Kill Whitey

by Brian Keene

  “I’ve got to check on Darryl,” I said. “You stay here.”

  “Nyet. We must leave, Larry. The police come. Your neighbors hear shots.”

  Out in the living room, Webster howled. I whipped around and ran for the door, shouting his name.

  “Drop the gun or I’ll kill your cat.”

  Whitey. His accent was noticeable, but his English was perfect.

  He sat on my sofa, looking calm and sedate. His clothes were unwrinkled. His white hair shined. He held Webster at arm’s length by the scruff of his neck. Webster kicked and hissed, thrashing in his grip. Whitey’s other hand held a pistol—the kind I’d imagined Russian mobsters to have. There was no sign of Darryl. I heard shouting from the apartment next to mine. A child was crying.

  “Put my cat down, you fucker.”

  Instead of answering, Whitey squeezed his trigger. The only thing that saved my ass was Webster. Still twisting, he swiped at Whitey’s face, slashing him across the cheek. The shot went wild. The bullet gouged the drywall next to my plasma screen.

  I hadn’t checked Alexander’s pistol. Had no idea how many bullets were left. Hoping for the best, I cocked the hammer and returned fire. The Rexio jerked in my hands. Sofa stuffing flew through the air. Whitey dropped the cat and flung himself to the floor, scrambling for cover behind the coffee table. I fired again. Screaming, he flailed on the carpet, holding his shoulder. The gun slid from his grasp. Blood squirted from between his fingers. I felt a sick sense of excitement. I’d hit the fucker.

  “Stay down,” I said. “Just stay right there and don’t move.”

  Whitey raised his head and grinned. “You’ve been a bad, bad boy.”

  “Fuck you, you piece of shit.”

  I raised the gun to shoot him again, but Sondra grabbed my arm. She was carrying Vacheslav’s handgun.

  “Let’s go.”

  Before I could protest, she led me into the kitchen. Darryl lay face down on the floor. His blood had pooled all around him. He wasn’t moving. Something was wrong with his head but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “I’ll kill you both,” Whitey shouted. “You think you shot me? Think again. This is nothing.”

  There was more yelling and screaming from the other apartments. Police sirens wailed in the distance. Webster growled from a hiding spot somewhere in the living room. I felt torn. Part of me wanted to run back into the living room and shoot Whitey again and again until the gun was empty. But I had other things to deal with, too.

  “Darryl…”

  I knelt over his body. His blood soaked through my jeans, a sticky mess. His head was at an odd angle. I shook him, but he still didn’t move. He wasn’t breathing. When I rolled him over, I saw why. Even though I had turned him over, Darryl’s head remained face down. They’d shot him in the neck. The bullet tore most of his throat out, and there wasn’t much left to support his head. Just some flaps of skin and gristle. He’d almost been decapitated. Strangely, I didn’t throw up. Didn’t feel sick.

  All I felt was sadness.

  The sirens drew closer.

  In the living room, we heard Whitey bump against the coffee table. He was back on his feet.

  “Come,” Sondra shouted.

  “Darryl…we’ve got to do something for him!”

  “Nyet. Is too late, Larry. Whitey is coming. So are police.”

  She dragged me out the door. I didn’t protest. I don’t think I could have, even if I had wanted to. My mind was numb. We ran to the Cherokee. Luckily, my keys were still in my pants pocket. A crowd of people mingled around. They stared at us. We must have made quite a sight. Both of us were barefoot and almost naked. I only had on a pair of jeans, and all that Sondra wore was one of my t-shirts and her panties. We were both armed, and covered in Darryl, Alexander, and Vacheslav’s blood and the dried remnants of our lovemaking.

  “Hey,” one of my neighbors hollered. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  Instead of answering, I unlocked the Cherokee. Sondra and I jumped inside and took off. The crowd moved out of our way as we roared out into the road. I stomped the gas pedal. Sondra used the t-shirt to wipe blood from my face. The pistols rested on the seat between us. The iPod played some classic Slayer, but I turned it off. I needed to concentrate. Figure out what the hell to do now.

