Enforcer (38 page)

“This is a serious matter.” Petre’s frown deepened.

“I know. But he kept asking me shit like did I deliver any clandestine orders to mob captains, or did I see anyone loading two hundred kilos of heroin into the team bus so it could be delivered wherever we were playing. He was annoying me.”

“That’s their job, to annoy you. Annoy you until you get emotional and slip up.”

“Well, I didn’t. I told him the truth. I get paid to play hockey, and I get paid extra to stick around, and it is all legal. The other agent, the state guy, Gauthier, I think he is a hell of a lot more dangerous, maybe even suspicious.”

“Why do you think that?”

“The DEA guy, Kline, he was humorless, like I said. Straight arrow type. The other guy, Gauthier, he’s either a real hockey fan, or he’s a cop who does a lot of homework before showing up to question someone. We chatted about hockey, had a few good laughs, he even helped me antagonize Kline. He didn’t really ask me anything important. But the whole time, I kept thinking he was the one who would catch me if I slipped up.”

“
Da
,” Petre said, glancing over at Connor. “You are most likely correct. It is the friendly ones, the ones that make you feel like they are only there to appease a superior, that they have no interest. They are the dangerous ones.”

“Like I said, I just told them the truth. Nothing fancy, no lie to remember later.”

“Why did you wait two days to tell me? Have you told anyone else?”

“I haven’t told anyone but you, and I waited two days because I got paranoid that they’d tapped your phone, and they’d see I called you a few minutes after they questioned me. I was going to use a pay phone instead, but got even more paranoid, thinking they’d trace the location to near the coffee shop they questioned me at. I’ve been kind of bugging out for the last couple of days.”

“I can imagine,” Petre laughed. “It is safer to be sorry.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry, you fucking caveman,” Connor corrected.

“I will tell Mr. Ojacarcu,” Petre said.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’d rather not give Dracul a reason to kill me.”

“No, Dracul will do nothing. I will talk to Mr. Ojacarcu, tell him you were ambushed by agents. He already knows they are sniffing. If they are asking you, they either know everything and are fishing for someone to turn, to testify, or they are still at zero, and grasping for straws.”

“Grasping
at
straws,” Connor corrected again.

“
Da
, that is what I said. Do not worry, I will tell him you did the right thing by saying nothing, not contacting anyone. We will have to change phones, but that is normal. You did well, Connor. Mr. Ojacarcu will be happy that you are not a liability.”

*****

“Petre has told me you have done well,” Ojacarcu said, studying Connor’s face.

“I kept the conversation on hockey,” Connor replied.

“Tell me about these men,” his boss said, though it was more of a command to Connor’s ears.

Connor couldn’t help but notice where they were headed as the Lincoln hugged the winding highway through the barren hills north of the city. He was so sure they were headed up into the mountains to a secluded spot where Dracul would meet them with a shovel, which he would hand to Connor and command him to dig his own grave, that the fear in him nearly drove him to attempt to escape from the moving car. There was only Vadim driving, with Ojacarcu and Connor in the spacious back seat.

“Maybe forty to fifty, not young guys. The DEA guy was too serious, never really smiled. The guy from the state task force, he was a little younger than the other guy. He was the opposite, not really serious at all, joking with me and only asking me about anything serious once, but he was barely serious when he said it. He was the one I was a little afraid of.”

“Why would you be afraid of him, if he is smiling and having a laugh?” Ojacarcu asked.

“I don’t know. It just felt like out of the two of them, he was the one watching me closely to see if I would make a mistake or slip up whenever I said something. I was sure he knew all about me, what I do for you, and was playing with me to see if I would start sweating.”

“But you did not sweat,” his boss said. “You kept a cool head. That is all I expect of you, in any situation. You are smarter than you look.”

“Tough guys tend to look kind of dumb,” Connor agreed.

