Good Intentions (Samogon 1) (18 page)

The old man handed Mikhail a Taurus 9mm handgun.
Mikhail took the gun without hesitation and walked behind the Pistilli assassin, staring at him.

His uncle, Paavo, and the tattooed Russian all stood quietly, waiting as Mikhail built-up the courage―
the evil
―to pull the trigger.

Moments went by, it seemed like an hour.
Rochelle was holding her breath, praying Mikhail wouldn’t do it.

Mikhail raised the pistol to the back of the man’s head.
He held it there.

Don’t do it Mikhail,
she said silently.

“Mikhail,” his uncle called out.

Mikhail looked up at him, then back at the Pistilli assassin.
Pop-pop!

A flood of tears poured down Rochelle’s face and she covered her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming out.

Mikhail stood there quietly. His uncle embraced him, then Paavo, and then the tattooed Russian. They all started speaking Russian again while comforting Mikhail after his traumatic leap into “manhood.” Mikhail was overwhelmed with emotion.

It was close to two in the morning when Mikhail and Paavo finished sanitizing the service area.
That entire time Rochelle sat on the ground hiding among stacks of tires. Mikhail’s uncle left shortly after their tattooed comrade slipped out to dispose of the dead bodies.

The lights went out in the service area and Rochelle panicked.
Then the lights from the sales floor that were shining through the employee doors went dark. Rochelle buried her face in her hands. She didn’t have the strength to stand-up or the courage to walkout or to call out to Mikhail. She was distraught and regretted ever walking into the auto mart.

Mikhail and Paavo walked across the parking lot to their cars.
Paavo put his arm around Mikhail and pulled him close. “You did good, little cousin. The first time is always the hardest. At least your first time was revenge for your brother. It makes it easier like that. My first time was a good friend who couldn’t pay his gambling debt. Like you, I didn’t know it was going to happen until it was time.”

As Mikhail looked up, smiling at Paavo he saw it in the distance
―the white Mercedes.
Rochelle!
“Thanks, Paavo. It feels better now than it did three hours ago. It’s good to finally be in the brotherhood.”

“I will see you tomorrow.
Come, let’s go home. I will follow you home, make sure you are okay.”

“No, you go on.
I’m going to drive down to the campus.”

“Aah, yes.
You go see if you can wake your black beauty this late at night. I don’t think you will. I think you are going home with your dick in your hand. Good night little cousin, and good luck.”

Mikhail drove out ahead of Paavo so not to raise suspicion.
He saw Paavo in his rear-view mirror driving the opposite direction, and when Paavo’s taillights were out of view, Mikhail turned around and went back to the auto mart.

Silently, he moved through the store with his pistol in hand, searching.
He slowly pushed the employee door open and took one step into the service area,
and listened
…

Rochelle felt the air pressure shift as the employee door opened and she heard the faint squeak of the door’s hinge as it opened and closed.
Her breathing sped up. Fear took her. They were coming back to kill her. She whimpered like the Hispanic before her.

Mikhail turned his head in the direction of the sobbing he heard in the nearby darkness.
He cocked the hammer of his pistol.

Rochelle heard the click and recognized the sound.
She let out a gasp, knowing her time was up.

Mikhail walked around to where she was hiding and shined a flashlight on her.

Rochelle pulled her knees to her chest, crying, and extended her arms and hands out in front of her in a defensive posture.

“
Let’s go home, love.” Mikhail lowered his flashlight and eased the hammer of his gun to its resting position.

Rochelle cried aloud.
Every ounce of emotion that had built-up the last few hours poured out all at once, causing her to slump over and lie prone on the dusty floor.

Mikhail took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet.
She surrendered to him, not knowing if he was helping her out to her car or walking her to her death―the way Paavo walked the Pistilli assassin to his death.

Outside in the parking lot, Rochelle sat behind the steering wheel trying to regain her composure.
With the driver’s door open, Mikhail knelt beside her. His hand rested on her knee. Twenty minutes went by before either said a word. She was finally convinced Mikhail wasn’t going to harm her and allowed him to follow her home.

Mikhail was not the only one who had spotted the white Mercedes.
Parked far across the street in a secluded lot was Mikhail’s uncle. He could account for every car at the auto mart except for the Mercedes. He had never seen the car before. Nevertheless, it was Mikhail’s first time and the young man needed to be observed after the kill to make sure he could handle it. So much rides on trusting another with murder. Tonight, Mikhail was trusted with two―
and now the black girl.

