Crime & Counterpoint (10 page)

Startled, Zach turned and found a seasoned gentleman in a fine wool tux with groomed salt-and-pepper hair. He looked vaguely familiar, but Zach couldn’t place the well-preserved face, high cheekbones, and murky green eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Ericson,” he said with gracious formality and a slanting, handsome smile. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. I’ve been a fan of yours for some time.”

Suspicious, Zach shifted on the barstool. “Forgive me, have we met?”

“Oh, my apologies.” At once, he extended his hand. “Rybar Cervenka.”

Zach’s chest tightened, hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end.

Rybar gestured grandly towards a recessed secured door in the entryway. “I would like for you to join me in my office.” For good measure, Rybar added, “Please. I won’t keep you long.”

They passed through a metal-barred door in the foyer into a dark, restricted area. With each step, the music dulled more and more as if heard through a wall of water. Zach followed Cervenka up a curvilinear staircase, feeling like a minnow forced into shark-infested seas. He wished he’d brought a weapon. Any weapon.

While Zach puzzled and writhed within himself, they started down the curved corridor lit by dim recessed lights in the ceiling. It smelled like an infusion of tropical flowers. Some toxic air freshener, no doubt. He stopped in front of a door and while he dug in his pocket for a key, Zach made a quick sweep of the unfamiliar surrounds. He saw the one-way glass and had a clear view of the Greene’s, his grandmother, and Carrie.

The Czech must know all his connections now. The realization gripped him.

“Ah! Here we are,” Cervenka said as he finally found his key, unlocked the door, and hit the brights. “Come in, come in.”

Zach’s eyes constricted with the influx of light. Blindly, his legs carried him into what was apparently an office. Adjusting, he looked around as Cervenka went to his rather expansive, modern black desk marked ‘P G’ with elaborate gold scrawl.

There were pictures of famed musical artists performing at the club through the decades. Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Machito, Thelonious Monk, Woody Herman, Charles Mingus. The names and dates of engagements were engraved on the frames of each.

But other than these, there was little to clutter the wide layout with the exception of comfortable seating and a fully-equipped bar that looked new. Fresh carpet. Fresh paint. Modern track lighting. Through the wall of glass which formed the exterior façade of the club, Zach had an exceptional view of the front drive, neon-glowing fountain, and bordering street. Busy, as always. He could see the vague beginnings of Central Park in the distance.

“I’m still working on decoration,” Cervenka said. “I don’t know what” – he gestured like he was making clouds of smoke – “to do with all this
space
yet.”

And there was a lot of space, Zach judged with one fell sweep.

“Go ahead, Detective. Make yourself… comfortable.” Rybar went to his personal bar and started mixing some concoction with expertise. Zach remained standing. “So. I’m sure you miss the football life.”

Zach, still wary, hackles on end, kept one eye on the surroundings and one eye on Cervenka. “You watched my games?”

“My sons mostly. I came to this country not knowing much about that sport, but now look, my boys both are playing for their high schools. And they want to be in the NFL. Of course.” Cervenka threw a look at Zach. “Like you were going to.”

Zach smoldered. This guy thought he knew everything.

“Shame what happened. I know it’s been several years, but I still remember,” he said with a tap to his head.  “Must be difficult. To go from being the idol of thousands to underappreciated.”

Zach listened carefully, trying not to find succor in Cervenka’s words. There was a catch forthcoming. A waterfall drop. Sharp. One thousand feet.

Cervenka set two fresh martini glasses out and poured his creation into them. He brought one to Zach and raised his glass in a wordless toast, drinking first. Zach simply eyed his and left the glass untouched on the sheening black desk.

Briskly, Rybar finished the whole cocktail and looked at Zach questioningly. “Don’t you like Vespers? I saw you having one down at the bar.”

“You were watching me.”

Rybar’s head dipped. “You have a wonderful family, Detective.” He took out his cell phone and tapped out something as he spoke. “They were so concerned about your nearly-fatal accident.”

