The Mafia Trilogy (45 page)

“Okay, the Russian Mafia are into everything. They’re active throughout Russia and have connections with the Chinese Triads and Italy’s Cosa Nostra, as well as biker gangs. The Reds have spread to Israel, Hungary, Spain, the United Kingdom, and now Canada and the U.S. They started in Brighton Beach, but none of the history matters for the here and now. They’re actually on friendly terms with numerous biker gangs and our undercover agent says there’s confusion in the ranks. They can’t figure out how a guy like you had the help of a biker gang to deal with Fuccini. I don’t think you realize just how powerful you look to them right now.”

Mike paused, drank half the water in his bottle and set it on a corner of Carson’s desk. He paced the floor in front of the window.

“The gang you’re talking about,” Darwin said, “helped me in exchange for a book deal.”

“A book deal?” Carson asked. “What the fuck?”

“They were just supposed to be muscle and things got out of hand. I asked for their help and in exchange I would write a nonfiction book, like a biography, on the leader, Richard H, and his biker gang. We’ve been sending emails back and forth recently, working on the first draft. He’s in a safe house somewhere too.”

Carson laughed. “Where the hell do you come from? Biker gangs killing made men, and all to write books.”

“The Reds don’t see it that way,” Mike cut in. “You’ve shown that you’ve got clout and not even the FBI can keep you down.”

Darwin grunted. “I was afraid of that. I just wish it would all go away. Tell me whatever else you need to.”

“The Reds are involved in human trafficking, drug trafficking, smuggling of weapons, which include nuclear weapons and money laundering, not to mention prostitution. The big money,” he raised his right hand to emphasize a point, “is in weapons. At the end of the cold war, Russia fell apart and free enterprise sprung up. Many soldiers in the Russian army stopped getting paychecks. People still needed to eat, to survive. For the right price, and if you had the right contacts, anything could be bought. The DEA busted a couple of guys attempting to sell a Russian submarine to a Columbian drug lord who wanted to bring his cocaine into America underwater. The Reds are so dangerous, they’ve been known to shoot someone just to see if their gun works.”

Darwin felt sick. That he could be so involved in the underworld, after a simple accident months ago, boggled his mind. He just wanted it to all to go away. Life almost wasn’t worth living if he had to live it like this.

“Darwin, are you listening?”

He looked up and met Mike’s eyes. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but when you’re done, I will be meeting up with my wife and leaving the States.”

Mike looked at Victor and then Carson. He drank the rest of his water, tossed it to the sofa and addressed Darwin.

“They want to know how you’re still alive. You were ordered to be killed by Gambino for meddling with the Fuccini affairs. This doesn’t mean they weren’t happy with what you did—they were. But they’re asking, who is this Darwin Kostas? Is that even his real name? Survival of the fittest. Natural selection—”

“Stop. I’m so sick of that connection. All my life, same shit …”

“I understand, but you need to listen. We have men on the inside of the Red Mafia. Yesterday we got a report of a major attack that will take place in a few weeks. We also heard that Arkady wants to meet you.”

“Why me?”

“Because Gambino was supposed to find out who you work for and then kill you. They want to know how a man as powerful as Gambino could grab you and your wife and after shooting you and burying you in the ground, Gambino is dead and you’re still breathing. They are starting to think you’re seriously connected somehow.”

“I won’t be breathing for long from the sounds of it,” Darwin said.

“To them, you’re either a hero or you’re the biggest enemy the Mafia has ever encountered. Arkady has requested a sit-down with you. How that plays out depends on you and how well you play chess.”

“What? Chess? I don’t know the game.”

“The Italians play ball on their downtime. The Russians play chess. What I’m saying is the Red Mafia are smart Mafiosi. These men are very serious and very dangerous. You have to be either dead or working for them. That’s it. You’ve become too powerful, according to the inner circle of Russian power. They want their German tank. They want their arms shipments to come in on time. They want their territory to cover all of Toronto. But most of all, they want you.”

“Well, I don’t want them. So it’s settled.”

“You’re not getting it. Dead and buried for good, or alive and working for them are your only two options. While working with them, you can help us bust every last Red fucker. Those are your options. We know that Rudy Earlton was working for them. He saw you handle Gambino at Gambino’s estate. He reported back that you shot your own wife and Greg Stinsen. He said that you claimed to be a part of the Red Mafia but that you didn’t offer to show your tattoos.”

“That’s because I don’t have any tattoos and I never will. No needle will ever get near my flesh.”

Mike loosened his tie and pulled it off. He undid the top half of his shirt and opened it to reveal numerous tattoos across his chest.

“This rose here,” Mike pointed to the center of his chest, “was given to me after my initiation. The barbed wire counts for how many years I spent in jail. The rest of these tattoos represent a person’s rank, the sins they’ve committed, the number of murders, and prison sentences. As you advance through the ranks, new tattoos are added. They’ve got over a half a million members worldwide and they’re all looking for you. You pose the largest threat in a long time and they want to know why. In three months, you’ve killed more Cosa Nostra than anyone in history. The Reds aren’t stupid. They know you’re not a simple vigilante. That would be impossible. It’s rumored that you work for us and since the American justice system is soft, we’ve let loose a crazy motherfucker in their midst to off as many as we can.”

“So they already think I work for you? That’s great. I’ll just go have this sit-down while
still
working for you. That’ll get me killed real fast.”

