Enforcer (9 page)

Within seconds, the big Romanian felt the change come over his friend. The thrashing stopped, replaced by violent shudders and loud sobs. Petre held him for a few minutes until Connor got himself under control. When the big man was sure his friend wouldn’t try to lash out again, he gently pushed Connor down into the recliner.

“What has happened, my friend?” he asked.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Connor, please, tell me what has happened.”

“Go ask your pal Dracul, or your fucking boss Ojacarcu,” Connor said. Tears pooled at the bottoms of his eyes before spilling over onto his cheeks.

“Ah,” Petre said, and squatted down on his haunches.

“Yeah, ‘ah,’ you fucking asshole. That’s all you got to say? ‘Ah?’ You know, don’t you?”

“I am sorry, Connor,” Petre said, shaking his head. “I do not know what has exactly happened, I am full of guessing though.”

“Fuck you and your fucking broken-ass English!” Connor screamed at him.

Petre tensed, thinking his friend would come out of the chair swinging again, but Connor sat in his misery, unable to do anything but breathe hard and let the tears fall.

“I am truly sorry, my friend,” Petre said. “If Dracul was with you, I have idea of your… job.” He’d almost said
gig
but it wasn’t appropriate to make a joke at the moment. “I did not know you worked for Mr. Ojacarcu in that way.”

“I fucking don’t,” Connor said with anger.

“I see,” Petre said.

“Do you? Have you seen what I’ve seen? Do you know what your buddy Dracul does? What he is?”

“I do,” Petre answered. “I have seen it. I have done it myself.”

Connor stared at the man, the one Romanian he actually considered his friend. In his drunken mind he wondered if all of them were cold-blooded killers.

“You’ve been with him when he’s killed someone?” Connor asked.

“I have. I have killed men with my own hands. Women and children. I am not proud, Connor.”

“No,” Connor breathed, not wanting to believe that Petre was just as evil as Dracul and Ojacarcu.

“Yes. I am afraid it is true.”

*****

“I grow up in Arad, in Romania,” Petre said. “We were very poor, my father a builder, my mother a teacher. When I was nine, Securitatea arrested my father for crimes against the state. He belonged to trade union, but Ceausescu accused him and others of distributing propaganda against the Party. He was executed when I was eleven.

“My mother was arrested months later for being wife of known enemy of the Party. She was accused of same thing. When my mother was taken away, I had nowhere to go. My friend Adrian took me to
Rohozeanu
, the boss of Arad crime family. They give me job delivering cigarettes and give me food and a bed. Soon I am delivering small packages of cocaine, then collecting money or delivering money to the police and judges for bribes.

“When I am fifteen, Mr. Rohozeanu makes me lieutenant and gives me four boys to command. Mr. Rohozeanu gives me jobs like ‘burn down this home’ or ‘destroy this store to teach lesson.’ Then jobs turn to ‘kill this man’ or ‘kill this family’ and I do it. I am paid well. I have car, I have guns, I have others below me to command. And I have girls. Many girls.

“I kill many people. Some I kill personally, others I kill with orders. I am told once in a while to kill child to teach lesson. I did not think about it, I just kill. It is my job. If I do not do job, I am killed. Mr. Rohozeanu, he likes me. Takes me to vacation one day, tells me I am good worker. Gives me more money, more responsibility.”

“You killed children?” Connor interrupted, his head pounding from the alcohol and screaming at Petre.

“I did. I am not proud. It was a job. I did my job. Now I am not proud, not happy. Then I did not care. I enjoy it. I am powerful, no one crosses me. I tell myself ‘this person must die, must deserve it, or Mr. Rohozeanu does not tell me to kill’ and I do my job. Even children. My father is criminal. So is my mother. So am I.

“One day when I am nineteen, General Inspectorate raids one of our headquarters. I think there is no problem, Mr. Rohozeanu pays police and judges. But this is new General Inspectorate. They are helped by American FBI. They arrest corrupt police, a clean up. Then they arrest big names of crime families. Some are lucky, maybe untouchable. I am not lucky.

