Blood Hound

Chapter 20

The meet was being held in the Sirens VIP rooms. I dressed for business and gave Vincent one of my old college suits. It was too small for me nowadays, but it hung loose across Vincent’s narrow shoulders.

By the time we drove in, it was close to ten p.m. Two dark-tinted town cars were in the guest lot, the engines still ticking. Petro was guarding the staff entry, lounging against the doorjamb with his radio piece loose and his arms crossed over his chest. He waggled his eyebrows at me as we came up on him, shoulder to shoulder. “That your new boyfriend? I was wondering why we were a man short tonight.”

“I wasn’t aware that any other men worked here.” I walked past him without waiting for his reply.

“Ouch.” Vincent chuckled when we were clear of the door. “That sounded like it felt good.”

I led Vincent through the front of the club, up the stairs to the salon entrances. The suites were not usually manned by guards, but tonight, two unfamiliar men flanked the polished oak doors in identical Italian suits. They weren’t even bothering to conceal: both of them packed machine guns on shoulder straps, resting their elbows on the stocks with the nonchalance of old soldiers.

Vincent and I followed Sergei’s distinctive rolling laughter down to one of the salons, which also had a guard posted. He was a square-jawed man with the round head and swarthy cast of someone from the Balkans, and he opened the door to let us inside.

Lev looked up when we stepped in, and rose abruptly with an expression of plain relief when he saw Vincent, his glass of whiskey in hand—but it was Sergei who commanded Vincent’s immediate attention. Sergei Vladimirovich Yaroshenko didn’t look a day older than fifty. By all rights he was pushing seventy, but he was still a monster of a man, towering over the room from a black leather love seat like a red-haired, blue-eyed king. He was swathed in a Cossack-style fur wrap over a red suit, apparently immune to the lingering summer heat. His gaze bore down on me, and I lost track of everyone else as Sergei half-rose from his seat in greeting, his face a mask of carefully controlled delight.

“Well, look at you!” he boomed. “Alexi, you’re not an inch taller than you were ten years ago, but I dare say you’re looking well.”

A man could choke to death on Sergei’s charisma. Here was the man who had started me on my path: who had put me through school, through college, had supported me until I found my feet. My mouth stretched in an awkward smile as I went to shake his hand. “Pakhun. It is good to see you again.”

Sergei engulfed my gloved fingers with his callused, tattooed paws, shaking with one hand clasped on my wrist. I let him pull me in to kiss cheeks, and then he waved me to the seat beside him: the one on Lev’s left. The empty chair on his right was usually reserved for Vassily. “Excellent, yes. You’ve done us good work tonight, Alexi Grigoriovich. I think you deserve a drink. Go get this man a double shot of Kors, eh?”

“Of course.” I didn’t drink, but refusing a drink from Sergei was tantamount to throwing it in his face.

From the side of the room, one of the salon waitresses moved over to the bar as the tender poured, and Sergei turned his attention to Vincent… but while they sorted out their niceties, my attention was drawn past him to the drapes which framed the private pole and stage. Sergei’s ever-present shadow was never far away from his side: Vera Akhatova, the only woman in the Organizatsiya who was neither call girl or family member. She was a lean silhouette from where I stood, half-hidden by the glare of the studio lights that framed the settee. Sergei was eccentric; Vera was eerie. Some said she and Nicolai were brother and sister, and that was how she had gotten into the business. I didn’t believe it. While there was a certain similarity between their hard, thin faces and dry wiry builds, Vera was the dark to Nic’s pale. She was sinewy and strong, with taut, freckled arms, a short bob of dry brown hair, and dead chocolate brown eyes. I’d heard a lot of gossip about her over the years. Most of the younger men wondered what she was about, if not a girlfriend, sister, or whore, but I never doubted. I had seen her shoot, only once, when one of the old-old crew from my father’s day got up at a meeting and pulled a knife at the table. Sergei had motioned by his leg, and Vera had drawn her pistols and put two bullets in the guy’s head, one in each eye.

The door opened again, and Nic stepped through, his hands deep in the pockets of his old BDUs. He grimaced lopsidedly when he saw Sergei and Vincent together and went over to shake his hand and kiss cheeks with our Pakhun, a ritual repeated with Lev, and finally, with me. I wondered if his hand was a little tighter than normal, if the gesture was more perfunctory. I stopped wondering when Nic casually dropped down into the chair I knew was reserved for Vassily, absent but accounted for. It chilled something in me, deep inside.