  “The cops—”

  Sondra interrupted me. “No police. You promised.”

  “People are fucking dead, Sondra! Darryl. Darryl is dead. In my apartment. His throat…And those fuckers…those fuckers did it.”

  “Nyet. No police. They will send me away. The Bratva will kill everyone I love.”

  I chose my words carefully. “At this point, won’t they go after your brothers and sisters anyway?”

  “Da.”

  “So then why not get the cops involved? Maybe they can protect you. Protect your family. Work with the Russian authorities and—”

  “Do you not listen? The Bratva own the authorities in my country. Is no good.”

  “Well, whether we call them or not, they’re already involved. My neighbors heard the gunshots. Somebody dialed 911. The cops were on the way when we left. You heard the sirens. They’ll figure out I lived there and that we fled the scene. Everybody saw us. We’re fucked.”

  Sondra crossed her arms and shivered. I turned on the heat. Hot air blew across our bare feet. We needed to get off the road, and fast.

  “Not only are we suspects,” I continued, “but Whitey was still alive. I shot him in the shoulder. They’ll capture him on the scene. If we tell them now, they can arrest him as soon as a doctor sews that shoulder up.”

  Sondra muttered something in Russian. She wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she watched the night flash by.

  “What’s that?”

  “I say that he will not be there when cops come. Whitey will be gone.”

  “He’s wounded. No way he can flee that quickly. He was losing a lot of blood.”

  “He will be gone when they arrive. You do not know Whitey.”

  She turned away again and stared out the window. I was frustrated, but decided not to press it. She’d been through just as much shit as I had—more, actually. I needed to be gentle.

  I fumbled for my cell phone, glad that I’d left it in the Jeep.

  “No,” Sondra pleaded. “You promise, Larry!”

  “Relax. I’m not calling the cops. I’m calling Jesse.”

  “Who is this Jesse?”

  “He’s my friend. I need to let him know about…Darryl. And he’s at the Odessa. I need to warn him to get the fuck out of there.”

  Sondra’s face paled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your friend is at the club?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did Whitey and Otar know he is your friend?”

  My stomach lurched. I gripped the cell phone tightly.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They knew. They’ve seen us with him before.”

  “Then your friend is already dead. That is how Whitey find us. We run away from club. He go inside and get your friend.”

  “Jesse wouldn’t drop dime on us.”

  “What is drop dime?”

  “Tell. He wouldn’t tell on us.”

  “Da. Whitey have Otar and the others torture him in back room until he tell where you live. Then they torture him more till he dead.”

  The pressure built inside of me. My jaw felt tight and my eyes felt like they might pop. My mouth went dry. Jesse. It made sense. Without speaking, I flipped open the cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Jesse’s cell phone. It rang and rang. Then his voice mail picked up.

  “Yo, this is Jesse. Leave a message, and I’ll holla’ back at you. Peace out.”

  I hung up without leaving a message.

  “Jesus…” My lips felt swollen. “Darryl. Jesse.”

  “I am sorry,” Sondra said.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Da, it is.”

  “Right now, let’s just figure
out what to do. Let me think for a bit, okay?”

  Sondra pouted. “You are angry with me, no?”

  “No. I just need to think. I promise. I’m not mad.”

  She fell silent again. I focused on the road and tried to think. Once the cops arrived on the scene and figured out who I was, they’d be looking for us. The Cherokee was a big fucking target. Might as well drive around with a flashing light that said, HERE WE ARE. COME ARREST US, PLEASE. I had to get another vehicle, or at the very least get off the main road and stay low for a while. I took the Mount Zion Road exit and turned right, passing by the York County prison. Chances were good that I’d be seeing more of it soon.

  I thought about Darryl and the way his head had remained face down when I flipped the rest of him over.

  I turned the heat on high. Warmth blasted my feet.

