Jeff Carson - Foreign Deceit

Suddenly the sound of a diesel engine roared to life from within the property fence. He heard a yell of a man, then the deep thundering of the gurgling engine.

“ Shit. ” He rammed the scooter key into the ignition and sat on the seat, slapping the kickstand up with his heel. He cranked the throttle, producing more ear-splitting whine than forward movement, so he put down his left foot and skateboard pushed, sending a fresh jolt of pain into his hip.

Acceleration gently took over and he propelled down to the main road. To the right was the direction of John’s apartment, but it was an uphill jaunt for a hundred yards or so past the front of the observatory property. The street slanted downhill to the left, which would give him more acceleration from the small engine.

He went left, shooting out onto the black pavement in a deep lean, just keeping his balance, barely maintaining tire contact with the road.

Vibrating handlebar mirrors showed the bright lights of the truck passing where his scooter had just been parked seconds before. Out of nowhere a sharp turn to the right came up fast. He hand-braked hard and leaned deep again, the rear tire sliding a good foot before grabbing purchase with a jolt, kicking the scooter hard right, leaning him into a sharp involuntary turn to the left. He maintained control, but lost all speed.

A straightaway stretched for a hundred yards, corn fields on the right and left, ending in a dim lit township. He cranked the throttle wide open and leaned down, the scooter inching forward painfully slow. The hairpin turn in the handlebar mirrors was illuminated with bouncing light.

Suddenly a dirt turnout materialized on his right. He jammed the brakes, went up the road, and crashed into the cornfield. He turned the key off and laid the moped down. Reaching up, he steadied two corn stalks that swayed wildly with his hand.

Wolf calmed his heaving breaths and listened carefully, hoping to God he hadn’t kicked up too much dust. The diesel engine was getting louder from the distant left. It slowed considerably, taking the turn carefully, then swung out onto the straightaway, faint light illuminating Wolf’s sliver view of the road. It coasted onwards, slowly and quietly at low RPM’s. It braked to a slow halt, pausing for a few seconds, then turned onto the road. Light swept across him through the stalks as it bumped onto the rough turnout with a slow crunch.

His heart thumped in his chest. Chances were good he could out-run Cezar. Cezar was a smoker, and he could use the corn to stay a hard target. Of course, he would have quite a stride on him being at least a couple inches taller than Wolf, and who knew what kind of shot he was.

The truck came to a halt. It was fifteen feet from Wolf. From Wolf and his white scooter. Five or so rows of corn between it and himself. Cezar was in the driver’s seat, looking to his left out the glass — but more down the road than into the corn immediately in front of him. Wolf stayed frozen.

Cezar lit a cigarette, momentarily lighting the interior of the cab, and rolled down the window.

Wolf narrowed his eyes and kept an eye on the cab, for any sign of a pistol aiming directly in his direction. Light blue writing on the outside of the white truck momentarily distracted him. It was the same light blue writing as on the wooden Albastru Pub sign. In fact, it said “Albastru” on the side. However, underneath it, it said “International Shipping Co.”

Wolf darted his eyes back to the truck cab as the truck rocked slightly on its wheels. The rear lit up and a continuous beep filled the air. The truck slowly backed up, pulled onto the road, and went back the way it came.

Drool ran up Wolf’s face as he watched Connell laugh and sharpen a stick with a camping axe. Chop-chop-chop-chop. Dangling by his ankles with heavy boat rope from a tall tree branch, Wolf pleaded, but couldn’t produce any intelligible words. He tried to move, but could only struggle against the tight restraints. Chop-chop-chop-chop.

Wolf woke with a start.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

He looked at his watch, it was 8:15. When? P.M.? Did he sleep through the whole day? He got out of bed, then stared at it for five seconds. Looking slowly around the room, he couldn’t remember where he was to save his life.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

He moved towards the sound of the knocking, wincing at the hot stabbing in his left hip. He opened the door. Lia was wide eyed looking at him. Wolf came to the present moment in a sudden instant. He looked down at himself and straightened his twisted boxer shorts.

“Oh shit! Sorry! I don’t know what happened. I forgot to set the alarm last night I guess. Here, come in…”

Lia’s stiff expression melted to a slight smirk as she walked in.

“They say it takes one day per one hour time difference to get over jet-lag,” she said from the hallway as he quickly put his clothes on.

“Yeah, I’m definitely still feeling the effects.” Visions from the night before came to him like distant childhood memories.

“So, they have all the paperwork done to release your brother down at the morgue.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go for coffee in the piazza before we leave.”

He felt as if he’d taken a handful of sleeping pills after just running a marathon. “Heck of an idea there.”

The piazza was bustling once again. His brother was onto something coming over here for inspiration. Too many people for Wolf’s taste. But, had he been here for any other reason, he could see himself enjoying the atmosphere. Throngs of people milled about in a murmur of words Wolf couldn’t understand.

The bar was bustling, people lined up two-deep against the counter, baristas behind the bar clacking, and smacking, and twisting, and frothing.

“Due,” Wolf held up two fingers to Lia.

“You want a double?”

“Yes,” he said. “It was a difficult night.”

Wolf looked in the mirror behind the shuffling baristas and saw Lia’s face turn red.

They had a croissant, or a ‘brioche’ as they called it, and slammed their coffee without eye contact or a word said.

Walking out, Wolf said, “Look, about last night. I didn’t mean it was a difficult night because of you…or because of us.”

“I’m sorry about that…”

“No, I don’t care. I mean, don’t worry about it,” he shook his head. “Look, there’s more to last night. I went to the observatory, and I found out something big.”

Driving to the morgue, Wolf detailed the night before to Lia. He told her about the load of stolen looking electronics and bags of white substance in the Albastru Shipping truck, how Cezar shot at him, and the ensuing chase. He left out the part where he spent a full hour sitting motionless in the cornfield after Cezar left the scene, only to get hopelessly lost on the way back to his brother’s.

“Okay, that connects the Romanian bar owner and Vlad to the cocaine. I’m not sure what that means. Was Matthew dealing the drugs for them? Why the baggies found at your brother’s and his apartment?”

“I don’t know. But Cezar was really roughing up Vlad. I’ve been thinking, and I would bet if we found out where these two were from in Romania, they would be one in the same place.

“What did Dr. Wembly at the observatory say about Vlad? He was kind of kissing his ass, like he was surprised Dr. Vlad chose to work there. He said something to the effect of, ‘He’s gracing us by working here.’ In all the places in Europe, he chooses that outdated observatory in Northern Italy to set up shop? Why? I think it’s because he wanted to be close to Cezar. Or maybe he didn’t have a choice. Cezar might have something on him.