The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Chapter XIII
After Kreshnik left the hospital, he considered calling Mary from a pay phone and asking her to meet him somewhere. But if her colleagues were around, that could create misunderstandings. And even if Mary agreed to meet him, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to tell her upsetting things on a public phone. He would call her on his cell. But he didn’t know her number! He had no choice but to call her when she got home from work. It would be easy to find her number in the phone book.
He would not have to wait long. Overwhelmed by a premonition that something bad was about to happen, he stopped the car at a park near Mary’s apartment building which seemed to be wrapped in semidarkness. Not much electric light penetrated the thick leaves of the trees. Kreshnik got out of the car. He wanted to sit someplace where he could wait until midnight when Mary would get home from work. Then he would call her.
At that moment, Kreshnik saw a car stop along a nearby sidewalk. He remembered a similar car had stopped close to him when he had wanted to go into the police station. He suspected Max Cooper had asked someone to follow him since he had indicated he might turn himself in.
Therefore, he got up, went farther into the park, and hid behind a tree. Pedro’s shadow approached him. He had just called Max to tell him of Kreshnik’s whereabouts, and Max had ordered him to stay close to him.
Pedro gripped the revolver with silencer and the knife which he carried in the pockets of his leather jacket. Which one of the two weapons should he use? His revolver? To his surprise, Kreshnik disappeared from view. Pedro guessed he was hiding somewhere, and he was right.
Kreshnik stayed behind the tree. He heard soft footsteps, turned his head toward the sound, and amid the creepy, dark silhouettes, he saw the shadow of a stocky man with a revolver. He looked around as he came toward Kreshnik. Kreshnik saw the silencer’s long barrel. Obviously, the man wanted to kill someone and escape without a sound. Maybe he wanted to kill Kreshnik. Kreshnik shuddered and wanted to pull out his revolver, but it didn’t have a silencer. If he shot the man, passersby or even police officers, hearing the gunfire, might come to investigate.
The man came closer and pointed his revolver at the tree. Kreshnik thought it best to hide behind a bush, cover his tracks, and disappear from there just as he had disappeared from Eric Torres. But his legs got caught in some fallen tree branches, and their sound gave him away. The stocky man with the revolver rushed toward him.
Death took the form of that revolver with its threatening gleam. Kreshnik heard a dry, muffled crack, and a bullet whizzed past his head. He did not have time to take out his revolver, but he managed to grab the long barrel of the stocky man’s gun, which was now pointed at his chest, and wrenched it from his hand. The gun fell to the ground. With his other hand, Kreshnik punched the stocky man in the jaw. He groaned in pain and teetered, but did not fall. When Kreshnik tried to strike him again, the man was able to escape his grip. Afterwards, he took his knife out of the other pocket of his leather jacket in order to attack Kreshnik, but his attempts failed. Then Kreshnik felt the blade of the knife brush past his throat. One minute more and it would penetrate his throat. He would lie there dead and forgotten until his corpse was discovered the next morning, maybe even later, by someone in the park.
He had avoided capture by the police countless times and had finally decided to turn himself in. He would go to prison for many years. Now he had fallen prey to the stocky man who demanded nothing less than his life. Kreshnik never imagined he would die this way.
In those few seconds, hovering between life and death, he found the strength to grab the knife away from the stocky man with his ghostly face. In the process, it hit the upper part of one of his shoulders and broke the skin. Still, he managed to push the man, kick him in the stomach, and hit him in the jaw a second time despite his sharp pain. The man dropped the knife and fell to the ground. Then Kreshnik threw himself on top of him.
“Speak, you carrion!” he threatened impetuously as he squeezed his throat. “Who sent you to kill me? Max and Dolores?”
The stocky man refused to answer, but when Kreshnik tightened his grip on the man’s throat, and it became difficult for him to breathe, he drooled and sputtered, but managed a “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Pedro Oliveira.”
Suddenly, a wild fury overtook Kreshnik. He could have killed Pedro, but instead, he got to his feet and kicked him wherever he could. He stopped attacking him, though, when he realized he could kill him. He grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, lifted him to his feet, and keeping his trembling hands on him, threatened, “Get out of here. You tell Max Cooper and his whore they will be hearing from me.”
With those words, Kreshnik pushed Pedro one last time. He almost fell but managed to steady himself. Then, after he had looked around to ensure Kreshnik wasn’t following him with the intention of killing him, he staggered out of the park, headed for his car, and drove off into the night.
Kreshnik squinted, searched for the knife, and soon found it next to the bench where he had been sitting. He also found the gun. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped the weapons in it, taking care not to wipe away any prints. Then he put the knife and gun back in the pocket of his leather jacket. He would use them in court as evidence of Max Cooper’s intent to have him murdered for his refusal to submit to him any longer.
Everything that had happened felt like a nightmare. Kreshnik was shaking and could barely breathe. He didn’t know how he had managed to grab Pedro’s hand as the murderous knife’s blade touched him.
He decided that in his condition, he could not wait for Mary. Although it was night, a driver or a pedestrian would get suspicious at the sight of him, swaying and holding his bloody arm. His pale face would look even more terrifying in the faint light of the street lamps. So without a second thought, he headed for his car and hurried home. Thankfully, no one was in the park at that late hour. Only the trees with their thick leaves and the deaf and blind silence of the night had witnessed his brutal fight to the death with Pedro.
