The Bitterest Pill

Forty

Arakel Sarkassian showed up at the warehouse at three that afternoon after making certain to stop at a bar to fortify and numb himself further. He knew now what he had to do, and he understood that doing it would imperil his life. He had thought the luncheon was going so well right up until the end. That was when this Jesse Stone had stripped him of his confidence and laid him bare. He had underestimated the man, badly. Always a mistake, but one he had made before. In business, he had underestimated the competition, underestimated their willingness to stoop low and sell cheap goods, their ruthlessness.

He had avoided telling Mehdi, his partner, about the calls from the police. He hated to listen to Mehdi lecture him and to constantly bring up his weaknesses and blind spots. It galled him and made him feel small. When he considered telling Mehdi about the police calls, all he could hear was Mehdi’s voice in his head. How stupid a man you are. How could you have been so stupid to give the boy a business card with your mobile number on it? Why not simply invite the police to your door? Do you ever think things through before you do them? Why did I choose you and not one of your brothers or one of a hundred other people I knew from the business? It was one thing to hear the man actually rebuke him, but for Arakel to do it for him in Mehdi’s imaginary voice... It was too much.

He had thought, maybe foolishly so, that killing the boy would put an end to Mehdi’s lectures and sniping. It had impressed Mehdi, at least for a few days. He had even let Arakel keep the gun he’d used to kill the kid. At first he hadn’t wanted it, but then he reconsidered. It would not do, he thought, to cede the respect he had earned at such a bloody cost by acting weak. Now was not the time for weakness, and he knew it.

After throwing some water on his face and hanging his jacket up in his office, Arakel walked on shaking legs into Mehdi’s office. Mehdi was not an unattractive man. He had a deep olive complexion and short black hair that was showing some gray. He kept his beard neatly trimmed and short, but let his mustache grow out longer than the beard surrounding it. He had a square jawline and a wrestler’s neck. But his brown eyes seemed always to be looking through the person or thing he was focusing on. It was his eyes that got to Arakel. It felt as if his eyes were staring through him into the truth, as if the truth were something physical, with a specific location inside his body. He knew such thoughts were madness, but Arakel could not deny them.

“Arakel,” said Mehdi, smiling at his partner. “You are late today.”

“I had business to attend to. That is why I am—”

Mehdi cut him off. “Things in Paradise, Salem, and Swan Harbor are good? They have been stabilized?”

“I have heard nothing to tell me otherwise, but that is not—”

Mehdi interrupted him again. “That is a nice shirt. You do not often wear such nice clothing into the warehouse. And you seem to be perspiring. Look at your underarms.”

Arakel could no longer bear it and slammed his hand down on Mehdi’s desk. “For heaven’s sake, Mehdi, let me speak. This is not easy for me.”

Mehdi smiled, a reaction Arakel thought strange, but he dared not stop for fear of never having the nerve to finish.

“Yesterday, I received calls from the police department in Paradise,” he said, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “First from a woman, an Officer Crane. She asked about a business card the police found in the boy’s drawer. The second call was from the police chief, a Jesse Stone. I tried to calmly talk my way around things, but he insisted on meeting with me to discuss how my old business card ended up in a teenager’s dresser drawer.”

“And how did you enjoy your lunch at the Little Armenia Café, my friend?”

Arakel froze, the sweat pouring off his brow onto his face. “You followed me?”

“Stojan and Georgi,” Mehdi said. “After the other day with the boy, I felt it was good to keep an eye on you... in case you were overwhelmed with a bout of guilt or some other nonsense. I couldn’t afford to have you go to the police and turn yourself in.”

Arakel was wounded by that. “I would never dishonor my own family that way, nor would I harm you.”

Mehdi bowed his head in thanks. “I appreciate that and I admire that you tried to handle this on your own, but no more.” Mehdi wagged his finger at his partner. “You must never keep such things from me. Yet it is good you came to me. My respect for you grows, my friend, and gives me confidence that I made a good choice in bringing you into this business. Now, tell me what the conversation was between you and this police chief.”

Arakel gave him a comprehensive account of the conversation between himself and Jesse Stone but could not bring himself to reveal the last things Stone had said to him. He wasn’t going to risk the newfound confidence Mehdi had in him.

“Do not worry, Arakel,” Mehdi said, standing and grabbing his partner’s biceps. “The Bulgarians are keeping an eye on this cop, Stone. If his nose gets too long, we will see to him. For now, relax.” Arakel turned, getting as far as the office door before Mehdi stopped him. “Remember, my friend, never withhold things like this from me again.”

Arakel did not say anything to that and went back to his office. There, he collapsed into his chair and reached into his jacket pocket for another small bottle of vodka.