Zach felt his pocket vibrate. His heart skipped a beat. He withdrew his cell and saw another text.

Sender: Unknown.

Message: What was it like being buried underwater?

Zach’s pulse ratcheted, blood heating fast. He pinned Cervenka with a sharp, accusing look. “What do you want?”

Feigning surprise, Rybar turned four fingers towards himself and pressed them against his crisp white shirt. “Me? I want nothing.”

“Fuck you!” Zach slammed his palm on the desk. The photographs rattled on the walls. “You sent me there to die!”

Cervenka just looked at him calmly, almost disappointed. “Detective, I assure you, you couldn’t be more mistaken. You and I have something in common.” He made a slight gesture with his head towards a large monitor on his desk.

Against his better judgment, Zach followed Cervenka around the desk to get a look at the computer display.

Tapping a few keys, Rybar brought up the feeds from security cameras within the club. He selected the camera which provided a good view of the entire length of the curved bar. “See those two?”

Scowling and murderous, Zach gave them a close appraisal, trying to see despite the fuzzy resolution.

“They’re a few of the men who tried to kill you at the shipyard,” he said calmly. “They’re Brother’s Circle and they’d like to kill me as well if I but give them the chance. So see? We’re playing on the same team.”

Zach aimed Cervenka a look filled with tension. “That’s a presumptuous statement.”

Rybar shrugged his shoulders. “You have everything to gain by working with me instead of against me. I know you have been trying to undermine them years. I can help you get to where you want to be.”

“And where the hell is that?”

Cervenka simply smiled knowingly. “If you don’t know…” He gestured to the screen again. “The man on the left goes by Vašek. He’s a sniper, born in the Czech Republic like myself but raised here in New York. And the other is Feliks Djurdjanovic, a Russian national but spends much of his time in Versailles. He’s wanted in ten countries for weapons, drugs, and human trafficking.”

“You would know about that,” Zach boldly accused.

Cervenka appraised Zach with surprising warmth. “Yes. And so will you.” His chin dipped. “I can give you leads like you wouldn’t believe. You could do amazing things.”

“Why? Why would you risk yourself to do that?”

Cervena shook his head. “As I understand, you don’t care about risk.” He smiled shrewdly. “So, what do you say, Detective Ericson?”

Zach burned. The music rumbled under his feet, pulsing rapidly like a stampeding herd of wild stallions racing across an open field under moonlight. Nostrils flaring, manes and tails flying free. And it was enough to diminish his conscience.

Blue fire filled his eyes as he reached for the martini glass, lifted it to his lips, and drank with soul-thirsty lust.

By 12:25, the club’s remaining guests were fully basted with imported wine and marinated in pink champagne. The band had played a few extra encores for the sake of the enthusiastic, imbibed dancers, but now they were done, and Shelley, out of obligation had to say goodbye to the Greene’s who had stayed to support her through the night. Abigail however, had taken off early with Ashleigh escorting her home.

Ella Fitzgerald’s signature warble serenaded through the club’s sound system, filling the club with nostalgic vinyl and dimensional studio reverb.

“Where in the world did Zach go?” Carrie whined as she descended the steps from the balcony, hanging onto Jared’s arm. “Is he down here?”

“Well, I did tell him to take his time,” Jared ribbed. “Maybe he had a police emergency.”

“Must’ve been my singing,” Shelley said, smiling self-effacingly.

Jared grinned but shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it. You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Agreed,” Bill said warmly, giving her a hug. “Reminded me of Lena Horne. Didn’t know you had that in you.”

His approval put a genuine smile on her face, setting her aglow again. “Thank you.”

“Shelley, dear, I’m still unclear as to why you kept this all a secret. We’re very understanding you know. I wouldn’t have breathed a word to your mother,” Barb intoned as Bill helped her into a double-faced cashmere coat. “Not that she would’ve been caught dead playing in a place like this.”

“Honey, let it go,” Bill chastised gently.