  It didn’t help.

  “We’ll be okay,” I said. “You’ll see.”

  Sondra didn’t respond.

  eleven

  We navigated down side roads and back roads, going deeper and deeper into Southern York County, heading towards the Maryland state line. We drove through East Prospect, Craley, and Wrightsville—all tiny rural towns without police departments or traffic lights. Even still, I made sure to do the speed limit and obey all traffic laws, just in case the State or Regional police were passing through. At one point, I got out of the Cherokee and slapped a few handfuls of mud over the license plate, obscuring some of the numbers. I followed a service road that ran along the banks of the Susquehanna River, and then turned off onto a hiking trail. It was wide enough for a four wheel drive vehicle, and delved deep into a State park. A brown National Forest Service sign told us that the park was closed from dusk to dawn. We parked, turned off the Jeep, and caught our breath.

  “I’ve got to call Yul.”

  “Who is Yul? Another friend?”

  “Yeah. He’s my friend. Maybe he can help us.”

  “Does he have guns? If so, then he can help.”

  Despite all the tension, I laughed at the thought of Yul with a gun. It was absurd.

  “What is funny?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Look, Yul doesn’t own guns, and I’m not sure what he could do up against Whitey and those guys. But he’s our friend, and I need to warn him. If Jesse gave up me and Darryl’s addresses, he may have told them Yul’s address, too.”

  “Was this Yul at club with your friend Jesse?”

  “No, but if Whitey wanted to know where we’d go after Darryl and I rescued you, then Jesse may have told him about Yul. I can’t take that chance. He needs to know what’s going on. And his girlfriend, too. They live together. If Otar and those guys are staking out Yul’s place, she could be in danger. I don’t want what happened to Darryl and maybe Jesse happening to them, too.”

  “Not maybe.”

  “What?”

  “You say maybe about your friend Jesse. Is not maybe. Is dead.”

  I pressed the speed dial for Yul’s cell phone. He wasn’t picking up, which meant he’d gone in to work. Or at least I hoped that was the case. It could also mean that he was currently being cut up by a bunch of sadistic Russian fucks, but I didn’t want to think about that. I left him a voice mail, asking him to call me right away. Then I dialed GPS and asked for Yul’s department. We had different supervisors, so I didn’t have to worry about my boss, Scott, picking up the phone. Yul’s supervisor picked up on the second ring. I asked for Yul and was told he was busy working right now. I explained this was a family emergency and it was urgent that I speak with him. Yul’s boss sighed and then grumbled at me to hold on. I waited almost two full minutes before Yul answered.

  “Hello? Kim?”

  “Hey man,” I said. “It’s me.”

  “Larry? They said it was a family emergency.”

  “It is.”

  “You’re not family.”

  “Okay,” I shouted, “so I lied to get you on the phone. Shut the fuck up and listen to me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “A lot…” I tried to say more, but there was a lump in my throat. I fought back tears.

  “Larry, what’s going on, man? Are you okay?”

  “Listen—what time are you getting off?”

  “Eight. Maybe a little later. We’re getting killed with Total Gyms today. I hate those fucking things.”

  I cringed at his word choice. Killed…

  “Larry? You still there?”

  “I’m here. Look, meet me in the parking lot when you get off work. Don’t go home and don’t talk to anybody. Just wait for me inside your car. Okay?”

  “Larry, I’ve got to get back to work, dude. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you now. Just meet me after your shift and I’ll explain everything. Please? It’s really important.”

  “Sure, brother. You got it.”

  “Is Kim at home?”

  “Kim? No, she’s visiting her parents in Williamsport. Why?”

  I closed my eyes and mouthed silent thanks. At least Kim was out of harm’s way.

  “No reason, man. Just didn’t want her waiting up for you and getting worried.”

  “Who are you and what did you do with Larry? Did Jesse and Darryl put you up to something? You guys never show concern about Kim. The hell is going on?”