Mikhail parked behind her in the driveway and followed her into the house.
Rochelle went straight to the living room and curled up on the sofa. She was too traumatized by tonight’s events to walk up the stairs to her bedroom, nor did she want Mikhail in her bed with blood so fresh on his hands.

Mikhail sat next to her, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing the calf of her leg.
“I’m sorry, love. I am so sorry. You weren’t supposed to be there. You shouldn’t have had to see any of it.”

Rochelle didn’t say a
word; she just stared across the darkness of her house until she fell asleep.

Four hours later, the sun was rising and it shined through the front window.
The brightness in her eyes and the warm sensation on her skin woke her. She prayed it was all a dream, but the moment she saw Mikhail at her side, she knew it hadn’t been. She stood from the sofa and headed for the stairs to her bedroom.

“Rochelle?”
Mikhail called out as he stood and faced her.

She stopped at the base of the stairs without turning around.
“Leave, Mikhail. Let me be.” And with that she headed up the stairs.

Mikhail didn’t try to plead with her, at least not now.
He pulled out of the drive and sped away.

Down the street, his uncle sat parked along the curb,
watching.

“I worked at a Russell Stovers chocolate store all through high school and became manager. For five years I worked at Tippins making pies and managing the bakery.” Carla Robinson was a thirty-two-year-old single mother looking for work. “I’m a very good pastry chef, and I can handle purchasing, inventory and accounting, whatever needs to be done. I’ve always got along with my bosses and the employees I managed.”

Rochelle was home in Ashland for Independence Day.
While in Ashland she decided to spend the rest of the summer getting Donovan Delights up and running. She had spent the last two days interviewing prospects to manage the store and she was now settling on Carla Robinson. Together, they would hire two more employees and come up with a small selection of products.

For sales and marketing, Rochelle contracted with a small firm that specialized in just that.
Although they were a small and fairly new company, they were enjoying a bit of success with their initial clients and Rochelle was all for giving them a try. Being a new and unknown marketing firm meant Rochelle was able to get a cheaper rate than if she had contracted with a known and proven agency.

The sun was shining bright and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
The temperature was just right. This year was going to be a good year for celebrating. Behind the Donovan house several picnic tables were spread out. Behind them stood a large canvas wall tent with all its flaps tied back. The tent covered four serving tables that stood end to end. Behind the tent were two huge smokers and a few Weber grills. The smokers themselves were placed directly above the bunker to keep anyone from inadvertently discovering something they shouldn’t.

Chris had been up all night smoking a whole hog.
In the other smoker, Chris was slow-smoking turkeys, chickens, beef brisket, and ribs. Two large pots of beans and chili sat in the smokers. A metal washtub held two 40-gallon kegs submerged in ice, along with a bunch of soda. Standing next to Chris were two widows from Louise Donovan’s church, who were grilling hamburgers and sausages. On the table next to them sat several glass pitchers of iced tea.

In the house, Louise and her daughter were preparing potato salad, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and a lot of fresh salad.
Two other women from the church were helping make apple cobbler and making sure there was plenty of vanilla ice cream to go around.

Children and teenagers were running everywhere, playing, popping off fire-crackers, bottle rockets, and M-80’s.
Several people were swimming in the pond while others threw horseshoes and played croquet or threw lawn darts.

The Reverend Paul and his family and several members of his parish were in attendance.
A lot of Rochelle’s friends from high school were here, including Jennifer and Leah. Some of the Donovans’ neighbors were also on hand. In all, there were close to eighty-five people on the Donovan farm. Even Carla Robinson and her teenage daughter came around.
Family and friends, that’s what it’s all about.

Chris was drinking a cold beer from the keg and eating a triple cheeseburger while he tended the smokers.
It would be a couple of hours until all the meat was ready to serve. He couldn’t help but laugh watching the two old widows try to dish out burgers and dogs as quick as the kids were eating them. It seemed for every one they grilled the kids ate three.
Good times, good times.
Chris hadn’t felt this relaxed for quite a while.

On the other side of the Donovan pond, pyrotechs were setting up for the big display of fireworks that would take place after sundown.
Rochelle had talked to the crew and had asked what kind of a deal they gave her
boyfriend
, which they told her $6,000.
Impressive
, she thought. She was astonished to know that Chris had gone so far into his pockets so Momma could have a royal celebration.

