Brothers Forever Page 3

  “Mr. Livingston, we are here,” George says as we pull into the airport.

  I open my eyes and take a deep breath as I look around. My pilot, Avery, approaches me as I step out of the car. He quickly grabs my carry-on bag and starts to take my briefcase, but I pull it out of his reach.

  “I’ll keep this, Avery,” I say crisply.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Are we on time?”

  “Yes. We have been waiting on your arrival, sir.”

  I nod and walk up the steps into my plane. This plane is used for business primarily so it is well stocked and can seat up to twenty people comfortably. I set my briefcase down next to me, glancing at it, knowing what it symbolizes. I haven’t had to pull it out in over twenty years and that was to deal with an ex-employee that was trying to start a problem. Of course, I didn’t use anything in it but I did make him piss himself. I can’t help but chuckle at the memory. The thing is, I will always remember it, not because of what I did but because it solidified my relationship with Elkins, who, next to Dimitri, has been my closest friend. For a man like me, it is difficult to trust people, to let anyone close enough to see all of me, the good and the bad. But, Elkins and I hit it off immediately, and even though his attitude can be difficult at times, he understands me and that’s probably the best I can hope for. I tap my fingers against my lips lightly as I remember when Elkins and I decided to form our partnership.

  “Mr. Livingston, you have a Mr. Elkins here to see you.”

  “Send him back, please.”

  “Mr. Elkins,” I say, looking up from my desk. “Have a seat.”

  I motion to the couch in my office. I get up and come around to the front of my desk, leaning against it and resting my hands on the edge, waiting for him to get his papers in order.

  “What did you find out?”

  “You were right. He is passing information.” He stands up, hands me an envelope and then sits back on the couch, crossing his legs as he watches me intently.

  I nod and pull out the documents and pictures he has collected. I have got to give him credit. Elkins is damn good at what he does. Not only is he discreet but he is also quick and doesn’t ask questions about why I want the information or how I am going to use what he gathers. I frown as I look at a picture of Mr. Wallace meeting with Mr. Harper. I need to take care of this. He needs to know that he doesn’t mess with me or with my company. I may be a legitimate businessman now but that doesn’t mean I am going to let him try to ruin me because I fired him. It would be better though if I had a partner that could help me with these types of situations.

  “So, Charles... It is Charles, right?” he asks, cocking his brow.

  I look up from the papers and pictures to see him giving me a curious look.

  “Or should I just call you, Bolʹshoĭ?”

  I set the papers down on my desk and turn to him, ready to fight if need be as I push off from the desk. I stare at him for a moment trying to assess how much he knows. I always figured I would just take care of anyone who might find out about my past. But I like Elkins and knowing him like I do, he already knows everything. I frown and then lean back against my desk, lowering my defenses, and opting for nonchalance. Let me see where this goes from here.

  “What do you know of Bolʹshoĭ?" I ask, raising my own eyebrow.

  “I make it a habit of researching the people I work for. So, you can imagine my surprise when I considered you and your history.”

  He reaches for another manila envelope and pulls out a picture, handing it to me. I look down and into the faces of Dimitri and me in front of the bar. Dimitri looks very much like the future mob boss that he is and I have a look that screams DANGEROUS. I trace the outline of the bar and then stare at Dimitri. My friend, my brother, my enemy.

  “I don’t work for the mob, Mr. Livingston. They cannot be trusted,” he says determinedly and I look up at him. When I do he gives me a look that says what I know is coming next, “I believe our business is concluded.”

  I sigh and soften my expression. “I am not with the mob.”

  He shakes his head. “You know, Mr. Livingston, I’m not a freaking idiot. I know who the hell Dimitri Komarovski is.” He rolls his eyes, his body stiff as he glares at me. “He’s the future head of the Komarovski crime family in Chicago,” he says with agitation.

