Dmitry's Closet by Nelson, S. (read people like a book .txt) 📕

“Is he your pet?” Ivan asked, referring to Anatoly. He looked over at the young man and blew him a condescend-ing kiss.

“More like protégé,” Dmitry said, relaxed in the red leather booth. He looked over at Anatoly and nodded.

“Huh…well, he looks like fag.” Ivan turned around in his seat and popped his knuckles. “I don’t like to be stared at. It makes me conscience of my overbite,” he said, sarcastically. He took a shot of vodka and slammed the shot glass on the table.

“Don’t worry about him.” Dmitry waved at the wai-tress, who entered the room quickly and brought their lunch. “Tell me why New York sent you of all people? I thought you had good thing going in Bronx since I left a ton of shit for you. Now, you come here? What for? What are you up to?”

“Kirill was a friend,” Ivan said, tasting his brother’s legendary borscht. “This is excellent. You were always a great cook. You could do amazing things with the trash we had to eat as kids.”

“It’s your mother’s recipe. Probably the only thing that she ever gave us worth anything.” Dmitry watched his young brother eat the food quickly and sloppily. With all the wealth that he and Ivan had acquired over the years, he still had never learned any manners. It was true what they said, all the money in the world couldn’t buy a lick of class.

After he had scoffed down the food, Ivan put down his fork, wiped his mouth with the napkin and used the knife to check his teeth. Lighting a cigarette, he waved his sulfuric match out and took a long, needed drag, slowly blowing smoke out of his mouth.

Dmitry watched irritated. Ivan had always been so theatric. Waiting for an answer to his question, he sat up and clasped his hands together. His nostrils flared.

“Dare I even ask about the beautiful black girl at the shop? Are they calling themselves black or African-American these days?” Ivan asked, cocking up one of his long dark eyebrows. A devilish grin crossed his lips.

Anatoly twitched a little in the corner wondering if his father would demand that he shoot Ivan right then. He would enjoy every second of it. Family or not, Anatoly’s only thought was to draw first blood.

Dmitry looked at Ivan with a stone stare. “My patience is starting to run very thin with you, brother.” He sighed but continued to control his tone.

“Well, we all know what happens when you become impatient,” Ivan taunted, tapping his knuckles on the wooden table. “Bodies hit the floor.” He sucked his teeth again and smiled.

“Do you think you are immune?” Dmitry asked. “An-swer my questions now, before I get…frustrated. Why did they send you?” His square jaw clinched.

“I requested to come here, and I gave up my territory in the Bronx. That rat race was getting old anyway. I wanted to start over herewith family,” he smirked. “Plus, Kirill was a friend.” He made sure to reiterate his point.

Dmitry shrugged his shoulders. “He was coward, and he deserved to die. I should have killed him myself to make point.”

“What is your point, brother?”

“You will know if and when I ever have to make it to you, and don’t think because you are my blood that I would hesitate for even a minute.”

“Oh, I know damned well that you wouldn’t. You’ve proven that. Just answer me why you thought that you had to kill the only family that we’ve ever really had?”

“And don’t ever question my authority. It has its con-sequences. Not much has changed since we last saw each other, brother. I do not answer to those below me, and I don’t play well with others.”

“Oh, I remember. I still have this to show for it.” He pulled his shirt collar down to show his brother the long knife mark that Dmitry had left many years before only inches from his carotid artery. “Besides, I’m not here for fight. New York said I could leave, start over and take over for Kirill with your blessing, of course. That is all that I’m here for. So many years have passed;I thought that this would be a new start for us.”

“A start to do what?”

“Business. What else?”

Dmitry ran his finger down the table, checking for dust. He looked back over at Ivan, wide-eyed and trying despe-rately to be clever. If he had trusted him, even an inkling, he would have informed him that he did have more family in the form of the young man holding tightly to the nickel-plated Glock in the corner, but the truth of the matter is that he did not trust him at all. And considering there was still a score to settle, evidently now more than ever between the two, maybe it was best for him to keep his long lost brother close and under a watchful eye.

“For now, I let you take his place, but you play by my rules. Don’t get creative down here. It’s taken me long time to get things where I want them. And if you came here to avenge Kirill or anyone else for that matter, you might as well get up and leave now, while you’re still breathing.”

“Given that we are still brothers, I feel as though I can say my piece.”

“Then say it.”

“He came over from Russia with us. He took care of me while you were in prison. He planned your escape, for God’s sake,” Ivan said, tapping his cigarette. “And you shoot him like he’s nothing, when you could have still been rotting in prison for being a thieving, murdering bastard.”

Dmitry smirked. “I made it painless. I could have cut him open with the end of broken bottle in front of his family, shot his young daughter and mother, raped his wife repeatedly, burned down his house and took his dog,” Dmitry said, tasting the borscht and making his point that Ivan wasn’t very angelic himself.

“Hey, I liked that dog,” Ivan