“I am sent to Iasi prison in north Romania, near border. It is hard place, but I am Rohozeanu. The General Inspectorate might be clean with FBI help, but Iasi… it is run by the families. Still, it is hard. It is prison. Dangerous, even for me. But I do the time, thinking always that Mr. Rohozeanu will fix it, I will go free. I am told thirty years I will be in prison. Thirty years is long time in Iasi.

“Mr. Rohozeanu, he has trouble and cannot help us. I wait six years. Six years and two times I am stabbed, but then I am free. A car is waiting for me, and we drive back to Arad, learning all that happened in last six years while I am in Iasi. When I am home, Mr. Rohozeanu meets with me. Tells me he is sorry that he cannot free me earlier, that he has his own trouble with Inspectorate. He tells me to not worry, he is not in trouble anymore.

“Since two of those I kill are Romani, you call them gypsy, and judge is friend of Mr. Rohozeanu, I am free after six years. In my country, no one likes Romani. They are like Jews. Dirty thieves. Evil people who corrupt Romanian society. This is not true, of course, but this is same as black man in America or Jew in Middle East. No one cares about Romani dying, some even praise it. The other two I kill, their families are paid or threatened, and they write statement saying I am not the killer.

“I work for Mr. Rohozeanu for more years. I kill more than I remember. It is bad to think, but I do my job. I kill whoever Mr. Rohozeanu says to kill. More men. More women. I ask Mr. Rohozeanu to not ask me to kill children, but I am told to kill them anyway. I do my job. But I am not happy now. I do not mind killing men. It is unpleasant, but men make choices, sometimes wrong choices. This is how it is. I do not like killing women. Innocent women. I am told to rape, but I order my men to rape. I do not rape.

“Mr. Rohozeanu, he has war with Baderca family, clanul rivals from Timisaora. Everything goes bad, too many die, too much violence in streets and government says no more. More General Inspectorate come, and soon there is war with all. I am shot in side,” Petre pulled back his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and showed Connor an ugly scar to the left of his navel.

“Soon everyone is going to prison. Mr. Rohozeanu, he calls me. Tells me to pack, I am going to America. I have fake papers. I come to New York, then to Boise. Mr. Ojacarcu, he hears about me, wants me to work for him. I agree. What else do I have? So I work for Mr. Ojacarcu. I work for Mr. Ojacarcu for six years now.

“He gives me money, car, job, helps me find home, makes me go to English lessons. Says I must fit in where we live, must blend. Not stand out, though that is hard for some of us to do. I do jobs. I do not know Dracul or Vadim or Iuliu or Grigore, but I work with them. They are all from Romania. They are good people. Except Dracul. He is from Romania Securitatea. He trained with Spetsnaz GRU. Very dangerous man.”

“No shit,” Connor said.

“No shit,” Petre agreed. “Mr. Ojacarcu, he is less demanding than Mr. Rohozeanu. I tell him I do not kill children or women. Mr. Ojacarcu, he says no problem. He sends Dracul to do killing. Once in a while, I have to go with Dracul. Dracul, he is quiet, dangerous. A killer. He does not care if it is women or children. He kills who he is told.

“Sometimes he kills more, but Mr. Ojacarcu doesn’t like this. Mr. Ojacarcu, he tells us this is small city, too much killing is too much trouble. There is many deserts and mountains though. We take them to desert or mountains and kill them. No one cares about most. Junkies, criminals, losers. No one misses them.

“Mr. Ojacarcu, he buys hockey team, and then he buys city council. They shower him with money by building whatever Mr. Ojacarcu suggests. He buys the men at city dump. Builds incinerator. Big fire, now his fire. He buys funeral home. Now bodies disappear with only ashes. We have to be smart, make sure no one sees us. If no one sees, body is ashes, no one cares. No one thinks Mr. Ojacarcu. He is important businessman.”

Petre sat down on the floor in front of Connor when his legs began to cramp from squatting for so long. Connor stared at the man for a while, his brain fogged from the cheap liquor.

“Why?” was all Connor could ask the Romanian.

“Why do I kill?” Petre asked.

“Yeah. Why do you do what he tells you to do? Why do you still kill people?”

