Stuart Kaminsky - Always Say Goodbye

The brothers had made it to their feet. Stavros was shaking his head.

“Nothing,” Lew said. “Let them go.”

“Hold it,” said Stavros, leaning back against the meshing. His good eye rolled, still trying to focus. His glass eye looked at nothing. “Dimi, you okay?”

Dimitri nodded yes.

“We’re not very good at this,” said Stavros with a sigh.

“No, you’re not,” Lew said.

“We’re not tough either,” added Dimitri. “We’ve never hurt anyone.”

Stavros turned his head so his good eye was aimed at Lew.

Lew believed them.

“I want to design Web pages. Dimi wants to play the viola in an orchestra. We don’t want to carry guns and be in car chases and follow people on airplanes.”

“Our father needs us,” said Dimitri, gagging. “He needs us.”

“Yeah,” agreed Stavros. “Posno goes down, our father is safe, and Dimi and I head for California.”

“A one-eyed actor?” said Franco.

“Go,” said Tonio, helping the groaning Stavros to his feet. “And do not come back. You hear what I’m saying?”

Franco lifted the still-gagging Dimitri and stood him up.

Stavros and Dimitri nodded that they understood. Tonio picked up Stavros’s fallen gun and handed it to Lew who now had two guns he didn’t want.

“How did you lose your eye?” Lew said.

Stavros brushed his hair back with his hand.

“Told you, Posno.”

“When, how, the story,” Lew said.

“Okay, Dimi and I went with our father to a doctor’s appointment in Cicero. Afternoon. Dimi was the driver. I was the shotgun. That’s what our father called me. I didn’t have a shotgun. I had a gun in the holster under my jacket and another in my pocket. Posno could come anywhere, anytime, our father always said. Watch, be ready.”

“We weren’t ready,” said Dimitri.

“We parked in front of the office building,” said Stavros. “Pop went in. Dimi stayed behind the wheel. Street looked empty. I got out and stood by the door where I could keep an eye on things. Only then I had two eyes. Maybe five minutes later, three shots.”

“Maybe four,” said Dimitri.

“Maybe four,” Stavros agreed. “Four shots from I don’t know where. I felt an itch I had to scratch under my eye but I pulled out both guns and started to shoot. I didn’t know where I was shooting. Even if I did, I’m a rotten shot and by then I only had the one eye.”

“You see the shooter?” Lew asked Dimitri.

“No,” he answered. “I ducked down. Almost got killed. Stavros put two shots through the windshield.”

“Couldn’t see. Couldn’t shoot all that straight even when I had two eyes,” Stavros said.

“Then?” Lew prompted.

Franco and Uncle Tonio listened and kept an eye on the brothers.

“Pop came out,” said Dimitri. “Heard the shots. Pop had his gun out. He saw Stavros on his knees, his hand over his eye, blood coming down. Pop went nuts. He was looking around like a looney. I think he said, ‘Where?’”

“He said, ‘Where,’” Stavros confirmed.

“So Pop looks at me,” Dimitri went on. “I point ahead of the car. Pop goes running that way. I get out of the car and said something.”

“You said, ‘Stavros, stop shooting at me,’” said Stavros.

“Your father?” Lew said.

“Turned into an alley,” said Dimitri. “Couldn’t see him. Shots. Pop comes back, gun in his pocket and says, ‘Posno.’”

“They put me in the car and took me to the hospital,” said Stavros.

“What does Posno look like?” Lew asked.

“Like a bald Sylvester Stallone with a beard,” said Stavros. “Broken nose, white scar on his chin. Doesn’t smile. Pop says he doesn’t have the beard some of the time.”

“Wait,” said Tonio. “How’d you two get in here?”

“Broke a window in back,” said Stavros.

“Herman, how much is a window?” asked Tonio.

“One hundred and fifty would be fair,” said Herman.

“I’m not trying to be fair,” said Tonio. “I deserve a small profit for having my place of business violated.” He looked at Dimitri and Stavros. “Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

With fifty dollars from his brother added to the two hundred he had in his wallet, Stavros came up with the cash and handed it to Herman.

“Now?” asked Franco.

Lew nodded.

Franco and Uncle Tonio marched the wounded brothers through the warehouse and out onto the loading dock. Lew followed, a gun in each hand. Stavros and Dimitri walked wounded across the shipping dock, went down the stairs, got in their car and drove away.

“I’ll take those,” said Herman.

Lew placed the guns in Herman’s hands.

“They should go to the police to be checked against the bullet that killed a lawyer named Claude Santoro,” Lew said.

“Our fingerprints are all over them,” said Franco.

Herman tucked one of the guns in his pocket, took the other, disassembled it, looked down the barrel. He did the same thing with the second gun. The entire process took him no more than two minutes.

“Neither of these guns has ever been fired,” Herman said, handing the weapons to Tonio who looked at Lew.

“Want me to put them someplace safe?” he asked.

Lew nodded.

“You want that sandwich?” asked Tonio.

“Sure,” Lew said.

A few minutes later, seated behind the desk on the same wooden swivel chair Lew remembered as a kid, Uncle Tonio told them about the time Sam Giancanna had bumped into him when Tonio was coming out of Donellini’s.

“I fell on my ass,” said Tonio, holding a potato chip up to the light. “Guy with Giancanna picks me up. Giancanna apologizes. I know who he is. I say, ‘Sure, no harm.’ Giancanna nods. Guy with him reaches under his jacket. I figure they’re going to make me full of holes. Guy hands me a bunch of twenty-dollar bills folded over. I thought about handing the money back.”

“Not a good idea,” Franco said.

“No,” Tonio agreed. “I pocketed the money. Took Herman back to Donellini’s the next night and spent it.”

“ Vitello Picata and pasta,” said Herman, who sat on a wicker chair that would have dropped a heavier man, like Franco, into a comic pratfall.

“Think there’s a fixed rate for everything?” asked Franco, chewing on a sausage sandwich. “I mean like this Posno. You know, like four or five thousand for a broken arm or leg? Maybe a hundred thousand to kill you?”

“Twenty thousand,” said Herman.

“And that’s on the high side,” added Tonio. “You want it done nonprofessionally, you can get it for less than five hundred dollars, a crackhead for less. A good pro, you get to choose your method and whether you want it to look like suicide. Want something exotic, you pay a price, you get it.”

“Can opener,” said Herman.

“Right,” said Tonio, remembering. “We read this book by-”

“John Lutz,” Herman completed.

“Right,” said Tonio. “Guy kills another guy with a can opener.”

“How?” asked Franco, his cheek bulging with the last of his sandwich. “Wait. I don’t want to know.”

“Lewis,” said Tonio. “You got someone you want killed?”

“No,” Lew said, getting up. “I’ve got someone I want to talk to.”

“Who?” asked Franco, rising.

“Rebecca Strum.”

May be you should call her, be sure she’s home,” said Franco as they headed south down Lake Shore Drive.

“We’ll try,” Lew said.

The phone beeped as they passed Soldier Field. Franco picked it up and handed it to Lew.

“Milt,” Holiger said. “Lewis, I’ll give you the ruthlessly edited version of what I’ve got. Can’t do more now.”