Being an ex-marine, Richard Donovan was always big on celebrating the Fourth of July, and Louise wasn’t going to stop the tradition on account of his passing.
No, she thought, this was the one time of the year when the farm needed to be filled with friends and loved ones.

Rochelle was relieved to be home.
She needed to be away from Mikhail and to get her bearings. Chris was feeling the same way, and he desperately needed a break from all the physical labor and running around. This day there would be absolutely no talk about moonshine or Russians or money or anything else related to business.

But Chris wasn’t completely oblivious to Rochelle’s body language and behavior.
In fact, he had noticed that she seemed to be avoiding him. Not
him
, per se, but more like not wanting to bother him with something that had happened at school or with Mikhail. He watched her from afar and didn’t ask if anything was wrong. Instead, he just hounded her for some apple cobbler.

The serving tables were now packed with food and the time to eat was at hand.
Reverend Paul led everyone in prayer and in giving thanks. When he was finished, he was almost knocked down by a hungry mob of adolescent children and teenagers rushing for the food. From one end to the other, people crowded the tent to fill their plates before making their way to the picnic tables.

While Rochelle stood next to her mother serving chili and potato salad, she looked bewildered at Chris, who was at the head of the serving line handing out smoked meat for every hungry sole.
“Momma, look at him. How in the world did you get him to cook and serve all these people? He’s usually first to eat and would already be back in line for a second plate.”

Louise Donovan laughed as s
he recalled every meal she ever made for Chris and remembered that he was, indeed, the first person to the table to eat. Often times, Chris would be at the table before supper was even ready. “I didn’t say anything to him. He just stepped up. He has stepped up in every facet of his life. I’m proud of him. I don’t see any of these other boys around here stepping up like him.”

Rochelle continued watching Chris, observing everyone interacting with him as they passed by with their plates held out for him to fill.
Everyone smiled and had something pleasant to say to him―even the children.

“Doesn’t he look like your daddy up there with that sauce-stained apron and fork and tongs in his
hand?”

“Yeah, he does,” said Rochelle, giggling.
He sure does
.

Rochelle knew at some point after everyone ate, and as the children would become restless waiting on the fireworks display, Chris would be out in the middle of the field wrestling with a whole horde of little kids.
Everybody liked and respected Chris, and he treated everyone with the utmost respect.

When she finally got the time to sit down with her mother and eat, she looked up and got a little uneasy with her girlfriends.
Oh, man. Don’t do this to me, you nosy bodies.
At another table sat Chris with a
huge
plate of BBQ and he was surrounded by Leah, Jennifer, and three other girls from high school. No doubt Leah had been gossiping about what she saw during Christmas and asking Chris what was up with the two of them. Rochelle kept eating and looking across the tables at her friends. Leah turned around to look at Rochelle, who was staring back at her. Leah just winked and blew her a kiss.

No you didn’t.
You no good, ornery-ass
… Both girls smiled at each other.

And when Rochelle looked away she saw him out of the corner of her eye
―the party crasher sitting in the clovers. Everyone was so engrossed with eating and conversation that no one noticed the rabbit. Rochelle watched him, no longer caring about her girlfriends swarming over Chris. She wondered how that little rabbit always knew when he could come out and see her without drawing anyone’s attention. And like always, he knew when to scurry away.

The night sky was clear and the wind was still.
You couldn’t have asked for better conditions. The smell of sulfur and charcoal filled the air as fireworks exploded everywhere. Rockets whistled as they jettisoned into the air. Stars exploded from the rockets when they reached the height of combustion. A beautiful array of colored fire spread across the night sky.

Blankets were spread all over the field, and lawn chairs surrounded them all.
Several of the older folks remained at the picnic tables. Rochelle found Chris sitting on a picnic bench all by himself drinking a beer and still eating. She walked down and sat behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and laid her chin on his shoulder. The two lovers sat there quietly, watching the fireworks. “Baby, you did good today,” Rochelle said to him.

Nobody, save one, noticed the young couple sitting together in the shadow of the night.
Sitting underneath the tent, the old gray-haired man was enjoying the fireworks while he also enjoyed a fat ham and beef sandwich and a cold beer. He watched Rochelle and her boyfriend intimately. He watched for any signs that might cause him concern. Nobody paid any attention to him sitting there under the tent among the elderly church members.

One of the church ladies came over to wait on him.
“Mr. Rimsky, would you like some apple cobbler with your sandwich? It’s to die for.”