Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

Chisolm raised his hand.

Saylor nodded at the veteran officer. “Tom?”

“Don’t go code four, for starters,” Chisolm said. “That way, you always have adequate backup. After that, I’d say you have to judge each situation by its own merits. If you can act decisively and take someone into custody, then you should. But if the risk outweighs the reward?” Chisolm shrugged. “Forget it. We’ll get them eventually.”

Saylor nodded and looked around the room. “Is everyone listening? Your safety is number one.”

There was a murmur of understanding throughout the assembled group.

“That said,” Saylor continued, “if any events such as what this CI describes do occur, I want to know about it immediately.”

Heads bobbed collectively. Chisolm knew Saylor cared about his men and took care of them, which is one of the reasons he respected the shift commander.

“Okay,” Saylor said. “Now, secondly, Renee is reporting that we now have the assistance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation at our disposal when it comes to issues of organized crime.”

A smattering of groans and a titter of laughter went through the room. Chisolm couldn’t resist joining in. “An FBI agent, El-Tee?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Saylor answered. “Why?”

“Well, sir,” Chisolm replied, “excuse me for saying, but those guys are about as helpful as a hostage negotiator with Tourette’s syndrome.”

The room exploded in raucous laughter, and a slight smile appeared on Saylor’s face. Chisolm tipped him a wink. He knew one of his roles was to keep roll calls loose and that his commanding officer appreciated it. Some things weren’t very different between the military and police work.

Once the guffaws tapered off, Lieutenant Saylor turned up his hands to the assembled group. “Their effectiveness aside, the Bureau is at our disposal.” His voice turned slightly more serious. “If we get anything on the intel side, they might actually be helpful, so forward it to Renee. Any questions?”

No one raised a hand.

“All right, then,” Saylor said. “All that potential support from the feds doesn’t come free, though. We’ve got a babysitting detail to rotate through up at the Quality Inn on Division. Sergeant Shen will have the assignment. It’s an all-nighter.”

“Glad I work south side,” Officer Aaron Norris quipped from the Charlie Sector table.

“You’re a ssigned south,” Chisolm shot back. “I don’t know about the work part.”

Another chorus of laughter and a few “Oohs” went through the room. Norris paused a moment, searching for a reply. He settled for the tried and true-a middle finger.

“Is that your IQ or the number of parents you know?” Chisolm asked him, sparking another round of laughter.

Saylor raised his hands to settle things down. “Okay, that’s enough. Does anyone else have anything besides verbal jabs?” No one replied. “Okay. Then let’s hit the street.”

Chairs scraped as officers rose to leave. As Chisolm stood, Norris called out to him. “Hey, Tom, I heard that at your age, ‘getting a little action’ means you don’t need to take any fiber today.”

“That’s not what your wife said,” Chisolm said. “By the way, you need to pick up some bread on the way home after work.”

“Really?” Norris said. “What brought that up? The yeast infection?”

Chisolm raised his palms in a half shrug, half surrender. He couldn’t top that. Instead, he gathered up his patrol bag and headed for the basement to get his car.

2249 hours

Valeriy rapped lightly on the front door. After a few moments Marina appeared in her bathrobe. When she recognized her brother she smiled and opened the door.

“Good to see you,” she said, giving him a short embrace. She planted a light kiss on his jaw. “But you always come so late, Valera. If you came earlier, you could have some dinner with us.”

Val shrugged. “I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

She waved his words away. “Don’t be foolish. You’re my brother. You are family. Besides, Pavel loves you. I think perhaps you are even his hero.”

Good.

“And Sergey?” Val asked.

She gave him a puzzled look. “Sergey loves you, too, silly. You are like his brother.”

“I feel the same,” he said. Like Cain and Abel.

Marina slid her hand into his and leaned her head onto his shoulder. “We were right to come here,” she said, her voice soft. “America has been good for us.”

“Yes,” Val agreed. “It is a place where a man can shape his own destiny.”

“A woman, too,” she reminded, nudging him with her shoulder.

Val nodded, though he didn’t understand. What was she doing any differently as Sergey’s wife in America that she couldn’t have accomplished back home in Ukraine? There wasn’t much difference, other than some luxuries. Not like how his own vista of opportunity spread open for him when he came to this country.

“A drink?” Marina asked him.

“Sure.”

She squeezed his arm and drifted away. Val watched her slim form as she walked toward the kitchen. His sister was a beautiful, pure woman, perhaps the most beautiful woman he knew. Sergey didn’t have any idea how lucky he was to be married to her. Though Sergey didn’t treat her poorly and was very discreet with his mistresses, Val didn’t believe that he was close to worthy of her. Of course, Val knew he would probably not find a man alive that would be worthy of Marina.

So what would she do when Sergey was gone?

The creak of the stairs pierced his thoughts, and a moment later Sergey entered the living room, still fully dressed. That meant that his boss intended to go out, whether to see a mistress or otherwise. Val would have to convince him not to. It was important that he be at home tonight.

“Valeriy,” he said. “You are coming by late again. More business?”

Val nodded. The two men moved into the kitchen and sat at the small wooden table in the corner. Marina put a short glass of vodka in front of each of them. Val smiled his thanks to his sister but Sergey merely grunted and threw back the drink with one hard swallow. Then he tapped the glass with his wedding ring. Marina refilled the glass without pause, then left the bottle on the table.

“Bed for me,” she said pleasantly before kissing both men briefly on the cheek and leaving. Neither man spoke until the creaking sound of the stairs faded.

“What is so pressing?” Sergey asked. His voice was a little sharper than Val was accustomed to.

“The first move is in motion,” Val said.

Sergey considered for a moment. “You mean the black move or the brown move?”

Val suppressed a scowl. He tried to keep his discussions with Sergey somewhat encoded so that anyone listening wouldn’t be able to connect the dots. Their most direct and pointed conversations usually took place outdoors, away from their vehicles, while walking. There was less chance that someone was recording them that way. He knew that he was likely being overly careful on this matter, but the memories of the KGB refused to leave him, so he kept his vigilance. Perhaps the Americans were not so invasive. Perhaps their organization was not yet interesting enough to the police to garner this level of attention. But the vigilance was his discipline and he kept to it, so it bothered him when Sergey strayed so far.

“Black,” he said reluctantly, “then brown.”

He didn’t like this simplistic code-speak. Anyone listening would immediately break out the racial meaning, particularly after the events to come.

“Good,” Sergey said. “And Ivan?”

“The judge set bail at $20,000.”

“For disciplining his wife?”