Chapter 6 Viking
CHAPTER 6
VIKING
Viking was in lockup for five days when he got the word he was being released. Five long days in which he had nothing but time to reflect on what he did. Not that he regretted chopping off Frank’s fingers, the bastard had it coming, but on having to leave Elena behind. How was he ever gonna explain to her how he had screwed it all up? Just as he’d resigned himself to his fate he wasn’t getting out anytime soon, Kristoff came through. Guess that’s why he’d told him if he ever got inside, he should use him for his one phone call instead of calling a lawyer.
The Russian stood outside, waiting before a car. Dressed in a black suit and tie, he was the epitome of a young hustler-slash-corporate mogul.
“Thanks, brother.” Viking got in the passenger seat.
“Anytime, bratan.”
“How did you get me out?”
“Easy. Your lawyer just pointed out the fact that you were innocent. There were no witnesses and there was some technicality the lawyer came up with.”
“No witnesses?” No way was Frank keeping his mouth shut.
Kristoff’s eyes hardened. “None whatsoever.”
There was a story there but he was too tired to force it out of Kristoff.
“You telling me that milk boy public defender got me out on a technicality?” The kid barely looked old enough to be out of law school.
“I got you another lawyer.” He named a high-end law firm Viking could never afford. “He owed me one.”
He didn’t know where Kristoff’s connections came from. If he’d wanted him to know, he’d tell him. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the crazy Russian was an enigma, if he was Russian at all. Kristoff switched between a heavy Russian accent and pristine English so easily, it was anyone’s guess where he came from. Or what his goal was, because it wasn’t just making some cash on the streets to take care of his family. No, Kristoff was in it for the long haul.
Part of Viking wished he could follow him on that path, see where it would lead them, but he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep Elena. Being inside for a couple of days only strengthened his will to quit the hustling because, unlike Ray Liotta, he hadn’t always dreamed about becoming a gangster. Despite all the Scorsese movies, he knew exactly where gangsters would eventually end up. Dead and buried, if they were lucky. The unlucky ones got to see their families shot before their eyes first. You couldn’t be in the mob and not worry about your biggest weakness—your loved ones.
“Where are we going?” He had to go see Elena. Explain what happened.
You mean how your anger got the best of you, again, and you almost screwed up your future?
“We go celebrate.”
Celebrating sounded better than having to face his girl right away. She’d be there when he returned. And he’d better return with something because when she found out what happened, she was gonna be pissed.
Kristoff’s chosen place of celebrating was a seedy dive bar at the docks that was practically abandoned. Judging by the hazard signs up front, it was closed. But these were the back part of the docks. The place where people and property came and went unseen. Nothing here was as it seemed.
When Kristoff grabbed a gun from the glove compartment, Viking asked, “You expecting trouble?”
“I always expect everything.”
True that. “You got another piece?”
A rare smile formed on Kristoff’s face. “There’s a hammer underneath your seat.”
“So, it’s gonna be that kind of a celebration?” He grabbed the tool and it felt right in his hand.
“I help you out, now you help me out.”
He liked that about Kristoff. Just like him, he was a simple man, tit for tat. He never minced his words or spun him tales.
It was right after twilight when they arrived. The street was shrouded in darkness, the only faint light coming from inside the supposedly abandoned building.
Cocking his gun, Kristoff went inside, heading down some stairs. Viking was hot on his trail. They passed the main dining area that was a graveyard of dirty tables, with ketchup smudges and swivel chairs that were scattered around like bowling cones. They went into the back, making their way through what once had been an industrial kitchen. It still smelled of fried meat, oil, and grease. Stacks of used trays were lined up against the wall next to a soda dispenser.
That’s when they saw them: four guys playing poker around a table in front of the fridge. A bucket of chicken wings was placed before them.
Viking’s eyes immediately went to the scrawny boy that was chained against the dishwasher. He couldn’t be more than nine, maybe ten years old. When one of the guys threw a wing at him, the kid growled and lurched at the man. The chain bit around his neck but the kid wouldn’t back down, his eyes spitting mad. He cursed in some unknown language. The men laughed and didn’t give him another look.
But Viking did. He looked at the kid for all of two seconds to recognize a kindred soul. A soul that was packed with rage and was scrutinizing each and every one of the poker players, memorizing their faces into his mind.
He looked up at Kristoff and nodded. It didn’t take long before the night was disturbed by gunfire. Kristoff took out two of the men before they could get to their guns. Their heads exploded, coloring the white wall behind them red.
Viking ducked beneath a table, rolled around a garbage can, and threw his hammer. It hit the third guy right in the chest, making him buckle over and drop like a fly.