  “No,” I say with an exaggerated breath. “You are not an idiot and you’re right, that is Dimitri.” I look down at the picture again. “Dimitri and I are…” I swallow thickly. “We were childhood friends.”

  “Childhood friends, huh? You don’t look like children to me,” he says with a huff.

  I can tell he is not buying into any of this, and for some reason, that bothers me. I watch him and recognize that I’m going to need to tell him more. Of course, if I am truly honest with myself, I want to tell him. I want someone to know the real me aside from Estelle. I miss Dimitri and I miss our friendship. I know I need to be able to trust someone. I set the picture on my desk and look up at him.

  “What I tell you now must stay between us. I am entrusting you with information about my past that very few are privy to. If you break that trust, there will be no place you can go to hide from me.”

  “Save the intimidation for someone who actually cares. Tell me your connection or I walk,” he says quickly and to the point.

  I can’t help but grin. God, I love this guy.

  “I grew up with Dimitri. We met in the third grade and became instant friends. I had always been a bit hostile and that only got worse when I hit adolescence. I guess, you could say that I had some daddy issues,” I say with a smile and a shrug.

  He doesn’t bite but just gives me an agitated look that says get on with it.

  “I was constantly fighting so people were afraid of me and since I was always with Dimitri no one ever messed with him. And yes, when I got older, I figured out who his family was but it didn’t matter by then because we were already best friends.” I let out a sigh. “Eventually, I was just sort of around all the time making sure that nothing ever happened to him. He trusted me with his life but I was never actually a part of the family in any official way.”

  He looks at me confused and I push off from the desk again.

  “I’m not Russian,” I say, giving him a ‘do I really need to explain this further’ look.

  “So, what? Are you in the witness protection program or something?” he asks sarcastically, “Because the Russian mob does not let people just ‘leave’ whenever they want.”

  “Like I said, I wasn’t ‘in’ the Russian mob so yes, I was allowed to leave.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t want to remember how everything went down. I am fully aware of how lucky I was, how lucky we all were. If it hadn’t been for our childhood friendship, I know that we would never have left Chicago alive. I can still hear Dimitri’s anger and sadness screaming inside of my head when he told me that I was no longer his brother. In fact, I can still feel the ache within me, not having him be a part of my life. I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath before looking back at Elkins.

  “I met Estelle. We got married and then we were pregnant with Michael.” I look down at the ground and take another deep breath. “Dimitri and I had just come out of a tight situation and I had been shot protecting him. It was too much for her. She took a job in Sacramento and was going to come here whether I came with her or not. I couldn’t have that, so we left.”

  He is just staring at me and then gets this wry smile on his face. “So let me get this straight. You were a thug for one of the most brutal Russian crime families in Chicago and you gave it up for a piece of tail? Is that it?” he asks laughing, “And here I thought you were some kind of bad ass.”

  My expression changes into something lethal as I move quickly to the couch, fast enough that Elkins has no chance to defend himself. I pull him up and into a chokehold before danger registers in his head. I can't help but think that if we were in Chicago righ
t now, that my knife would already be at his throat.

  “I could kill you right now, Elkins.” I squeeze a little tighter, hearing him gasp as I cut off his air supply. “And the next time you disrespect my wife, I will, without any hesitation. Do I make myself clear?” I ask as I continue to tighten my grip around his neck, feeling his body shake and convulse against me, knowing that he is dangerously close to losing consciousness.

  He nods and stutters a yes as I loosen my grip, allowing him to fall onto the ground. I watch as he sits back on his knees trying desperately to catch his breath. After a few moments, his breathing starts to stabilize and he turns to me, a look of both anger and fear on his face.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” he says, rubbing his neck, which is now red.

  I take a step back and straighten my tie, shrugging at him. “So, now that you know, what do we do about it?” I ask him, crossing my arms. Hoping that I don’t have to do something I don’t want to do. He watches me intently and then looks back at the ground, presumably deciding what’s in his best interest.

