Second Chances (12 page)

Christoff emerged dragging the little man and shoved him towards the building where The Shrew and George waited beside a small open door. Inside, George looked anxiously around the space. It was empty. Only a carpet of aged machine oil spots covering the concrete floor and grime-covered windows providing privacy with the effectiveness of a roman shade, gave proof of a business abandoned long ago.

Christoff entered alternately dragging and shoving the little man along. His head still covered with a bag, he stumbled and fell to the floor with a yelp. Instinctively George moved to help him but The Shrew reached him first punching him savagely in the head as the little man screamed and coiled in a fetal position.

Christoff scolded his partner. “Jesus, let’s just get on with it. Get him to give us the information and let’s be done with this.”

The Shrew pulled the bag off the little man’s head and George stared unable to look away. His face was covered in sweat his eyes were crazed, filled with terror like a trapped animal and bruises were already forming on his punch bag of a face. He looked frantically back and forth between Christoff and The Shrew glancing briefly at George who shrugged sympathetically.
I don’t know any more than you do buddy
.

Leaning in The Shrew pinned him with a snake-like gaze, cold and unblinking and kicked the little man soundly in the torso. Like a wounded animal he cried out in pain. “What the hell do you want from me you piece of shit?”

The Shrew pulled back his arm to strike again but Christoff intercepted him. “Enough! Let’s get this done.”

George stayed quiet watching the drama unfold like a t.v. crime show. What exactly was happening here? A robbery? Extortion? Kidnapping?

Suddenly emboldened the little man spoke. “Tell me what the hell you want from me,” he demanded. “My associates know I’m missing. They’ll alert the police.”

The Shrew chuckled unpleasantly. “I don’t think so my friend. And even if they do, you’ll be in a dozen pieces all over this floor before they find you.”

Christoff glared at him before turning to look at their quarry. “You know why you’re here Vargos. You failed to deliver what you promised and made the family look foolish. That’s not good.”

At the mention of the word ‘family’ Vargos paled. Suddenly Vargos and Christoff and The Shrew were all on the same page. George looked from one to the next fascinated.

“I did what I could!” Vargos asserted, “I can’t buy the courts. The decision was out of my hands.”

Christoff’s chuckle rang hollow without a smile keeping it company. “Vargos, you took our money and promised you’d take care of the courts. But you didn’t.” He looked almost sad. “And now someone has to pay the price.” He took two steps toward Vargos hopelessly struggling to protect himself his bound hands more hindrance than help. “Tell us who is responsible. We know someone swayed the court. Who was it? All we need is a name.”

Vargos blinked in disbelief. George was skeptical. That was all they wanted? The Shrew stepped closer to Vargos and without warning landed a kick to his lower back. Vargos screamed in pain and tried to cover his head. Undeterred he punched him again slamming his fist into his head as thick red blood oozed, splattering like paint on the canvas of the oil-spotted floor.

Vargos wasn’t screaming anymore. He was slumped on the floor unconscious and George was scared. Vargos had broken a promise to the wrong people and now he’d be lucky if he survived this ‘little chat.’ And what about him, what about his role in all of this? Just because he wasn’t the one throwing the punches didn’t mean the authorities would care about that. He was an accomplice. Or worse, a scapegoat for Christoff and The Shrew. Either way he was screwed.

He was all alone with no one to protect him and he had to get out of here now. Discreetly patting his pocket for the car keys, he checked to make sure ‘his buddies’ attention was focused on their captive and began inching his way quietly towards the door.

Christoff was hovering over Vargos’ waiting for some sign of life while The Shrew paced back and forth flexing his bruised knuckles and fingers. George didn’t wait for an engraved invitation. He bolted for the exit pulling the keys from his pocket as he went. Sprinting through the door he raced towards the car and jumped in jamming the lock down behind him.

Almost immediately the warehouse door flew open again and The Shrew flew out like a heat seeking missile. He spotted George instantly. With trembling hands George turned the key roaring the car to life. Yes! Throwing it into drive he hit the gas just as The Shrew threw himself onto the hood, arms and legs splayed, his eyes boring bullet holes through the windshield. George was a dead man.

Slamming his foot on the brake George tried to shake him but The Shrew hung on biding his time. For a moment they stared at each other and George started trembling again as the other man sneered confidently. He was going to enjoy shooting George in the head. George hit the gas looking for speed, lots of it and fast before he swung the wheel sideways sending the car into a spiral spin.

The Shrew flew off like a kite and George sped away not bothering to see if he was alive or not, he didn’t care. He sped out into the road and drove blindly. “Get away. Get the fuck away!” he screamed loudly, his eyes darting repeatedly to the rearview mirror.

He drove putting enough distance between him and the disaster he’d left behind until he could breathe again then scanned the road for somewhere safe to hide. Slowing in front of a small café he pulled the car deep into the bowels of an adjacent alley where darkness completely obscured it from the road.

He entered the café pleasantly humming with sounds of business; waiters and patrons chatting quietly, glasses clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter created a muted balm that soothed his highly frazzled nerves. This was exactly the kind of safe haven he needed, his temporary oasis until he could get his shit together.

He headed towards the bar motioning the bartender over as he went. “A phone.” Speaking calmly, only a slight quiver hinted at his inner panic. “I need to use a phone. Quickly, please.”

The bartender looked him over and nodded his head towards the back of the café. “Back there.”

The manager’s office was at the end of a dark hallway just past the restrooms. Spotting the shiny black phone he closed the door behind him and dialed quickly, waiting impatiently for someone to answer.

“Hello?” a male voice answered gruffly.

The familiar voice was comforting and his knees buckled causing him to grab the desk for support. He wasn’t home free yet.

