God help us, help us lose our minds

 

1 month earlier

    The bell above the door at Sam's quick stop corner store chimed as Eugene came in from the 90 degree

heat outside in search of a cold beverage, lottery tickets and some rolling papers. It was just after 1:30 in

the afternoon and he'd told Jamal to meet him at the war memorial in Fullman Park at 2, he had a job for

him.

    He walked around to the beer cooler where Sam sold singles and extracted an ice cold 22 ounce bottle 

of malt liquor from it and headed to the register, where the owner, Sam himself was working it. 'My lord,

look what the cat dragged in!' Sam said as Eugene put the cold 22 on the counter. Eugene smiled, he liked

Sam, he'd known him since he'd had his own corner store a decade earlier.

    'Yup, I'm still alive, Sam, if you can believe it. Man, I can't believe you still running this fucking place,

it always gave me a headache, trying to get any good workers who won't steal for you, dealing with the 

inventory.'

    Sam laughed, 'I know, I know, it's true. But what about you brother? According to some of these cats in

the neighborhood, you're basically the black Don Corleone. They say you run everything, that true?'

    Eugene shook his head, frowned, 'Me, nah man since I sold my store I'm basically retired. But now

who's coming in saying that about me? Anyone I know?' He said playfully, but the truth was he was 

slightly annoyed by Sam's comment. 

    Sam grinned, 'You know I can't reveal my sources brother. I do that they might not talk to me anymore,

and I can't have that.'

    Eugene nodded, 'True that. Can I get a couple packs of orange zig-zags, a couple lucky 7s, a couple 

word cash, and fuck it get me a couple nips of Jim Beam.' He was already feeling it, he needed to get 

drunk today. 

    'A bit early don't you think?' Sam wisecracked as he grabbed the items from off the shelves. 'Nevermind

all that.' Eugene retorted. 'Anyway, I'm retired now. I'm on retired time.'

    Sam rang up the items on the register, 'Retired? From what? I don't ever remember seeing you do any

work?' He said sarcastically, cracking himself up. Eugene passed him a 20 and he made the change. 'Can I

get a bag for the beer?' he asked.

    Sam nodded and put the beer in a sleeve and loaded the rest of the items into another paper bag. 'You

stay out of trouble now.' Sam said, as Eugene picked up the sack. 'You as well sir, I'll see you around.' 

He said as he walked outside.

    

    Eugene eased himself into the park bench across from the war memorial, putting his bag on the space

next to him. He had his cell phone at the ready in the pocket of his shirt because Jamal was supposed to 

call when he was on his way.

    The sky was clear and there were a few kids playing in the playground a few yards away. It had been 

around 2:05 on the Miller Light clock that hung above the door at Sam's store when he'd been walking out

earlier. 

    He extracted the sleeve with the beer from the bag, twisted off the cap, and took a sip. He winced. The 

first sip always tasted like shit, then you get a 2-4 beers in and they tasted like water.  So Jamals running

late, he thought as he fished out the nip of Jim Beam and uncapped it. Yup, he thought as he downed half

of it, and the sky is blue and the sun is yellow. Jamal was always late. Eugene had called him out on it

more than a few times and Jamal had dismissed it, saying it was just, 'Colored people time.' Eugene had

shot that down right away. That's a cop out, he'd told him, don't blame the fact that your black for you 

being unreliable, he'd told him. When your always late to meet someone it feels like you don't have 

respect for them, he'd told him.

    He finished the rest of the nip, tossed it in the bag. Truth was, he was worried about Jamal, he'd been 

talking to his kids mother recently, telling her he wanted to have more of a role in their son's life. She

was living out in California and Jamal said she'd told him if he was going to come out there and have a 

role in his son's life he had to have a real job, and he couldn't be hustling or be involved in any illegal 

activity.

    He twisted off the cap on the beer and took another sip, it tasted even better to him now after the nip. 

Historically Eugene had tried as much as possible to avoid the use of violence in his dealings. For one 

thing he'd already seen his share of killing in Vietnam, and another, it wasn't worth the risk. When you

did get busted as you almost always did on some level, did you really want to have them add first degree

murder, or murder conspiracy to what you're charged for? But Steve had offered him 10,000 for it and he'd

also felt, on some level, that it was better to deal with the devil he knew, Steve and the Berardi's, then 

someone he didn't, this Russian crew.

