wasn’t sure quite what she’d said to Kolya, or why, but whatever it was, it had probably screwed me—and maybe screwed me to death. So she’d decided to get in bed with this monster herself, and whatever happened to her there wasn’t any skin off me.
I took a big drink of my scotch and grimaced, but right away shot Archie a big grin to cover it up. For the first time in years Jerry Lopez had made my drink full strength—stiffer even, maybe a double. What the hell was he thinking? I looked over at the bar, and he was polishing a glass, looking down. He glanced up, saw me looking at him, and made eye contact for a couple seconds. No apology, no smile, just a serious look for a moment, and then he went back to polishing the glass.
When birds stop singing . . .
I pretended to take another sip of my scotch. My lips started to tingle. The scotch was spiked with something, no question, and Jerry—bless his soul—had done the only thing he could to alert me.
Had Kolya poisoned me? Probably not. You poison someone in a restaurant, the public health guys start asking questions. More likely it was a drug to make me seem drunk—then haul me out of here and finish me someplace else. I wondered how many of the other captains were in on this? Maybe just Archie . . . otherwise why make things so complicated?
Kolya leaned over toward me and smiled.
“Good to see you, pal,” he said. He’d said that when I first got there, but it had been jovial, public. This was private and, I thought, a little wistful. “Long time,” he added, and nodded. “We used to get together all the time, you know? Hardly at all anymore. What happened?”
“Yeah, those were pretty good days,” I agreed. “You know . . . once we got our asses out of the gutter and started making some buckage.”
He laughed and nodded.
“Yeah, sure. But you know, even the gutter wasn’t as bad as it could have been for a couple bezprizornyi like us. We covered each other’s backs in those days.”
“Kept each other alive more than once,” I agreed, but felt the familiar flush of guilt that thinking about the old days always brought. Sure, we’d covered each other’s backs. Sure.
Maybe it was the drug working, but I started feeling blue, or maybe just sentimental. On one hand, Kolya was a rabid dog, but on the other, he was my oldest friend. And the truth was we’d made a good team because we were two of a kind—twin sons of different parents. Had we both changed so much since then? Had he gotten crazier? Had I found a conscience? Or were we still two of a kind, and all my angst just so much self-indulgent bullshit?
Now we sat over a drink, just like we had a thousand times before, and I knew it was the last time we’d ever do it, as long as we lived. It made me feel sad, even as my lips tingled from the drug Kolya had used to make it easier to murder me.
“What happened?” he asked again. He wanted an answer, was even a little desperate for one, maybe because if he didn’t get it right now, the odds were he never would.
I shrugged and shook my head.
“Hell, Kolya, who knows? You get busy with one thing or the other, business, the lady . . . guess I won’t have that distraction anymore. You knew Cinti split, right?” Then I frowned and looked down, as if something just occurred to me, and then I looked back up at Kolya.
“Hey, you don’t think . . . Cinti and Ricky ?” But then I shook my head and looked away. “Nah.”
But I’d seen a moment of uncertainty in Kolya’s eyes, and that happens about as often as Ukraine wins the World Cup—which still hasn’t happened in my lifetime. Kolya knew Ricky had a thing for Cinti, and so now he was thinking maybe they did go off together—who knows? And if so, maybe slipping a mickey to old Sasha was contraindicated. Not that he could take it back now, but if I kept him mentally off balance, even a little, maybe I could wiggle out of this alive.
So I played along, horsed around
I took a big drink of my scotch and grimaced, but right away shot Archie a big grin to cover it up. For the first time in years Jerry Lopez had made my drink full strength—stiffer even, maybe a double. What the hell was he thinking? I looked over at the bar, and he was polishing a glass, looking down. He glanced up, saw me looking at him, and made eye contact for a couple seconds. No apology, no smile, just a serious look for a moment, and then he went back to polishing the glass.
When birds stop singing . . .
I pretended to take another sip of my scotch. My lips started to tingle. The scotch was spiked with something, no question, and Jerry—bless his soul—had done the only thing he could to alert me.
Had Kolya poisoned me? Probably not. You poison someone in a restaurant, the public health guys start asking questions. More likely it was a drug to make me seem drunk—then haul me out of here and finish me someplace else. I wondered how many of the other captains were in on this? Maybe just Archie . . . otherwise why make things so complicated?
Kolya leaned over toward me and smiled.
“Good to see you, pal,” he said. He’d said that when I first got there, but it had been jovial, public. This was private and, I thought, a little wistful. “Long time,” he added, and nodded. “We used to get together all the time, you know? Hardly at all anymore. What happened?”
“Yeah, those were pretty good days,” I agreed. “You know . . . once we got our asses out of the gutter and started making some buckage.”
He laughed and nodded.
“Yeah, sure. But you know, even the gutter wasn’t as bad as it could have been for a couple bezprizornyi like us. We covered each other’s backs in those days.”
“Kept each other alive more than once,” I agreed, but felt the familiar flush of guilt that thinking about the old days always brought. Sure, we’d covered each other’s backs. Sure.
Maybe it was the drug working, but I started feeling blue, or maybe just sentimental. On one hand, Kolya was a rabid dog, but on the other, he was my oldest friend. And the truth was we’d made a good team because we were two of a kind—twin sons of different parents. Had we both changed so much since then? Had he gotten crazier? Had I found a conscience? Or were we still two of a kind, and all my angst just so much self-indulgent bullshit?
Now we sat over a drink, just like we had a thousand times before, and I knew it was the last time we’d ever do it, as long as we lived. It made me feel sad, even as my lips tingled from the drug Kolya had used to make it easier to murder me.
“What happened?” he asked again. He wanted an answer, was even a little desperate for one, maybe because if he didn’t get it right now, the odds were he never would.
I shrugged and shook my head.
“Hell, Kolya, who knows? You get busy with one thing or the other, business, the lady . . . guess I won’t have that distraction anymore. You knew Cinti split, right?” Then I frowned and looked down, as if something just occurred to me, and then I looked back up at Kolya.
“Hey, you don’t think . . . Cinti and Ricky ?” But then I shook my head and looked away. “Nah.”
But I’d seen a moment of uncertainty in Kolya’s eyes, and that happens about as often as Ukraine wins the World Cup—which still hasn’t happened in my lifetime. Kolya knew Ricky had a thing for Cinti, and so now he was thinking maybe they did go off together—who knows? And if so, maybe slipping a mickey to old Sasha was contraindicated. Not that he could take it back now, but if I kept him mentally off balance, even a little, maybe I could wiggle out of this alive.
So I played along, horsed around
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