Jared saw the color seep into Shelley’s cheeks. “Okay. I think it’s time we get out of here.” With his arm possessing a good bit of Carrie’s slender body, he said to Shelley, “Do you need a ride? Be happy to drop you off.”

“Oh, it’s – it’s fine.” She wrung her fingers. “I’ve gotta go backstage, make sure everything’s been put away.”

“You will be careful, won’t you?” Barb of all people asked as she stepped over to give Shelley a hug.

Shelley returned Barb’s embrace albeit stiffly. “I will.”

Carrie, drunk on both love and wine, hugged Shelley fiercely. “I’m so glad to have finally met you. You’re as wonderful as Jared and Ashleigh said.” Releasing Shelley, Carrie snapped petulantly at her fiancé. “Why isn’t she playing for the ceremony?”

Jared was at a loss for words, Bill wanted to intervene, and Barbara just studied her manicured nails.

Shelley saved them all. “Because he couldn’t afford me,” she ribbed, which caused everyone to dissolve into nonsensical laughter. And with that, Shelley blew them all a kiss and slipped away.

Finally, they’d left. Zach emerged from a shadowy corner behind a rather large potted palm tree. He hadn’t wanted his family and friends getting entangled in whatever the night might unfold.

The one called Djurdjanovic was no longer at the bar; he’d left a minute ago. Vašek the sniper, however, kept his seat, thumbing through his phone. It occurred to him that Cervenka could have been lying about all of this. The shipyard, these men, his desire to help. What if this was another setup? The door was right there. All he had to do was leave.

Whatever wisdom he possessed whispered
get out now while you still can
. Even his grandfather’s baritone rumbled inside his head, chastising him to “make the right choice, son”. And his probation. What about that?

Just then, Shelley strolled by the bar. Vašek’s eyes diverted to her, filled with the light of lust. His seedy gaze followed her hourglass figure as she walked towards the backstage door.

Without warning, Zach felt anger swell his chest. But she was nothing to him. He shouldn’t care. Taking a deep breath, he considered the vague ache.

Zach took a step towards the exit, but as he approached the threshold, in the mirror-like glass of the main doors, he saw Vašek slide off the stool, pocket his phone, and slink across the main floor. In Shelley’s direction.

Clenching his fists, Zach tried to resist. Tried not to let it bother him. Shelley would be fine. But of their own volition, his wing-tip Johnston & Murphy’s changed direction and clipped down the short steps.

In the backstage rehearsal room, Shelley hummed to herself as she sorted out yellowing sheet music, fluorescents flickering vaguely overhead. Just as she’d thought: the guys hadn’t put away their parts from the night, leaving the band’s gilded leather folders in a stack on the practice Yamaha baby grand. Their conductor normally arranged the sheets back into their respective binders after a long night, but he was married with two little kids, and his wife was probably staying up for him. At least she didn’t have to worry about anyone at home waiting up for her. The thought depressed her mood a little.

“Excuse me,” a man said shocking the silence, his voice undeniably Bronx.

Her heart tripped over its strings. She turned around and found in the open doorway a gentleman with a thin, bony face staring at her. He had a cunning smile which did nothing for his opal eyes, and his threads were less than the caliber of the other patrons.

“I enjoyed your playing,” he said. “You sing good too.”

“Thank you.” Her tone was stable, but there was an uneasy feeling in the pit of her gut. The lights spasming didn’t help matters.

His gaze darted around the empty space, chairs in haphazard ensemble arrangement. He stepped inside.

She shrunk invisibly.

“Is your… friend around?”

She couldn’t process the question. “Um, I’m not sure who you mean.”

A strange, murky glow entered his eyes. He lingered for an awkward moment more. Thinking, perhaps. And then he crawled towards her like a poacher trying to trap an exotic, endangered animal.

Unconsciously, she started to step back. Her breast swelling with fear. He looked her over from the chest down. Salivating.

“Is there something I can do for you?” she tried, unable to hold her tone this time.

“Depends.” He seemed to undress her with his eyes, and she longed to hide, wishing she’d worn sackcloth instead of satin.