In the mob movies, the boss or the sponsor always pretended to congratulate the poor sap about to get whacked, telling him what a good job he’d been doing. Then, without warning, a bullet would mess up the gray matter and the evidence would disappear, while life went on for everyone else. Vadim had been all business with him when he had arrived at Ojacarcu’s office. Connor knew it was because the boss was going to be with them, and Vadim was, if anything, professional. The distance he felt from Vadim tonight didn’t feel professional, but he couldn’t be sure where the line was between nervousness and paranoia.

“For a while, I will assign someone else to tend to your collections, as I will for Petre. Your job will be to play hockey of course, and continue to drive the whore to her appointments. I will let the boys know to schedule around your games. Some of our friends will be upset, but they will accept it. You will drop off the money as always.”

“What about when I’m on the road?” Connor asked.

“For now, she will stay with you. I imagine this is an inconvenience… or maybe a convenience?” the older man asked, fishing to see if Connor and Jera were willing to be open about the relationship he was sure they were having.

“No offense, Mr. Ojacarcu—”

“Which means you are about to offend me,” his boss interrupted. “Be aware of your place.” Ojacarcu’s tone promised no leniency if Connor decided to go out of bounds.

“No sir, not you. It’s her. I can’t say no, I know that, but I’m not comfortable with her being in my care twenty-four hours a day. I’m not really liking the idea of her being in my apartment for four or five days at a time while I’m a thousand miles away.”

“She will not steal from you.”

“You know she’s a junkie, right? She shoots the shit between her toes, and has a glass pipe she carries everywhere in case she can’t get a chance to use the needle.”

Ojacarcu sighed. “Yes, it is unfortunate. She claims she must have it to do her job. She is still in debt for as long as Mr. Fallon is in debt, and as you know, he has fallen behind once again. The boys give her what she needs to do her job, but it is not free. She knows her debt for her ‘medicine’ is separate from her debt to me because of Mr. Fallon. She is agreeable to the terms.”

Connor kept his face from betraying his hatred for the man in the seat to his left. That the man would admit to hooking her up with more crap to put in her body, just to sell her body to strange men for a debt that her abusive boyfriend-dealer had incurred was beyond offensive. To keep the drug debt separate from Larry’s incurred debt was perpetual slavery. He had no doubt Jera would eventually be retired when her body and her looks began to wear out. The longer she abused the dope her body and mind needed, the sooner that day would arrive. It was a cycle of vicious insanity, with Ojacarcu in the middle, watching everyone else spin around him in orbit.

“How much does she owe?” Connor asked.

Ojacarcu looked at him for a while, saying nothing. Finally he said, “It is not important. It is not your debt. What is important is that Mr. Fallon catches up, or the young woman will have to pay it off alone.”

It was no surprise to Connor that the man would saddle her with whatever debt Larry had left if they decided to take him out in the desert or to the landfill. Jera wasn’t even a person to Ojacarcu. She was always “the whore” or “the girl” or “the young woman.” Never Jera. Only when Ojacarcu assigned her to Connor had he ever used her name. He wondered if Ojacarcu had taunted him with Jera’s last name, knowing it would surprise him.

“I know it isn’t important. But while she actually showers now and brushes her teeth, she’s still a worthless whore, worse, a junkie whore. I’ve always wondered just how deep the stupid bitch got herself is all. She’s talked to me a little over the last few months, and it’s always some sob story about her life, how terrible it is, but to me, it sounds fake. She uses people, just like she used me.”

Ojacarcu smiled. “You are still bitter at her for that? You should be bitter at Mr. Fallon. He is the one who called me personally, demanding your head.”

“Yeah, I’m still bitter. Larry might have called, but she’s the one who called him after she was safe from his fists. The dumb whore couldn’t get enough dope and bruises.”

His boss gave him a few “tsk” noises, as if Connor were being too harsh about Jera. Connor didn’t need to pretend to be angry at her. Anytime he thought of how she’d stuck it to him, got herself stuck to him, he wanted to punch holes in concrete.

“She is a troubled girl,” Ojacarcu said. “I am sure not all of it is her fault.”

