Page 21 of Count Down

As I leave the house, I wonder what my mother would have been like if she didn’t marry my father. What kind of person would she have been? What wouldshehave done with her life?

This is her way of warning me. Get out while you can. Don’t stay under his rule and lose your own self.

19

LUCA

Raf picksme up to go meet with Maxim Solonik. We’re heading way up to Northeast Philly in Krewstown. It’s about a 45-minute trip, so I don’t mind not having to drive. Solonik is waiting for us at Abrikosov, a Russian restaurant. We’re meeting on their turf, stroking their ego. They need this deal more than we do, but it’ll be easier for all of us if we act like we don’t know that.

Raf drives us up past where I did the hit on Novokov. As we round the corner, I think about how I’m in the same spot that Novokov was when I took his life - in the passenger seat going around this corner. It’s an odd feeling. As if I’ll see myself sitting up on a roof ready to pull the trigger.

“I don’t know the last time when I was this far out of Philly,” I say. Coming up here for the Novikov job felt like traveling really far.

“I think we’re technically still in Philly,” Raf replies.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” I’m sure Raf can tell I’m not in a good mood, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I try to convince myself that I just don’t want to drive all the way up here to meet at some Russian restaurant where I’m not going to want to eat anything. But I know I’m annoyed that I’ve decided to stay away from Gina. It’s like I’m already addicted to her and trying to quit cold-turkey.

“You don’t leave Philly much do you?”

“Not if I don’t have to.” Philly is what I know. I hate the feeling of being somewhere I don’t know. Somewhere out of my element. I always feel like the world is right on my back, ready to attack me. When I’m somewhere I don’t know, it feels ten times worse.

“Have you ever been out of the country?” Raf asks.

“No.” It’s a bit embarrassing to admit. Especially to Raf. I know he’s been to quite a few different countries and traveled a lot when he was in the military.

“Ever been on a plane?” Raf continues.

“No.”

“Well, there’s a municipal airport up here. We could make a stop if you want to try it out.” I know he’s joking.

“I think I’d rather have holodets.”

“What’s that?” Raf asks.

“Some kind of Russian meat jelly.”

“Sounds delicious. I’m sure Solonik will get you some if you ask nicely.”

Raf parks in a strip mall parking lot. Half the businesses have Russian names, including a small bakery, nail salon, opticians, and some business that is very vague about what it does. Seems like travel or a shipping agency.

My mood doesn’t improve as we approach the door to Abrikosov. All the windows are covered in light white curtains, and I can’t make out what’s inside the restaurant. Keeping my guard up, I follow Raf through the door. It’s surprisingly bright, with curtains that diffuse the sun, casting a white light over all the empty tables.

It’s empty, except for Solonik who’s sitting at a booth in the back corner. He’s talking to someone in Russian. I recognize some of the words. Mateo’s great-uncle Leo taught me a little bit of Russian, an even tinier bit of Polish, and a lot of Italian. I hearobed,probably meaning lunch. Andidi na khuy.I think he told the guy to go fuck himself.

“Italyantsy!” Solonik notices us and gestures for us to join him. The small man Solonik was speaking Russian to shuffles out of the booth. He’s got a shaved head and his face is marked by scars and tattoos. He’s wiry and stringy like a junkie. He sneers at us as we leave, showing half his teeth missing. He could easily be 18 or 68 years old.

Solonik is almost the exact opposite of this guy. Big, round, and nearly as wide as he is tall. No wonder he wanted to meet us at a fucking restaurant. He’s already elbows deep into a meal. Something that looks like kebabs with sharp metal skewers.

Raf slides into the booth and I squeeze in next to him. It’s cozier than either of us prefer. The yellow and orange lampshade above the table and the multicolored rug hanging on the wall next to us combine to cast an unappetizing grey over all the food. Still, Solonik digs in.

Raf orders a side of fried dumplings. I was hungry, but watching Solonik eat just makes me feel ill. I order a soda just to have something on the table. My soda comes out in a huge plastic cup with crushed ice that reminds me of the kind I used to get as a kid at Pizza Hut. Raf’s food comes out soon after.

I don’t talk more than I have to. Raf can handle this whole deal. I’m here for the same reason we’re meeting Solonik on his own turf. To make him feel like he’s the hot shit he thinks he is. Raf is a Captain like me. But I’m Mateo’s right-hand man. There’s no way in hell it’s worth Mateo meeting with someone like Solonik. But since I’m here, it makes Solonik think we’re really taking him seriously.

Solonik’s such a sloppy motherfucker that I’m having a hard time pretending I can take him seriously. I’ve seen this often. I took out Novikov and now Solonik has gotten promoted. Solonik’s in that honeymoon phase where he thinks now that he’s a Captain in the Bratva everyone cares about him.

Luckily, Raf is good at bullshitting him. He’s able to flatter and negotiate with him to talk his prices down and make him happy about it. It’s a skill and an art. But I’ve got no patience for it. I just keep sipping my drink every now and then, waiting for it to be done.

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