    He took another long swig of his beer, there were other things with Jamal too, he thought. He seemed to

be high all the times, really high, and not just on reefer. Lately, days had gone by where he couldn't get in

touch with him at all.

    'What up Pops?' Eugene looked up from his beer and saw Jamal standing there, looking fucked up. 

'What up man, have a seat.' He gestured to the spot next to him. After he'd explained how it was going to 

go down, luring the Russians to the apartment, bringing them to his cousin's apartment, he asked Jamal

if he had any questions.

    'I think I can take care of it.' Jamal replied, sounding distant. 'This needs to be done right Jamal. I mean 

not just the hit, but they also need to disappear, I mean not a fucking trace. Jimmy Hoffa these assholes.'

    'Alright, I think I know some guys who can take care of it.' Jamal replied. Eugene reached into his 

pocket and pulled out a decent stack of bills, 'Here, this is just for that and obviously I'll pay you for the

job itself. That's why we got to do this right, last thing we need is a fucking murder investigation.'

    Jamal nodded, 'I understand.' He said. Eugene took another swig of his beer, I wish I believed that, he 

thought. 

 

  I wonder who the new owners will be, Hal thought as he let his dog off the leash as he reached the part of

the dirt road the led into a series of fields. He watched as the dog took off, to look for whatever dogs 

,looked for the in the fields and forests. 

    The dirt road was flanked by a small forest on both sides and as Hal emerged from the road the old, 

decrepit barn greeted him. Hal had been taking these walks in the fields behind his house for over 30 

years. He'd found out owner of the land years ago and had stopped by his house specifically to ask if it 

was ok for him to take walks out there, and he'd been fine with it.

    Ever since, he'd taken his walk around the field, down to the river every morning and at sunset. 

Recently, the owner had called and told him he was moving out of state and selling the land and the house

but that had been months ago, and Hal hadn't heard anything since about it actually being sold. 

    Everyone in the town of Redfield, where not much happened anyway, had been speculating about it. so

Hal was pretty confident that if it had been sold he would've heard about it. The land was protected 

farmland, he knew, so it wasn't at risk of development.

    Redfield was only 15 minutes away from the city of Warner, but as far as Hal was concerned, it was 

another world. He'd lived in the city when he'd first started at the Fullman Paper Mill in 1965, and in that

time between when he'd bought his first house in Redfield in 1976, he'd only seen the crime and the drugs

increase. Then, one day in '79 he'd gone into work like he always did for the 3-11 shift at the paper mill

only to find a sign on the door telling him they were closing operations after 50 something years. 

     Where he hell has he gone to? Hal thought as he crossed the dirt road that led through the field that led

out down to the river. He called out the dogs name as he got closer to the river, when he heard him barking

in the distance. 

   There was another old barn on the edge of the field and when Hal finally located his dog, he could tell

something was off. Inside the barn was a black BMW, which didn't look like it had been there very long, 

with a smell that made him want to vomit.

    I have a pretty good idea of what happened to them, the Russians, Detective Alice White thought to

herself, I just can't prove it. She took a sip of cup of strong, dark, coffee hoping it would help her think. 

She was sitting at the counter that faced the window in the Satellite Cafe. The sky outside was dark and

threatening rain, she'd left her office downtown to go somewhere to think, to put it all down on paper, 

everything she knew so far.

       In the month since she'd started investigating the murder of the two alleged Russian gangsters the case

had pretty much gone cold. None of the Russian's friends or associates had anything to say about what 

might have happened to them, in fact none of them had had anything to say to her at all. 

    She knew from her snitch in Anatoly Kerimov, the dead Russian's crew that they'd been engaged in a

power struggle with the local Warner Mafia Family, the Berardi's which had become highly diminished

over the years. She'd also heard that the boss of the the Berardi's, the recently deceased Bobby Carbone, 

had approached members of a Mexican drug cartel from Sinaloa that was operating in Warner, about 

providing them with protection.

       Also, the 3 dead Russians that had turned up in the weeks before Anatoly's disappearance seemed to

back up this theory. She didn't have anything on those either, no suspects, no witnesses no murder weapon. 

According to her snitch, a couple of Anatoly's associates had warned him about going over to Eugene's 

that night, told him they thought it was a trap. 