She stepped back, but she bumped into the piano; her lower back smarted from the protruding corner of the lid. She touched its smooth, cool edge and braced against it for support.

The man took another predatory step towards her.

But then, just as she was within his easy reach, Zach’s bulk filled the doorway. Her thudding heart leapt with relief.

“Where have you been?” she asked with forced nonchalance. “I was worried you’d left.”

The man turned to look at Zach. His face darkened at the intrusion, beckoning her fear to return.

Zach gauged the situation and took her cue. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said.

Baby?
Her stomach dipped.

“I got caught up with some business.” Side-stepping the sharp-faced man, Zach walked up to Shelley. “There was an incident at a shipyard that I’m going to have to deal with.” Zach shot the man a cursory glance. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, thanks,” the man returned civilly enough, but Shelley thought she saw a message of sorts pass between them. “Just having a chat with your girlfriend.”

Zach hooked one arm around her waist, unsmiling. “Is that right?”

Her body tingled, heart pounding louder than the fluorescent lights buzzed. She couldn’t breathe.

“I was keeping her company,” said the man. He headed towards the door, with an enigmatic, dangerous air. He looked at Zach. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

The man departed, but Zach didn’t release her. However, she felt an immediate change in him. A complete absence of warmth. So before he kicked her to the curb, she withdrew like it was nothing, like his nearness hadn’t affected her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she uttered, turning from him.

He glanced at her averted profile like he’d forgotten she was even there. His eyes shuttered, turning icy. “When you’re done, I’ll take you home,” he said even as he started towards the door. “Just wait here.”

She resented the authority in his voice. “I don’t need a police escort.”

“Yes. You do.” And as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared, and Shelley’s jaw nearly dropped.

Zach punched through the loading dock doors, returning to the cold, dense air, discordant traffic, and bleak colors he understood. The back of the club was tree-lined and dark except for a hazy halogen light illuminating a span of cement. A busboy exited from the kitchen with a giant bag of trash. He lugged it to the compactor.

Zach drew back into the shadows until he returned inside. The door slammed almost in sync with an ear-splitting chorus of angry cabs, all honking at each other about some near-wreck.

The loading dock doors opened again with a slight creak, and he waited, expecting Vašek.

Sure enough, the hawkish marksman appeared heading to the left, further behind the building where darkness prevailed. Zach noticed a security camera by the sheen of dusky light. As he passed, he averted his face, feigning interest in the fir trees hedging the perimeter.

Adrenaline insulated him from the cold, but a powerful sense of foreboding déjà vu electrified his veins. However, there was no turning back; he’d seen recognition enter the Sniper’s face. He had to deal with this now.

Zach neared Vašek’s raptor silhouette. In the dark, black polymer glinted from the man’s hand.

Zach felt a sharp drop in his internal temperature followed by a rapid rise. He let a steak knife slip from his sleeve into his firm grasp. He’d grabbed it from a cart full of dirty dishes without anyone noticing.

Sensing the hunter behind him, Vašek stopped and turned, readying his gun.

But Zach attacked first, lunging at Vašek, pinning him against the dome. He locked the man’s gun arm high above his head while pressing the knife to his barrel neck. The weapon clattered to the asphalt.

“Didn’t recognize you at first,” the Sniper choked out, “but when I saw the back of your head, I knew.”

Zach exhaled through his nostrils. “What’re you doing here?”

“Trying to get into the music business,” he sneered. “How ‘bout yourself? NYPD not doin’ it for you?”

The German-made knife carved into flesh; Zach felt warm liquid begin to coat his fingers. A tinge of satisfaction followed. “I’m reevaluating.”

Squirming, Vašek pressed into the club’s façade, attempting to save his neck from butcher. “So what?” he choked out. “You’re working for the Fisher now?” He gleamed fiendishly matching the glistening across his throat. “He’s a fucking liar.”

Zach’s mind raced.

