COVID-OP

“My name is John Brown a recovering alcoholic and gambler I've been

sober for 13 months. Life’s been tough. I take it one day at a time.”

John announces to the attentive crowd circled around the room at the Friday night AA meaning the meeting is being held at the liberties tax building on 42nd St Lower East Side Manhattan.

A black Range Rover creeps to a stop in front of the building as John exits the meeting. He freezes like a deer in the headlights, as the tinted glass on the rear passenger window rolls down, slowly exposing a bald, pale faced man.

“Pavlov!” John shouts with questionable excitement approaching the

vehicle.

“Hop in buddy. I'll give you a lift, you know how dangerous it gets

out here at night,” Pavlov responds.

“Sure,” he reluctantly agrees.

Pavlov is one of NYC's most vicious loan sharks with the Russian mob. The driver is a former Russian soldier with a short temper and strong build. They start driving towards John's home in the Bronx.

“How do you know where I live?” John asks with awe, “we haven't s

spoken since I paid my dues and resigned from your casinos.”

“I know everything about everyone.” Pavlov says pompously with

a smirk, “I'm God in this city”.

Pavlov and John used to run underground casinos throughout the five boroughs with Pavlov and his dad. Until he passed away making Pavlov the new boss overseeing the whole empire of organized crime. He became a loose cannon, sending his minions to terrorize the city. John knew to get out of managing the casinos before he became a victim.

“So, Johnny boy, you don't call me no more since you become

little businessman,” Pavlov says in his condescending Russian

accent.

“I lowered our interest rate to 15%,” they arrive at John's

apartment complex.

“Thanks, but I enjoy the honest restaurant business, no more

watching my back,” John says with surety.

“Oh well, here” Pavlov passes him a business card pinched in

between his fingers, “call if you need my services.”

“Thanks” he replies as they go their separate way.

Beep… Beep ... Beep…

The alarm goes off at 7:00 AM. John swiftly wakes and gets dressed. In the taxi ride to the restaurant, he worries when his mother doesn't answer, they are inseparable. She's the reason he owns the fine dining restaurant he pulls up in front of, he steps out of the taxi on to 1st St across from NYU Health Center and looks up at the sign reading Brown’s Steakhouse with a cheerful smile. John opens the large glass doors taking in a set of fresh paint and coated hardwood floors. Excited about his first few months in business, he greets his employees with an earnest smile.

“Good morning, Tracy let's get the grills fired up,” he says decisively

to the head chef.

She immediately prepped the team. The day is yet another success. He steps into the bar area to admire his establishment.

“Breaking news!” the television across the room catches his

attention.

“NYC will go on phase three lockdown effective immediately, only

essential businesses are allowed to remain open.” He becomes

numb with a feeling of disparity and looking emotionless. When

he comes to his senses, he takes a deep breath before marching

into the kitchen.

“Everyone hold on for a minute please,” he says with clammy hands. Then he flips the channels to the breaking news. They stand speechless looking at each other.

“I am so sorry guys; I know we put a lot of work into getting us on

our feet. We should be able to return soon.” he says with

uncertainty.

“I will keep you updated, please stay safe.”

He watches them leave with agony drawn on their faces as he turns the key closing the door to his pride and joy potentially forever.

Ring… Ring … John's phone wakes him up with a surprise expression. He looks at the phone reading, Mom across the screen.

“Mom, it's 7:00 AM,” he says as he wipes the crust out of his eyes.

“I know honey, I'm returning your call,” she adds, “did you see the

news?”

“Yes mom, I think you should quarantine with me, it'll be like old

times.”

“Fine, fine, I still think it's a hoax, see you soon” she says

definitively.

John shakes his head. His mother has been so stubborn since his father died from cancer, creating disbelief in scientists and doctors.

A melodic chime rings.

“Come up,” John says into the intercom letting is mother in

through the door.

“I like what you did with the place” she says, waltzing in, John

greets her with a warm hug.

“By the way I got us some filet mignon to cook, like old times,”

she says.

“Mom what were you thinking, shopping with no mask, you can't

risk catching covid you're all I have left,” he says

compassionately.

They cook every night and enjoy the weeks catching up. With debt piling, barely making the $2500 rent, he turns to the bank where they deny him another loan. His stress leads him to Discount Liquor’s.

“Just one drink with mother to relax, that's it,” he says justifying. Arriving home with the whiskey bottle tucked into his coat pocket, he heads upstairs.

“Mom, I have a surprise!” he shouts through the apartment, the

echo fades into silence.

Suddenly the sound of his mother coughing and wheezing grabs his attention. His heart races as he maneuvers to the guest room where he finds his mother in bed almost motionless with sweat gleaming off her face.

“Mom what happened?” he asks frantically.

“I don't know,” she replies seeming exhausted.

“I'm getting you to the hospital,” John says as he dialed 911.

John’s, watching viral videos to stay calm in the waiting room. The doctor approaches,

“Sorry John, your mother contracted covid-19. It's rapidly

spreading through her lungs. She'll stay on a ventilator till she

recovers.”

John’s face droops, “I'm going to need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” the doctor replies collectively.