    When Anatoly didn't come back that night, and no one could reach him on his cell, many of his closest

enforcers wanted to take a ride over to Eugenes, pay him a visit. However to do something like that 

without the bosses approval was suicide, but they assumed that since Anatoly was his nephew, more like 

a son really, that he'd have no problem getting his ok. 

   However, much to their chagrin, he'd put the kibosh on the whole thing, telling them he'd make his own

inquiries and handle it himself. In fact, he'd been so calm and nonchalant on hearing the news of Anatoly's

disappearance that there was even some speculation that Boris had orchestrated it himself. After all, he

was Boris's number 2 with the most to gain with Boris out of the way. 

    Still, she thought, it was all just speculation, theories. The 2 Russians had seemingly vanished without a

trace, even their car. When she'd interviewed some of Anatoly's associates, no one claimed to know

anything about it, a couple suggesting maybe he left the country.  She'd even contacted the Russian 

authorities and Interpol to keep their eyes open if they saw them.  However, it didn't make any sense based

on the intel she'd been getting from her snitch on the Russian's gang. Anatoly was looking to break into

Warner's lucrative drug and prostitution rackets, taking over the House of Venus strip club was just the

start, they were planning on using the club as a base of operations for everything else.

    She finished off the rest of her dark roast coffee with two extra shots of espresso, put the cup down and

got up from the bar where'd she'd been sitting and working on her notes on the case and returned the 

saucer and the cup back to the counter.

    Guess I'll head back to the station now, she thought as she walked over to where she'd been sitting. As 

she grabbed her notebook to put back into her backpack she'd heard her phone ring from one of the inside

pockets.

    She extracted it from her pockets and answered, 'Detective White.' 'This is Sergeant Connor from the

Redfield Police, we responded to a call this morning to a barn, this fella had been walking his dog and the

dog found something in this barn, the car, registered to the missing Russian, and we strongly believe, the

remains of the two Russians in the trunk of it.'

    She was silent for a moment, jubilant. That Eugene Washington had played her for a fool in his 

interrogation, admitting the Russians had been to his apartment building, but lying about why. He knew,

she was sure, that she knew he was lying and couldn't prove it, now she'd have proof.

    'Ms. White?' The sergeant asked after a moment. 'Yes, that's great. Let me know when they've gotten

an ID on the bodies in the trunk.'

    'Will do, you have a nice day ma'am,' The sergeant replied. The closed the phone feeling better than she

had in a long time. Now, Eugene had just admitted that he was the last person the who saw the Russians

before they were killed. 

    She steeled herself before walking out into the rain, her car was parked just a couple blocks from the 

coffee shop and she put her back in the front seat as she got into the car. As soon as she put it down she

heard her phone ringing again, 'Detective White.' She answered. It was someone from the station, they

had a walk-in, someone who wanted to talk to her. He had some information on Eugene Washington.

    'Thank you, I'll be right over.' She said, and hung up. It's all coming together, she thought.

    'I'm glad you wanted to talk to me about this Eugene.' Matteo said. They were sitting out on his porch,

watching the sun rise and smoking a joint. 'I was worried after our last meeting, and Steve's outburst that

there would be trouble between us.' 

    Eugene took a hit of the joint of medical grade marijuana and passed it to Matteo. 'I know, I apologize

for that, it's just, I was talking to my friend and this 5,000 a month thing just isn't gonna work for me. I

know you have to get something so you're people are ok with it, but I was thinking a one time payment, 

say, 20,000, for his pain and suffering. I'd like to be able to make this go away if I could.' He said 

grinning.

    Matteo took a hit of the joint, feeling a headrest from the first puff, why are we doing this now, he 

thought, idly. He liked Eugene, they'd been doing business for a long time, made some decent money 

together, but that wasn't going to fly with the rank and file.

    'Hmm......yeah, I was thinking more like 5 percent. Of your business from now on.' He passed the joint

back.

    'So now I'm basically responsible for someone else?' He said, trying not to sound too angry. 'What about

your Uncle Steve going off half-cocked waging his own personal war against these assholes? I know 

Bobby Carbone wouldn't have signed off on that. To me that sounds like your'e family doesn't have 

control over its own soldiers.'

    Matteo sighed, 'Alright, I can see your point. But also its hard to impose discipline the way that we used

to with the Feds looking at us all the time like they do. I think if Steve's brother Carmine were still around,

from what I've heard a lot of the things he does wouldn't fly.'

