Kill Whitey

She dragged me out the door. I didn’t protest. I don’t think I could have, even if I had wanted to. My mind was numb. We ran to the Cherokee. Luckily, my keys were still in my pants pocket. A crowd of people mingled around. They stared at us. We must have made quite a sight. Both of us were barefoot and almost naked. I only had on a pair of jeans, and all that Sondra wore was one of my t-shirts and her panties. We were both armed, and covered in Darryl, Alexander, and Vacheslav’s blood and the dried remnants of our lovemaking.

“Hey,” one of my neighbors hollered. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, I unlocked the Cherokee. Sondra and I jumped inside and took off. The crowd moved out of our way as we roared out into the road. I stomped the gas pedal. Sondra used the t-shirt to wipe blood from my face. The pistols rested on the seat between us. The iPod played some classic Slayer, but I turned it off. I needed to concentrate. Figure out what the hell to do now.

“The cops—”

Sondra interrupted me. “No police. You promised.”

“People are fucking dead, Sondra! Darryl. Darryl is dead. In my apartment. His throat…And those fuckers…those fuckers did it.”

“Nyet. No police. They will send me away. The Bratva will kill everyone I love.”

I chose my words carefully. “At this point, won’t they go after your brothers and sisters anyway?”

“Da.”

“So then why not get the cops involved? Maybe they can protect you. Protect your family. Work with the Russian authorities and—”

“Do you not listen? The Bratva own the authorities in my country. Is no good.”

“Well, whether we call them or not, they’re already involved. My neighbors heard the gunshots. Somebody dialed 911. The cops were on the way when we left. You heard the sirens. They’ll figure out I lived there and that we fled the scene. Everybody saw us. We’re fucked.”

Sondra crossed her arms and shivered. I turned on the heat. Hot air blew across our bare feet. We needed to get off the road, and fast.

“Not only are we suspects,” I continued, “but Whitey was still alive. I shot him in the shoulder. They’ll capture him on the scene. If we tell them now, they can arrest him as soon as a doctor sews that shoulder up.”

Sondra muttered something in Russian. She wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she watched the night flash by.

“What’s that?”

“I say that he will not be there when cops come. Whitey will be gone.”

“He’s wounded. No way he can flee that quickly. He was losing a lot of blood.”

“He will be gone when they arrive. You do not know Whitey.”

She turned away again and stared out the window. I was frustrated, but decided not to press it. She’d been through just as much shit as I had—more, actually. I needed to be gentle.

I fumbled for my cell phone, glad that I’d left it in the Jeep.

“No,” Sondra pleaded. “You promise, Larry!”

“Relax. I’m not calling the cops. I’m calling Jesse.”

“Who is this Jesse?”

“He’s my friend. I need to let him know about…Darryl. And he’s at the Odessa. I need to warn him to get the fuck out of there.”

Sondra’s face paled.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your friend is at the club?”

“Yeah.”

“Did Whitey and Otar know he is your friend?”

My stomach lurched. I gripped the cell phone tightly.

“Yeah,” I said. “They knew. They’ve seen us with him before.”

“Then your friend is already dead. That is how Whitey find us. We run away from club. He go inside and get your friend.”

“Jesse wouldn’t drop dime on us.”

“What is drop dime?”

“Tell. He wouldn’t tell on us.”

“Da. Whitey have Otar and the others torture him in back room until he tell where you live. Then they torture him more till he dead.”

The pressure built inside of me. My jaw felt tight and my eyes felt like they might pop. My mouth went dry. Jesse. It made sense. Without speaking, I flipped open the cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Jesse’s cell phone. It rang and rang. Then his voice mail picked up.

“Yo, this is Jesse. Leave a message, and I’ll holla’ back at you. Peace out.”

I hung up without leaving a message.

“Jesus…” My lips felt swollen. “Darryl. Jesse.”

“I am sorry,” Sondra said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Da, it is.”

“Right now, let’s just figure out what to do. Let me think for a bit, okay?”

Sondra pouted. “You are angry with me, no?”

“No. I just need to think. I promise. I’m not mad.”

She fell silent again. I focused on the road and tried to think. Once the cops arrived on the scene and figured out who I was, they’d be looking for us. The Cherokee was a big fucking target. Might as well drive around with a flashing light that said, HERE WE ARE. COME ARREST US, PLEASE. I had to get another vehicle, or at the very least get off the main road and stay low for a while. I took the Mount Zion Road exit and turned right, passing by the York County prison. Chances were good that I’d be seeing more of it soon.

I thought about Darryl and the way his head had remained face down when I flipped the rest of him over.

I turned the heat on high. Warmth blasted my feet.

It didn’t help.

“We’ll be okay,” I said. “You’ll see.”

Sondra didn’t respond.

eleven