Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) (34 page)

Chapter 40

Caleb and Connie

Trapp, Maryland

Caleb Meecham sat
at his father’s desk and looked around the study. It was the first time he ever sat in the big captain’s chair that had once been in the stateroom of his great, great, great grandfather’s three masted frigate. His father had told him that he was never to sit in it as long as he was alive. Caleb never had.

After the police had given him the unpleasant details of his father’s demise the lawyers had given him the very pleasant details of his inheritance. He was unemotional when he saw the pictures and was told how his father had been severely beaten before he was eaten alive. He was equally unemotional when he saw the will and was told that he was now worth over two billion dollars. The only thing that lit his fire was when the New York detective said that there were no suspects at this time.

No suspects my ass! I know who did this and they’re going to pay! If it costs me the entire fortune they’re going to pay! You hear me, Dad? I’ll get them all for what they did to you. There won’t be a Valdez left when I’m done. I swear
it.

Caleb’s thoughts of his personal vendetta were cut short when Connie Bellusci opened the door and walked in unannounced.

“I take it you’re Caleb.”

“That’s right.”

“I worked for your dad. My name’s Connie.”

“I know who you are.”

“You know who your father hired me to kill?”

“I do, and I know that if you’d done your fucking job my father would still be alive.”

“I’ll give you that. I missed, and your father’s dead. I can’t change any of that. All I can do is keep moving forward.”

“Moving forward. What exactly does that mean?”

“It means I have a plan.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I’ll get to it. First, I have a present for you, Mr. Meecham. Let’s take a walk.”

Mr. Meecham… hmmm.

It was the first time anyone had ever called him that, and Caleb liked the sound of it. He followed Connie through the house to the garage. The big man led Caleb to the back of his Chevy Tahoe and opened the rear hatch. Three Latin men lay there bound, gagged and struggling to get free.

“These guys are Valdez soldiers. I need two of them for the plan I’m going to tell you about later. In the meantime I brought the extra one for you in the event you might want to…”

“What?”

“Entertain a guest?”

“That one,” Caleb said pointing to the biggest of the three. “Bring him inside and follow me.”

Connie lifted the two hundred-twenty pound man up and casually threw him over his shoulder. He followed Caleb back through the house and then down the stairs into the basement. The mansion was huge and the basement was like a maze, but Caleb knew exactly where to go. He stopped in front of a large wooden door with two heavy locks to keep it closed up tight.

“I don’t have the keys.”

Connie shrugged his shoulder to drop his human cargo onto the floor then pulled out a .45 caliber pistol. The booms were deafening, echoing down the hallway. Three shots and a swift kick got them in.

“Damn. Well you sure picked the right door.”

Caleb had never been in the room, but heard whispers about what his father did to any unsuspecting woman who had the misfortune of venturing inside. A big cozy bed with thick pillows was placed invitingly the near the door. The bed faced out towards the far brick wall. Painted bright white, the bricks had hand and leg irons bolted into them and near the restraints, whips, chains, belts, pliers and power tools hung down ominously from wooden pegs.

“You know where to put him,” Caleb said.

Connie dragged him in. He reached behind his back, pulled out a Special Forces combat knife, and used it to cut the man free before roughly locking him up against the wall. Caleb grabbed the bullwhip and took a few practice swings.

“Pull the tape off his mouth so we can hear him.”

The stream of curses was short lived, replaced by agonizing screams as each crack of the whip sliced through clothes and flesh. An hour later the new Mr. Meecham lay on the bed panting and exhausted. Wet with his own sweat and Valdez blood, he felt dizzy and giddy. He had just flayed a man alive. When there was nothing left but raw meat he had taken Connie’s knife and cut the man’s throat. Something warm and tingly released inside him when he felt the thick flow of blood pour over him. He killed a man with his own hands and there would be no consequences. He knew it was something he would have to do again. And again.

“Feel better?” Connie asked.

“It’s a start, but my father was eaten alive by fucking lions. Killing a few street soldiers doesn’t come close to evening the score. I want them all. You hear me? Every last Valdez. I want them all.”

“Well, then let me tell you what I have in mind…”

Brighton Beach, Brooklyn

Nicholai Skobelev sat at his regular table in the VIP section of Club Raz. It was one of the many clubs he secretly owned throughout the city. The place was packed, the music had everyone in a frenzy and there was a long line of hard men on the stairs below. The men weren’t lined up to get into the VIP section. They were lined up and waiting to see him. Waiting their turn to kiss the ring and pay homage to the new king of New York.

“Nicky” was the only son of Yakov Skobelev, the wealthiest and most powerful gangster in all of modern day Russia. For years Nicky had lived the self-indulgent lifestyle of a spoiled golden prince in Moscow. Under his father’s protection and above the law he had flaunted his power until one night he went too far. Drunk and high, he beat his father’s mistress half to death after she refused his advances. As punishment Yakov banished his son to New York.