“I do not kill much anymore,” Petre said, shaking his head. “Mr. Ojacarcu, he knows I am the best with English. He trusts me. I am loyal, just as I was to Mr. Rohozeanu. But I do not want to kill anymore, and Mr. Ojacarcu needs me for other jobs. He knows Dracul is good killer, better than me. Dracul speaks little English, but more important, Dracul is not from old neighborhoods like me and Vadim and Iuliu. Dracul is Russian-trained. Dracul is his own person. I think Mr. Ojacarcu knows this.”

“But why?” Connor asked again. “Why do you do this shit for him? Why don’t you just leave?”

“Why don’t you leave?” Petre countered. “I have nothing. If I leave, they will look for me. I am easily found. I am tall, Romanian, and with fake papers. I will be turned in to your INS, and spend time in prison before going back to Romania. When I arrive in Romania, Mr. Rohozeanu or someone else that Mr. Ojacarcu has called will be waiting for me. I will end up in grave somewhere in mountains.”

“Jesus Christ,” Connor said for what he felt like was the hundredth time in the last two days.

“Now you cannot leave,” Petre said to him.

“Why not?”

“Because you are killer now. Mr. Ojacarcu owns you.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t kill anyone. That fucking sick fucker Dracul is the one that killed Travis.”

“You were there, yes? You killed him then. Police, judges, they will say you were accomplice. Even if you testify against Dracul, even Mr. Ojacarcu, your life is over. You will go to prison, or you will be deported to Canada. You will never play hockey again as pro. You will be killed when you are not expecting. Mr. Ojacarcu and others like him, they do not leave loose threads.”

“Loose ends,” Connor corrected automatically.

“Yes, loose ends, as you say.”

“Was it too late for me even before last night?” Connor asked.

“Da. It was too late first time you did other than hockey for Mr. Ojacarcu. He owns you just like he owns me, owns Vadim, owns everyone but Dracul.”

“God fucking damn it,” Connor growled, and got out of his chair.

He made it three steps before he fell to his knees and threw up on the carpet. Petre sat on the floor, watching him. Connor wiped his mouth, then lay on his side facing Petre. The room started to become fuzzy, then wavy, before finally breaking into a full spin. He rolled over and threw up a second time. An intense, flaring pain ripped through his stomach, causing him to curl into a ball.

“It will be okay,” Petre said to him after a while.

“How is it going to be okay?” Connor asked, turning back over to face the Romanian.

“It will be okay,” Petre repeated. “You are young. You are good hockey player. Mr. Ojacarcu likes you.”

“You just said there’s no way out,” Connor said with anger.

“There are always ways out. You can run. You can fake your death. You can get traded to another team. You can go to jail by other than doing Mr. Ojacarcu’s work.”

“Or I can get in the car with Dracul and end up as ashes floating over the valley,” Connor said, miserable at the situation.

“Yes, unfortunately, you can do that. Dracul, he does not like you. He does not like me liking you. He does not like Vadim liking you. You are not Romanian. You are American. He hates you for that. He hates you because Mr. Ojacarcu likes you.”

“Will he try to kill me?”

“Only if Mr. Ojacarcu orders him to. He will not risk it unless told to. He is dangerous, but not stupid.”

“Fuck.” Connor dry-heaved again.

Petre stood up and went to where Connor lay on the floor, kneeling down beside his friend and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It will be okay. You will see. I am your friend. We sex ladies. We drink. Vadim, he likes you. We cannot stop Mr. Ojacarcu, but he likes you too. Just play hockey and do what Mr. Ojacarcu pays you to do. Do not make trouble. Life is not so bad. You have money, you have car if you want it, you have house.”

“Apartment,” Connor said.

“Apartment. You can have house. You have girls. You help Petre get girls. Everyone likes you, you are still star player, just not for NHL.”

“That’s just fucking great,” Connor said, trying to get up. “So I’m supposed to just pretend last night didn’t happen? That I watched that fucker strangle some guy to death five feet from me? I had to carry the fucking body. He shit himself, did you know that?”

“Da,” Petre said. “They do that when they die. It is not strange.”

“It
IS
fucking strange!” Connor shouted. “I carried a murdered man that had piss and shit in his pants! I threw the body into the fire! What is not fucked up about that?”