The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Chapter VII
It was evening when Kreshnik got out of the car, waved to the driver, and headed for the house, his head bowed. He rang the bell, and James opened the door. Kreshnik practically fell into his arms. Then he went to the living room, sighed, and plopped down on the sofa. He did not speak. James kept his eyes fixed on him.
“You made it home, son,” said James, sitting next to Kreshnik. “You told me on the phone you had a hard night, but you made it home safely.”
“I might not have,” Kreshnik murmured and closed his eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you on the phone everything that happened last night.”
“I understand. I saw it on the news. Thank God you escaped!”
“But did you see that young officer with the bloody bandage on his head when they interviewed him at the hospital?” asked Kreshnik, looking at him cross-eyed.
James was silent. He did not dare look him in the eye.
“Did you see his face screwed up in pain? Did you hear him say faintly that in the darkness, he could only make out the beard and mustache of the robber who hit him twice in the head with the barrel of his revolver?”
James did not respond.
“I did it! I could have killed that young man. If such a terrible thing had happened, his mother would have mourned him and put flowers on his grave every day. She would have cursed the unknown murderer who had left her alone.”
Kreshnik lowered his head and burst into tears. James was stunned. He wanted to pat Kreshnik’s hair and trembling shoulders, but he didn’t dare.
“That officer could also have killed you,” said James.
“In this case,” said Kreshnik, raising his head, “he would have killed me, a criminal. No one would have cared except you who are like a father to me. Whoever had watched the TV news or read the papers would have blurted out, `Thank goodness that officer disposed of such a robber!`”
Kreshnik got up. He didn’t want to sit next to James any longer.
“Everyone was heartbroken when they found out my father, an immigrant, who had come to America from poor little Albania, gave his life to save a policeman from death at the hands of a robber. Now, these many years later, the son of that heroic immigrant has become a criminal who almost killed a policeman. Tell me, what could be worse?”
Kreshnik took out a newspaper from his inner jacket pocket and showed it to James who was curled up on the sofa.
“Look at that officer. I almost took his life when we fought to the death.”
James looked at the front page of a Los Angeles newspaper and read a headline in bold letters: “How A Merciful Robber Prevented A Crime.” A photo of the policeman in a hospital bed with his head bandaged appeared below the photo.
“This is officer Eric Torres who might have had a big funeral today.”
Suddenly, Kreshnik froze as if he had recalled something. He rushed to one of the dressers, opened the bottom drawer, took out a file folder, and leafed through it. He took out an old newspaper and showed it to James.
“You kept this and gave it to me. It is a treasure. Look at my father. That’s how he was when you saw him alive for the last time. There’s a picture of the robber who murdered him. If Officer Torres had caught me, my picture would have appeared in the paper along with his, the hero and the criminal.”
James was completely taken aback.
While they were talking in their living room, Max and Dolores were watching the news on a Los Angeles TV station. Officer Eric Torres was being interviewed in his hospital room:
“One thing struck me which I will never forget,” he was saying. “The criminal was young, but he had a beard and a mustache. Unfortunately, I could not see his face in the dark. After our skirmish, he did not shoot me even though I tried to grab him by the throat. Amazing! In the thick of the fight, I had punched him. I even saw tears in his eyes.”
“What did he do then?” asked the journalist.
“He retreated, started to run, threw his gun, and disappeared as if he were afraid of me. I lay on the ground and was bleeding. I did not have my gun. Even now, I don’t understand why he acted like that.”
Max turned off the television, opened his eyes wide, and turned to Dolores who said in a mockingly happy tone, “How brave Kreshnik is, that tough, sensitive guy!”
Irritated, Max gritted his teeth and called Kreshnik. Meanwhile, James had poured him a glass of whisky and said, “Drink up, it will do you good.” Kreshnik, not paying any attention to him, emptied his glass in one swallow. At that moment, his cell phone rang. He answered it and nearly fell on the floor.
“Why doesn’t Max Cooper leave me alone!” he fumed. “Two hours ago, on our way back from Los Angeles, he called me and congratulated me for the second time. Now what does he want?”
“Take it, Nik. It won’t hurt you,” said James.
“What is it to you?” Kreshnik burst out.
“Nik, I just saw the interview with that police officer, Eric Torres, on TV,” said Max. “They’ve been running it all day. You told me you and he fought to the death. Congratulations again. But some of the things he said struck me. There are some things you hadn’t told me.”
“For instance?” said Kreshnik, sensing the impending explosion.