Cast out and disgraced he had arrived in Brighton Beach five years ago with a lot a to prove and a big chip on his shoulder. Through cunning, brutality, and a surprising knack for leadership, he rose to the top of Russian organized crime on the East Coast without any help from daddy. This morning his last remaining rival was found dead, drowned in a bathtub filled to the rim with Petrossian Caviar.

The news had traveled fast. Friends and foes had come to personally congratulate him, but to Nicky the call he received in the afternoon from his father was all that mattered. Yakov told him how proud he was of him. He told him that all was forgiven. He told his son how much he loved him and to hurry home to take his rightful place by his side.

Nicky was reveling in it all. Tonight, the party for his wife’s birthday at Club Raz. Tomorrow, with his honor restored they were flying back to Moscow. He left in shame five long years ago. Now the prodigal son would return home to a hero’s welcome.

It was just after midnight when Nicky, his wife, and three body guards walked out of the club. There was still a long line of people waiting to get in and everyone cheered and tried to touch him when he passed by. This was his neighborhood. His enemies were all dead and he had nothing to fear as they walked down the street to get a late night coffee.

His wife didn’t react to the sound, but Nicky and his men spun around when they heard the safety click off. Connie mentally complimented them for their reflexes. They almost got their guns out. Almost. Connie flattened them all with the spay from the silenced Uzi. They were all dead before they hit the ground, but Connie walked up to Nicky and his wife and emptied the clip into their faces.

No open caskets for you two. Yakov’s going to be one very angry Rusky. Very angry
indeed.

Connie reached into Nicky’s jacket and removed his pistol. He walked over to the back of his SUV and shot each of the Valdez soldiers in the heart before he dumped them in the street. He walked back and put Nicky’s gun in his hand, then dropped the Uzi next to the Valdez boys before he drove off into the night.

Chapter 41

The Death of Nestor Valdez

Elmira, NY

Corrections officer Frank
Moore was already sweating through his uniform and breathing hard. Universally known as “Big Frank” for his three hundred and eighty pound frame he lumbered up the stairs, grunting from the effort. He paused when he reached the top tier.

I hate this fuckin’ job.

After he caught his breath and wiped his face, the gate guard buzzed him through the steel doors. Big Frank was usually calm and cool, but today was a big day. He felt nervous. He saw that all the hardcore cons felt the same way. They stood silently outside of their cells, tense and waiting.

This was Elmira State Prison. D Block. Tier 4. Every inmate on this level had violently taken the life of at least one other human being. Many of them had killed more than once. Each man nodded at him when Big Frank made his way through the heavily muscled and tattooed lifers.

He was cool with most of them. Seasoned cons that did their time and didn’t break his balls. He treated these guys with respect and didn’t fuck with them. He even overlooked their extracurricular activities and most of their minor infractions.

There were a few trouble makers who sometimes got in his face and tried to give him shit. Not today. Even the assholes were standing at attention with their backs to the rail. Frank walked his slow walk along the tier until he came to the last cell in the line of thirty. No one stood outside of that one. He paused for a moment before announcing himself to Nestor Valdez.

Being alone in a cell with Nestor was like being locked in a closet with a cobra. The cobra knows it can kill you anytime it wants to, and you know you can’t dodge the strike. Every time you walk out of the closet you thank God you’re still alive and try not to think about the next time you have to visit the snake again. The thing you always had to keep in mind when you dealt with Nestor was that his fangs were long. You didn’t have to be anywhere near the closet to get bit.

Since Frank’s first day on the job fifteen years ago, Nestor Valdez had always been polite, friendly, and respectful, but Big Frank never felt comfortable around the man. Especially after he heard about what happened to his predecessor. The officer had been a hardass who made the critical mistake of giving Nestor a rough time one day. That night in the middle of a family meal he was abducted from his home. A box containing the officer’s head was delivered to the warden a few days later.

“’Scuse me Mr. Valdez. Okay if I step in your house?”

“Sure Frank. Come on in.”

“Anything I can help you with Mr. Valdez?”

“No, but I appreciate you asking. I’m just taking the photos and a few paintings. Everything else is for my friends.”

Everything else was a lot. Nestor’s house was not like any other cell in the prison. There was a Persian rug on the floor, a flat screen TV on the wall, a toaster oven on the shelf, and even a small office space with a desk, swivel chair, and laptop computer.

“Frank, how old is your boy now? Sixteen?”

Shit, I don’t wanna be talkin’ about my son with this
dude.

“Turning eighteen next month.”

“Senior year, huh?”

“Yeah, and thank the lord he’s way smarter than me. We’re looking at colleges in the fall.”

“Tuition’s expensive.”

“We’ve been saving. Student loans, maybe a scholarship. He’s going to college one way or the other.”

Nestor handed him a slip of paper.

“What’s this, sir?

“It’s a full scholarship in your son’s name from Ford Motors. Use that savings to fix that hole in your bedroom wall or buy yourself a new car. That old Honda you drive needs to be put down.”

Man’s sayin’ his people have been in my fuckin’ house and they know my
ride.

“I can’t take this.”

“Of course you can, Frank. Your son just got a free ride from the oldest car company in America. That’s a big deal. You should be proud. Either way, I insist.” The eyes of the cobra didn’t blink.

