5. Ciro
5
CIRO
“N o, it’s bullshit. I don’t believe this show will do this to me.”
“Look, man, I’m not trying to give you any spoilers here, but don’t get your hopes up. The ending of the show sucks.”
“Saying this is spoiler!”
“Yeah, I mean kinda. I just don’t want you to get your dreams smashed to pieces.”
“I appreciate your concern, bro,” Mat snickers, making a face. “But I do not believe this. The ending of show cannot be bad if I enjoy so much. I will still watch.”
“Prepare for disappointment!” I sigh, shaking my head.
“I cannot be disappointed by amazing show I’ve never seen before. It’s all new to me.”
“Ah, the wistful hopes of naive youth.”
“Speaking of hope, I hope this fucker shows up soon.”
We’re sitting in Matey’s car just before sunset out by the docks. It’s our first real mission. Not that I haven’t done this sort of thing before. Like, my entire life.
Coming up in the Diamante family syndicate meant I got the full regimen of mob training from grunt to Don. Matvey is more or less in the same boat, I’d wager. Even if he was pampered early on, growing up in a crime family makes it nearly impossible to avoid being put to work.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never watched The Donfather ,” Mat continues our conversation, killing time.
“Uh, I grew up living that shit. I don’t need Hollywood telling me about how they think it is. And you’re one to talk, you haven’t even seen Killhard ! And worse, because you basically have access to a pirated movie treasure trove.”
I keep meaning to get down to the bootleg shops near Bagrationovskaya Station. Maybe I can pick up a translation dictionary while I’m down there. Or they could make up words for things that have less syllables?
“Sure, and all the time in the world, right? Not all of us were playboy superstar mobsters.”
“Just because I lived in New York, you think I was some socialite rich boy?”
“Weren’t you?”
“Yeah, but fuck you anyway.”
“Always tempting me with good time…”
“Finally, you’re getting the hang of American humor!”
“ Da , I must lower myself to your level so it is fair.”
“Asshole.”
“ Zhopa .”
“Hang on, lemme get my translate app so I can understand your pathetic insults!”
“Shove it up your app. Look, cops are here.”
Damn. That was actually a good one. So much so that I let it go, snapping my mouth closed. One point for Matvey.
Slipping out of the car, we skirt along the buildings, keeping a low profile to get a better view. At the corner, Mat leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette and nodding for me to post up across from him against a mailbox.
“What do you think they’re doing?”
“Same thing I was waiting to do. Hassling Mr. Andreev. He is good informant, oversees a lot of smuggling through his fish packing warehouse.”
“And was he the guy theses strangers were talking to in the photos?”
“No. But he will know any new faces in this area.”
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool. We just gotta wait for the po-po to clear out. Speaking of which, we pay off dirty cops back home to get things done hush hush. What’s the protocol here?”
“Mutual hatred, mutual respect?” Matvey shrugs.
“So basically the same.”
“Yes, only the whole organization is corrupt. We do not pay them. They make their own money. They are almost like a branch of Bratva themselves.”
“Ah, I think I get it. So if they decide to seize some contraband…”
“It’s usually because they want to own it and sell it. Use it for coercion, etc. They are careful, though, not to step on toes too much, only nabbing small shit. We let them have most, and they keep noses out of bigger dealings.”
“And you let them clean up some of your messes too, people intruding on your turf?”
“Exactly. Give them tips on who we want gone, they look good to the public for keeping petty crime down. Win, win.”
“All while you collect money to actually protect the average Jogov and their way of life. Huh. But the cops technically could arrest any one of you just to be spiteful.”
“It happens. Catch is, Volk run the prisons. They cannot keep anyone in jail for too long, don’t want to send anyone back to the fold. It’s how you say, rub-and-tug?”
“Noooo. That’s something way different. And more fun.” Like what his sister was doing to me earlier…“You mean tug-of-war.”
“Ah, yes.” Mat gives me a look as I try to hide the flustered look on my face. “Let’s get a closer look, ah?”
“Sounds good. Lead on.”
We mosey down the walk, crossing the street in the dim, letting the flickering lights and the fact that this isn’t the nicest part of town offer cover. Hoods up and hands in pockets doesn’t hurt either. Just two local shitbags minding our business.
“Are they shaking him down for money right now?” I peer across through the side window of the store front. “That’s…”
“Russia, baby. This is how it works. Everybody gets their cut of the thing. Everybody also hush hush. There’s a lot of rules and regulations in our country that make things difficult. Uh, like pretending to be conservative, yeah?”
“I get that. Usually makes the people on the ground level just hide their indiscretions better.”
