Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

“I think the man wants us to introduce ourselves,” he said to the group.

“Yes, yes,” Sergey said. “Thank you. I thought I was clear.”

The men were hesitant as to who should go first. Sergey settled the question by looking at the man on the left end of the group. He was the youngest among them, a black kid who Val guessed could not have been more than nineteen. He sniffed with false bravado and puffed up his chest.

“Shit. I’m Murder.” The Deuce Trey flashed a quick sign with his hands, then lowered them uncertainly.

Sergey responded with only a nod, then moved his eyes to the next man.

The Latin-featured man wore baggy pants and a white wife-beater. A brown rag hung prominently from his front pocket. “Paco Gutierrez,” he said flatly. “Dean Avenue Diablos.” He said the words with obvious pride, laced with anger, but made no hand gestures.

Once again Sergey smiled and nodded. His eyes passed over DeShawn Brown to the remaining two men.

The black man sat in his chair without swagger. “I’m Bone-T,” he said simply. “East side.” He also made no hand gestures. Val figured him to be almost as reasonable as DeShawn Brown, and hoped the two of them would sway the field.

The last man sat leaning away from the others. He wore black Levi’s with combat boots, a white T-shirt, and a blue flannel shirt over the top. His shaved head and the swastika beneath his left eye left no doubt as to his affiliation. The contempt on his face was palpable. “I’m Oscar Krueger,” he said through gritted teeth. “And there ain’t no reason why a white man should be sittin’ here with niggers and spics.” His words brought an immediate eruption from the other four men, who leapt to their feet and moved toward Krueger.

But Mikhail was quicker than any of them. He knifed between Bone-T and Krueger and pushed the larger black man back. Bone-T’s considerable frame blocked the other three men from advancing. Mikhail brought his lead hand up in a knife edge and eyed the group coldly, as if daring one of them to step forward.

“This is my meeting,” Sergey said, the friendliness never leaving his voice. “I guarantee safety of all men.” There was a momentary pause before Sergey waved his hand toward the chairs. “Please, sit down. Enough of this.”

The four men sat down reluctantly. Krueger stood behind Mikhail with a smug look on his face. Val caught Mikhail’s eye and nodded imperceptibly, and Mikhail whirled around and struck Krueger in the jaw with the knife edge of his hand. Krueger stumbled backward, dazed, and fell to a knee. Mikhail reached out and took him by the arm to keep him from falling any further. He then guided Krueger back to his chair and sat him down almost gently. Krueger jerked his arm away contemptuously but said nothing.

“There will be no trouble here,” Sergey said, still smiling. “And no bad names. We are civilized men, no?”

The assembled group sat silently. Their collective anger radiated outward. Sergey paused, taking the time to meet each of the five men’s eyes once more. Then his smile broadened. “You know why it is that all of you are here today. Is like movie, no? The Godfather ? You are the five families and this is our parley.”

Men shuffled in their seats, uncertain. Krueger refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“So,” Sergey said. “Is very simple. You all see what we can do.” He pointed at DeShawn Brown, then his finger drifted over to Paco Gutierrez. His hand opened up to wave at all of them. “This could happen to any of you. Is very easy.”

“Maybe we be coming back at you,” Murder said in a low voice. “Ever think of that?”

“Would be mistake,” Sergey said, his voice confident. “My men are soldiers.”

“My boys be soldiers, too, motherfucker.”

Sergey shook his head. “No. You call them soldier, but they are not same. My men served Soviet Union in Spetsnaz. You know Spetsnaz?”

No one answered.

“No?” Sergey raised an eyebrow, an expression of theatrical disappointment on his face. “Is not matter. They are like your Delta Force. Only better.”

The men remained silent.

“So, you see I speak truth. This is also true-we wish no more violence.” He allowed the words to hang in the air for a moment, then added, “But peace is not free.”

Val watched as each man listened to Sergey. DeShawn Brown and Bone-T were impossible to read, but he was the least worried about their responses. Gutierrez’s eyes brimmed with rage, but he seemed to be listening. Murder at the end was doing his best to appear completely unconcerned, but doing a poor job of it. He was certain to comply. A quick glance at Krueger told him the same.

“We are not greedy men,” Sergey said. “And we do not wish for you to be unable to feed your children. Our number is reasonable. Twenty percent.”

Murder’s eyes flew open wide, but none of the other four men changed their demeanor. “Is small price, really,” Sergey said. “You keep your territories, your people, everything.”

Murder shook his head emphatically. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way I am giving up no twenty percent to no fuckin’ Russian,” he said, but there was little conviction in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Sergey said dryly, motioning toward Deshawn Brown, “we should have made our point clear with the Deuce Treys instead of his Crips. Your gang is stronger?”

Murder swallowed and shook his head.

“You are young man,” Sergey said. “But you must to be very smart if you are in charge at age so young. Perhaps you should listen to what the others say before you decide.”

Murder’s eyes flicked from Sergey to the others. Then he leaned back in his chair and shrugged. Sergey smiled again, that same diplomatic smile that always left Val wondering where it came from. His eyes settled on DeShawn Brown.

“Do you accept?” he asked the black man.

DeShawn sat still for a long moment. He and Sergey stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills. Val knew Sergey would not speak again until the gang leader had answered.

The sound of men breathing and the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the back of the warehouse were the only sounds. Val’s eyes flitted from face to face. The tension in the room climbed a notch; all the chips were on the table now.

It was DeShawn who broke first, as Val had hoped he would. The man’s gang had been targeted and he’d seen firsthand how surgical and powerful the Russians were. He was no fool, which is what Val had counted on.

“Twenty percent be fair enough,” he said. Then he stood and held out his hand.

Sergey took it and they pumped once before releasing, then DeShawn turned and walked away from the group.

Sergey turned his gaze to Bone-T. The east side gangster held Sergey’s stare but didn’t bother waiting as long as DeShawn. He nodded and stood.

“S’awright,” he said. He clasped hands briefly with Sergey, then turned and left as well.

Val wondered which of the remaining men Sergey would choose next. He knew what his own choice would be, and Sergey did not disappoint him.

“And you?” Sergey asked Murder.

Murder looked at the remaining two men, then stood up suddenly and said, “Awright, awright.” He held out his hand. Sergey took it. “Deal, motherfucker,” he said, then released Sergey’s hand and made his way self-assuredly in the direction the other two men had taken.

Sergey eyed Gutierrez next. The Mexican’s expression was flat, but his eyes were still fiery with hate. Nonetheless, he stood calmly and held out his hand. “Twenty,” was all he said.

Sergey waited until Gutierrez had left the building before turning to Krueger. “I save white man for last,” Sergey said. “I know it is hard to deal with inferior men, but we do what we must do, no?”