  “Alright, well…” He rolls his shoulders and then glances back at me. “I guess the first thing we need to do is decide what the hell we are going to do about this Mr. Wallace character,” he says as he stumbles up onto his wobbly feet.

  I smile and let out a sigh of relief that he is on board with me. That’s better than what the alternative would have been. I pat his back and then help him steady himself.

  “We will pay Mr. Wallace a visit. See if I can ‘convince’ him to see the errors of his ways,” I say smiling and catch a sinister smirk on Elkins' face as well.

  Yes, he and I are going to get along just fine.

  “Mr. Livingston. We will be arriving at the Del Rio International Airport at approximately 7:30 p.m.,” Avery says, bringing me out of my memory.

  “Thank you, Avery,” I say picking up my phone.

  C: I’ll be at Del Rio by 7:30 p.m.

  B: I’ll be there.

  I smile knowing that he will be there, that he has been there, for more than twenty years. I wash my hands over my face a few times and close my eyes. This is going to be a long night but if everything goes well, Sonya will be dead, and I will be on my plane heading back to Sacramento by tomorrow evening. And the drama that surrounded Dante will be done for good.

  Chapter 6

  The flight to Del Rio is rather uneventful. My mind has been all over the place, ranging from Estelle to Michael to what I am about to do. I have spent years controlling this side of me, making sure I only released it on an as needed basis. Even now, I worry that that part will take over as it was difficult to let it go when we moved to Sacramento. I rarely have to unleash this side of me as my reputation spread like wildfire. That has helped. Now I don’t need to intimidate people; my presence alone seems to do the trick. As the plane nears the airport I glance at the briefcase sitting beside me and gently trace my finger along the smooth leather. I open it quickly and grab my passport and some cash before slamming it shut. I stand and walk to where my jacket is hung and place the items in the inside breast pocket so that I will have it when I need it. I roll my shoulder slightly, trying to loosen the muscles there. It is a little stiff from my lack of movement on the plane so I begin to rub my strong fingers into the tissue, working out the kinks until it feels a little better.

  “I’m getting too damn old to be doing this kind of shit,” I mutter to no one.

  I briskly walk to the lavatory and splash water onto my face and then quickly run my fingers through my hair. As I lean back against the wall and stare at myself, I can see that my eyes seem darker than normal and the wrinkles around them appear more defined. I am still in good shape and work out several times a week so I know I can still take someone out if necessary. The few scars I have from my rambunctious youth have faded over the years but I know exactly where they are and what they represent. I run my finger over the scar on my chin that I got a few days before I met Estelle and then trace over the bump just over my heart. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply before opening them again. I watch myself in the mirror as I tighten my tie that I had loosened while we were flying and run my hands down my chest, taking a slow and steady breath. I roll my shoulders again and can see myself transforming. I lean forward, placing my hands on the sink ledge and stare menacingly at my reflection, watching as a slow and deadly smirk creeps onto my face.

  “Do what needs to be done!” I say in a deep and crisp voice.

  “I always do,” Bolʹshoĭ replies back with a wink.

  “We are approaching Del Rio,” I hear Avery announce over the intercom.

  I stroll back to my seat and buckle myself in, glancing at my briefcase again, but this time I grip its handle firmly. I am ready, ready to take on anything or anyone. By the time the plane lands, I am in a whole different mindset and can tell that it is clearly reflected in how I am carrying myself because Avery hesitates when he comes back to greet me.

  “Sir, how long do you think you will be?”

  “Keep my plane on standby,” I say, short and to the point.

  “Yes, sir,” he replies before ducking back into the cockpit as I exit the plane.

  As I walk through the airport, people step away from me. They don’t know who I am but they inherently sense that they should be afraid. I quickly pull my Ray-Bans out of my pocket and slip them on as I make my way to the exit. The weather is slightly overcast but the sun is peeking out and threatening to come forth. I spot Elkins almost immediately. He is walking around the front of the car to the passenger door. He is dressed as he always is, in a pair of rumpled trousers and a wrinkled polo shirt. He has lost some hair over the years but what he has is flopped into his eyes dramatically. He chuckles as I approach.