“Exactly. Like prohibition in your country.”
“You see that in a movie?” I snicker.
“I went to school fuckface. College for two years in America too.”
“Oh yeah! I forget you can read sometimes. It’s the pronounced brow.”
Matvey squints at me, grimacing. Sometimes I can’t tell if he doesn’t get the joke or he’s playing dumb to get a rise out of me.
“Anyway, you get used to this relationship with the law. Always trust that they will fuck you. This way, no surprise.”
“They try to get guys on the inside?”
“All the time. But we have better moles in the government, so we get tipped off. You remember Crovak?”
“My bestest friend! Yeah, I still have a piece of his tooth lodged in my knuckle.”
“He was fed. Total traitor, played both sides. But he made a grand gesture on his way out of secret police. Killed a pain-in-the-ass politician. Now he is for life in Gulag, but he is also protected by Volk as long as he trains our people. Like you.”
“Tell him I said hi. Hugs and kisses.”
“That right there is how you get late-night visit, man. You gotta watch what you say around some of the men.”
“Oo! I do love a good pillow fight. Especially with bars of soap in the pillowcases.”
“More like brass knuckles and razorblades, Shakal. No joke. Until they trust you, keep your head down.”
“Aw, you do care.”
“We are blood brothers, Ciro. Pyotr likes you, which could be good thing or bad.”
“I’ve always been a magnet for jealous lovers. Thanks for having my back, Mat.”
“ Da . Why are you squirming?”
“No I’m not.”
Waiting around like this gives me a different perspective on the ground level of the Brats. It also makes me itchy and impatient.
I want to get my hands dirty.
Do something.
“Chill out, you are like shaky rabbit.”
“Sorry, I gotta pee!” Or maybe I’m just antsy. Like I haven’t done this shit for all twenty-nine years of my life. What the hell is wrong with me?
“You will have plenty of chance to use energy soon. Who knows? Maybe we will find a boatload of Triad hit men trying to steal our drugs and we can have full-on cowboy shoot out!”
“Oh you poor repressed child. That also sounds like the world’s best way to set us up for fucking failure. I thought you Russians were superstitious? You’re gonna jinx us!”
“Oh we are. Very. So I try to speak to universe what I hope comes to pass. I’ve been bored as shit at home.”
“You just want to get me shot for hitting on your sister.” I glower at him.
“You were hitting on my sister?” Mat frowns back, squaring up.
“Uh…”
“I am kidding, ha! Your face is so stupid. I know you two are like dogs sniffing asses all the time. It’s fucking ridiculous. No worries, you will have a chance to impress her eventually. Or she will drop you like potato.”
I start to protest, but he’s dead-on. Instead, I sigh, slumping back against the guard rail.
Our little encounter earlier today has me on pins and needles, still feeling pent-up, in need of release. She’s so fucking sexy, and she pisses me off like nobody’s business. And to be honest, I love pissing her off too.
And as weird as it is liking my best friend’s sister, the weirder thing is the fact that he doesn’t seem phased by it at all. Like really calm about the whole thing.
“Why do you think I wanna impress her?”
“First, because you love to impress everyone. You are showboat.”
“Showoff, maybe.”
“And you really like my sister.”
“She’s a pain in the ass.”
“Yes, she is. I see the way you look at each other, and it’s none of my fucking business. You want to play with scorpion. You get stung.”
“You’re saying your sister is a scorpion.”
“To you? Maybe. My sister does whatever my sister wants to do. We’ve both been this way our entire lives. We go do things, we get in trouble, the other gets mad at the other. It’s back and forth, as you say. Only she always manages to get on my ass, and I am not supposed to get on hers. Like she is mama bear.”
“Back and forth. Yeah, I get it. My twin brother and I are kind of like that, except that we’re equal opportunity fuckups. Usually it was our older brother than mothered us and cleaned up our messes.”
“Like I say before…you are spoiled rich kid.”
“Damn skippy. I worked hard for that lifestyle, I’ll have you know. Reputations don’t come cheap.”
“Oh, even we have heard of Diamante brothers’ tales. Did you really burn down a nightclub?”
“Geez. I mean, yeah. Some stories really have a way of following a guy.”
Mat chuckles, flicking away his cigarette butt and heading across the alley to the back of the fish market as the cops start to file out, hollering back at the owner, Mr. Andreev. We wait until they are driving off to step inside, shaking off the chill of the night and sniffing at the foul odor.
“ Gavno !” The owner whines, noticing who just walked in.
At least Matvey’s reputation precedes him.
“Ey, Mr. Andreez, you don’t look happy to me!” I don’t bother hiding my grin. Watching Matvey in his element reminds me of home, of fucking shit up with my brothers. Makes me feel less…
Empty.