Mike did his shirt up. “You don’t see what I’m saying. You can’t escape this. You can’t just walk away. You will be dead inside two days if you leave this office unguarded. It won’t go away. There’s nowhere in the world you can go without a new face, new name, and a lot of praying. Even then, they have informants in the FBI like Rudy. Somehow, some way, they’ll find you. The only way to deal with this is to go to them. Tell them that what you did with Fuccini and Gambino was to serve as a resume for entry into the Russian Mafia. Convince them to take you on and once you have something, we pull you out, arrest the lot of them and send you to South America for the rest of your life with a new name like Bob or Ralph.”

“No way. Can’t do it. I’m no Mafia guy. I like bacon and eggs for breakfast. I write thrillers for Amazon.com. I snuggle with my wife in bed and cry while watching sappy movies. The last few months have been hell, but it was all to stay alive. I’ve been lucky. When the bad guys came, I got away each time. That’s it. I will not walk into their den willingly. I’ve been running from the swarm of bees after accidentally knocking the beehive off the tree. I won’t lie down on the beehive and not expect to get stung. That’s just fucking crazy.”

“That’s what they’re expecting, though,” Carson said. “Your actions have been labeled as crazy. They think you’re fucking gone in the head.” He pointed at his temple. “They’re afraid of you. If they can have you on their team, it removes their fear.”

“I don’t care about their fear. I care about mine.”

The room fell silent for a moment. No one spoke as Mike retook his seat beside Victor.

“You understand why we had Greg and Rosina reported as killed, right?”

Darwin didn’t say anything. He just wanted to leave.

“So that the hits on them would expire. We can’t fake your death too. They would want to see the body.”

Darwin stood again and walked to the door. “We done here?”

“Is there nothing we can say that’ll help you understand how dire your situation is right now?” Victor asked.

“You have done that. I know shit’s gone bad. But when I leave, no one will find me or my wife. I’ve had a lot of people try to kill me over the last three months. I’ve been lucky, I know, but if they come, I will do whatever is necessary to remove the threat and if that means more bodies, then so be it. Maybe next time they’ll all learn to leave me alone.”

Darwin opened the door, stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

Chapter 17

Darwin knew they were right. He couldn’t live the rest of his life wondering who was around the next corner. No way could he exist with that constant threat over his and his wife’s heads. But he couldn’t bring himself to work with more mobsters.

How will Rosina feel? But how can I keep her safe with this new threat?

He had to deal with the Reds whether he liked it or not. But he had to do it his way, not the FBI’s way, and that meant running from Carson’s office. He needed to get out of the federal building without being seen by anyone. If the Reds ever thought he’d struck a deal in Carson’s office, they’d kill him on the spot. He couldn’t trust anybody. How did he know whether or not those two agents in Carson’s office, Victor and Mike, weren’t working for the Mafia?

He had to consider the possibility that the FBI would make him wear a wire and that would be too risky. If he had no choice but to deal with this new problem, he would deal with it on his terms and no one else’s. There had to be a greater purpose to his life, otherwise he would be dead by now. God had looked out for him. He needed help one more time.

I’m sorry, Rosina. Trust me, baby. We’ll get through this and finally start to live as a married couple.

He waited for the elevator. When it arrived, he got on, pressed Lobby and then changed his mind. He couldn’t be seen by anyone leaving a federal building through the front door. What if the Reds already had guys stationed out front? What if they saw him leave the building and executed him before they had a chance to talk? He needed to find an alternate route out of the building.

The light for Parking Level Two lit up when he pushed it. The doors shut and the elevator began to descend.

All he could think about were Mike’s Mafia tattoos. What if Arkady did decide to work with Darwin and made him go under the needle? He’d lose his mind and end up killing the tattoo artist.

The elevator slowed and stopped. The doors opened on the lobby. Darwin leaned into the wall in the back left corner of the elevator to avoid being seen. The doors sat open for five seconds and then started to close.

A hand shot through and stopped the doors at the last second. They opened and two sharp-dressed men got on. Both nodded at Darwin and one of the men turned to the buttons, pressing Eighteen. The doors shut and the elevator descended again. At parking level two, the doors opened and Darwin walked out between the men, turning to the right and disappearing around the concrete corner.

Light from the elevator spilled out on the floor. He watched it from behind the corner. After five seconds the doors closed and Darwin heard the mechanism lifting the elevator to the floors above.

That was crazy. Am I going to suspect everyone I see?

He couldn’t live as a paranoid maniac. Just because two men got on an elevator didn’t mean they were assassins.

Get it together, Darwin. You gotta try to keep it together.

He slid down the wall and sat, bringing his knees to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees and bowed his head.

What am I going to do?

He could grab Rosina, run to the station and take a train as close to the Mexican border as they could get. Once across the border, they could continue south. Panama, Costa Rica, maybe even Brazil. How could anyone find them in South America? The Mafia are not gods. They don’t have super powers. If Darwin and Rosina shacked up on a beach somewhere, no one would know who they were or where they were.

But what kind of life is that? How could he provide for Rosina? He needed his MacBook Pro to write. He needed an American address and bank account to get paid. That meant he would have a bank card and leave an electronic trail to wherever he was. Just to get food, clothing, and shelter, he would expose them to the constant threat of being murdered in their sleep. He refused to sleep with one eye open for the rest of his life, however long that would be.

He scanned the parking lot. He thought he heard scuffling, like mice scurrying about, but nothing else.

“Oh, Rosina, I love you so much,” he whispered. “Why did this have to happen to us?”

When he escaped from the pine box seven days ago, he didn’t care if he lived or died that night. He was so bent on revenge that he felt prepared to die, as long as he killed as many of Gambino’s men as he could.

When Rosina came into the picture again, life rekindled a fire he couldn’t put out. He had to save her first. That meant he needed to stay alive. Hope rose from there and blossomed to how he felt now, seven days later, ready to move on and start living again.