With no idea into which hole Woden could have slithered into, I was stuck without many options as I hoofed it away from the warehouses. I had just begun a game that had no consolation prize. Fortunately, Woden and I both needed the same thing from each other: silence. As long as he knew I was an escapee with a double in prison, and as long as I knew enough to testify as to his very existence, getting the police involved was the furthest thing from either of our minds. That left only two options that provided each of us safety: trusting that the other would keep his mouth shut, or shutting the other's mouth for him. Permanently.
Of the two, trust is the harder thing to come by these days.
Having put enough distance between myself and the warehouses, I stop at a gas station to collect my thoughts and catch my breath.
"Ok," I think out loud, "so, who can a theoretically imprisoned mass murderer, who's actually free, turn to in his time of need?" I came to the answer in a reluctant instant.
I grabbed the purloined cell phone and dragged a number out of my memory.
"Vladimir? This is Max. Max Payne."
"Ah, Max! So good to hear from you! Though, I am surprised. Don't tell me you dropped a Dime just for me! Hahahahaha!"
As dumb as the joke was, it was good to hear something humorous after months of concrete walls and danger.
"Yeah, yeah. Look, Vlad, I'm in a bit of a fix, and I need a favor." Vlad's tone changed to less-than-enthusiastic.
"Oh, Max, you know I owe you big time. But get you out of the Big House? Too much even for Vladimir."
"Don't worry about that, Vlad. Look...I need you to meet with someone I'm giving a message to. I don't trust the phone. Can you be at the place where we first met in one hour?"
"Hm, first met in person, or..."
"No. Where you brought the house down."
"Ah yes. I understand. Okay, one hour. How will I know this person?"
"Oh, you'll know."
The building still bore the scars Vlad had blasted into it those many months ago. I'd almost have déjà vu, except for the fact that the spring temperature actually allowed normal people out on the streets at night, not just armed killers screaming out of the night at me.
A black import pulls up alongside me then, the passenger window sliding down. Instinctively, I reach inside my jacket for the 9mm. I didn't need to.
The look on Vlad's face was priceless.
"Max?! But, how...??"
"Long story, Vlad. Mind if I hop in? Open spaces tend to give me lead poisoning."
I gave Vlad the Reader's Digest version of my arrest, imprisonment, escape, and the warehouse. He nodded grimly when I got to the present.
"So. This Woden was like Wolf in grandmother's clothes, and you are Little Red Hooding Ride, eh?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Okay. So, how can Vladimir help, Tovarisch?"
"I need whatever help you can give me in tracking Woden down. Besides the fact that he just tried to kill me, he's the only one who knows the whole truth about my escape, and he can hold that over my head for the rest of my life, if you can call it that."
Vlad scratched his chin thoughtfully, then shrugged and laughed warmly.
"Okay donkey, we will try. Hey, you got rid of many of my competitors. I owe you at least something for all the money I've made with your help. But, come, we will leave business behind for tonight. At my townhouse I will treat you to wine, women, and cable television. You're not in prison anymore, my friend!"
For the first time in a long time, my grin matched Vlad's.
Vlad's "townhouse" was more like a vertical mansion in one of the better downtown addresses. Red bricked and iron barred, Vlad and I waltzed inside the fortress like returning conquerors. And, as promised, there was plenty there to entertain: Vladimir had apparently diversified in the time I'd been locked up. Aside from the glass showcases holding weapons of various and exotic types, his houseguests included some of the better hookers the city had to offer, as well as samples of narcotics for all to enjoy. My initial bravado was fading as I was again reminded of how far I had fallen from my old life.
After a day of leather couch lounging and lap dances, I'm beginning to think I could get used to a life as an anonymous enforcer for Vladimir. I'm getting comfortable. That's always my first mistake.
Like everything else, it starts with a gunshot, and learned instinct had me rolling for cover before there was any obvious reason to. Vladimir had the same impulse. Too bad the call girls didn't, because they were the first to go down.
Automatic fire sprays through the door to Vlad's penthouse, cutting down anyone not kissing the rug. I make like a lizard and belly-crawl my way to a display case, and smash it open with a paperweight. I don't risk raising my head to see what was in there, so I just grab whatever my hand landed on. Out comes an 800 year old Samurai sword.
Just as I was getting in touch with eastern philosophy, the bullet-tattered door was kicked in, and black-garbed professionals, looking like steroid enhanced ninjas, came swarming in. I counted five of them…then only four. Vlad was good for a head shot, and one went down. The remaining four rushed Vlad and subdued him. From my position, I could see the activity but, for the moment, they couldn't see me. I'd have to play this by ear. So I listened. While two of the ninjas held Vlad still, a third covered the room, while the fourth faced my comrade and played messenger:
"I bring greetings from Don Punchinello."
Vlad almost giggled. "Oh, you do? Where's your...how you say...Luigi Board? Because you must be talking for ghosts, my friend." That earned Vlad a fist in the gut. The Messenger continued like nothing had happened.
"The Don has become aware of your involvement in delivering Max Payne the resources with which he used to exterminate his loved ones. This knowledge has greatly angered Don Punchinello, and he would like to speak to you personally about the matter. Ok, now that I repeated the fancy shit I was told to say, get this vodka-sucking bitch outta here!"
The ninjas comply, dragging Vlad towards the door but, not one to go without a fight, Vlad struggles. That only got him a crack on the back of his head with the butt of an Uzi. In a flash, three of the ninjas were gone. That just left me and the Messenger, and I wasn't going to let old clichés stop me from killing him.
The Messenger began pacing around the room, turning over some of the hooker's bodies to get a twisted thrill from some dead, naked flesh. He turns his back to me and it's all the time I need. I leap at him, sword raised high, and scream like an angry boxer as I slice downwards, laying open the mook's back and part of his side. He gets out a pathetic yelp of surprise and pain as he reflexively tries to hold his guts together with his bare hands. He goes out with a whimper.
I pound down the stairs, passing dead guards and associates as I reach the front door, then have to dodge out of the doorway as the getaway car sprays small caliber fire in a brief drive-by. A screech of tires, and they're out of sight into the city.
This kind of activity, in this neighborhood, meant that I had maybe five minutes before the boys in blue would show. I rush back into the townhouse, smash open display cases and grab as much guns n' ammo as I can carry, and then snag a gym bag to carry more. I'm out and on the street before I hear the first sirens.
Vlad was my only lifeline. I needed his contacts, his money, and his influence to even have a hope of getting to Woden. This was a side trip I didn't want.
There was only one guy who'd have the balls, and the right, to claim the title of 'Don' in the Punchinello family. And if he was as big on tradition as I guessed, I knew exactly where he'd have set up shop: back at the Punchinello Mansion.
Using what skills I had at grand theft auto, I jacked the first decent car I came across, and loaded up, heading for the den of organized crime. Like it or not, it was time to pay Anton a house call.