Dusak

Dusak.
He stood and stared a the shredded black jacket, the burnt bits of leather .
He smiled as his men pulled out the burnt body of a man who was at the edge of the body of the aircraft.
So the great Capo had been trying to flee? He thought to himself snidely, rubbing his crotch. Now that he was dead, Dusak could claim ria for himself. And there would be no lover to come to her rescue. He would deal with Lucien Delano. After all, his uncle had managed to snare the silly little Tara Delano and make her believe that she was carrying on a harmless conversation with a fifteen-year-old boy!
His face darkened. He had got wind of the affair between the erstwhile gardener’s son and the Boss’s daughter. It had made him rage fo days. But now, her lover had been killed, it would be easier to get his hands on the girl who had enchanted him from the time he first saw her photograph. Those blonde curls, the dimpled smile, the figure of a Venus. He grunted. His lust grew manifold as he pictured Ria Delano on her knees, suc*ing his massive c*ck.
He wanted a wh*re under him now.
His men stepped back hurriedly as he shouted at his driver and leapt into the jeep as he made his way back to the town where he had been camping.
*
The Capo
From the shadows of the forest, the Capo watched in silence. Grayson was as still as death beside him for everyone had heard about Dusak the One Eyed and his favoured methods of torture which would have put Count Dracula to shame.
*
Philippe had managed to make his way to a nearby farm under the cover of the darkness that fell suddenly upon the hills. It was a small farm, a little better than a cottage and after he and Grayson had spent time for a while, observing the area, checking out the safety, he had decided to make the move.
There seemed to be only an old man and his wife int eh cottage and a grizzled old dog.
Weaponless, feeling naked and vulnerable, keeping their eyes open for danger, the two men slowly walked to the door. When Philippe knocked on the old wooden door, it took a while for the people inside to shuffle over to the door.
The old man put his head around the door and looked at him inquiringly.
Philippe marvelled at his innocence; how could the old man not feel suspicious of a stranger knocking at his door at dusk? The farm was in a remote area. Anyone could come and attack them and no one would be the wiser.
“Yes?’ asked the old man slowly, peering short sightedly at them.
Philippe tried to explain in his broken Turkish and using English too, to make the old man understand the urgency of getting help for himself and his companion.
The old man’s eyes widened a little as he saw the state they were in and he ushered them inside his cottage which smelled of old clothes and mold.
His wife, who looked even older, came out, shuffling to the door.
She stood and stared at them blankly while the old dog who looked as though he had never had a bath in his life, thumped his tail and then sank to the ground, on a ratty old mat before the fireplace.
The couple surprisingly enough had an ancient old telephone and in a short while, the Capo was able to connect to the safe number of the Boss which he had memorized; in no time he was listening to the growling baritone of the Mafia Don.
The rasping, commanding tones of Lucien Delano came over the line from a long way away as the Boss rapped out,
“Delano.’
*
Lucien
The phone rang shrilly. In an almost drunken haze, his anger and guilt had eaten him up, Lucien took the receiver handed to him silently by his faithful Gustav.
“Delano,’ he growled thickly, the words slurring as he rubbed a thick hand over the back of his neck.
Schwartz who had flung himself onto a couch in the room, looked up as the silence and the tension emanating from the large man behind the walnut desk alerted him to something.
His handsome face was shadowed with weariness, the clothes rumpled and he had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He looked handsome and as sexy as ever although he was totally unaware of it.
Now he slowly sat up as he saw the expressions of bewilderment, of confusion and amazement, chasing across his friend’s and Boss’s face.
Lucien slammed the receiver as he roared,’
‘SCHWARTZ, MAN, HE IS ALIVE! THE CAPO IS ALIVE!’ he roared, rising from his chair, swaying.
Schwartz was across the room in a minute as he shouted,
‘What? What did you say?’
And then, he threw his arms around his best friend and mate, unashamedly crying as he sobbed,
‘Dear… God…’
Lucien embraced his friend, his head spinning. So the young man had escaped! He shut his eyes for a split second as he growled, over and over again,
‘The f*ck, the f*ck…’
*
Philippe
“Boss?’ he breathed, a feeling of utmost gratitude, of unspeakable relief, coursing through him as he heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end. He would be back soon, the Boss would see to it; the Mafia Don would make it happen.
For he knew that Lucien Delano would go to hell and back before he abandoned any of his men.
“Philippe?’ came the hoarse whisper and he gave a chuckle, a sad sound as he sighed and leaned against the chair.
“Yes Sir…”
*
Proserpina
I was curled in a ball in Ria’s room, on her bed, beside her, watching as my daughter slept. We had had to sedate her. She had become hysterical and I had felt so helpless, so heartbroken. It was now almost 4 a. m. Lucien had not returned.
I rose as my phone beeped. I did not wasn’t my child to come awake and resume her bout of weeping.
As I stared at the screen, my heart jumped.
Lucien?
I quickly left the room, moving to the corridor which was silent. A few of the bodyguards who were in the building as always, turned to look at me and with a polite nod, they moved on.
Whispering, I said,
‘Lucien?’
His baritone came over the phone.
“Woman! The Capo is alive.’
I leaned against the wall, shivering, unable to comprehend what he had just said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beston striding down the hall toward me.
I spoke, my voice a quaver; “Lucien?’
He was roaring at someone in the background and then his voice came again, softer,’ Woman. Philippe is safe.’
And he cut the call.
I sighed, clutching the phone to my chest, tears of joy, of gratitude pouring down my cheeks.
Philippe was safe, I repeated to myself, over and over again. Beston was beside me, his voice a gentle, polite sound as he said,
“Ma’am, Philippe is alive. He has reached out to the Boss.’
I turned to him, laughing joyously.
“Yes, I nodded, gurgling with laughter,” Yes, yes, yes!’
*
Ria
She opened her eyes slowly.
The sound of people talking loudly had woken her up from her drug-induced sleep.
Her head felt heavy and her mouth was cottony.
And as she looked around her room, it all came back. She lifted a hand to her mouth as the door opened and her mother glided in. It was still dark, she could see the lights in the corridor. What was the time, she thought wearily.
And then, Mumma was pulling her into her arms and saying,
“Philippe is alive, sweetheart. He is safe. Philippe is safe!’
Ria was motionless, unable to believe what her mother was saying.
She looked into the lovely face, the soft brown eyes swimming with tears.
‘Mumma? She asked hesitantly.
And then they were hugging each other, crying tears of joy.