“Troy. Listen carefully. I need you to come get me
right now
.” A frenzied stream of questions came over the line but he cut them off. “I’ll explain everything when I see you, just get here, fast.” He gave his location and hung up collapsing into a chair while he waited for help to arrive.

A half hour later, the door opened slowly and George held his breath, terrified until he saw a familiar head pop around it and air started filling his lungs again. “Thank God it’s you.”

Troy took stock of his usually happy-go-lucky brother with growing alarm. George was a shaking mass of nerves and it scared the hell out of him too. They had to get out of here. Now. Wasting no time he grabbed his brother by the arm, “Let’s go, I’m parked out front.” Glued to his seat, George didn’t budge. “I said let’s go!” he barked snapping him to attention.

Grabbing Troy he stood and pulled him close squeezing his younger brother tightly. “You saved my life.”

“Not unless we move…now!” Grabbing George’s arm he pulled him towards the door.

*   *   *

Tim was almost prone across the table not wanting to miss a softly-spoken word of George’s incredible story. Fucking unbelievable.

“So what happened to Vargos?”

“What happened to Vargos is the reason I disappeared,” George answered. “Troy took me back to his place for a few days until I could make sense of things. We figured it’d be OK for a little while at least, Christoff didn’t know my real name only my alias Nichos Copulous.”

“Then a day or so later I heard a news report that a high profile lawyer named Vargos Nos was dead. His body had been found on the shore of Piraeus….stuffed in pieces in a metal drum, his decapitated head sitting on top of the drum like a calling card.”

A soft whistle escaped Tim’s lips. “They murdered him?”

“The Adelphos is serious business. Whatever it was that Vargos didn’t deliver became his death sentence.”

“What did you do then?” Tim asked.

“Well even though Christoff didn’t know my real name, I was scared, I felt like it was only a matter of time before they found me. Every minute I stayed put me and everyone I loved, my family, your mother in grave danger. So Troy and I came up with a plan to smuggle me out of the country. After that I spent years traveling the world, doing odd jobs to get by and keeping a low profile until I thought it was safe to go home again.” He shrugged signaling the end of his story. “I’ve been in Cronilys ever since.”

From the sounds of it, he’d led a lonely life. Tim empathized. “What about my mother, did you ever see her again?”

George pondered the question, answering slowly. “No….. and yes. A few days before I was supposed to leave I asked her to meet me so I could explain everything that was happening and ask her to wait for me. But before that happened there was another report of another body found. This time it was Christoff. He’d been murdered and left in an alley next to a police station.”

“Christoff too?” Tim was stunned.

“Yes, they left his body so close to the police station it was almost as if they were daring the authorities to intervene. In some ways, I actually felt relieved. Now the only person who knew of my involvement was The Shrew. But he was the most dangerous of all and I knew I had to leave immediately.”

“I missed my date with your mother and I didn’t contact her again. I thought it would be too dangerous for both of us. By the time I was ready, so many years had passed I figured she had her own life and didn’t need me intruding on it. I never stopped loving her but I wasn’t sure if I could make her happy anymore.”

His voice cracked and George took a sip of his drink. “But that’s still not the end of the story,” he smiled brightly. “A year ago, maybe a little longer, I ran into your mother when she was home visiting her family. We had a wonderful time reminiscing and catching up. I even started to hope we might get back together but she blew my proposal out of the water.”

He looked so sheepish Tim couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh oh, what’d you do?”

“It’s more like what I did and didn’t do.” Shaking his head in disgust, “What’s the saying? Women, you can’t live with them, you can’t live without them.”

Tim nodded, understanding. “I’ve got a girlfriend too.”

George’s bushy brows spiked upward. It was small but Tim was starting to open up. “My mistake was thinking I knew what was best for her; I told her husband about us. He wasn’t happy but he believed, like me, that she’d be happier with me than him and he left her. But your mother felt differently I guess and to top it off she never knew why he left, he never told her about our talk and neither did I.”

“And that as they say is the rest of the story.” Raising his glass in mock toast, he took a sip, savoring the taste and feel of the cool liquid gliding down his throat. “When she heard what I did all those years ago, she was furious and stormed off. We haven’t spoken since.”

Tim’s stomach lurched making him queasy. He’d learned so much tonight but there was still one thing he had to know. “Are you ready to tell me who my mother is?”

George’s face creased instantly with worry. If he knew his son even a little bit, just her name wouldn’t be enough, he’d want more and he deserved more, but George didn’t have it to give. How pathetic, he’d been a father for less than twenty-four hours and he was already failing his kid. That had to be some kind record.

“I wish I could tell you more,” he faltered before spilling what he knew. “You’re mother came to Boston right before you were born and has been here ever since. She’s a novelist, well known, popular worldwide and her name,” he paused dragging air into his tight chest, “is Pashmina Papadakis.”

Tim barely heard him, still fixated on a single point; his mother lived here in the same city he did, where he’d grown up, gone to college, where he worked, where he walked and ate at restaurants. Maybe they’d already crossed paths. Maybe he’d held a door open for her, or waited behind her in the Starbucks line.

Wait. “What?” he asked dazed.

George repeated his question. “Pashmina, have you heard of her?”

His mother was Pashmina Papadakis. Pashmina Papadakis was his mother. This was insane on so many levels. He grabbed his glass knocking it back like a shot and signaled the waitress to bring another round. “Of course I’ve heard of her, hasn’t everybody? You’re telling me that you had an affair with Pashmina Papadakis?”

“She wasn’t famous when I was with her but yes, we were involved.”

“And she gave me up because she was young and alone,” he mused crunching on an ice cube. “I get that. But then why wouldn’t she look for me later, when she could afford to take care of herself and me?”

His wounded eyes welled with tears breaking George’s heart into tiny pieces. “I wish I knew.”