Part 1
The Get Away
I knew it was going to be one of those days the moment I tumbled out of bed; one of those 'fucked-up, pisser of a day' days. It had been a late night with way too many shots of Bourbon and Tequila and now my head throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch and my throat felt drier than the Sahara -- this was about the worst case of the cottonmouth that I could remember. It's the Bourbon; it does that to me every time.
I dragged myself to the fridge and got a bottle of water, chugged it down, stretched and drew the curtains back only to be greeted by a gloomy, sunless morning. I watched the dense rainclouds, rolling across the sky like fluffy cotton-candy and swore that one of these days, and soon, I was going to move to Southern California. Get away from the cold Northeastern winters and leave a life riddled with bad choices behind.
The next thing I noticed was the big pile of shit in the middle of my rug. Apache! Damn, boy! I had adopted this puppy from the local animal shelter and he was still in the process of being house-broken. He was a 5-month old Shepherd-Akita mix with sad eyes and a confused expression. Some jerk had let him loose on the highway or he had run off -- either way the vet at the shelter was certain he had been abused. There's a special hell for those who hurt children or animals and I'd give anything to meet up with that asshole. Well, I was determined to make it up to the little guy and a chocolate soufflé of dog turd was the least of my problems.
There were three messages on my cell -- two from my ex and one from Vince. I erased the two from Lisa without listening to her bullshit. She had been sleeping around on me and wouldn't you know it, I was the last to know. I kicked her sorry ass out and now she wanted to get back together -- well, that wasn't happening.
Vince was my bookie but unlike his usual, profanity laced rants, this one was short: "Cal, you'd better get the fuck out of town! Andrei is lookin' for you."
I felt my nuts shrink and my toes curl. This was bad. Andrei was a Russian retard; an ex-KGB enforcer with a scary disposition. He was big and mean and as nasty as they come. Whenever Sam sent Andrei it meant he had written off the debt and now it was a question of making an example out of the poor slob, in this case, me! Shit! I was looking forward to a leisurely morning; roughhousing with the pooch, reading the papers and taking my time over breakfast - maybe tomorrow, but now, I needed to get the heck out of here.
I fed Apache and put him in his crate; a quick shave and shower and I was ready and just in the nick of time.
I heard the heavy banging on the front door and a muffled, "Come on! Come on out, little man! It is time to play!"
It sounded a lot more ominous and strangely funny with the Russian accent. A peek through the peephole confirmed my worst fears - it was the big, hairy gorilla himself. Just then he kicked the door and if it wasn't for the fact that it was a steel-reinforced, security door, I'm sure it would've caved. I grabbed my Glock 19 and slipped through the kitchen window and onto the fire-escape. The back alley was my best bet.
I was halfway down and pretty certain that I was in the clear when I spotted Andrei's trained monkey, Nikolai. He was another scary dude; tall and lean and paler than a Norwegian albino. The tattoos on his neck and arms were worn as badges of honor representing years spent in Russian prisons. He was leaning against the adjacent wall looking up with a toothless grin on his face - both his Maxillary Central Incisors were missing, that is, his upper, front teeth for those not familiar with dentistry. The flattened pug nose and scars above his eyes were vestiges of fights won and lost and added to his intimidating appearance. Fuckin' Russians! It must be those frigid, sub-zero Siberian winters; they were tough as nails and as determined as hounds on a fox's tail.
The Glock crossed my mind but I had a feeling that in a gunfight with this asshole, I'd lose.
"Okay, comrade, you got me ... I'm coming down!" I yelled, throwing my arms up in resignation.
He flipped the cell phone open and I could hear him jabbering in Russian while keeping an eye on me. He had that smug expression that said: we got the little bugger, boss!
He should have paid closer attention to me instead of blabbing. He moved under the ladder looking up at me but was still chattering away while nonchalantly picking his nose. Ten feet up from him and I jumped, feet first, right at his monkey ass. I heard him grunt and then we fell in a heap, arms and legs all entangled but I had the advantage of surprise and managed to scramble to my feet first. I knew I had knocked the wind out of him.
"Hey, you ... you wait!" he gasped, slowly getting up on all fours, groping blindly for his phone. What a dick!
A knee to his jaw and I saw his eyes roll back before he crumpled like a bad suit and lay still. That's all I needed. A quick look around to make sure that there wasn't a KGB convention out there and I was gone, ducking down the alleyway and melting into the morning crowds. And, true to the script, the skies opened up and it began to pour. Yeah, it was one of those days.
*****
The Viper - Sam Eliasberg
"Sam, I swear I'll pay you back! Call the dogs off, okay?" I pleaded with Vince's boss.
Samuel Eliasberg was an anomaly. In the 'who's who' of underworld businesses run by the Russian Mob, the Italians and the Albanians, he was a Jew and a sophisticated one at that. He looked more like a research scholar than a gangster. But looks were deceiving and I had the feeling that even the Russians gave him a wide berth. The story goes that he dropped out of Harvard Business School to pursue his real avocation -- crime! I had to admit the man had a special gift for inflicting pain. A creative aspect often overlooked by the less astute in the business.
I had witnessed some his handiwork up close so my pleading was definitely sincere. I was present when I saw him drill through a man's knees with a quarter inch drill bit, yup; he actually drilled through this dude's knees! Harvey "Stick" Johnson was a good-looking, black cat who possessed a humongous cock and made the mistake of sticking it into one of Sam's girls and that, apparently, was a major no-no. Johnson wouldn't be laying that piece of lumber into anyone for a while, that's for sure. The gory memory of the blood, bone and cartilage being dredged out by the drill was still fresh not to mention the screaming.
"Why should I believe you, Cal? You've had plenty of time to pay me back," he answered in that soft, effeminate voice.
"Give me a couple of days, Sam, that's all I'm asking for and I'll pay you back in full." I was being as earnest as possible, "I swear! Two days!"
There was a short silence.
"You broke Nikolai's jaw and that's not nice. There's the question of services lost. Your marker just went up another twenty."
Twenty grand! Is he fuckin' kidding me? This guy is the bastard amalgam of Shylock and Attila the Hun!
"Oh, come on! I was trying to get away from that ape! You can't blame me, Sam!"
There was a silence and I instinctively looked behind me. Samuel Eliasberg had contacts everywhere so I had to keep my eyes peeled even in a churchyard. For all I knew the parish priest could be on his payroll and was a hit-man in drag. Okay, I'll admit it; I'm a bit paranoid when it comes to Sam. Then, he was back on the phone.
"Here's what I'll do and it's because I like you, Cal, otherwise you'd be a fucking memory! You come in and let's talk. Maybe there's a way we can square things up." A short pause, "Let's meet. You have my word nothing will happen to you."
"What about Andrei?" I asked just to make sure.
"You have my word." He repeated, stressing the last part.
"When and where?"
