"So… you have experience? Your brother tell me you do work with Kassian, no?"
Abbot was looking at a stocky, tall, Ukrainian guy. Square jaw, greying blonde hair, moustache, brown polo, apron over a pair of grey slacks, so on. A lot of words, really, but he wasn't a looker. No tattoos, no scars, just an old guy with an accent who talked fast. You wouldn't think he was involved, really.
It was after work, a couple hours after on a Wednesday, so Abbot'd went home, changed into more casual clothes (a pair of jeans, a shirt, and some sneakers), and taken the D line down to Goatherd Station. About 50 minutes, give or take.
It felt like Abbot might as well move down to South Broker sometime, everything seemed to be here now. The restaurant, the newsstand, Achban's apartment. For the center of the world it sure wasn't a very interesting place. It all felt almost suburban, the houses-turned-apartments and the working class people that lived there. It was a lot different than his usual haunt up in Rotterdam Hill, busy streets and that uneasy feeling of gentrification.
Teddy's 'newsstand', more aptly a convenience store if anything, was right by the El-station, 1500 Goatherd Road. Green sign, a couple misspelt words (newspape, convinient, etc.), looked like every other place on the block. Normal. Inside, exactly the same, stocked shelves, a couple ads for the state lottery, way too cold, nothing out of the ordinary. Abbot almost thought he had the wrong address.
And out comes the aforementioned Ukrainian. "Oh," he'd said. "How can I help?"
Abbot replied with something along the lines of "I think Achban sent me," showed the guy the card Achban wrote up at the restaurant, something to let him know he wasn't bullsh*tting or at the wrong place. Next thing he knew, he was at the back of the store.
Abbot's mind snapped back to the present, with the store owner, Teddy, staring back at him from behind a desk. "Yeah, that's right," Abbot responded. "Achban explained, right?"
"Of course. So if you're familiar, you know how all of this works, yes? What to do when cops show, how to present, whatever."
"I'm capable."
He paused. "And you know what to do when things get hairy?"
Another beat, "Yeah," Abbot said.
Teddy smiled. "Good." He got up, "This is background check," he continued. "Nothing serious, I trust you. Your brother tell me good thing about you, tell me what I need. You work for lawyer?"
"Just computer work."
"Huh. Anything-"
"Repair."
"That's fine. Nonetheless, I get glowing recommendation. You know this isn't high school, yes? You know they're not going to just pull knife on you?"
"I'm not an idiot."
"I thought so. Not like you'll need that anyway," he nodded. "Let me give you rundown, yes? I want to see how hot the sh*t is."
"Classy."
He laughed. "I like you." He opened a drawer, took out a little taped up box, like a birthday gift wrapped in butcher paper. "I run a little… delivery service. There is quite a bit of the big H in here, yes?" He tapped the box, smiling. "Enough for full bundle, good sh*t. I need you to take that to man named Osip Prokofiev, yes? Lives on corner of East 21st and Avenue O, big apartment building near Vlackwood with a guy named Slava, only 10 minute drive. Ring him up at door, give him the package, come back with cash. Simple job, child could do it."
"I got it," Abbot responded.
"Beautiful," he said, sliding it over the desk. "We agreed on price, no need to ask. He'll have the money ready at the door, don't even have to go inside."
Abbot grabbed for the box, picked it up and put it right under his arm. "You sure this isn't too hot to carry?"
"Not if you have a car. You bring car?"
Abbot shook his head. "No. I took the train."
"Sh*t," Teddy tutted. "I mean… f*ck, okay."
"What?"
"I'm gonna do something I no do to my own son," he said. "Look, take my car. The BF parked on other side of road. I cannot let you get caught by metrocop with that on you. What time is it?"
"Uh… probably around 6:20."
"Дерьмо… okay, okay. Get back to me within hour with car. I'm trusting you with pride and joy, okay? You scratch that car, or worse, take the junk for yourself, and I come to your apartment with butcher knife. Catching the drift?"
Abbot stared for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "This is going a little different than I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"I'm moving a full bindle, right?"
"Yes. The guy is distributor, take some, move some, bring back some, yes?"
"But that's a lot of weight to move in one go, though."
"Of course!" he answered, leaning back in his chair. "But how do I know if you are good or not?"
"...Okay."
"Confidence will get you far, my friend. Hey, you do good job, great job, then I can let you in on more work. Yellow jackets, anasha, whatever. You follow?"
"I think," he replied. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"How much am I making? Getting paid."
"For you, if you do good job, couple G. It little more inflated than usual, but I always like to get more bodies."
Abbot nodded. "For sure."
The door opened. In it's way, stood a skinny, bald Russian guy, Star of David chain over a baggy grey shirt and blue track pants. He smirked, surveyed the hallway, and looked straight ahead, right towards Abbot.
