Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

Sully’s eyebrows went up. “He hurt you?”

Katie nodded.

“Bad?”

She shrugged. The motion caused her to wince in pain. “Bad enough,” she said, trying to keep it together. “I probably need to see a doctor, anyway.”

“What happened?”

“I think I broke my ankle when we fell down the stairs.”

Sully looked up at the steep, narrow staircase and whistled. “I can see that happening easily enough. What else? Do you need anything?”

Katie took another deep breath. “I could use a ride to the hospital,” she half-joked.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Sully said.

“I don’t know if that’s necess-”

Sully raised his radio to his mouth. “Adam-122, I need an RA here for an injured officer. Conscious and breathing. Possible broken ankle.”

“Copy.”

“And start me a supervisor,” Sully added.

“Copy.”

Katie scowled. “Thanks, Sully. Now the whole world knows.”

He shrugged. “Everyone on the job is going to find out that you kicked the shit out of a guy three times your size anyway, MacLeod. So what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, I’m hurt. I don’t want everyone to know that.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer the question. He wouldn’t understand, anyway. Instead, she said, “It’s not just cops, bonehead. Everyone with a scanner knows, too.”

Sully shrugged. “I still don’t see-”

“The asshole in the back of your car knows, too.” Tears rose in her eyes. She used the back of her hand to brush them away with annoyance. “I don’t want him knowing he hurt me, all right?”

“Okay,” Sully said.

“I mean, I know he’s going to find out eventually, once we charge him and everything,” Katie said, her words tumbling out. “He’ll see the report and we’ll go to court and all that. But I don’t want him to know now . I don’t want him to know how close-”

Sully reached out and rested his hand on her left shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Katie looked up and met his gaze. “Do you?”

Sully grinned and shrugged. “Kinda. But not really.”

Katie smiled through her tears. “You’re an asshole, Sully.”

“Aye, lass,” he whispered in his faux brogue. “’Tis true. But don’t worry about it. The dude in our car isn’t listening to anything except country music right now.” His eyes glinted. “Cranked-up country music, actually, since he looked like the heavy metal type.”

Katie let out a small chuckle. “All right. Good enough.”

Sully squeezed her shoulder gently. Then he raised his radio to his mouth again. “Adam-122 to Officer Battaglia.”

“Go ahead,” replied Battaglia. Katie heard a snatch of twanging guitar in the background.

“Go ahead and transport to jail,” Sully transmitted. “I’ll stay here and finish up.”

“Copy.”

Sully slid his radio back onto his belt. “He’ll be long gone before the ambulance gets here,” he told her.

“Thanks,” Katie said. Slight nausea crept into her stomach as the adrenaline faded further. She swallowed heavily.

Sully chuckled and shook his head. “Katie MacLeod, I’ve gotta hand it to ye,” he said. “Ye are the bomb, lass.”

Katie managed a weak smile but said nothing.

Together they waited for the sergeant and the ambulance.

2217 hours

Valeriy Aleksandrovich Romanov stood in the enclosed bus stop, smoking. He watched what he thought of as something akin to a street opera performance at the apartment complex across the street. When he had first arrived and seen the police car parked out front, he decided to wait a while and watch. His nephew, Pavel, had frowned at the prospect of delay, but Val simply told him, “A man that can be patient eventually finds his foe at his feet.”

The boy frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Val told him.

Pavel sighed. “You sound like my father.”

“I know,” Val answered.

And that is no accident. For more reasons than one.

He turned back to the opera before him. When he’d witnessed a struggle in the small foyer of the apartment building on the other side of the glass doors, he experienced no inclination to intervene. He could see that it was between a larger man and a smaller cop, but couldn’t make out faces. All he could see was the sleeveless white T-shirt that Ivan preferred and the dark blue uniform.

Val simply waited and smoked. If it wasn’t Ivan fighting with the cops, then all he had to do was wait for them to finish their business and leave. It didn’t concern him at all. After they left, he could attend to the purpose for which he’d come to these apartments. If, on the other hand, it was Ivan who was fighting with the cops, then it wouldn’t do Val any good to go running in and getting involved. Besides, Ivan was strong. He could win his own fights.

A minute later, two more cops appeared from upstairs. Val didn’t sigh, but he shifted his assessment of the situation. The likelihood now was that whoever was fighting with the cops was going to jail. Three against one were not good odds, even for Black Ivan.

And if Ivan went to jail, that might cause Val a little problem.

“Why are we still waiting?” Pavel asked, his tone impatient.

Val shushed him, handing him the newspaper. “Here. Make yourself useful,” he said. “Pretend to read this.”

Pavel glanced down at the River City Herald and frowned. “It’s in fucking English, Uncle,” he complained.

“Then only read the words you know,” Val snapped. “But stop staring across the street. Do you want the cops to notice us and come over here, too?”

Pavel paused, then nodded with understanding. He turned his attention to the newspaper, pretending to be thoroughly entranced by the city’s chronicle.

Val resisted shaking his head. The boy was brave enough, but he didn’t use his head. He only brought him along and tried to educate him out of respect for his sister.

Don’t lie to yourself, Valeriy.

He brought his cigarette up and took another drag in order to mask a small smile.

The thought was true enough, though. The other reason-probably the real reason-he brought Pavel along was because he was Sergey’s son. Sergey was married to Val’s sister, but more importantly, Sergey was the boss. Being brother to Sergey’s wife was a good connection to have, but being Pavel’s mentor only firmed up his position in the family.

His thoughts were broken when two cops emerged from the apartment entrance with Ivan between them. They marched him around the corner of the building, then disappeared behind it.

“That was Black Ivan,” Pavel murmured.

“Yes.”

“Where are they taking him?”

Valeriy shrugged. “Jail, I suppose.”

He masked his smile at the irony of his own comment. In the former Soviet Union, of course, the scene that just played out before him could have meant any number of things. A guy like Ivan could disappear into the bowels of the KGB building. He could end up floating in the Dnieper River. Or he could simply go to jail for a little while.

Of the three options, it was the third one that really represented the most danger for a man like Ivan. If one of their men came back from a light trip to jail, there was almost always the paranoid assumption that he was now working for the government as some sort of spy. He’d heard stories of-

“What if they find the packages?” Pavel asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Then they do,” Val answered. “Now shut up and read your paper.”

“I only know a few words,” Pavel complained. “It makes no sense.”

Val ignored the young man until he sighed and returned to the Herald . He watched one of the cops return to the foyer. The police car left with Ivan in the back seat. Another police car arrived, this one without overhead lights. A small Asian officer exited and went into the foyer. Eventually an ambulance arrived at the front of the apartment. Val watched and smoked his cigarette to the very end. He tossed the butt into the nearby can and lit another.