I made my way down south to one of the Salvador clinics close to piao jie that's still open at midnight. They did some basic tending to clean my wounds and stop the bleeding. The doc was a 60 years old lady with shaky hands and a fragile smile that somehow remains on her face despite the line of work she partakes.
She insisted on sewing up the wound for me, but judging from their standard of sanitization I politely refused and promise her I'll go to the hospital right away before I took the last subway ride back to Nochnaya. The train was empty asides from me and my thoughts.
The hospital of Faust charges almost as much as all the other underground clinics, not to mention they would poke around your personal belongings and ask to see your IDs if they deem your injury could be related to criminal activities and would leave a record in the data.
In comparison, a clinic in the back of a taxi stand in Kirov seems much more preferable, and the doc there actually had three Ph.D. in medical fields...... before his medical licenses were suspended for being high while performing surgeries.
He takes one look at my wounds and immediately reaches to conclusions.
"Bad news is, it's going to leave a scar. The other bad news is, your blood fucking stinks which means the knife that cut you wasn't clean and it's very likely that it'll swell or you'll catch a fever if you don't treat it right now....... The good news is, There's a discount right now! Half price for every 5 mg of extra morphine!"
I took about 45 mg and slept through the surgery and next sunrise on the operating table.
On my way back home I got a call from Enzo, said Nicola wants to see me. So I rush back home, armed myself to the teeth, and bombarded Ivan out of his bed through phone calls to drive me there. He parked the car right in front of the alley I was in last night and told me he'll start knocking if I don't come out in 20 minutes.
The reputation of Nicola was real. He was trying to rip me in half 15 hours ago, and now he and his crew are treating me like I'm some kind of war hero. They sit around the room listening to how I tricked Knox and his man to leave with interests piqued I their eyes.
When I finished, Enzo in the corner of the room like always was the first to speak.
"Diavolo dalla lingua d'argento eh? Signore."
The silver-tongued devil. He said with a sick glint in his blue eyes. And the others went along with it, Nicola grab my shoulder and pass me a drunk like last night which I hold in my hand the entire time without taking a sip.
Minutes later I found some bullshit excuses to catch a breath outside and tell Ivan I'll be fine. Which he replied with a grunt.
A set of footsteps made of leather shoes on brick pavement approached me As I watch Ivan drove off.
"What did you tell the O'deans last night?" I ask without looking at him.
"Does it matter?"
God, I fucking hate him.
"You tell me, Does it?..... each of them told me a different version of what happened in the back last night." I tilt my head towards the front door with a 'closed' sign on.
"Then pick the one you like." The thought of elbowing his face again crossed my mind. I take out my pack of cig and put the last one in it in my mouth, throw the package to the alley Knox's man was at last night.
Before I could find my lighter, a burning match between Enzo's index and middle finger was presented in front of me.
I take the smoke out of my mouth and place the tip on top of the flare.
"Grazie." I put the cig back in my mouth again and inhale a deep breath, feeling the taste of mint and spice reaches the bottom of my throat, concentrate into a dot then exploded in my lung.
"500 thousand." I cough out the smoke. "That was the O'deans offer." I feel my eyes water as the smoke rushes back into my nostrils.
"Can I check the receipt real quick?" Enzo let out a chuckle as he takes out a cigarette case.
"Those were your words. Never exaggerate your words when others can hold you accountable." Enzo puts the second smoke on the right case in his mouth.
"Can I pay in installments?" He shrugs as he pulls out a zippo from the inner pocket of his blazer.
"Sure, I'm feeling..... lenient today." Lighting up the cig, Enzo greedily takes a hard drag.
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".....And the other thing? The favor?" He took his time puffing out smoke rings before answering me.
"I haven't decided yet. But don't you worry, I'll think of something eventually." I chew on the filter of cigarette and let out a dry laugh.
That's one hell of a reassurance.
Taking another drag, I thought back to what happened last night. An urge to laugh came out of nowhere.
What I did unavoidably complicates my connections with Little Italy, and it's only a matter of time before Knox and his man found out I was lying. If Nicola is smart enough, he would've dealt with the O'deans as soon as possible and stopped showing up at this joint so often. If not, then O'deans might be a problem too.
Pissing off a shit load of cutthroats and for what?
I was right, it doesn't make me feel better. Just made the taste of mint and spice in the bottom of my throat bitter.
I take one last drag and flick the rest of the cig to the dark ally behind me.
"Too late for that." Enzo takes another hard drag, turning half a cig to cinders. I unknowingly raise my brows out of habit before a sharp pain penetrates my head, the stitches across my brow twist as my skin craws together.
Should've asked for more morphine.
"Think of it as a....... lecture, lingua d'argento. To be a saint is to be torched alive for nonexistent peace of mind." The tall man in a different suit than yesterday dusts off the ashes with a flick of his thumb. "I don’t care why you did what you did. But I can tell it didn't pay off did it?…… Lucky for you.”
