# 15 - Chapter Fifteen "It Hurts to Say Goodbye"

 

It Hurts to Say Goodbye 

Chapter Fifteen 

Dimitri Orlov walked up the long stone path and examined the well-tailored lawn and the full, lush trees. He was already impressed. But when the path made a sharp left turn and the mansion came into view, Orlov was bowled over. Why he’s needing me? Orlov asked himself. He’s doing fine on a cop’s salary. The mansion was a three-story stone structure with inlays of wood painted a clean white, and the wings on both sides were mainly expanses of glass. Behind every window were bright lights that illuminated the sculpted shrubbery in the garden. 

In the past, Orlov had visited the Main Line, which runs west outside Philadelphia, but he had never visited the large estates on the back, residential roads like those in Bryn Mawr. I will ask him, he told himself. I will ask him if there’s another one for sale here. We maybe make good neighbors. 

The front porch was a large surface covered with flat stones. On one side was a swing. And I could sit there and look at everything that is mine. For a few moments, Orlov stood in front of the front door. 

Then, Orlov strained to look through the trees and the shrubbery to get one more glimpse of the street. Parked in the darkness on Caversham Road, among the Mercedes, Lincolns and Teslas were a few tougher vehicles, a Land Rover, two Toyota Land Cruisers. 

Orlov could make out small lights in each passenger compartment. Yes, I think yes. Everything, every one is ready. 

He turned, pushed the button for the doorbell and waited. He heard a female voice coming from inside. “Bill, can you get it? Please, dear. I’m getting ready, for your guests, dear.”

After a few moments, the door opened and a tall, distinguished man stared in shock at Orlov. The homeowner was dressed impeccably, in a tight black T-shirt and loose-fitting khaki trousers. His face and arms were evenly tanned, and his gray hair slicked back with Wildroot Cream Oil.

“What, what the fuck you doing here?” William Cedric McAllister stammered. “Shit, you know the rules. I honor your space, and Jesus, I do. The last fucking thing I’d do, invade your operation.” 

“I think I did this right,” Orlov smiled. On his massive body, he wore an oversized, black silk shirt and loose-fitting designer jeans. “They told me Caversham Road, and I find it, and here I am. I got the right address, everything. It’s fine. Just talk, we just talk, okay? Finding time is difficult. So, here I am.”

“Look’it, Jesus, you shouldn’t be here! We got guests coming.” McAllister realized he was raising his voice, not a good idea with Orlov. “Listen, you can’t stay here.” But then his anger returned. “Frankly, maybe I oughtta call the cops and have you arrested.” 

“Let me just tell you, okay?” Orlov said. “You tell me guests, yes? A party, that’s just fine. You want fireworks for the party? I provide? Okay, then. No threatening. I just wanna tell you, I’m not alone. You see? I’m like a good cop, a good Philly cop, I got back up.”

For just a moment McAllister was disoriented. Then he turned away from Orlov and looked around his entrance hallway and shouted. “Sibyl, I’m gonna be in the library for a few minutes. A friend stopped by and . . . ” 

“But Bill, you know, we have  . . . ” came a female voice. 

“Don’t worry, dear,” McAllister shouted back. “And don’t come in. I’ll explain to you later.” And then he turned to Orlov, “Com’on, follow me. We don’t have much time.” 

McAllister led Orlov down a hallway, (The walls displayed framed landscapes with thick layers of brightly colored oil paints.), and opened a door to another room. The two men entered. 

Two of the library’s walls were shelves packed with books, and the other walls displayed more paintings and framed photographs. The ceiling was painted a standard off-white, but the walls were a rich violet-red. 

Orlov took the seat behind a polished antique desk and began speaking. “I just want to tell you, I cancelled Mister Sargsyan’s contract with our firm. No more, he’s no longer working for us. I hired two other chemists, real professional chemists.” 

McAllister found himself standing in front of his own desk. “What the fuck that mean, cancelled his contract? I thought he was our partner.” 

“Oh, no problem,” Orlov said. “He’s no longer our partner. Pretty soon, there’s gonna be a call to the police station, maybe to your office. They call 911, and someone’s gonna say they found a body. Making it easy for you, it will be the same place. Fairmount Park is fine; it’s so peaceful.”

“What the fuck? You can’t do that. You just go out and kill someone.” 

Orlov’s big face scrunched in pain. “Yes, I know. You are right. I feel terrible about it.” 

McAllister looked at his watch. Then he looked up at Orlov again, My God, just like that. 

Orlov said, “And your man, Boswell, he’s coming to me, and he’s telling me, no. No, not telling. He’s asking real polite. He wants us outta business. He wants us to stop for a while, just like that.” 