Vašek licked his cruel, thin lips. “How do you think we knew you were coming that day? We dragged you to the edge, barely conscious. All you had to do was beg for your life.” He smiled broadly as if the memory gave him pleasure. “But it’s like you wanted us to throw you in.”

Zach stared Vašek in the eye and let himself remember what it was like being in that icy, watery hell – the vacillation between terror and acceptance; wanting to live, yet desperate to die.

“You’re resilient, I’ll give you that.” The Sniper’s beak widened in a wicked grin despite the stinging pain. “Wait ‘til Kazanov finds out. I’m sure he can’t wait to hear about your little pianist girlfriend. You’ve got expensive taste. Or maybe he’ll be more interested in grandma.”

Fire flourished in the pit of his stomach, and Zach felt like severing every tendon in the man’s throat.

The sniper made a guttural noise, fighting pointlessly again to bring his gun arm down, gripping and pushing against Zach’s knife hand. “I thought you didn’t care about anything.”

The blade delved in further.

“Okay, okay. Let’s make a deal,” he pleaded, feet rising to its balls as he began to feel real panic. “I can guarantee no one’ll come after you. Just let me go. Walk away.”

Zach loosened his grip; knife slowly pulling away from Vašek. He took a step back, face turning to stone.

Gasping fresh air, the Sniper smiled. Lifting a shaky hand to his throat, he touched the crimson, rubbed it between his fingers, and then lowered his arm.

Zach stayed back but then, he heard someone approaching. Momentarily, his attention diverted and he looked behind him.

Vašek took advantage and palmed a knife from his jacket. Suddenly, he swung hard at Zach, slicing across his stomach.

Brights blinded him. Fury lashed with the pain. Adrenaline twisted like cold snakes through his limbs. Before he could stop himself, Zach thrust the knife into Vašek’s stomach. Twisted. Gutted him from navel to sternum in one lethal motion.

Blood and entrails gushed. The Sniper’s eyes bulged from their sockets, dimming rapidly. Life draining, he fell to the black pavement and dropped his blade. Zach’s knife however remained embedded deep in his chest.

Zach swiped up the silenced 9mm just as another arrived. Djurdjanovic.

He swiveled, gun extended, to find the hollow of a silenced barrel trained on him. He could peer into the black hole. Out of self-preservation, he pulled the trigger.

It barely made a sound as the bullet exited the silenced barrel. But Zach felt the recoil.

A dime-sized hole appeared in Djurdjanovic’s forehead. Black blood trickled down the bridge of his nose.

He crumpled to the ground.

Shock set into Zach’s bones. Trying not to dwell on what he’d just done, he rubbed off the fingerprints from the gun and put it back on the ground. A burning gripped his injured stomach, but he knew he’d be fine.

“Zach?”

His head snapped to the left. It was Shelley.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed hoarsely as she saw the dead bodies on the asphalt. Shock pervaded her being. Her frightened eyes filled with unshed tears. They locked on him like he was going to attack her. She started backing away, hands dragging along the side of the building for stability.

But he caught her, wrestling her into submission. “It’s okay.”

“How can you say that?” she asked in a choked whisper. “Did you
kill
them?”

The way she said ‘kill’ made heat build under his collar. “They wanted me dead,” he replied in meager defense.

Unable to help herself, she looked closer at the grotesque scene. She shuddered in realization. “Is that the man from the rehearsal room?” she said, tears beading on her lashes.

“They would’ve gone after my family. I – I couldn’t let that happen.” His fingers dug into her upper arms, gripping her with conviction. 

She searched his face, his back-lit blue eyes blazed with fiery truth. A certain acceptance came over her. As he loosened his hold, she looked at his white shirt. Even in the dark, the blood spreading the material like ink was apparent. Concern overwhelmed. She touched his stomach, felt the wet stickiness, thin but thick. “What happened?” Her voice was shaky, but her strength came through.

He took out his cell. “I’ll be fine.” And as he dialed 911, he looked around cagily, realizing he had another pressing problem on his hands. He had to get Shelley out of here.