John walks into the restroom sweating profusely. He takes a swig of whiskey from his coat. Glancing out the window he sees the letters B, R, and O, the corner of his restaurant sign. Realizing everything in his life that he loves is slipping, even his recovery, he slams the stall door with frustration. “Aw!” he screams exiting the restroom. He stopped by his mother's room window where she lies with tubes down her throat, then exits the hospital. He pulls out Pavlov’s business card and dials.

“Davic’s dry cleaners, how can I help you?” a man answers

with a deep Russian accent.

“It's Johnny boy I need 10 suits cleaned,” John says

speaking in code for borrowing $10,000.

“Long time, come down,” Davic replies.

Now John gets out of the taxi at the cleaners, inside he makes eye contact with Davic.

“Johnny boy how you doing?” Davic asks.

“Good, do you have my suits?”

“Here you go” Davic says dropping a suit on the counter.

John reaches into the pocket and removes a Saran wrapped stack of $100 bills. He smiles and starts heading out the door with the suit draped over his shoulder.

“Pavlov said you have 4 weeks deadline,” Davic warns.

“Thanks, Davic,” he replies.

Next stop, one of the hottest underground casinos in the city. John thinks his poker strategy will win him enough to pay his accumulating debts. For 4 weeks he is on a hot streak, until he starts losing more hands than winning.

Buzz…Buzz… his phone vibrates in his pocket,

“Hello doc, how's mother today?

“Well...” the doctor clears his throat, John senses

something wrong and listens absorbing every word.

“Your mom has a fatal blood clot in her heart's main

artery. She'll need to have a stent placement within days.

The problem is her insurance isn't active, the hospital is

asking for you to pay last month’s bill. It's currently

$20,416.00,” the doctor says sympathetically. John, in

too much shock, hangs up the phone.

Then he walks out of the casino with only $200.00 left.

Buzz… Buzz… the phone vibrates again.

“Hello?” he answers the private caller “payment is past

due, drop off suit by 10:00 PM, or we collect suit with you

in it,” Pavlov’s collector demands, then hangs up.

Instilled with fear, he hails a cab immediately to get home. In his living room he scrolls through his phone for his uncle’s number. His uncle shunned him for dealing with the mob’s casinos. Nevertheless, he must try to ask for his help. Startled by tires screeching and car doors slamming he rushes to the window to see a black Range Rover illegally parked in front. Three men are swiftly approaching the building. It's Pavlov, the collector, and the driver. He can faintly hear them arguing.

“No let me take care of him,” Pavlov demanding with sheer

anger.

John panics, he’s feels cornered. BANG! They break down the lobby door. Running through the hall, they arrive at John's door. Pavlov throws his body into the door busting it open, wood trim flies through the air with a small black book. With AK- 47s drawn the three men tiptoe around his apartment. Meanwhile John jumps off the last step of the fire escape. He hails a cab and heads to Greenwich, CT. John steps out of the taxi and walks towards a large modern home.

“What are you doing here?” Uncle Nick appears at the door.

“Please help me, Pavlov is trying to kill me, and mom is dying

she needs surgery, I need money.” John begs.

“This pandemic hit me hard financially, I have nothing for

you even if I wanted to help,” Nick replies then slams door.

As John walks away feeling lost, the door creaks open.

“Here, this was for your college tuition, before you started

running with those gangsters,” Nick says handing him a

$20,000 savings bond.

“Thanks, I love you!” he tells Nick before heading back

down I-95 S.

He takes out his phone,

“Pavloff, I got your money”

“Meet me at cleaners, no more games and you live,”

Pavlov responds calmly.

He makes a pit stop at his house to get his I.D. Looking around his trashed apartment he notices a small black book. Inside he discovers Pavlov’s underground locations, suppliers, and hits he sent on people who owe him money. Next, he rushes to the bank to cash the bond. Moments later when John is about to get off the exit for the South Bronx, he has many flashbacks of his mother rushing to his side whenever he needed help.

“Stay on the highway, stop at NYU Health,” he redirects

the taxi driver.

Finally arriving at the hospital, he pays for his mom's surgery knowingly sacrificing his life to save hers. Pavlov will find him.

A man approaches John in the waiting room, wielding a gold badge.

“John, I'm detective Chavez with the NYPD. I tracked

you down to ask you questions about the break in at

your apartment. We have Pavlov one of our most

wanted on your property’s surveillance videos, why?”

Chavez asked.

John’s guts twist in fear,

“Sorry Sir, I can't comment now, but please take this,”

he says handing him the black book with his number

attached.

“We'll be in touch,” Chavez says before leaving.

His mother comes rolling out the doors with an adorning glow, he zealously takes her home. The next morning John gets call from private number. It's detective Chavez.

“Hi, I forgot to congratulate you for saving your mother,

and also for saving a lot more lives thanks to that black

book. We have enough evidence to lock Pavlov and his

crew away forever,” he says reassuringly. “You're a hero

Kid.”

John stares at his mother in the kitchen, and smiles with the deepest level of contentment, and peace he has ever felt in his entire life.

THE END