Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

“Michael!” he yelled. “Mom said to wait for me!” Michael kept running.

Esteban held the door, waiting until the younger kid cleared the threshold.

“Michael! I’m telling Mom!”

Esteban smiled slightly. He had an older brother. Paco was in Walla Walla, serving six to twelve for a manslaughter charge. It had been at least three months since he’d visited his older brother. He decided to do that soon. Right now, though, he wanted that Pepsi-

A firm hand gripped his left shoulder, then a hard coldness bit into his right kidney. He took in a sharp breath. Before there was even any pain, he felt the blade slide forward, cutting through his abdomen. When the knife tore free somewhere near his belly button, the coldness turned to a harsh fire of intense pain exploding from his middle. He tried to cry out, but only a wet gasp slipped past his lips.

Strong hands guided him to the ground and leaned him against the wall next to the door. Esteban wanted to see who it was. He wanted to take the identity of his killer with him to hell, but he couldn’t muster the strength to turn his head and look. The most he could manage was to stare down at his middle. Bright red blood coursed out, soaking into his white T-shirt and pooling around his knees.

Chinga tu madre, puto , he tried to say, but could only gurgle.

He didn’t want to die this way. He refused to die this way. He would take this coward with him. Esteban wrapped his left arm around his seeping middle to keep his insides from spilling out. He slid his hand into his pocket, fumbling for the.25 auto. The bullets might not be that big, but when he put one in the middle of that maricon’s forehead, it would do the-

The next thing he knew was darkness.

Wednesday, July 16th

1640 hours

Renee sat in the chief’s office, feeling ignored while Special Agent Maurice Payne orated. The mush-mouthed agent prattled on mostly to the chief, occasionally glancing at Captain Reott and Lieutenant Crawford. Renee and Detective Browning might as well have been invisible.

“The AK-47, while not exclusively used by former Soviet organized crime, is a heavily favored weapon,” Payne said in the tone of a lecturing professor. “As you may know, that was the standard issue rifle in the former Soviet Union and their satellite eastern bloc nations. The better models are Czech-made, though the Chinese have a-”

“I’m familiar with the weapon, son,” the chief said, cutting him off. “I faced off against soldiers carrying it for my entire military career. But just because someone used an AK-47, it doesn’t make them Russian. Anyone could have gotten hold of some AKs.”

“Perhaps,” Payne conceded, his expression slightly pouty. “But also remember that DeShawn Brown reported hearing a Russian accent.”

“He heard an accent,” Detective Browning corrected. “He didn’t specify it was a Russian accent.”

Payne turned to Browning. “When I spoke to him, I asked if it could have been Russian. He said yes.”

Browning’s eyes widened. “You interviewed one of my witnesses?”

“Of course,” Payne said officiously. He gave Browning a condescending look. “Sometimes you have to know what questions to ask, Detective.”

Browning’s nostrils flared. Renee swore she saw red seep into Browning’s cocoa-colored cheeks. There was a long moment of tension in the room before Browning sputtered, “Know what questions to-”

“I thought the feebs were here to observe and assist,” Lieutenant Crawford interrupted. “Not screw up our investigation.”

The room fell silent and the temperature seemed to drop. Renee resisted the urge to smile at Payne’s expense and sat quietly waiting to see how the situation played out. Payne blushed and pressed his lips together tightly, but didn’t speak right away.

The chief filled the silence. “I don’t think we need to be tossing any more rocks in the pond, Lieutenant,” he said, “just to see the splash.”

Lieutenant Crawford didn’t remove his eyes from Payne. “Sir, I wasn’t tossing any rocks. I just think it’s damned unprofessional of an agency that’s supposed to be assisting us on a case to stomp on the lead investigator’s shoes.”

Payne squirmed under Crawford’s steady gaze. “If this was a shoplifting at the supermarket,” Payne snapped, “I’d be inclined to agree with you, Lieutenant. But this case has major repercussions that could extend well beyond River City. If the Russians are successful in consolidating their position here, they might make similar moves in large cities such as Seattle or Portland.”

“So we’re just the minor leagues,” Crawford commented dryly.

“River City’s always been a small town,” Payne shot back. “A city isn’t always defined by the size of its population. Sometimes it has to do with attitude and professionalism.”

“Well,” Crawford said. “Aren’t we just Mr. Cosmopolitan?”

Payne opened his mouth to reply, but the chief cut him off.

“Enough of this!” he rumbled. “It’s getting us nowhere. Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, it’s clear we have a bit of a problem here in River City.” He glanced at Renee. “In your initial briefing to me, you made some statements about this particular brand of gangster. Would you mind repeating those for everyone else present?”

Renee nodded and cleared her throat. “Basically my point to the chief was that the Russian gangs tend to be more organized and more ruthless than we’ve seen in our gangs of the homegrown variety. Aside from some of the Central American gangs, I don’t think you’ll find a criminal organization more willing to do considerable violence than with the Russians.”

“I already know that,” Payne said. “That’s why I’m here.”

The chief held up his hand. “I just want everyone on the same page, Special Agent.”

Payne shrugged and motioned for Renee to continue.

Renee said, “The problem is that immigrant communities such as the Ukrainian community here in River City tend to be very insular and suspicious of law enforcement. We don’t get much help, if any, from the community members even though the vast majority are hardworking and law-abiding people.”

“So,” the chief said, “what is your recommendation?”

Renee raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“Your recommendation,” the chief said. “If you were sitting in my chair, what would you do to solve this problem?”

Renee felt her heart race. She’d been a crime analyst for twelve years. In all that time she was very comfortable with her facts and even her speculation, but she couldn’t remember a time when anyone other than a working detective asked for her opinion on a solution.

“Renee?” the chief said, still looking at her.

“I think you have to strike at the head of the snake just as you would in any other organized crime case,” Renee finally managed. “Since the agent has an asset that can give us that information.”

Payne held up his hand. “Wait a minute. Now we’re getting into confidential material that these gentlemen aren’t cleared to know.”

“Do you mean the protected witness that we’re helping you guard up at the Quality Inn on North Division?” Captain Reott said.

Payne set his jaw and sighed. “That’s the problem,” he said, “with sharing information with the locals. There’s no sense of security.”

“Your information’s safe enough,” Reott said. “And not known to the majority of my troops. I do think it’s fitting that the division commander of patrol should be aware of this. Don’t you?”

“Fine,” Payne conceded. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept the information circle as tight as possible.”