Ojacarcu watched Connor as the Lincoln made its way smoothly through the twists and turns of the highway, the hills on either side blocking out any light pollution from the city to their south. Neither spoke until Vadim pulled off the main highway and onto an unmaintained road. Connor decided after a minute of bouncing around, that it was more of a dirt track than a road. The Lincoln was usually as smooth as riding on a cushion of air, but he and Ojacarcu had to hang on to the grip handle, what Connor had always known as the
“oh shit” bar
, above their windows, the other hand bracing against the front seats.

Connor’s heart began to race in his chest, and he could feel his armpits turning into cold swamps, his feet and hands becoming frozen, sweating extensions out of his control. He’d never been religious, but he wondered if he should begin to pray, to try and find Jesus in the next few minutes, just in case.

Ojacarcu was busy watching the road ahead over Vadim’s shoulder. Connor could feel his forehead beginning to bead with sweat. He wanted to scream at the same time as he wanted to free himself of his seatbelt and open the door, rolling in the dirt a ways before running off and hiding in the wilderness. Screaming would probably get a bullet lodged in his face, and trying to jump out of a moving car, even one as slow-moving as the Lincoln was at the moment, would probably only get his legs broken, if not run over. That didn’t include maybe getting a large rock or tree limb embedded in his skull.

After at least ten minutes of jarring, vibrating hell, the Lincoln pulled in front of a cabin. Connor closed his eyes, sure Dracul would open his door and drag him out. He wondered if he would be a man about dying, or if he would scream, beg, and cry until his killers were thoroughly disgusted with him to the point of putting him out of
their
misery.

“Ah, we are here,” Ojacarcu said, looking at Connor with a grin.

Connor didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He could barely breathe.

“Connor?” his boss asked. “What is wrong? Vadim! Hurry! Something is wrong.”

Ojacarcu glanced down at Connor’s left hand, noting that it had formed a fist so tight that the young man’s fingers were turning white. Connor’s right hand had a death-grip on the door release. Ojacarcu looked forward again, unhappy that Vadim was still in the driver’s seat, head turned back to them, silently laughing.

“Vadim! Move! Why are you still sitting there?” He looked back at Connor again. The kid’s face was drained of color, sweat rolling down his temples.

“I am sorry, Mr. Ojacarcu, but he is not sick. He thinks we are going to kill him.” He finally let his laugh out, sounding to Connor like one last insult, letting him know that not even Vadim was ever his friend.

Ojacarcu watched Connor for a few seconds before he began to laugh. At first it was a short chortle, but Vadim’s guffaws and Connor’s fear-stricken face caused him to explode with laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the feeling it gave him to find humor in such a way. He’d spent too much of his life being too serious.

Ojacarcu’s hand shot out and grabbed Connor’s clenched fist. The move made Connor flinch hard enough that Vadim erupted in laughter again, almost getting the boss to relapse. Connor felt his bladder about to let go, and it almost did let go when he remembered how Travis Benkula’s body had expelled its waste after he’d finally died.

“Connor, you are like a son to me. You are a brother to Vadim, and to Petre. You are a bug to be squashed by Dracul, but as long as you are like my son, like his brother,” his boss pointed to Vadim in the front seat whose face was now a mask of seriousness, “then Dracul will have to stay disappointed. Do not worry about him.

“You are not going to die, not tonight anyway. Unless you slip into the river and get washed away. I advise against it. Though at this time of year it is not fast at all. But cold, oh yes. Cold enough to make you weak enough to die within a few minutes.

“Listen to me, telling you that you will not be killed and then going on about how you might be killed. I am sorry. Vadim is sorry,” he said, giving Vadim a frown that caused the driver to apologize to Connor. “You did well with the agents. You were a small bit of trouble one time, but you learned your lesson. Petre said you hated him for many weeks. He did not enjoy it any more than you did. You have performed perfectly with Miss Gellner. We are here to celebrate!”