    Eugene thought for a second, there was a cool breeze as the sun dipped below the horizon. 'What about

2 percent?' He asked. 'Alright,' Matteo replied, 'I think I can live with that.' He got up.

    'And look here, if Jamal, for some crazy reason comes back to town, or if I hear from him, I'll let you

know. I'm done with that asshole, after all I've done for him this is what he does?'

    Matteo nodded, 'Alright thanks Eugene.' 'I'll talk to you later.' Eugene replied.

    Matteo felt a certain satisfaction as he came out of Eugene's building into the fresh air. The sky was still

lit up with the colors of the sunset as walked over to his mercury and unlocked the door. It was something,

he thought he could sell it to his crew. 

    He put his travel bag in the front seat, as he sat down he heard his cell phone ring from his jacket

pocket, he looked at it before answering, it was Vito, on of his soldiers.

    "Hello,' Matteo said. 'He's gone, Mike. He passed away this afternoon, I just talked to Sarah, he seemed

ok and he took a turn and then he was just, gone.'

    Fuck, Matteo thought. This changes everything.

    I already feel kind of put out about this whole thing, Bob thought as he his pickup down the dark 

country road. He'd called Steve's friend, as instructed, from a payphone near his house at exactly 8:30 and

the guy had told him the stuff would be ready for him by ten. 

    He hadn't exactly been surprised, but it was kind of annoying. After all, he'd already given Steve over a

hundred grand in cash so his damn order would be ready. Steve had even said that was the advantage of 

paying in advance, you can just pick it up and go, now it felt like he was being fucked around. 

    The sky was clear and the moon full and bright as he navigated a sharp turn, he knew he was close he

had a friend he knew who used to own a farm in the area, he used it to cook meth, and the address Steve 

had given him was on the same road.

       There it is, he thought as he saw the old withered Oak tree on the left side of the road which was the

landmark he always used to find the road when he was going to his friends, 'Millers cross road.'

    What if he's trying to fuck me? What if it's some kind of setup? Bob thought as he navigated his pickup

over the potholed country road. This would be the perfect time and place for it, he thought to himself as

he looked out unto the moonlit countryside.

    He'd done deals with Steve before, usually for coke, sometime's weed, and he'd never had any 

problems. He'd had the coke tested by his people and they'd all sold him it was top grade, ditto for the

weed.

    Then why would be pull something like this now? Bob thought as he saw the mailbox with 504 on the

side, the one he was looking for and pulled his pickup unto the long drive.

    Money obviously, he thought to himself. He saw a figure as he was pulling up to the house, who waved

to him and motioned him to park to the side near the barn. 

    As he parked his truck near the barn he saw another figure emerge from the side of the barn. As he got

out he felt comforted by the cold steel of his .38 in his jacket pocket, as well as the switchblade he had on

his belt.

    Shannon sat in bed in the dark, thinking about women's intuition. She'd never put much stock in it until

the past month, after her house had been broken into, her TV taken, and she had a strong feeling it was

because of the man she was currently dating, Steve.

    Ever since it happened, even when she was at work, she had this feeling that someone was watching 

the house.  Steve had asked her a couple weeks ago if he could stay at her place for a 'Few weeks' until

he figured something out. She hadn't even really minded because it meant at least someone would be

there, for the most part, when she was at work.

    She sat up in bed, looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, 2:45. They'd gotten home from dinner

around 11. Afterward she'd fallen asleep while they were watching tv together. Except, for Shannon it was

more like watching it alone because Steve kept getting up, going outside to make mysterious phone calls.

It had been like that at the restaurant too. After their food had arrived he'd taken a few bites before telling

her he had to excuse himself for a few minutes.

    When he'd finally returned after what had to be at least 15 minutes he seemed more nervous and 

agitated than before.  His agitation had made her drink more wine than she'd intended during dinner so

she'd had Steve drive them home. Then on the way home the mysterious caller had called again, this time,

however, she'd heard an ominous snipper of their conversation- 'Just call him when it's done.' Steve had

said.

    Shannon had never pried to hard in Steve's affairs. The truth was, she didn't really want to know. He'd

even told her once that was why he kept her in the dark, for her own protection. Even so she had a feeling

whatever he was talking about was not mowing the lawn or something like that.

       That's it, she thought as she got up and turned the light on the nightstand on and picked up her book.

There's no point in just sitting here awake in the dark. Maybe if I just read for a little bit the sleep will

eventually come.