“That you had escaped and thrown your revolver. Was that true or was Torres exaggerating to make the events sound more tragic?”
“It was true.”
Max knit his brow in anger but controlled himself and said, “Listen, Nik. The ancient Romans said, `Mors tua, vita mea.` `Your death is my life.` Last night, you were lucky that officer lost his gun when you fought with him. But as he was lying on the ground, you should have beat him once, twice, ten times, until he could no longer lift even a finger. You should have killed him. I’ve killed a few bastards like him in my day.”
“But he looked so awful!”
“He didn’t give that impression during the interview. He even said your gun trembled, your eyes filled with tears, and you took off. Whom should I believe, you or him?”
“I told you, Boss, what Torres said was true.”
“Remember what I’ve told you before. Away with sentimentality: tears and languid sighs. When you encounter policemen or other untrustworthy people, remember you have two hands with which to bash in someone’s head. Do you hear me, Nik?”
“As you wish, Boss,” Kreshnik replied, controlling his anger.
“The police don’t appear to be on to you. You wore gloves when you touched the motorcycle, right?”
“Exactly.”
“I hope the police haven’t found your gun. Otherwise, they will take it to the Los Angeles police department’s main laboratory. Let’s be on the alert for anything unexpected just like when I ordered you to burn the car and roll it down the hill, and I picked you up at the bridge. I won’t call you for awhile until this wave passes. Enjoy the large sum you received. You deserve it. Have a good night.”
“Thank you. You, too, Boss.”
Max hung up the phone and turned to Dolores.
“Did you hear his ramblings?” he asked. “What a chicken! But I will make him rough, cruel, and unmerciful like me.”
“Who, that tough, sensitive guy?” said Dolores, mockingly.
“That’s right, him. If he wants to, let him seduce that devil of a woman who has made him lose his mind. I’ll take his soul with hooks if necessary.”
“Will Nik really seduce her?” Dolores thought.
In any case, she devised a plan which she would implement when the time was right.
After his conversation with Max, Kreshnik said to himself, “He told me to enjoy the large payment I received. He said I deserved it.”
Then he took an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “For this ten thousand dollars, I could have ended someone’s life or I could have been killed.”
His hands trembling, Kreshnik threw the envelope. It hit the ceiling with a muffled thud and was torn open. Hundred dollar bills swayed gently and fell to the floor. Then Kreshnik panted, stepped on them, and kicked them hard. James jumped up from the sofa, bent over, and picked them up avariciously.
“They’re ill-gotten gain!” Kreshnik cried.
“No, Son. They are your blood,” said James, looking up with longing. “But one day, we will escape from Max and live in peace with that money.”
He raised a fist full of dollars. (Continues)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5, Part-6, Part-7, Part-8, Part-9, Part-10, Part-11, Part-12, Part-13, Part-14, Part-15, Part-16, Part-17, Part-18, Part-19, Part-20,
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About the Authors
Carrie Hooper was born and raised in Elmira, New York. She has been blind since birth. She received a B.A. in vocal performance from Mansfield University, Mansfield, Pennsylvania. She went on to receive an M.A. in German and an M.A. in vocal performance from the State University of New York at Buffalo. After completing her studies, she spent a year at the Royal University College of Music in Stockholm, Sweden as a Fulbright scholar. Carrie currently lives in Elmira, New York. She taught German, Italian, and Romanian at Elmira College. She has a passion for foreign languages and in addition to the languages mentioned above, she is also proficient in Swedish, Spanish, and Albanian. Music also plays an important role in Carrie’s life. She teaches voice and piano lessons, gives vocal concerts, plays the piano and organ at a church, and sings in a community chorus. Carrie not only loves music and languages, but also enjoys poetry. She has published three books: “Piktura në fjalë” (“Word Paintings”), a bilingual collection of poetry (Albanian-English), “My Life in My Words”, and “Away from Home.” She has also translated texts from Albanian and Romanian to English.
Skifter Këllici was born in Tirana, Albania and received a diploma in history and literature from the University of Tirana. He worked as a journalist, scholar, and sportscaster on radio and television. He is the author of several novels and nonfiction books, including the children’s books, “Memories of the Old Neighborhood” and “In the Footsteps” as well as the historical novels, “Assassination in Paris”, “The Murderer with the White Hands”, and “September Disaster.” He wrote the screenplay for “In the Footsteps” which won a special prize at the International Children’s Film Festival in Giffoni, Italy in 1979. He has lived in Boston, Massachusetts since 1999.
[The book ‘Disastrous September is being reproduced in episodes with the consent of the author]
