Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

Sergey took a deep breath and let it out. “I hope you are right, my friend. I plan to be here many years, but who knows for certain what tomorrow may bring. I should like it if my son was ready to take over before he actually must.”

Val nodded. “He will learn,” he repeated. Then he shook the older man’s hand and left.

Outside, he glanced at his watch and then opened his cell phone. He dialed the number from memory.

“Yes,” Natalia said.

“I am coming over,” he said. “Make yourself ready.”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with enthusiasm.

Valeriy snapped the phone shut and got into his car. A storm was coming. Now was as good a time as any to attend to his other needs.

1412 hours

Officer Mark Ridgeway sat in the hotel room chair with his arms crossed, staring across the room at the FBI agent and the Russian prick he was guarding. The two had been playing a good-natured game of gin rummy for the past hour. Ridgeway had wordlessly refused their offer to join them. He felt his stomach churn at the way the agent kissed the Russian’s ass. Not only was the son of a bitch a criminal, but he’d been an enemy to this country for Ridgeway’s entire life.

That’s our problem , Ridgeway thought. We Americans are too forgiving .

Some of his peers might find his thoughts objectionable. Gio certainly would. But Giovanni hadn’t lived through the Cold War the same way Ridgeway had. Besides, Gio was too busy chasing tail to understand the finer points of the matter. And he’d been chastising Ridgeway for the past year about his so-called negative attitude.

His attitude wasn’t negative. It just befit the world he lived in.

The Russian was a perfect case in point. A veteran with his experience gets sent up to the Quality Inn to babysit a feeb and a Commie? What kind of attitude was he supposed to have about that?

It didn’t matter, though. Ridgeway had discovered that the world will throw whatever it wants at you and you pretty much just have to suck it down. It’s either that or check out, and as inviting as that seemed at times, Ridgeway wasn’t about to leave this world a coward.

“Gin!” the Russian exclaimed loudly, laying his cards down. “I have gin! I beat you, Greg. How you like that?”

The FBI agent folded his cards and shrugged, a small smile on his face. “Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while, Oleg,” he said easily.

“Hah!” Oleg said. “I beat you.”

“I was wondering,” Ridgeway said, raising his voice to catch the attention of both men. “Why’s it called gin rummy?”

Both men stared blankly at him. Agent Leeb shrugged. “No idea.”

“’Cause I figure,” Ridgeway continued dryly, “that if it’s a Russian playing it, maybe you oughta call it vodka rummy.”

The Russian’s expression darkened.

“Or maybe,” Ridgeway continued, “you shouldn’t be playing rummy at all, but a game of hammer and sickle.”

Leeb raised his hand in a calming gesture. “Now, officer-”

“No,” Oleg said to the agent. “Is all right. I like to hear.” He gave Ridgeway a cold glare. “What is game hammer and sickle?”

Ridgeway smiled coldly. “Well, that’s where you try like hell to take over the world for forty years ’til a guy named Ronald Reagan kicks your ass.”

The Russian’s face flushed.

“You oughta be good at it,” Ridgeway added.

“You are ignorant redhead,” the Russian spouted.

Ridgeway cocked his head. “My hair’s brown.” He didn’t mention the touch of gray throughout, or that it was getting thinner.

“Redhead. Redhead,” the Russian repeated, jabbing his finger in Ridgeway’s direction. “You are hick.”

“Hick?” Ridgeway asked. Then he laughed. “Oh, I see. You mean red neck .”

“Redneck. Yes,” the Russian said.

“Look, pal, if you’re going to insult me, at least learn my fucking language.”

The Russian shook his head. “You think you know all, but you know nothing.”

“Well,” Ridgeway said, “I know that I didn’t pack up and move to Moscow because over there was better than right here in the USA. I guess that’s a pretty clear indication of which country’s better.”

“I think that’s enough,” Leeb said.

Ridgeway turned his hands up innocently. “Just making conversation, Mister FBI Man.”

“You know nothing about my country,” the Russian shouted at Ridgeway. “My nation was great nation in Europe before yours even existed.”

“Yeah,” Ridgeway said. “And Rome was a pretty big fuckin’ empire. But where are they now? Same place you are.” Ridgeway tilted his head back and thought for a moment. “How did Reagan put it? Oh, yeah,” he said. “On the ash heap of history.”

“You are ass hole of history,” the Russian yelled, climbing to his feet. “You think United States is better than Ukraine? Come here! I show you what is better.”

Ridgeway rose from his chair and took two giant strides to meet the Russian. Agent Leeb stepped between them with his hands out to keep the two men apart.

“You wanna throw hands, you Commie fuck?” Ridgeway said. “Take your best shot.”

“I knock you to hell,” the Russian shouted, surging forward against Leeb’s open hand.

“Enough!” Leeb yelled, his voice even louder than the Russian’s. “Enough of this.”

The two men stood, glaring at each other, seething. Leeb was the only thing keeping them apart. Their breathing seemed loud in the quiet room. A moment later, the sound of a key in the lock echoed through the room.

Ridgeway wheeled toward the door, his gun out of his holster and at the ready in less than a second.

Leeb pushed Oleg out of the line of fire while drawing his own gun. The door swung open and a uniformed Hispanic maid stepped through.

“Housekeeping,” she said, in a heavily accented, sing-song voice. Then she saw Ridgeway’s gun and froze. Her eyes widened and her hands went up. “ Dios mio !” she cried out and staggered backward into the wall.

“Shit!” Ridgeway muttered and lowered his gun.

“ ? No me matas! ” the woman sputtered. “ Por favor, no me matas. ”

“It’s okay,” Leeb said, holstering his weapon. “ Esta bien.Soy policia. ” He flashed his badge at her.

Her gaze flicked to the badge and to Leeb’s face, then to Ridgeway’s. After a moment, she lowered her hands slowly. “You scare me, senor ,” she said with a hint of reproval.

“We’re sorry,” Ridgeway said gruffly. “Anyway, don’t you people knock?”

The woman’s expression shifted. “I do knock,” she said, holding up two fingers. “ Dos veces. You no hear?”

Ridgeway shook his head and holstered his own pistol.

The maid said nothing for a moment, wiping sweat from her forehead and taking a deep, steadying breath. Finally she motioned to the room. “You like service?”

Ridgeway shook his head again. He looked over at Leeb, whose expression was unreadable.

“We were making too much noise to hear the knock,” Leeb said to Ridgeway. Then he looked at the maid and said, “No necesitamos nada. Gracias, senora .”

The maid nodded to both of them and turned to go.

“This is bullshit,” Ridgeway muttered as the maid shuttled out of the room. “And it was his fault,” he emphasized, pointing at Oleg.

“Yob tvoyu mat,” Oleg said in a deep, loud voice.

As the door closed behind the maid, Ridgeway said, “I’m sure that means ‘thank you for letting me come to your country and be a fuckin’ piece of shit criminal.’ So, you’re welcome.”

Leeb stepped in between the two of them again before Oleg could respond. “That’s enough,” he said. “It does no one any good.”