Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

The medics brought the cop out of the apartment building on a gurney. Val frowned. That could mean even more trouble for Ivan. Although American cops didn’t take quite the same dim view that Kiev cops did when it came to an assault on one of their own, it did seem to be a crime that the courts actually punished people for.

That worried him. He didn’t want Ivan out of commission for long.

Val watched as the medics maneuvered the gurney near the rear of the ambulance. The cop’s head rose and glanced around. That’s when he noticed the feminine features.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Pavel lowered the newspaper. “What?” he asked, his voice once again urgent.

Val waved away his question. “Read,” he ordered, not even looking at the boy. Instead, he watched the medics load the female cop into the ambulance.

Black Ivan was beaten by a woman?

Val shook his head. No, that couldn’t be true. He must have been beating the woman cop until the other two arrived. That would explain why she was being taken to the hospital.

A few moments later, the Asian cop drove away. Now only one police car remained, the one parked in front of the building.

Val waited and watched. After about thirty minutes of smoking and listening to Pavel rustle the newspaper impatiently, the final cop exited the front of the apartment complex and made his way to the patrol car parked next to the curb. He fished in his pockets for his keys, trying a couple in the door before one worked.

“Is he the last one?” Pavel asked.

Val noticed that his nephew didn’t look up from the newspaper when he spoke. Maybe the boy could learn after all.

“I think so,” Val answered. He took another drag from his Marlboro as the patrol car pulled from the curb and jetted away southbound. “But there’s only one way to know for sure.”

Pavel smiled.

Val flicked his cigarette away; it caught the edge of the butt can and dropped inside. He made his way across the street at an angle, not bothering to use the crosswalk. Pavel stood and trotted to his side.

A red SUV slowed for them. The driver, a man in his forties with a goatee and a baseball cap on backwards, protested with a short beep of his horn.

Pavel’s head snapped to the left. “What the fuck are you honking at, son of bitch?” he yelled, taking two steps toward the truck.

“Leave it,” Val said, not even bothering to turn his head. “We have more important business.”

Pavel obeyed reluctantly, giving the driver a forceful middle finger and suggesting an activity the man could do with his mother. Then he followed Val to the opposite curb.

Val reached for the front door and pulled. The glass door shook but didn’t budge.

“You want me to try some of my door keys?” Pavel asked. “This looks pretty standard.”

Val shook his head. His finger traced over the listing of residents in the small apartment complex. Twelve of the fifteen were Russian surnames. He depressed the button for number fourteen.

After a moment, a female Russian voice answered. “Yes.”

“I forgot my keys,” Val said, his Russian coming in velvet tones. “Could you please buzz me in?”

“Of course,” she replied. A moment later the buzzer sounded and Pavel tugged on the door. It opened easily.

“Thank you,” Val said.

“You’re welcome.”

As they stepped inside, Val mused, “It is always good to be surrounded by countrymen.”

Pavel grinned, but his smile faltered when Val stopped in the foyer and stared at him with a cold, hard look until his nephew squirmed uncomfortably. Eventually he asked Val, “What is it?”

“That business with the truck,” Val said coldly.

“What? The bastard almost hit us.”

“No. He slowed down.”

Pavel looked down for a moment, then met Val’s gaze again. “Okay, fine, but he honked at us. He honked at you , Uncle. I can’t let someone disrespect you like that-”

“Don’t use me as an excuse for your lack of discipline, Pavel.” Val’s voice was iron. “We are on business. We have a purpose. Don’t let yourself be distracted over petty issues. Who cares what some idiot in an SUV thinks? All of that was over nothing, but if you’d pulled him out of his truck and beaten him senseless, then we would have something. Something bad. Something shit. And we would not have accomplished our goal here.”

Pavel hung his head. “I know. It’s just-”

“No!” Val snapped. “There is no ‘just.’ Discipline is what keeps us from ending up in jail or deported. Do you want to end up like Black Ivan? Hauled off in a police car?”

“No.”

“Then do not be so eager to prove your manhood to me. I know you are strong, Pavel. I know you are brave. You will have plenty of opportunities to show it. But keep the discipline.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Pavel mumbled, his tone contrite.

Val waited another moment for his words to sink in and hopefully resonate. Then he turned and headed upstairs to apartment seven.

At the door he gave a heavy rap. There was a short pause, then he heard the rattling of a chain. The door swung open. Elena Cherny’s hard glare appeared in the crack. Val immediately noticed her red, swollen eye and split lip.

“Where is Ivan?” he asked, testing her.

“Gone,” was all she said.

Val stepped forward. Elena made no move to step aside or allow him entry. Val paused. He smiled tightly. “Ivan was expecting us. I’m sure you want to be a gracious hostess, even if he isn’t home.” His words were coldly polite.

Elena considered. Her gaze flicked back and forth between Val and Pavel. After a moment she swallowed and nodded, moving aside and swinging the door wide.

Val entered with Pavel on his heels. His eyes scanned the simple, tidy apartment, but he found no sign of serious struggle. Either it hadn’t been that bad, or Elena had cleaned up.

“I can make coffee while you wait for his return,” Elena suggested, though her tone made it clear she didn’t want to make Val coffee or even want him in her home.

Val didn’t care. He had a task to perform, and perhaps a little bit extra to do as well. He shook his head at Elena’s offer and motioned to the kitchen table. “Too warm for coffee,” he said. “But perhaps we can sit?”

Elena nodded and both of them sat. Pavel stood nearby, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms menacingly.

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Val rested comfortably in the chair, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. He removed his silver Zippo and slowly rotated it through his fingers. The motion was fluid, like an experienced gambler with a betting chip. As the lighter flowed through his fingers, the gold-trimmed red lettering on one side flashed under the low hanging kitchen light. Elena, who sat with hunched shoulders and her hands in her lap, glanced at the dancing lighter. The letters-CCCP with a hammer and sickle emblazoned in the roundness of the p -would be familiar to her. While Val was no great fan of the government of the former Soviet Union, he knew that seeing the letters, along with the hammer and the sickle, served to remind his countrymen that some things do not change. Even in America.

“You know who I am?” he asked her finally.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Then you know my business is always important?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Tell me, then, where did Ivan go?” he asked evenly.

Elena paused, then shrugged. “He does not tell me things.”

Val nodded slowly. “I see. We came to get a package from him. Do you know if he left it for us?”

Elena shook her head. “He doesn’t tell me his business. I cook, I clean. He does business.”

Val pressed his lips together. He stopped twirling the lighter and gave it a couple of sharp taps on the table top before sliding it into his pocket. Then he leaned forward. His jaw set, he gave Elena an icy stare.