It was Osip. Local yokel, apparently. Abbot didn't know the guy but the moment he laid eyes on him, he knew he was a seedy character. Osip squinted: "I am assuming you are delivery guy?" he said.
"And you're-"
"The guy you're looking for, of course," he interjected. "In flesh and bone. Stay quiet. You have delivery, da? My pizza or whatever the f*ck Teddy is calling it."
"Piping hot," Abbot smiled, tapping the box under his arm. It wasn't a long drive of course, nobody bothered him, but he still felt anxious with this much brown on him.
"Well, you have merchandise. Превосходный," he laughed.
"What?"
"Excellent, I say. Now… hand it over."
"The money?"
"Ah, well… this is where you're mistaken." In turn, he smiled, almost winked, and pulled up his shirt.
Right there, tucked in his waistband, a snub nose, handle up. He tapped it, grinned; "I want you to go back to your employer. Teddy, Benny, whatever. I want you to tell him, right to his face, that I am no scared of him. You give me money, you give me the smack, you walk."
Abbot gulped. "Uh…"
"I hope you understand that if you stay here for any longer, you will be making grave mistake. You don't want to make mistake. Not like this."
"You don't want to do this. I don't want to this this."
Osip laughed. "Do what? Тощий человек думает, что он Джек Гаубица. This isn't The Redeemer, придурок. What are you going to-"
Crunch, the leg went. Osip crumpled, screaming, clutching his shin, eyes watery. Abbot, growling, kept kicking, another crunch as foot connected with his face, throwing him to the floor. Abbot stepped through, over Osip, grabbing at his nose and shouting.
Inside, the apartment was marred by disarray and disorganization, discarded food and clothes draped on furniture, that same musty 'didn't take out the trash' smell you'd find at a halfway home. These guys were dealing H by the ton in a neighborhood like this and they couldn't even keep the apartment clean. What would the landlord have thought?
Meanwhile, Osip wailed, "Блядь, сука! Слава, иди сюда!" He had more than enough occupying his attention, specifically the waterfall of red pouring out of his broken nose and the f*cked up leg. That, paired with the bad headache he probably had, meant he wasn't really much of a threat anymore.
If he was to begin with.
Abbot pulled up his shirt while he writhed, pulled out the revolver, aged, and examined the print. 38 caliber, Hawk and Little, and to his surprise, unloaded, light in the hand.
"I told you."
Abbot stomped, hard, and the guy stopped moving. For now, anyway.
"Ублюдок!"
Slam, bat to the wall, little cracks in the plaster and a dent in the aluminum. The guy, a 6'2" brute with grown out hair and a Heat track jacket, snarled. His voice was hoarse, like gravel, his panting like scraping a rock against a brick wall. This man was probably Slava, the roommate, square jawed and stubbled when he turned around. He wasn't pleased, obviously.
Abbot barely had time to react. Flipping the gun around, crack, butt of the gun straight in the temple. Slava screamed, grabbed for his forehead, right until the wood grip slammed against the back of his head again. It cut deep.
He toppled back, fell on a wooden table and onto the floor, moaning. Abbot, breathless, stared at the body below him, almost gasping for air. He was speechless. Slava oozed, blood out the back of his head, and like Abbot, also couldn't say a word.
"You don't… I didn't mean..." He thought of saying more, he did. Taunting, maybe. But one was out cold and the other was… well, it was better not to check. He didn't wanna risk waking him, or knowing he wasn't gonna wake up. He did risk, however, raiding the cupboards, found a couple bundles under the sink, a stash of what seemed to be Oxycontin under a loose floorboard, so on. They were hiding it, yeah, but they weren't hiding it right. To Abbot, he was just doing what the cops were gonna do anyway. Mostly.
In the hallway, he mulled it over. Kept looking at the box. What happened in there, what just had happened, none of it felt right. He didn't feel bad, or remorse, or shame. Just shock. Shock, and… that rush. Back when he was in school, back when this was normal, he felt the same. That same feeling. He didn't feel empty.
The past few years, he had felt empty. The work, the bar runs, all of it - it just made him feel empty. There wasn't anything to it, no talk, no conflict, nothing. But this? With the cash, and the skag still in the box, he felt alive. He felt free, like there was air in his lungs. It felt selfish to think that, to think that going back to something like that made him feel better.
But it was true.
He returned to the newsstand with the drugs, the money, more drugs, more money, the car, the any real evidence, and a few disorderlies leaking on the ground who wouldn't do it again. Teddy was surprised, really.
"How did you do that?" he'd asked. "You no seem like the type."
Abbot didn't know how himself, and he said the same. But from then on, well, Abbot had a new employer.
GLOSSARY
Vlackwood - Midwood, Brooklyn
BF (Bürgerfahrzeug) - Volkswagen
Heat - Adidas
The Redeemer - Raw Deal/Rambo