  “Well, you always did know how to make an entrance,” he says, shaking his head and motioning exaggeratedly towards the open door.

  I turn in his direction as I am stepping into the vehicle and even though he can’t see my eyes he knows they are narrowed as my lips purse into a tight line. He laughs again, throwing his hands up in a conciliatory manner as he shuts my door and walks around the front. As he gets behind the wheel, he glances my way.

  “Anything new?” I ask.

  “Yeah, we need to talk about something but let’s get the hell out of Texas first.”

  He turns away from me and starts driving towards the border. I don’t say anything as we approach the entrance into Mexico. Elkins rolls down the window and the gentleman looks inside. Although I am not watching him, I can feel his eyes on me.

  “Will this be business or pleasure, gentlemen?” he asks causally.

  “Why, pleasure, of course,” Elkins says in an overly dramatic sweet voice.

  “Any weapons?” he asks hesitantly.

  “Of course not,” Elkins replies and I can hear the smile in his tone. He knows what I have in my briefcase.

  There is a pause before the border agent begins speaking again, “Enjoy your stay.”

  “Oh, I am sure we will, amigo,” Elkins says with a chuckle.

  We ride in silence for a several minutes, until we are away from the border station and there aren’t any cars or people around.

  “We have a problem with Sonya,” Elkins says with hesitation.

  I turn to him and take off my glasses, my eyes are dark and venomous and he flinches from my glare. This is NOT what I want to hear.

  “WHAT PROBLEM? Did you lose her?” I ask, enunciating every word, my voice clearly indicating that I am not happy.

  “Hell no, I know exactly where she is.” He looks away from me for a minute before turning back to face me. “But… she’s screwing some guy named Ramón."

  “AND?” I say furiously. “Who the hell is Ramón?”

  “Ramón Cordoza, son of Antonio Cordoza, as in the head of the Cordoza Cartel,” he says, almost nervous about how I will respond.

  “Pull over,” I say coldly.

  He apprehensively pulls to the side of the deserte
d road and I step out, slamming the door shut. I start pacing back and forth, running my hands through my hair, needing to do something with them before I hit something, anything, or anyone. I scream a string of profanities into the night air as my fists clench at my side. This complicates things. How the hell do I get her now? Cordoza is vicious, he didn’t get where he’s at by playing nice. I hear the door open and then footsteps coming around. Elkins taps my shoulder and I attack. I don’t mean to but I pull him into a chokehold, squeezing the life out of him while he is kicking and screaming. I don’t want to hurt him but I can’t seem to stop myself. He should know better than to approach me when I am like this. I can’t think as anger rolls off me. In the distance, I hear a crow cawing, getting louder and louder, and it brings me back to the present and I realize what the hell I’m doing and loosen my hold around Elkins neck, pushing him out of my arms as he steps back gasping for air. I pace some more and then go to him, pulling him up by the shirt.

  “How could you NOT know this information?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t have all my stuff with me. I had to track her the old-fashioned way. I just got the confirmation a few hours ago. I’m sorry,” he stutters.

  I drop him and he immediately steps back, eyeing me. He and I have been in arguments before and I even tried to kill him once, when he disrespected Estelle, but we usually get along fine. We have been working together long enough that we know each other’s quirks. He doesn’t generally disappoint me and I normally reserve my anger for others. But he should have known this. I start pacing again, trying to wrap my head around everything. I am not necessarily that angry with him, just the situation we find ourselves in.

  “I know this screws things up,” he finally says, rubbing his neck.

  I turn around, my hands in my hair, trying to calm myself down. I look up into the sky and then wash my hands over my face. I hear Elkins walk passed me and see him out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the car as I continue to pace. After several minutes have passed and my angry pacing begins to slow, he starts to speak.