     'Look you can still count on me, it's going to happen soon.' Steve said over the phone. He was sitting in

the patio chair in Shannon's backyard, he didn't want to talk inside because he knew she was tryin to sleep.

'I'll call you in a couple of days when it's all set, alright.' He hung up the phone. 

    If this all goes the way it's supposed to, Steve thought as he looked up at the stars. He missed the stars 

in prison, the sun, the wind on your face. He'd told Bob to call Raul around 8 and Raul had told him he'd

probably have it all done by 11 but he'd give him a call after so he'd know the hit was complete.

    In the meantime he'd been lining up buyers for the coke he was going to get from Raul with Bob's and

the ransom money he still had, after Bob was out of the picture. He got up from his chair and went back

inside the house using the sliding glass door that led to the kitchen, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge

as he made his way back to the living room couch. 

    He twisted off the cap on the beer and turned on the TV. An infomercial was on, how fucking late is it?

he thought looking at his watch, almost 3 in the morning, what the fuck, he thought. It should be done by

now, but he still wanted to wait for the call.

    He needed all of this to go smoothly so he could follow through with the next part of his plan, breaking

free from La Cosa Nostra entirely and starting his own crew. He had no interest in staying in it in its

current watered down form. He'd already spoken to Luis about it, who said it was fine with him as long as

he kicked up. 

    He'd first felt this feeling when he'd gotten out of prison in 2001 and his brother Sal, the boss at the 

time, whom he'd known from his ex-wife and other people he'd talked to had not taken care of his family

while he was away, had sat him down and had a talk with him after he'd come home.

    'Listen Steve, your'e out now, you're free, now if you want to stay out I need to over a few things that 

have changed since you went away.' He'd explained. Violence, for one. If someone owes you some money,

these days if you break their legs or even threaten to break their legs they'll run to the fucking FBI or the

State Police so fast, so it's usually just better to cut them off if it got really bad. Same goes for hits, they 

tried to avoid them as much as possible as it draws too much heat. 

    The Feds and cops are watching us all the time and you can't fucking trust anyone, welcome to the 21st

century my friend, he'd said with a grin. What the fuck was the point of even being a gangster? He'd 

thought to himself the first time he'd heard his brother say that. He'd become a made guy so he could fuck

with whoever he wanted, take whatever he wanted, they were fucking outlaws for fucks sake!

    He'd kept his head low for those first few years out of prison, he couldn't jump right back in the game

right away after all, worked at a couple restaurants, selling weed and coke on the side, biding his time. He

was smarter than people thought. He liked to act dumb, so he wouldn't be perceived as a threat. 

    It was when the Russians took over the House of Venus and Bobby C had to go to the Mexican Cartel

for help that Steve had realized the good old days were over. Why not just work for the bigger fish in town

instead? That was when he hatched his plan.

    Steve grabbed his beer and got up from the couch, maybe I'll just turn in, talk to him tomorrow, just as

he was was about to turn to leave he heard his cell phone ringing on the coffee table, it was Raul. 'Hey 

man, what happened?' he asked as he picked up.

    'We got a problem here man. Something went wrong, he got away.' Raul said. Steve felt his blood boil

'What do you mean?' He asked. 

    'He got the drop on us man, saw it coming or some shit, killed my backup guy, fucking asshole almost

killed me but I got him a couple times as he was running away. Who the fuck is this guy?' Anyway, as we

were struggling I was able to get his keys and his truck is still on my property, maybe we can get him if

he comes back for it.'

    'Alright,' Steve replied. 'Keep me posted.' and hung up. I was worried something like this would happen,

he thought as he turned off the TV and sat in silence in the darkness, the whole time he was having dinner

with Shannon and especially later around the time it was supposed to go down, he'd had this feeling that

something was wrong.

    He picked up his beer from the coffee table and took a long swig as he got up from the couch and 

walked into the kitchen. 

   He grabbed a shot class from the cupboard, pulled out the liter of vodka he had in the freezer, put the 

glass down not the kitchen table and poured himself a large cold shot. Just a little nightcap, to help me

sleep, he thought as he poured another.

   As he gulped the shot he noticed the white cordless phone on its side on the table. He'd never understood

why she even had it, she hardly ever got any calls, just as the thought appeared the phone lit up, the 

ringing breaking the silence of his thoughts.

