Robert Tanenbaum - Outrage

“Cheap bastard,” Kadyrov complained as he pulled out his drug “kit,” containing a spoon, a small container of water, and a syringe, from the belly pocket of his sweatshirt. “Just give me my shit.”

Vinnie Cassino leaned forward, scooped up the money, and counted it. Pocketing the cash, he opened a wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out two small plastic bags of white powder. “You know I don’t like tweakers shooting up in my pad.”

“Well, unless you want me doing it in the hallway in front of your door, you’ll break your fucking rule,” Kadyrov replied as he continued with his preparations. “I’m not going to make it any farther than that.”

The dealer didn’t say anything more as Kadyrov tied the surgical tubing around his upper arm, mixed some of the white powder with water in the spoon, filled the syringe, and plunged it into a protruding vein. Ten seconds later, the younger man shook his head and smiled. “Now, that’s more like it.”

With his customer happy, Vinnie asked, “Who hit you?”

“No one.”

“Looks like you got in a fight and lost.” The dealer chuckled. “One of your ‘girlfriends’ fight back?”

“None of your business.”

Vinnie shrugged. “You’re right. And neither is this.” He tossed a section of newspaper that had been folded to display one article in particular on the table in front of Kadyrov. The headline jumped out in large bold type:

POLICE ARREST SUSPECT IN BRUTAL BRONX SLAYING

Kadyrov picked up the newspaper. He’d dropped out of school in the eighth grade and he’d never been much of a reader, so it took him a minute to get through the story. When he did, he laughed. Some loser named Felix Acevedo had been arrested for the murder of Dolores Atkins and the attack on the young woman in Mullayly Park. Apparently, he’d even confessed to the crimes. According to the story, the case was being reviewed by the Bronx DAO but charges were expected soon.

Looks like this might be my lucky day, Kadyrov thought as he read further. Acevedo’s mother told the reporter that her son couldn’t have committed such terrible crimes.

Kadyrov shrugged and pushed the newspaper back at his host. Oddly, he was mildly irritated that this Felix Acevedo punk was taking the credit for his work. With meth cruising through his brain, he was feeling all-powerful. Still, his paranoia cautioned him to be careful around Cassino. “So what’s this shit to me?” he sneered.

“I guess that lets you off the hook for the Bronx deal,” Vinnie said with a shrug. When Kadyrov didn’t reply, he added, “I guessed that might be you. Maybe he’ll confess to those two bitches in Manhattan, too, and you’ll really be in the clear.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kadyrov replied, though they both knew that he did.

Back in July, Kadyrov had gone to the Cassinos’ apartment looking to buy, and at that time he had plenty of money, too. The dealer even remembered what his customer was wearing, because instead of one of his usual short-sleeve button-down shirts, he had on a blue, long-sleeved silk shirt that wasn’t his style and was too big. “That’s a nice shirt,” he’d commented.

“Want it?” Kadyrov said, stripping down to his wife-beater undershirt.

Cassino figured that Kadyrov was changing his look more than being generous, but he liked the shirt and accepted the gift.

Kadyrov had also been wearing khaki pants, on which his wife noticed something. “What’s on your pants?” she’d asked.

Kadyrov frowned and looked down. “What are you talking about?”

“There around the bottom of the cuffs, and some spots on your legs,” Lydia said. “Looks like dried blood.”

“You’re crazy, it’s just some dirt,” Kadyrov answered, brushing at the stains before turning the subject to buying meth. He’d left soon after but not before using the bathroom and, the Cassinos noted, trying to spot-clean the stains from his trousers.

However, a couple days later when he’d returned for more drugs, another newspaper article had drawn his attention. He’d just shot up and was feeling confidence flow through his body when he noticed the main front-page headline of the news tabloid lying on the coffee table:

COLUMBIA U SLASHER STILL ON THE LOOSE

“That’s me,” he’d boasted, stabbing the paper with his finger.

Vinnie looked at the paper and then back at Kadyrov and scoffed. “Bullshit. You ain’t got the stomach for that sort of work.”

Insulted, Kadyrov had said more than he intended. “Screw you, I don’t. I was just going to fuck her,” he said. “Then rob her. But I’d tied her up and cut her clothes off when the older bitch showed up. She came at me like a fucking pit bull so I stuck her. But she kept coming, so I stuck her again, like four or five times. Finally, she goes down for good and just sort of lies there twitching and shit. That’s when I remember the other bitch on the bed. I turn around and she’s looking at me all bug-eyed and shit. She’s crying and whimpering, and she won’t shut up, even when I tell her I’m going to cut her fucking head off. But she just kept going. So I used her good and killed her, too.”

Vinnie had looked at him with skepticism but his wife was more convinced. “Jesus H. Christ, I think he means it, Vinnie!”

“Damn right,” Kadyrov bragged. “And after that, I was cold as ice. My shirt was covered with blood, so I took it off and washed up. Then I got another one from the bitch’s closet. That blue silk number I was wearing. Put my shirt in a bag and tossed it in a Dumpster in Harlem. Guess I didn’t get all the blood off my pants.”

“You’re one sick puppy,” Vinnie said to his customer.

“Just remember what I’m capable of,” Kadyrov replied. He was starting to regret saying so much. “Some little bird calls the cops on your business here and you’re going away forever. I go down, and you go down. Then ain’t nobody going to be around to protect your old lady.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, you don’t remember telling us about those other women last July,” Vinnie said. “You know, the one come at you like a pit bull so you had to stick her a few times. Then you fucked that other one and did her, too. You was bragging that you’re the Columbia U Slasher.”

“Fuck you. I never said nothing like that,” Kadyrov retorted.

“Yes, you did,” Lydia said, chiming in. “I was sitting right here. I also noticed those blood spots on your pants right after you done them gals.”

“So you did that woman in the Bronx, too?” Vinnie asked. “Or is this guy telling the truth?”

“Whether I did or didn’t, I think both of you should watch your fucking mouths,” Kadyrov said threateningly, standing up. “And remember, snitches end up in ditches. Or maybe a little bird will start singing to the cops about what you do in this rat hole you call home.”

Vinnie held up his hands. “Hold on, son,” he said. “Ain’t nobody snitching on nobody else. What you do on your own is your own business. And I don’t stick my nose in another man’s business, so long as he don’t stick his nose in mine. Your money’s good here, and that’s all I care about. We cool?”

Kadyrov smiled. “Yeah, we’re cool. Outlaws got to stick together, right?”

“Right, son,” Vinnie replied. “And just to show you there’s no hard feelings, how about another bump on me?”

“Now you’re talking,” Kadyrov said. “Care to join me?”

Vinnie smiled and picked up his own kit from the end table next to his chair. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Ten minutes later, Kadyrov was gone. He’d done so much meth he was practically bouncing off the walls and talking about “some big deals” he was going to put together. “Then I’ll be buying ounces, and I better get a good deal or I’ll take my biz somewhere else,” he said, and left.