  Again, I couldn’t speak. My throat clicked. Tears ran down my face.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I rasped. “Get back to work before you get in trouble.”

  I ended the call and stared at my cell phone, aimlessly scrolling through the address book. Darryl and Jesse’s names flashed by on the screen. I couldn’t believe this shit was happening. I felt so numb inside. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was some sort of defense mechanism—my brain shutting down, refusing to think about all that had occurred in the last few hours. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. If they had, maybe I would have felt better.

  I realized that Sondra was staring at me. I slipped the phone into my pocket and tried to smile in reassurance. Sondra patted my hand and smiled back.

  “What are you thinking, Larry?”

  “I wish we’d have taken the car along with their guns.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would be a lot easier to meet up with Yul if we weren’t riding in a vehicle that every cop in the state is probably looking for by now. Do you have a car?”

  “No. Whitey not let us own things like that. American girls, do. Not Russians.”

  I leaned back and sighed. It occurred to me that I should check the guns. The .38 was empty. I’d fired the last rounds at Whitey. Vacheslav’s pistol, the one Sondra had remembered to nab, was a Glock 9mm. It took me a few seconds to figure out how to eject the clip—or magazine. Whatever the fuck it was called. There were five bullets left. I slid the clip back into the weapon.

  “What else are you thinking?” Sondra asked.

  “I’m worried about Webster.”

  “The fuzzy cat?”

  “Yeah. The fuzzy cat. We left so quickly, I didn’t even think. When we…when we saw Darryl, I forgot all about Webster. He’s still in there.”

  “I am sure he is fine.”

  “Maybe. But if the cops leave the door open he could get out. And who’s gonna take care of him? No way we can go back there right now. He could end up at the pound. Or…”

  “What?”

  “Or that fucking prick Whitey could do something to him.”

  “Whitey would get away before police arrive. He not have time to worry about fuzzy cat.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “or maybe the sick fuck shoots Webster on his way out. Just to prove a point, you know?”

  I ground my teeth. My head ached.

  “Fuzzy cat is smart,” Sondra said. “Will hide, no?”

  “Probably. But I’ll tell you right now, if Whitey hurt Webster, I’ll fucking kill him.”

  Sondra’s laughter shocked me. I stared at her, wondering what was so funny. Was it that I was sho
wing concern for my cat, when two of my best friends were dead, too?

  “I sorry,” she apologized, “but what you say…”

  “What? Mind letting me in on the joke?”

  “You say you kill Whitey.”

  “How is that funny?”

  “Is not funny.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  “Never mind. Is not important.”

  Before I could insist on an explanation, she slid closer and leaned against me. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Sondra snuggled against me, laying her head on my chest. Her hand rested on my leg, just below my crotch.

  I sighed. “You know what I don’t get?”

  She looked up at me. “What?”

  “Why Whitey and the others would go through all this trouble. I mean, it’s not like you stole money from them or something. You’re pregnant. Why all this? It seems sort of extreme, don’t you think? Kill a woman and a bunch of other people just because she won’t get an abortion?”

  Sondra flinched. Her fingernails dug into my leg.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to upset you. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Are you sure that you told us—?”

  Sondra unzipped my jeans and slid her hand inside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “No more talk,” Sondra said. “While you are thinking these things, I am thinking about back at your apartment. About the bedroom. Now I am wanting more.”

  “Here?”

  “Da.”

  “Sondra, I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now. The cops…Yul…”

  “I give to you blow job. Then we go see your friend.”

  I started to protest but then her lips wrapped around me, silencing my words. I forgot all about Darryl and Jesse and Webster, forgot all about calling the cops or hiding from Whitey. Groaning, I slipped inside her warm, wet mouth and my concerns melted.

  When it was over, I could barely even remember what I’d been worried about in the first place.

  I started the Cherokee and we drove out of the forest. The sun was almost up. The world had that blue-gray quality that exists just before dawn. Not yet light but not total darkness. Gloom.

  It suited my mood.