I wonder what Fiero is doing right now…
Focus on the now, dickhead. That’s what he’d tell me to do.
Still, I wish I could put out feelers, try some of the old contact methods. Of course, doing so without Pyotr’s permission is just asking for a bullet to the back of the head.
“Give me a minute, you leeches. I must lock up out back. Then I pay you.”
Matvey gives me a narrow look, a little confused, a little suspicious. Collections are due at the beginning of the month. That aside, something feels off. Andreev is jumpy. Nervous.
Hanging around in the front of the shop, I angle around to catch a glimpse through the swinging doors, leading back into refrigerated zone and the freezers, long troughs of ice and fish butted up to dozens of crates.
“What you want to do after this?” Mat asks casually, keeping an eye out front.
“I’m starving. Food?”
“You are always starving. How you stay skinny? Cocaine?”
“Very funny. How do you stay so damn thick? I feel like you never eat.”
“Vodka. It has calories.”
“You’re nuts.”
“That is why you fit in with us, you are too. I say we hit up the club.”
“Like a nightclub?”
“No, we go play tennis. Yes a nightclub. Girls. Drinks. We earn this.” He grins.
“Finally some perks to being the boss’s nephew’s best friend. I was starting to think you were only good for staying warm at night.”
“Never speak of that night again.” Matvey glares at me pointing one menacing finger.
A noise in the back catches my attention. Plus the fact that this Andreev guy is taking too damn long.
“It was two nights, and it was magical.” I chuckle, easing back through the swinging doors and nodding for him to follow.
And it was a few more nights than that, trapped in the basement of the prison, hiding and fighting for our lives during a days-long riot. We nearly froze to death.
“Oy, lavochnik ,” Mat hollers before we quietly ease back through the hallway.
The older man shuffles out from one of the coolers, wiping his hands and looking more frazzled than before.
“Look, you come back tomorrow, yes? Take fish in the meantime, like when you were kid, da ?”
His eyes flick side to side, noting the two of us posted up inside the entry, hands on our weapons.
“I appreciate the gesture. You always looked out for us when things were tight.” Mat’s jovial attitude drops. Right along with his voice,“Grigory, chto ne tak? What is wrong?”
Another clatter echoes through the warehouse accompanied by voices, several men. None of them speaking Russian or English. Andreev swallows hard.
Without hesitation, Mat strafes along the wall, gesturing for the elder man to get somewhere safe. Raising my gun, I follow suit, covering the rear on our approach.
Fucking classic. Fucking exhilarating.
We sneak through, keeping as quiet as we can, easing open the door in the back. Pausing just inside, we wait for a few moments, watching the scene before us, the cluster of hooded, black-clad men wrenching open crates of fish, dumping others across the concrete, digging through others.
All to find sacks of what are undoubtedly drugs, adding to a stacked pallet on the back of a truck.
“Heroine?”
“Looks like it.” Matvey whispers back under his breath. I see his hand go for his phone, tacking in a quick text.
“Should we say hi?”
“Or we could shoot back at them?—”
“What do you mean—” The first bullet zips between us just before all twelve of the foreign smugglers start shouting in another language and shooting at us.
I’m diving for cover before my mind can tell my body to do it, popping off two shots low to the ground, taking a fella in the ankles. Flop, roll, bounce and I’m skidding around a forklift, kicking the first face I see right in the teeth as the Middle Eastern looking guy turns the corner, staying low.
Leaping over his projectile spray of blood and bicuspids, I spin midair, rattling off a few more shots just to cover my prima donna twirl, landing face-to-face with another rage-faced troll with the prettiest eyes I’ve seen in a while.
“Who does your eye makeup? Or is that a natural liner?” His arms close around me, lifting me off my feet.
But I’ve gotten way fucking stronger these last few months. And tougher than tits on a tiger.
My forehead shatters his…let’s just say his whole face.
Which leaves me falling from his limp grasp, back onto my heels, my ass, my back, knocking the wind right out of me. From my cozy spot on the fish gut-covered ground, I catch an eyeful of Matvey beating a dude’s head in with a frozen tuna, wielding it like a freaking baseball bat.
It also gives me a second to note a few details about the six guys surrounding me.
They’re definitely not from around here. Dark skin. Dark hair. And each one of them has a distinct mark on their cheek, and a very specific looking dagger tucked in their belts. Something in the back of my head tickles at the mark on the hilt, a memory of some job in some distant country drunk off my ass and fighting for my life.
Common theme.
And I don’t have time to revisit that dark alley as a boot comes flying for my face.