“Thank you, sir, Thank you very much.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here.”

“You mind if I ask a question?”

“Sure Frank.”

“How do you feel?”

“About leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been in this cell for thirty years. Thirty years, seventeen days. Made some great friends while I did my time. How do I feel?… I’m overcome with emotion.” The cobra’s eyes were clear and dry. “You see,” he said, pointing to the tiny black tattoos shaped like tears that ran down his face. “I cry for all the friends and family I have lost, and for the many men I have killed.”

Nestor stopped to speak briefly with every man lined up along the tier. Others called out to him from below. They cheered and clapped for him. They stomped on floors and banged anything that would make noise against the bars. In an almost religious frenzy they chanted his name over and over again. “Nestor! Nestor! Nestor!” echoed loudly off the walls as he made his way through the prison.

Following the warden’s orders, the guards had pre-processed his paper work to speed things along and get him out of Elmira. He could still hear the chanting when he walked past the last gate and out into the world. More than five hundred men standing outside the prison joined the chorus with their brothers on the inside.

He stood there staring at his soldiers while they softly chanted his name. Their volume steadily increased until they reached a crescendo, screaming, “Nestor! Nestor! Nestor!” over and over again.

His expression never changed as he moved forward, a prophet amongst his disciples. Like the parting of the Red Sea, they opened a wide space for him to pass. When he reached the center he stopped and raised his hands up to silence them.

“I am glad you’re all here to share this moment. None of our lives will ever be the same after this. You who are here with me now will go out and tell your brothers what you have seen.” He slowly began taking off his clothes.

“People said that they were sorry. Sorry that I lost my freedom for all this time. What those people don’t understand is that no one can take away your freedom. I was in a cage for thirty years, but I was always a free man!” The crowd roared.“And if I go right back to that cage tomorrow I will still be free!”

The men went into a frenzy, raising their fists and shouting. After a few moments Nestor raised his hands again to silence them.

“You who are here with me, never forget this moment. You are here to witness my death… and my resurrection.”

He kept taking off clothes until finally he stood there in his boxers. He turned slowly so all of them could see the ferocious tattoo that completely covered him from the neck down.

“Nestor is no more… witness the rise of Geronimo!”

As he continued to turn in a slow circle with his face turned up to the sky, his eyes seemed to project a bright light, his tattoo began to glow and thunder boomed from the clouds. Five hundred men dropped down onto their knees and began a new chant of, “Geronimo! Geronimo! Geronimo!” From inside the prison his new name pulsed through the air like the steady beat of a base drum.

He stopped his turn and walked forward to one of his trusted soldiers who handed him a knife. Geronimo sliced two deep diagonal gashes across his own chest.

“I am Geronimo and you are my Apaches! Come! Come share my blood!”

All the men surged forward to touch his chest. They streaked their faces Indian style with his blood. Many cut themselves to mix their own blood with his. Throughout the ceremony his expression never changed until at last he saw his brothers in the back behind his frenzied followers. Then he smiled.

Still bleeding he walked up to them and raised his hand. The instant he did the chanting stopped, creating an eerie silence. Nestor opened his arms wide and hugged Gonzalo.

“I am glad you were here to see that,” he said finally.

“Welcome home, hermano,” Gonzalo said.

“It’s good to see you. All of you,” Geronimo said looking at the rest of his former family.

“Come. Everyone is waiting. There is big party for you.”

“No Zalo, I can’t go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you watching? I have my own family now… and my own business.”

“You would turn your back on your own blood? On me and La Familia Valdez?”

“I know you won’t understand, but I built something while I was inside. I have thousands of soldiers out here. Like me, they’ve been waiting a very long time for this day.”

“So you are no longer with us?”

“No.”

“You choose them?”

“Like I said big brother, you won’t understand. But, since I know you need to hear it… yes, I choose them over you.”

“And the business you spoke of?”

“Is none of your business.”

“What if our interests should conflict with yours?”

“They won’t. Just stay out of narcotics. I will let you keep some of the gambling, but not all of it.”

“You will let us?”

“Yes brother, I will let you. I already run every prison and all the drugs east of Chicago. Soon I’ll have the whole country. When I come to pay my respects to Macho and Chris I will explain everything to you in detail.”

Gonzalo frowned.

“And don’t make that face. I am Geronimo and you and the family are under my protection. Be grateful.”

He touched his chest, then reached up and made two red diagonal slash marks on both of Gonzalo’s cheeks. “There, now you’re one of my Apaches. I’ll see you soon.”

With that he turned and walked away. When the messiah was back amongst his people the chanting started up all over again.

Gonzalo stood there for five long minutes composing himself and thinking through all the moves on the chess board. His brothers and Antonio waited quietly until he was ready to go. When he was, Benji Medina started the car and they all got in. Gonzalo carefully wiped the blood off of his face with a handkerchief, then took off his blood stained blazer and shirt, and then tossed everything out the window. No one said a word during the two and a half hour drive back to the City.