“Not a bad idea” McAllister said. “Frankly, the heat’s on. If we held off for a while, we could wait, and let all this stuff blow over. Not a bad idea. I never thought, I never thought Boswell had such common sense.”

A big slit of a pink smile expanded in the middle of Orlov’s black beard. “I’m glad you like it, but no can do. That’s it. We got a strategy. We got a business plan. We’re expanding our market, a target market, to the culture club. The young people with cash, that’s it. Not the cheap druggies, the addicts that live in the street, and have no money. No, now it’s the smart ones with plenty of money. It’s all in place. We gotta follow our plan, in honor of Sargsyan.”

McAllister said, “I’m starting to think, Boswell’s a lot smarter than I gave him credit for. It might be a good idea to hold off for a while. Let things cool off. And, you, you can’t just keep killing people. You gotta hold off.” 

“Look, I say something, and you know. It’s a killer business, but I’m already changing. I’m compromising. I give Boswell more time. You’re wanting him to arrest the . . . What you call them. The Jewboy, the kike, Siegel, that’s it.”  

McAllister nodded. “Yeah, sure, he kept saying he needs more time. Okay, fine, we can give it to him. I can live with that.” 

“Let’s give it to him,” Orlov made a grand gesture with his right mitt.  “We got a little time. But can’t be too much. Five days, it can’t be more. You know why? You know what’s coming? The brown men, they’re coming. Or the other ones, they’ll come. What’re they called? South of the border, that’s it. They don’t see us, they don’t see our team, and they come, they want our customers.” 

Both men fell silent for a few long seconds. 

McAllister looked at his watch again. 

Orlov leaned back in the desk chair and closed his eyes. Then he leaned forward and stared at McAllister. “Yeah, sure, it’s true. My friend Kasbar is dead. It was the best thing for him. Sargsyan, he wasn’t made for this, not this business and not this world. It’s a changed place, you know? The way it is now? In the old days, it was a struggle, but it was different. Now, no one gives a shit. No one cares how other people gotta struggle, struggle just to survive. Yeah, it’s a killer business, and it’s a killer world.” 

McAllister said, “But we gotta play the game. We gotta be great actors. Me, I sit in my office, and I’m in charge of arresting drug dealers, the guys running the organizations, the cartels. Yeah, I gotta arrest ‘em, that is, all but you. What I want from you, you know? You know what I want from you? How about some appreciation? And, of course, my percentage.” 

“Oh, yes, I salute you. Of course, you get your percentage.” Orlov grinned and made a clumsy salute. “That’s it. Yeah, sure we can take a breath, but that’s it. Kas was right, there’s a lot more market out there. There’s a lot more drug to sell, and there’s a lot more money to make.” 

Orlov waited, the grin almost hidden in his beard. “So, I ask you, Mister Captain. I ask you, Big Mister Policeman, you got big balls or not. You filling out your pants, you a man or . . . What you say? You a man or a pussy?” 

McAllister walked up to the desk, his voice rising. “Okay, okay. Get the fuck out of here. You take a breath, you just stall for the five days, and then you can keep going. But you better keep paying.”

Orlov rose from behind the desk and walked toward McAllister. Orlov extended his hand. And he thought, he knew he understood McAllister. The big captain, he told himself. The powerful police boss, that’s it? If he shakes, if he shakes my hand, he’s not so powerful. It’s me, I control. I’m Dima, I control him.”

McAllister hesitated and then raised his hand, clasped the Russian’s big hand, and they shook.

Yes, it is me, I can do it, Orlov thought. I do it. I just wave the dollar bills. That’s all I gotta do. He works for me.

McAllister led Orlov to the front door, just as he noticed some of his guests making their way up the path. They were laughing and pushing each other playfully, as if they already had plenty to drink before arriving.

McAllister waved to his guests. Then he turned to Orlov, patted him on the back and watched him as he passed the arriving celebrants. 

The Main Line forever! That’s the way it is, McAllister told himself. And that animal, that brute making his way down my path. He spouts the message, but he doesn’t know the message can kill him, too. Sure, it’s a killer business and a killer world. I can do it; I can outsmart that animal.  

As the guests walked past McAllister, one of them looked quizzically at Orlov, then glanced at McAllister and asked him. “Who’s that guy. You invited him? And then you throw him out? What’s going on? I promise I want to stay. I’ll be on my best behavior.” 

McAllister laughed openly, and then said to the guest: “Don’t worry about it. No, Ted, for you there’s no problem. That guy, he’s not a guest. He’s a technician. He fixed the icemaker. Of course, every party needs an ice-maker, no?”

They threw their arms around each other’s shoulders and then walked up the path to the party.