He was on the last fucker before he could reach his gun. His fist smacked him right in the face, crushing his nose. The guy went down, grunting, trying to get up. Viking searched his pockets until he found a key.
After kicking his gun away, Viking went to the kid. The boy growled and spit out some more words he didn’t understand. Whatever they meant, the tone couldn’t be missed: it was a clear “Back the fuck away from me.”
Big black eyes looked weary when Viking held up his hands.
“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” He pointed at the chain around the kid’s neck and held out the key. Then he held out his fist, waiting until the kid would react.
The boy went perfectly still, then bumped his fist back.
“Good, so we understand each other.” He unlocked the chain and freed the kid. Then he turned back to the still alive bastard who was trying to get back on his feet.
Viking grabbed the chain, wrapped it around his fist, and started pounding the shit out of the asshole’s face.
“Chaining up kids? What.” Smash. “The fuck.” Smash. “Is wrong with you?”
Meanwhile, Kristoff towered over the kid, speaking to him in that same language. Of course. He should’ve known them being here wasn’t a coincidence.
He looked at Kristoff. “So, who is he?”
“I’ve heard rumors about the kidnapping of the Kaplan kid. He’s the son of one of the biggest heroine dealers in the world. His family issued a million-dollar His family issued a million-dollar reward for finding him.”
“A million?”
Kristoff nodded. “Fifty-fifty split, bratan.”
That would come in handy, to say the least, though he wouldn’t count his chickens before they’d hatched. But knowing Kristoff, the reward couldn’t be his only reason for saving the kid.
“You need him for something.”
“Not him,” Kristoff said as he pulled out his phone. “His father. A man usually impossible to contact.”
The kid eyed them wearily, a silent fire burning in his dark eyes. He reminded Viking so much of his brother. He didn’t do enough to protect Sy from Frank, but he took an oath right then and there that no harm would come to the kid.
Kristoff handed the kid his phone. He dialed whoever Kristoff obviously had wanted him to call. After a few words, he handed the phone back to Kristoff.
“Iyi ak?amlar, Mr. Kaplan. I’m one of the men who freed your son. I’ve sent you our location. You can come and get him anytime. In the meantime, let’s talk some business.”
Viking grabbed the bottle of opened scotch from the table.
“You prick,” he muttered as he poured himself a drink. “You never do anything without a reason, do you?”
Kristoff lifted a brow as if saying that was a given, while he kept on talking to the kid’s father.
Viking held out his hand for Kristoff’s keys. Then he left. He was out. He wasn’t, and could never be, like Kristoff, cool and calculated, but most of all, driven. Even though a part of him felt like he was leaving Kristoff high and dry while he was building an empire, it was the right thing to do. He was going to start a family with Elena. Living in the shadows would put a target on her back, and that was a thing he would never allow.
Kristoff understood. He hadn’t said a word when he’d told him he was out soon.
He parked in front of his shop, eager to take a shower and go see Elena. An hour later, however, everything went to hell. It was as if the universe wanted to contradict his newly found inner peace, the first thing being, Giorgia showing up at his door.
Elena’s cousin had been the bane of his existence, following him wherever he went, accidentally-on-purpose bumping into him. Any other woman, he’d have put flat on her ass, but this was Elena’s family. Besides, she wasn’t really interested in him; she just wanted what was Elena’s.
“Not now, Giorgia.”
When she refused to move, he sighed, praying for patience.
“I’ve got news for you.” She looked him up and down. “Though, I’ve heard you got some too. So, you finally popped her cherry, huh?”
“Fuck.”
“Guess she’s not Saint Elena anymore.”
Like he would ever kiss and tell. “What the hell do you want? I don’t have time for your shit.” He needed to clean up and get to Elena, apologize, and make sure she knew he was done with the side hustles, done with the episodes of rage. All of it. He was gonna prove to her, every day, he could be fucking Joe Regular to make them work.
“I’m here to help you, of course, so you can stop making a fool of yourself over Elena. See, I know something you don’t know. I know where she is right now.” She dropped her voice for dramatic effect. “With whom she is.”
He closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten. If she hadn’t been a woman, he would have flattened her. But he wouldn’t dishonor his father like that.
Never, ever put a hand on a woman, son. No matter how mad you get. Just walk away.
He gently pushed her aside and pointedly gave her his back.
Then Giorgia started talking. Spinning tales of deceit and destruction. Every spiteful word, each foul syllable, was a knife in his back, a bullet that pierced his heart.
Liar!
She was lying.
She had to be.