weapon is a big part of this kind of thing.

  “One more quick thing. I need to see the money.”

  Andros walks to the closet and kneels down. There is one of those little hotel safes in there. He opens it up and stares at me. I walk over and he pulls out a small Nike gym bag. I bend down and pick it up, carrying it to the bed. It only takes a second to figure that I’m looking at two K. It smells real good.

  “Thanks. Go ahead and lock it back up, all right?” I watch him put the bag back in and he spins the dial.

  “Combination?”

  Andros smiles that razor thin grin and digs a piece of paper out of his pocket. He hands it to me and then sweeps a hand toward the safe.

  I look at the numbers. “It’s all right. I trust you, crew cut.”

  I wave the two over to the bed. Dobry takes his chair and moves it in closer.

  “First, you guys got gloves? I have real tight golf gloves I use. Second, are you wearing something to cover your face? I use a thin hunting mask that I pull up from down around my neck.”

  “We have masks, the stocking masks kind. There are no gloves,” Dobry says and looks at Andros. His voice is steady but his eyes aren’t. It’s the first words he has spoken.

  “Okay, how will the guns be dumped?”

  “I will throw them in the Des Plaines river at a park reserve. I have used this location before.” Then Andros gives me a look that says ‘don’t worry about it’, so I don’t.

  “All right, well it’s your choice on the gloves.”

  Both of them nod.

  “Okay, listen up,” I say. “I already know exactly how we’re gonna do this but I want to talk through it anyway. Trust me, I know what the fuck I’m doing here.”

  I’m not too worried about Andros but I look over at Dobry and nod to him, then I keep nodding. His eyes loosen up a little and his body language is a little better. I punch his shoulder.

  “Hey, we’re going to kill this old bastard Viktor Skansi. We’re gonna take him out and his wife and whoever else needs to be nailed. Patrik said no limits on this one. Anyone in the way goes down. In a few hours, the old Russian pig will be joining his son Bogdan in hell.”

  I light up a smoke.

  “Is it always six o’clock when they pull up?”

  Andros clears this throat and begins in his short clipped accent.

  “Yes, this is always. I have been a part of this surveillance. They will drive up to the curb on Mercy Boulevard. Street is quiet, one way. Six o’clock. On other side of Mercy is a car lot and next to it is a closed gas station.” He runs a big finger down the map, along the small road and stops where the car will. He looks up at me and repeats, “Always at six.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Viktor Skansi and wife stay inside the car while the three bodyguards get out. There is one guard who starts out ahead. He goes into park all the way to the center statue and takes his position. Waits.”

  “What do they pack? What weapons?” I’m looking at the map and at the little center square, with the statue.

  “They never show guns but they wear heavy long coats that are unbuttoned all the way down. Maybe underneath they could have shoulder strap for small military type automatic weapon. Hanging straight down along the leg.” Then he shrugs, shakes his head no. “But no, I don’t think. Most certainly they have hand guns.”

  “Got it. The one guard goes to the statue, then what?” It really doesn’t matter too much but I still want to hear it all.

  “They wait five minutes for him to get in place. Always. You cannot see statue from where the car is. Path curls around trees and bushes. Then one guard gets wheelchair out of the trunk while the other stands at the limo door where Skansi and his wife will get out.”

  “Okay.”

  “Wheelchair is set up and brought around to door. Viktor Skansi and guard help his wife into chair. One guard starts walking very slowly towards center of park. The old man wheels his wife onto sidewalk pathway and follows. Last guard walks behind the old couple at distance of say 15 meter, same distance between as man in front.”

  “All right good, the walk lasts about fi
fteen minutes right?”

  “Yes, that is right. They go around statue and back again.”

  “No stops along the way?”

  “No stops.”

  “Pull up at the same curb, same place and same route every time?

  “Yes.”

  “Any other men, more guards you might have seen once. Anybody around you think could have maybe been a guard, maybe, just couldn’t tell for sure?”

  “No, never different. I have no doubt on that.”

  “Hey, wait. No driver? No driver waiting in the car the whole time?”

  Andros smiles and shakes his head back and forth slowly. “No and no. One of the guards is also driver.”

  “Okay, so look,” I check my watch. “It’s only like twelve thirty. Let’s take a little drive.”

  We take their car just in case my car had maybe somehow been made in the last week or so. Coming in and out of Ambrozy’s, something like that. Never know. Hey, Patrik’s boys were watching them, so the Russians had to be watching Patrik.

  Coming into the park from the west side, we just look around a little. Not long, and we don’t walk together. I just want to get some bearings and landmarks in my head. Eyeball everything.

  We grab sandwiches and shit after that and then head back to the Marriott with it. About forty five minutes later, we’re sitting in the room again.

  I take a pen from the nightstand and draw on the map, adding and filling in with x’s and o’s for small stands of trees and hedges. A small gazebo near the path they would be taking. I darken the statue in the little square.

  I go to the window, light a smoke and look outside. Clouding up a little and getting colder, no doubt. Luckily, there won’t be much going on in the park. Even so, it still ain’t all that bad for April in Chicago.

  My two guys look at the park map and then at me. They wait patiently.

  “We park the car where we just did and come into the park from the far west side, just like earlier. First two guys that go will be the two guards with the old man. Andros, you’ll be here behind the little gazebo.” I tap it with the pen. “As soon as the lead guard gets by you, walk in from behind and take him. I’ll see you move before you even do, and I take the rear guard. It’ll be bang bang. My guy won’t even get a shot off, I promise you that.”