First Break
Before Voronov…
Most people think they know all about Michael Malone Sharkey after five minutes. He looks like a blond gorilla and he sounds like a thug; what more would you even want to know?
Well, for one thing, Sharkey is fairly cheerful, well-adjusted guy among his own kind. He didn't become a crime boss's bodyguard because society drove him into the cold. Crime is just a job for him. His father and grandfather were both minor enforcers and bagmen while his mother brewed moonshine and helped girls "in trouble," either with her special tea or a quick sale of the little mistake. Half of Sharkey's nieces and nephews are already working in the shadows and more will no doubt follow.
For another, Sharkey considers himself a good Catholic. He was raised by people who saw no contradiction in taking the kids to the park on Saturday and church on Sunday, and working for the Chicago mob all week. All men are sinners, so who cares about degree of sin? Sharkey goes to church at least once a week and often twice when he's a guest of the state. (This time it's for a spot of assault under an assumed name.) Sharkey is a man of faith; faith in god and faith in the man he's chosen to work for through good times and bad.
So when two guards he's never seen before grab him before breakfast, escort him through the prison kitchen, and hustle him into a waiting delivery van, Sharkey is not that surprised. It's what he's been waiting for since his arrest. The van passes through the checkpoint as Sharkey and his new friends huddle under empty bags in the back. Once safe, the three passengers change into inconspicuous suits and make themselves comfortable as the van trundles through Montparnasse and beyond the limits of Paris. There are no introductions and not much talk, but who needs that when you have a supply of beer and sandwiches to while away the time on the winding roads? Sharkey would rather eat than talk any day.
Just outside Le Mans the van pulls over behind a black Buick Century and a light blue Renault Dauphine. Everyone gets out to stretch and the drivers confer. The Century driver hands Sharkey his keys and a large sealed envelope. He then joins the driver of the van while the two fake guards get into the Renault. Sharkey watches them leave, gets into the Buick, and opens the envelope. Inside is a perfect set of papers, passport, international license, vehicle title and all. There's also a map with the town of Brest circled and a slip of paper bearing an address.
It's sunset by the time Sharkey arrives at the right address. He's suitably impressed when he pulls up to the house on the Route de Sainte-Anne du Portzic. The house is large, secluded, and beautifully landscaped. It's also guarded like a fortress, but that's not something a casual passerby would notice. No casual observer would notice Sharkey's excitement either. His is a stolid, unexpressive face that doesn't betray how much he has longed for this moment. Sharkey is greeted by an impeccable, well-armed butler and shown to a sitting room where a familiar figure in a dark blue suit stands by a window.
The two men stare at each other for a moment before Olrik extends his hand. Ignoring it, Sharkey clasps his old boss in a bear hug.
"I know you'd get me out, boss. I knew it."
Olrik suffers the embrace without complaint and only a little embarrassment.
"Of course I got you out. Where would I be without my guardian angel?"
There's an awkward silence in which Olrik pours two much-needed drinks: one gin, one bourbon. The two of them sip in silence before they start to laugh. There's no need to explain the joke, because everything is the joke. Ice broken, both men slip into their old roles, catching up on their busy lives.
"So what's next, boss?"
"For you, a little holiday. Stay here and rest, spend some time with the boys. I have a job to do alone. Political work."
Sharkey doesn't like that one bit. Political work is the worst and he doesn't understand why the boss keeps taking these jobs working with nutty guys with grand schemes. Why would anyone want to be in charge when you can just take whatever you want and not worry about running things?
"Don't look at me like that, Sharkey. Yes, you're right, it's crazy, but there's a lot of money it in and I'll jump ship before it sinks."
"Hmph. Where you headed, anyway?"
"Mother Russia. I'm catching a freighter in a few days."
This only makes Sharkey worry more, but before he can start grousing, Olrik waves him off.
"Don't worry so much, Sharkey. It's in and out. I'll be back in a month and we can do something fun, maybe a jewel heist."
"Or smuggling. That's always good."
"That's the spirit. Now let's go down to dinner. We're going to celebrate your return."
Such is Sharkey's faith that when months pass, and the house is closed up, and everyone goes their separate ways, he still waits.