The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Now holding the brown bag, he left the shop and walked, hunched over, to his car. He had not gone far when he froze at the sight of an African-American policeman, leaning against a police car. It was the officer named Michael. Kreshnik immediately remembered that he was one of the policemen at the intersection from where he had been forced to flee. The policeman saw him, too. Kreshnik tried to appear as cool and collected as possible and kept walking like an old man. He felt relieved after he passed the officer. Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him.
“Sir!”
Somewhere beyond the policeman, Kreshnik had seen a passerby. Which one of the two was calling him? In order not to arouse any suspicions, he slowly turned around as if the voice had awakened him from sleep. He felt cold inside, and when Officer Michael approached him, he realized he was the one who had called his name. Kreshnik gripped his revolver, pulled it out of his jacket pocket, and hit the officer in the head. He had done the same thing to Officer Eric Torres at a park in Long Beach. After Officer Michael hit the ground, Kreshnik ran to his car, started the engine, and disappeared into thin air.
“Sir!” the officer called to him again.
Kreshnik came to his senses. Officer Michael stood in front of him. He looked to his left, then to his right as if he feared someone might see him. Kreshnik had been hallucinating! In a few seconds…
Officer Michael approached Kreshnik slowly with the hard, searching eyes of a typical policeman at work. Kreshnik gripped his revolver even harder. In a matter of minutes, the officer was just a few steps away from him. He looked around with suspicion. Kreshnik waited for him to say, “Don’t move! Drop your bag and your weapon!” He expected the officer to radio a patrol unit in the vicinity to request immediate assistance because he had just stopped the young man who was a suspect. Instead, his eyes shone faintly, and he said to Kreshnik, “I need a smoke. Do you have any cigarettes?”
Kreshnik felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from him, and he was free of fear. He had never been so happy.
“Yes, I do,” he replied.
He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed it to the policeman. He was careful not to take out his gun in the process. The officer smiled with gratitude. Then he took out a cigarette, lit it, sucked on it, and released smoke from his nose and mouth. That felt good.
“I ran out of cigarettes, and I didn’t see a drugstore that sold them,” he said.
“Take as many as you want,” said Kreshnik. “I rarely smoke.”
“Thank you very much, Sir,” said Officer Michael, and took a few more cigarettes. Then he added quietly, “The thing is, even if I wanted to, I can’t leave the area. I think you understand. It has to do with my work.”
Kreshnik was relieved the officer had not recognized him, disguised as an old man. In those joyous moments, his cell phone, which he kept in his pants pocket, rang, and he felt his blood rise. He was sure it was Max. He pretended not to hear it, but it rang and rang. How could his jerk of a boss know the trouble he was in?
“Excuse me, your phone is ringing,” said Officer Michael.
Kreshnik took his phone out of his pocket. He was right. It was Max. He was in big trouble again. He opened his lips as if to tell the policeman he was not taking the call. Then, he hung up his phone and feigned a chuckle.
“An hour ago, that same friend called me,” he said. “It’s the third time he’s called since noon. He just asks me how I am. He’s a real nuisance.”
“That happens to my aunt,” said Michael. “Poor thing, she’s a fool.”
After he took another long drag on his cigarette, he added, “Take care, Sir. Thank you again.” Then, smiling, he shook Kreshnik’s hand before heading off to his car. Kreshnik did the same. But as he watched him, Officer Michael had his doubts.
“Sir, wait a minute!” he said, fixing his gaze on Kreshnik and on his car. His face grew somber.
“What now?” said Kreshnik to himself. He was shaken up. He gripped his revolver again.
“Is this your car?” asked Michael.
He looked at Kreshnik, then at the car.
“Yes, it’s mine,” said Kreshnik.
Suddenly, the policeman let out a string of words.
“I’m glad you told me, you lucky man. I thought so. Anyway, I told you, it’s business. I’m telling you this because you have become my friend.”
He leaned toward Kreshnik and whispered, “I thought it belonged to a suspect who is tall and broad-shouldered like you and with a jacket like yours, only purple.”
He burst out laughing, clapped Kreshnik on the shoulders, and said, “Go now, my friend, before I come back for some other reason.”