     He picked it up and looked at the caller ID, Sunoco station, it said, sounds like a payphone, 'Hello.'

Steve said as he answered. 'You fucked with the wrong caucasian my friend.' Bob's voice declared

coldly. 'Now I'm coming for you, me and the whole trailer park asshole.'' 

    Steve kept his calm, 'Bob, really you've got it all wrong. Why don't you come and meet me one on

one and we can work this out?' It was obviously bullshit but what the fuck else was he gonna say.

    There was silence on the other end for a second, 'Nice try, I don't think so. But we will meet again soon

and you won't see me coming.' He hung up.

    Steve poured himself another shot of vodka, took it down and took a sip of his beer. If he has this 

number it's safe to assume he knows this address, he thought. I have to get her out of here, somewhere 

safe, maybe I can give her money for a motel. At least until I can take care of this fucking guy and get him

out of the picture. 

    I just got to get some sleep, he thought as he poured another shot of vodka.

   Several hours earlier

        This fucking guy, Eugene thought as he took a sip of his beer, never contacts me at a normal time. It's

never, 10AM or something, the earliest it ever is is maybe 10 at night. The 'Fucking guy,' in question was

Al, a private detective who he used sometimes to get information. He'd first started using him in the 80's 

when he was selling coke wholesale, pretty much on his won, and he used him to get information on his

customers, if they were with the police or the feds or anything like that. 

    It was a few minutes before midnight on a Monday and there was only a handful of patrons in 

Chapman's bar. When all had called him it had been a few minutes before 11 and he'd been in his 

apartment, 3 beers deep, stoned and looking forward to a good nights rest when he landline had rang and

it was Al telling him he needed to meet him at Chapman's at 12 tonight, it was very important. As he often

did after saying something like that, Al had hung up.

    He hadn't employed Al's services much in recent years but he'd called him the day after Mike had been

shot and he gotten the call from Jamal telling him that he'd skipped town. He wanted him to find out 

where Jamal had gone off to, or if he'd decided to flip, and go to the police. 

    He took another sip of his beer, he didn't much like the prospect of it, but the more he thought about it

the more he felt he would have to do something about Jamal soon. He knew too much.

      'So I we have something of a good news, bad news situation.' Al explained. He'd finally arrived and 

they'd done a little bullshitting before they'd gone to a table in the back to discuss what Al had found out.

'Man, I just want to know the damn news man.' Eugene replied. 'Good or bad.'

    Al nodded, he had a file folder in front of him. 'Well the good news is I found your boy Jamal. He was 

in Baltimore for a few days with some cousins of his, but he came back into town on the Greyhound this

morning and from my sources I've heard that one of his first stops was the police station.'

    Shit, Eugene thought. He'd already seen on the news that they'd found the Russian's car with what was

believed to be the Russians inside the trunk, in a field in one of those hill towns. One of the first things 

he'd done when he'd seen the segment at 6:00 was to call his cousin who had contacted the people who

were supposed to clean up the crime scene, and ask him their names.

    'He's talking to a homicide detective, Alice white.' Al concluded. 'Alright.' Eugene replied. He handed

Al a piece of paper, 'I got another piece of work for you.' It was the names of the guys on the clean up 

crew. 'I want you to find these people, where they live.'

    He took an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table. 'This is for this one and the job I just

gave you.'

    'Alright.' Al said. 'So you want me to find them, that's it?' He asked Eugene as he finished off the rest of

his beer.

    'That's all I need brother, I can take it from there.' Eugene replied.

    'Last call!' The woman who was tending bar exclaimed. Eugene ordered another PBR before he hit the

road, he was on foot and the way he saw it, if he had a good buzz it wouldn't seem as far to his house. It

was quarter to 1 and since Al had left he'd been sitting at the bar contemplating his situation. He didn't

much like it, but it was obvious to him that Jamal had to go. He probably would have had to go anyway if

he'd stuck around after shooting a made guy like he did, but now there was no question. It was a matter of

survival. Sure, Jamal couldn't prove that Eugene had been there when he'd killed the two Russians but 

with the car and the bodies the chances were high they'd be able to get some kind of physical evidence.

    Matteo had been calling him all day, saying they had to talk, Mike was dead. It was different now, he

had to save face somehow with his guys. He'd get in touch with Luis, and have him send someone to take

care of Jamal, he'd had enough killing in his life.