With the cig in his mouth, Enzo chokes the end of the brown filter with his thumb and middle finger and inhales deeply until the flicker climbs on the rest of the cigarette, the tip of his fingers are reddened by the heat but he keeps inhaling until the flicker touches the filter between his fingertips does he stop. And clenches the flame between his grasp, extinguishes it. Breathing out a chunk of smoke, he let the blackened end falls off his mouth, down on the ground.
"This nuisance will be over soon. Never mind the O'deans and Knox." He raise his left elbow while upper arm hangs down in a lazy motion to check the time. "And don't bother laying low either, if I were you I'll start worrying about the 500k instead."
Enzo turns around and strolls back inside Nicola's place.
"I'll be seeing you, Lee." He sang as he pushes open the front door leaving me on the street. Without looking at me the entire time.
***
He didn't lie. I spent the next four days looking over my shoulders (more than usual) while walking down the street. Paid visits to a few well-connected fellas I know. Going through bars, clubs, whore houses, pawn shops to ask around if anyone has 'Any thing going on in little Italy?”
But all I got was more questions from them about how I pulled off the stunt I did to Knox's group. How I survive an encounter with a group of reapers? How I'm the 'silver-tongued devil' now? And how does it feel to be some hot shit......
I feel like getting punched in the ear every time I heard one of these bullshit. Thinking if a random pimp in Lesnaya knows about what happened that night then the cleaners certainly do too. Hell, even Ivan starts dropping by my apartment asking similar questions (at least he doesn't beat around the bushes).
Just when I'm drinking myself to sleep on the fifth night I saw the news report on a massive shootout that happened east of the train station in Little Italy.
The next morning I took a cab to a joint run by one of the freelancers at the lanes. After a small talk with the cook while he’s on a smoke break, my suspicion was confirmed, Knox's group wiped off the O'deans for reasons unknown.
Then the rumors escalated the fuck up. Word on the street the Knox's slaughtered the gang because of what I said. It spread faster than flame on a sea of gasoline, Nicola even 'thanked' me again for finishing the O'deans for him.
The more my false reputation grows, the more anxious I am for late-night visits from the cleaners.
But nothing happened after a week, then two, three until almost a month later. Knox's group was caught in a small shootout at Disalos. They weren't armed or on a contract as far as anyone can tell, according to the locals, it's just 'Being in the right place, at the wrong time.' which happens more regularly than the sun rising from the east at the south of lanes.
There were 22 corpses at the scene, 4 la Vina, 5 Monteros, 2 policemen, and 11 bystanders. Later it is confirmed six of the bystanders are Knox's group members but Knox himself wasn't part of the casualties. He was nowhere to be found.
There were more than one person claiming they witnessed a middle-aged man flee the scene wounded. The strangest thing about the man, according to eyewitnesses, isn't that he's running like a shot through the shoulder is nothing but he was wearing a dark green beanie at 36 degrees Celsius.
The topic of Knox's disappearance became the latest gossip on the street, everyone got their own bizarre theory about the whole incident. While I kept thinking about what Enzo told me a month ago.
***
The thoughts about that night and what comes after clouded my mind for another week or so. But something else quickly occupies it, ever since the story of the 'silver-tongued devil' was known. People start twisting it, exaggerating it, and adding details until it's unrecognizable from the truth.
At first, I would try to correct them, after a while, I just brush it off, in the end, I give whoever's talking a knowing smile.
Reputation is fundamental for a freelancer. Job opportunities keep on popping out all over the city, especially in Little Italy, and especially jobs that require me as a mediator even though I've only done it once, but I couldn't admit that can I?
So I learned as I go, what to say. How to say? In what manner? Aggressive, sarcastic or passive? Who to focus and who to ignore in a group of people.
It took a shit load of practice but luckily, I have an equal amount of work on hand. After a while, I became used to it. Years later, I became good at it. At lying, acting, and convincing. Guiding others to see the side of things I want them to see, to focus on what’s best for their interest. And most important of all, to tell if a job is toxic, what scenarios are setups.
For a while I was the rising star in the market, I'm the problem solver, the guy you go to when in trouble, the Signor lingua d'argento. Folks are so eager to creat the next fairy tale, the next big name for after dinner gossips.
Few drinks down and a 'Who the fuck is this guy?' from your pal. Then the tales of my merits spread to another. This is how Euforia work, it need all those ludicrous and imaginative anecdotes to sustained the reality of waking up to the sound of hair trimmers in a dump with broken windows and empty beer cans at the corner while your mate is giving himself a haircut in the bathroom.
They will continue because listening and spreading over the top events in others life is more beguiling than revealing yours. And because few people can distinguish the difference between silver and iron. In the end, no one will question where the nickname came from cause it's an established fact, just like no one asked me where the nasty stitches on my brow came from, until it became a scar.
***
At the same time, not long after the O'deans were gone. A relatively new family name Santoro took its place and grows in strength at an unnerving speed at the east. Which broke the former situation of Nicola being the most recognizable force in the district.