Then Kreshnik, trying to look happy, put his dreaded bag in the back seat of his car and sped off so the officer would not stop him again.
The African-American policeman was still smiling when Officer Peter’s voice came over the radio: “Hello, Michael. Any news?”
“Yes. It turns out that car belonged to an old man who just left.”
“You may leave, too. We’ve done all we can. We’ve lost him.”
“He must have been a bum,” said Michael. “Who knows why he was afraid?”
“You got me.”
It was only when Kreshnik turned down another street that he breathed again. He felt as if he had been freed from a terrifying burden. Still, he looked behind him to make sure a police car was not following him. Just then, his cell phone rang. He answered it and saw Max Cooper’s name again. He felt irritated.
“I called you earlier, Nik, but you didn’t answer,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Boss. I didn’t hear my phone.”
“I thought you were in trouble.”
“No, everything’s fine.”
“Where are you?”
“At the intersection of the Big Park.”
“You were delayed a little, but that’s not a problem. I wish you all the best. You’ve been successful up until now. Call me when you get to the house.”
“I will, Boss,” said Kreshnik, gritting his teeth.
Max hung up the phone. Dolores sat in a chair next to him and watched him in silence.
“Something happened but Kreshnik won’t talk about it,” said Max. “It’s not his fault. The police are out in full force.”
“You told me you told him about the incident with James, and this is one of his last trips, right?” Dolores wondered.
“Let him think that,” said Max.
Then his face darkened, and he added, “Wait until the storm dies down. You saw on the TV news what happened at the house on Hancock Street. You saw how the narcotics unit raided the place!”
After a brief pause, Max rose from his desk.
“If they want to, let them come here with Kallagan himself. We’ll be here!”
Max bared his chest, lifted his middle finger, and almost raised the corners of his mustache. Dolores’ eyes sparkled.
“Right now, we’re just a company that sells furniture. But one day, with the money we earn from our second job, we will defeat Kallagan and the police unit he brags about on TV. Dolores, we will become more rich and powerful. Then everyone will answer to me.”
With these words, Max laughed heartily. Then he went to Dolores, embraced her, and gave her a passionate kiss.
Kreshnik turned off of Tremont Street and headed toward the house in question. He felt overwhelmed after his conversation with Max, and his eyes brimmed with tears. How had he escaped from that African-American policeman without a fight to the death as had happened with Officer Eric Torres whom he could have killed? With cleverness.
Weeks ago, Kreshnik had avoided a confrontation with the officers who had followed him with dogs and had forced him to hide under a bridge and cover his tracks.
But what would happen this time? Would he be able to evade capture by the police now that Ralph Kallagan had been named head of the narcotics unit? The police were cracking down on drug traffickers. Kreshnik could not hold back the tears which streamed down his cheeks. He looked at his watch. It was 10:10. He picked up his cell phone and waited.
“Hello, I’m almost there,” he said, barely audible.
He hung up the phone, passed a few houses, then stopped at a house at the end of Tremont Street. He looked around. The street was deserted. He got out of the car with his bag in his hand. Two eyes watched him through the curtain of a second-floor window. Then, the curtain was drawn.
Kreshnik headed for the iron gate and rang the bell four times to signal his arrival. It opened automatically. Two strong young men guarded the gate. They looked at Kreshnik and his bag without moving their eyes. Kreshnik acted according to Max’s orders. He took a document out of his jacket pocket and showed it to the guards. One of them took it, examined it, and motioned with his head for Kreshnik to keep going. He walked through the small courtyard, opened the door, and found himself in a small living room. He stood still. Soon a man with little hair and a bony face came down the stairs and stopped in front of Kreshnik. He greeted him with a smile which hung below his thin lips. He expected Kreshnik to do likewise, but he did not move a muscle. The man wanted to say something to him, but as soon as he left his bag on the floor, he pulled off his helmet and sunglasses. Then he yanked off his mustache and beard, threw them on the floor with disdain, turned around quickly, and left, numbed. The bony-faced man fixed his gaze on Kreshnik until he reached the living room door. He lowered his head and noticed the mustache, beard, glasses, and helmet scattered about the floor. Kreshnik had disappeared by the time the other man picked them up. (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, Part-21, Part-22, Part-23, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32,
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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]
