Chapter Text
He was made aware of the disturbance by Mario around eight o’clock at night. Before that he had been waiting since six o’clock inside the study for Katya to return home. They had seen each other earlier that day, making eye contact in the market. He had been in front of the fish stand with Andrey while Katya stood with a familiar woman in front of the fruit stand. The stare wasn’t pleasant either. It was a glaring thing that they both received from each other. So now he sat in his study, wondering if he should send someone to look for her by nine o’clock.
“Goncharov?” Mario asked, his head peeked around the entryway.
“Yes?” He asked, looking away from the clock on the wall.
“The men are reporting unauthorized business.”
“Must it matter when it is already dark.” Goncharov sighed.
“Normally I’d agree, but the thing is…” Mario glanced around as if afraid someone would walk in. “It’s a diner sir.” Goncharov raised an eyebrow as if to ask “and?”
“It was a building that was not there yesterday.”
Katya would come home around ten o’clock to an empty house.
She didn’t think twice of it, instead going straight to bed.
She dreamed of bobbing for apples made of gears.
Katya choked on the gears and died.
Katya kept bobbing anyway.
What was normally an empty lot between two empty buildings used for trades was now occupied by a peculiar building. It had a sign that glowed and warm yellow light spilled from its many windows.
“We could end this quickly.” Mario advised. They stood on the opposite side of the dirt street, leaning against an unlit lamp pole.
“Their glass looks thin, we get OneShot Slone out here and they can get everyone in there.” Goncharov hummed in consideration. Yes, while Slone was the best at what they did he was unsure if their expertise was needed here.
“I believe we need to find out their intent before spilling any blood.” Goncharov explained while pulling out a lighter. “They might be feeders for a bigger fish.”
“You’re so clever as always sir.” Mario said as he stuck his cigarette in Goncharov’s light. “Does that mean we get good ol 'Ice Pick Joe out here?” Goncharov was about to say yes, but then he saw a young woman through the window. His mind wandered back to his own woman. A woman whose lips never stay long.
“I believe we can take care of this ourselves right now Mario.” He took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke a scarf in the cold night air. Mario nodded, patting the side of his coat where Goncharov knew his pistol was usually stowed.
“Wait for my signal.” Goncharov said, and he walked towards the doors of the diner with the big glowing sign saying “Midnight Burger.”
“Hello, welcome to Midnight Burger, what can I get for you?” It was the woman he saw from the window. African American, curly haired, and in a chintz uniform.
“Who runs this establishment?” He asked, there was no time for pleasantries, he thought. But he could mentally hear Andrey chastising him “You only say that so you can be vile.”
“That would be me.” The woman told, hands on her hips, the notepad she had now ditched onto the diner’s bar.
“Are you aware that this is my territory madam?” He said, tacking on the madam to get mental Andrey off his back.
“First off, my name is Gloria, and two, who even are you?” The woman, Gloria, said, jabbing a finger into his chest. Good thing he told Mario to wait for a signal, or the lady would be bleeding out on the floor for touching him in such a way.
“ I am Goncharov, the leader of the mafia in this corner of Italy, what I say goes, and I did not say anything about a diner.” He explained, venom dripping from his voice. Pleasantries be damned, why does he care so much about what Andrey would think anyways? The man isn’t even here! A laugh interrupted his inner monologue. Another woman that he had failed to notice sat in a booth nearby, she was watching them with a glint in her eyes.
“And what is so laughable?” He asked sharply, the tone teachers use when they catch students snickering while they speak.
“You,” she gestured to all of Goncharov, “do you practice that line in the mirror?”
“Ava!” Gloria hissed. He huffed, at least one of them sensed the danger in the room. He strode over to the other woman, Ava who sat in her booth and hadn’t even bothered to stand. She looked up at him, smiling as if she caught the rat who had been nibbling on her cheese. A proud thing she is then. He leaned against the side of the booth chairs, his shadow draped across Ava.
“Who do you work for?” He demanded.
“What do you want me to say, Jesus?” The radio popped and crackled to life like Goncharov’s anger.
“Either you tell me who you work for or no one but me in this diner remains alive.” He tapped his cigarette, letting the ashes fall onto the papers strewn about the booth. Ava went rigid. He found her chink in her armor. She stood up now, her head only reaching his chest but she didn’t need to be tall to emit the aura she had.
“Hey, hey now let's all calm down!” A new voice chimed in. Judging by the apron Goncharov assumed it was the cook.
“Hey, hey, let's talk now, criminal to criminal, yeah?” The man suggested, gesturing back and forth between Goncharov and himself. He was about to protest but the man was already talking a mile a minute.
“Our employer, Chuck, we’ve never met, in fact the people who give us Chuck's orders have never met the guy either!” The man was rooting around in his pockets now. “All we know is that we’re here for one night, then we’re gone.”
“One night?”
“Yep, that's it!” The man dropped multiple different currencies into his hand “and we were told just to check the area out and report back, now we know to tell them that it's already taken.” Goncharov didn’t believe a word he said. But the soldi in his hand did feel nice.
“Well I suppose one night wouldn’t hurt.” he shook his hand around.
“Oh, um, Gloria!” He said.
“What, no I am not -” She started, then she sighed. “Fine.” She went behind the bar, rooting around the counter “Here Leif.” she grunted giving it to the man.
“I’ll pay you back later.”
“Sure you will.” Ava teased. With that Goncharov was handed the money. He walked out of the bar and once outside he flicked open his pocket watch.
“So?” Mario asked, separating from the shadows.
“We send Ice Pick Joe in.” He jiggled his pockets. “It’s only eleven o’clock, the bar should still be open.” Mario barked out a laugh.
“You brilliant bastard!” They would drink that night. He would eventually come home in the dark morning tipsy. He would find Katya laying in bed, he’d collapse next to her and fall asleep. If the light had been on he would have seen how painfully awake she was, tear tracks running down her cheeks. But before any of that happens they would payphone Ice Pick Joe.
And Ice Pick Joe would go to work.
Ice Pick Joe would go to work at a diner.
He would go at twelve o’clock, only thirty minutes after the payphone call. For what else did he have to do but sit alone in his empty home.
Ice Pick Joe went to work at a diner at Midnight Burger at one o’clock. But Joe Morelli was lonely.