Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

Katie drew in a breath and prepared to tell Carson some version of all these thoughts. She wasn’t sure how they’d tumble out but she was pretty sure this little beauty queen would know by the end of the conversation that even if she had some sort of secret wisdom, she wasn’t just going to hand it over to some bimbo playing dress-up. Carson was going to have to earn it. Like she did.

“Are you still there?” Carson asked.

“Yes,” Katie said. Her stomach was warm with the wine. Maybe she shouldn’t say those things. Or if she did, maybe it shouldn’t be when she was feeling the wine so much. Maybe she should suggest that she and Carson meet for coffee sometime in the next couple of days and she could decide if there was any advice she could give her that would help.

“Should I call you some other time? You sound a little funny.”

“No,” Katie said. “I’m fine. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, I just figured you were the best person to talk to.” She paused. “Maybe the only one who’d understand.”

Katie did understand.

“There aren’t any women on your platoon?” Katie asked.

“No. Just you. Besides me, of course.”

“Wait a minute. You’re on my platoon now?”

“Yeah,” Carson said. “I got reassigned when you were injured. You didn’t know?”

“No,” Katie answered. “I didn’t know.”

Katie digested this. They sure didn’t take long to replace her. What the hell was this? Any chick will do? She knew that wasn’t the case, but it still burned at her. Not only was she going to be out of commission, but in the meantime Carson was supposed to replace her? And now Carson had the audacity to call her up and ask her exactly how to do that?

“Anyway,” Carson said, “I just figured you probably went through a lot of the same stuff I’m dealing with, so I wanted to call and see if you can offer any advice.”

Katie opened and closed her mouth. She choked down the bilious words that threatened to spill out. Even through the vino she could tell that while Carson didn’t know how utterly ignorant she was, she wasn’t calling to be malicious. She didn’t deserve a magic totem to get her through what Katie learned the hard way, but she didn’t deserve Katie biting her head off, either.

“The best advice I can give you is to do the job,” Katie said. She knew her words had a slight slur, but she repeated them anyway. “Just do the job the best you can.” When Carson didn’t reply right away, Katie added, “Be a good cop.”

Katie nodded. Her advice might sound simple, but she knew it was also profound. In fact it was as close to a magical secret as Carson, or any other cop for that matter, was likely to ever get.

“Okay,” Carson replied, her voice unsure. “But I was also wondering about-”

“I’m sorry,” Katie said, “but I’ve got to go. This pain medication makes me nauseous. I’m not feeling very good.”

“Oh. All right. Well, thanks for-”

“You’re welcome,” Katie said, and hung up.

For a long while Katie MacLeod stared down at her empty wine glass, awash in emotions. Guilt gave way to frustration, which faded into a tickling anger. A little bit of self-pity tried to worm its way in, but she pushed it away with pride. Finally the guilt rose to the top again.

Katie slid her injured foot off the support chair, stood up, and limped toward the refrigerator. She was pretty sure that another bottle of Wenatchee’s best was in there. And right now, that seemed the simplest and easiest thing to do.

1811 hours

Valeriy Romanov sat sipping his Turkish coffee. A half-eaten pastry sat on the plate in front of him. He stared down at the deep black coffee in the tiny cup between his hands. Sergey could not be moved from his decision to address the heads of the various gangs. This was despite Val’s strong counsel that he insulate himself and allow Val to handle the meeting. “No,” Sergey had said, “a subjugated people need to know who their ruler is, even if they never see my face again.”

Val had argued, raising several valid points. Sergey was unmoved. Of course, secretly Val was glad that Sergey had been obstinate. It was exactly what he’d wanted.

Val lifted the powerful coffee to his lips and sipped. The strong taste and odor filled his senses while he considered how to execute the next stage of his plan. He saw the endgame very clearly, but the plays between now and then were still shadowy. Perhaps Sergey would show him the way. He glanced around the small coffee shop, a habit from his days on the street as a young man. Natalia stood by the cash register striking a seductive pose and glancing up at him often enough to let him know that she was his for the taking. He thought that perhaps after he finished with the evening’s business he might avail himself of that particular opportunity. But for now he needed to remain focused.

Focused. The lack of focus made him think momentarily of Pavel. He fingered a battered paperback copy of Dune that sat next to his plate. It was printed in Russian, purchased from a street vendor in Kiev. He’d brought it along to give to his nephew. The boy needed to become more serious, and soon. What better way to reach him than through the same book that stirred his own Machiavellian nature?

He turned his thoughts to the top men in the organization. None of them lacked in loyalty. Several had been soldiers who served in Spetsnaz with him, and those that hadn’t had been on the streets of Kiev with him and Sergey.

Still, Val had to admit he had missed Oleg’s treachery. The accountant had voiced several points of dissatisfaction, but Val had never read that to be disloyalty. He encouraged his men to speak up and advise him of any problems they saw with operations. It was in that light that he had heard Oleg’s challenges. Instead, the man turned out to be a traitor, a dirty musor .

Val took another sip of his Turkish coffee and considered that for a moment. Oleg had been vocal, but was that traitorous? The transgression for which Sergey had sentenced him to die was embezzlement. Stealing from Sergey was certainly not the most loyal of practices, but Val wondered still if he would classify Oleg as disloyal. Everyone skimmed a little. It was a cash business, after all. As long as a man wasn’t too greedy, he could do that indefinitely. Val set aside significant amounts before kicking up to Sergey and the boss had been never the wiser. Either that or he considered it the cost of doing business. His decision to punish Oleg most likely had to do with the amount Oleg was skimming and not necessarily the practice itself.

Val asked himself why he was so concerned with this, but the answer came immediately behind. Because if he missed signs of Oleg’s disloyalty, how well could he gauge the others?

Val thought on that for a long while. In the end he was forced to conclude that all of the men were as loyal as any man could be. Oleg’s treachery with the police was because of the fire. He sat for a while, considering his rationalization. Finally he accepted his own analysis.

He mentally walked through each of his top men again. This time he gauged their loyalty to Sergey versus their loyalty to him. He found that task considerably easier. The men who had served in the military were his. Of that he had no doubt. The others he was less certain of. However, his efforts over the past several months to bring them closer at Sergey’s expense seemed to have been largely successful. He believed that if he made his move now the coup might well be bloodless.

Aside from Sergey, that is.

And Marina, of course. Val thought about his sister again. He didn’t like the idea of bringing her pain, but knew it could not be helped. He told himself he would be there to comfort her, and tried to push thoughts of her from his mind.