On his way home, Kreshnik felt sharp pangs in his shoulder, and blood trickled down the left sleeve of his jacket as a result of his knife wound. In order not to draw the attention of James, who usually stayed in the living room, he cautiously opened the door, tiptoed into the hallway, and went to his room. Once there, he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve. To his relief, he only had a small cut on his shoulder. He bandaged it as best he could with a strip of gauze and put on another shirt. He did not want Mary to see it.
Suddenly, Kreshnik remembered that he was supposed to call her. It was just past eleven.
Pedro tried to drive his car, but he could hardly see. One eye was swollen, and the eyebrows above his other eye continued to bleed. He swerved to one side, scaring the few drivers on the road, and went up a curb beyond which he could barely make out a nightclub. Stunned, he tried in vain to turn around and get back on the road.
Pedro grew wide-eyed with fear when his car struck the front end of another car. He moved out of the way, but because he was driving so fast, he collided with the outer wall of the nightclub. The noise drowned out the songs which blared from inside.
Meanwhile, Max was on the phone with Pedro and asked him what was happening. When he heard a commotion, he shouted, “What is all that noise?”
When Pedro did not respond, Max, frightened, turned to Dolores.
“What’s going on?” she asked. She was scared, too.
“I can’t hear Pedro at all. From the noise and voices, it sounds like he had an accident.”
“Did he die?”
“Where have you been? He killed Kreshnik and died in an accident. He will carry our secrets to the grave.”
“But what if he died without having killed Kreshnik?” asked Dolores, flatly.
“Then we’ll find another Pedro to do the job.”
Max smiled, but his smile froze on his face.
“Oh, God! What am I hearing?” he stammered, holding the phone tighter to his ear. “It sounds like the police are there!”
An officer looked at Pedro whose head hung to one side. The pressure of the collision had turned the front of the car and the motor upside-down. The steering wheel pressed against Pedro’s chest. Under such circumstances, an airbag usually protected a person from harm, but in this case, Pedro was stuck between it and his seat.
He just moaned when the officer and two of his colleagues touched and shook him. It was impossible to pull him out of the car.
“Call the emergency room!” ordered the officer who continued to observe Pedro, who was more dead than alive. Turning to him, the officer asked, “How do you feel, Sir?”
Pedro’s eyes were closed. He did not answer.
Then the officer carefully lifted his head, and he opened his eyes a little.
“Sir, my name is Robbie. I’m a police officer. Can you tell me why you lost control of your car?”
The officer’s question bothered Pedro.
“My name is Pedro Oliveira,” he said, weakly. “Don’t let me die. I have many things to tell you. My boss, Max Cooper, ordered me to kill Kreshnik Germeni. Max owns a furniture company, but he is also involved in drug trafficking.”
Pedro could hardly breathe.
“He forced me to commit this crime,” he continued, “but I couldn’t because Kreshnik put me in this condition. He did the right thing. I got in my car but could not drive. That’s all I can tell you for now. Please save me! Don’t let me die!”
Max kept his cell phone to his ear. He had heard Pedro’s conversation with the officer over his cell which had fallen near the car door. His eyes grew wide, and he shouted, “Dolores, Pedro really did have an accident! He’s dying. But the jerk told the police everything! He didn’t kill Nik, but he’s going to kill us!”
“What do you mean he’s going to kill us?” Dolores asked, practically fainting.
“He told the officer everything, how I ordered Kreshnik’s murder, that I’m a drug boss. We need to get out of here before the police catch us.”
Max grabbed Dolores’ arm, and the two of them left his office.
“There are still some packets of drugs in the cellar,” Max muttered.
“We’re in a heap of trouble, and you’re worried about some stupid packets of drugs!” Dolores threatened, grabbing his arm.
They ran out of the office, down the stairs, and through the company’s large hall in which the furniture had been placed. Then they hurried to their car and disappeared into the night.
Mary had returned home from the hospital. During her shift, she had felt overwhelmed not only by the events of the previous evening, but also by Charlie’s phone call that morning. Seeing Kreshnik in the hospital seemed to have troubled him. In addition, Mary’s trip to the hospital to see Kreshnik, her surprise at his escape, and her crazy decision to go to his house, something she never dreamed she’d do again, had weighed her down. Now, she just wanted to sleep.
Suddenly, the telephone rang. Who could be calling her so late? Charlie always called her on his cell phone. Somebody had probably dialed a wrong number. Mary slowly lifted the receiver and nearly froze when she heard Kreshnik’s voice. She wanted to ask him why he was calling so late, but he pleaded with her to listen because he had some terrible things to tell her. He didn’t mention that she, too, was in danger and that Max and another Pedro might kill her. That would only have frightened her. Instead, he told her about the unexpected job Max had given him. Kreshnik said it would be his last no matter what.
“But I’m not going to do it, Mary,” he said. “I don’t want to be a slave to Max anymore. Above all, I don’t want you to suffer because of him. Therefore, I want to turn myself in. I’ve told you about this issue which has haunted me for years. The time has come to do it.”
Mary could hardly keep from collapsing on the floor. (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, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, Part-36, Part-37,
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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]