“So, now we only await the illustrious presence of Vanya, seeing as our youngest Lovenko is incapacitated,” Sergei said in Russian, resting his hands on his thighs. When he next spoke, it was in thickly accented, but perfectly fluent English. “And you, Vincent Manelli. Our million-dollar baby. I trust your time in enemy hands wasn’t too hard?”

“It sucked enormous fat donkey balls.” Vincent blinked rapidly as he accepted his drink and threw back half the glass. “Absolutely sucked. Your guy here got me out in one piece, though. I uh… I lost track of Yuri. Sorry.”

It was my turn next. I took the glass of Kors and sniffed. At twenty-four grand a bottle, it should have smelled like something other than vodka, but no. It was still just vodka.

“It is the reality of war that soldiers are killed in the line of duty.” Sergei fixed his gaze on him, and under it, Vincent seemed all the smaller. “His memorial is tomorrow. One of three. Two more men have died as of this evening. Our own Maximillian, and Mr. Laguetta’s Captain, John Scappeli. They both met their ends at the hands of unknown hitmen.”

I said nothing. Vincent made a spitting sound of frustration and a silent solo toast to their names.

“Of course, we have no intention of giving in to your estranged relatives. Joint monopoly on the world’s most popular recreational substance—barring alcohol—is nothing to trifle with.” Sergei grinned. It should have been friendly, but Sergei was never friendly: not really. His smile was the rictus of a predatory animal, broad and toothy as a shark’s. “And history is built on a foundation of corpses, as they say.”

“Yeah. They sure do say that.” Vincent sipped his whiskey and tried to smile back.

The door opened again, and this time, it was Vanya. He looked unwell, pale and pasty and tired. The week’s events had been hard on him, poor thing. I eased back, as much as I was able to, and as Lev lifted his glass, I joined him and had a mouthful of vodka. It was like drinking a ghost: a searing cold heat that burned down to my gut, nearly tasteless and vaguely sweet. A thousand U.S. dollars, down the hatch. If I managed the rest carefully, I could avoid having to accept another glass.

“Well, this is lovely,” Sergei said. “Back together again, just the five of us. If only we could have Grisha and Syoma, Semyon and Rodion back again, eh? And Mikhail, bless his loyal soul.”

That brought some uncomfortable glances to bear on me as the toast was made, and Vincent beamed innocently at one end of the table as he lifted his glass. He had no idea, and as far as I was concerned, no business knowing.

“It is good that you were able to make it here, Alexi,” Sergei said. “But Vassily? Now there is a problem. How is his leg?”

“To my knowledge, it is fine. Painful, but fine.” The muscles of my neck and shoulders wound taut. As one, the faces at the table had turned to look right at me.

“But the fact remains that he was shot, and he cannot be here tonight. And you were his bodyman at this event, at the casino?”

“Yes, Pakhun,” I replied. I did not like where this was going. “I was.”

“How was he shot, then?” Sergei spread his hands wide, like a magician unveiling his latest trick.

No matter what I said now, I failed. I could protest that I was outdoors, and the question would be “why were you outside?” I could say that we fought and Vassily stormed in a fit of pique to snort ten K worth of coke, and I’d be turning Sergei’s ire on Vassily. I was angry with him, but not so angry that I’d rat him out. “I was not beside him, Pakhun.”

“Just as well you weren’t the one protecting Lev then, eh?” Sergei’s eyes flashed angrily. The grin never left.

“So does my bringing Vincent back to you mean nothing?” I jerked my head at Vincent, whose eyes widened at the sound of his name. Even if he spoke Russian, he didn’t speak this sort of Russian: the rough vulgar slang that grew out of the prisons and Communist industrial wastelands of the whole GRU. “Because I might have failed with one hand, but I succeeded with the other.” It was their turn to be surprised. Lev’s eyebrows rose, and even Nicolai looked up from his glass. Sergei’s face drained of humor, but only for a moment before he slapped his leg and laughed uproariously, a sound which needed no chorus to fill the room.

“Yes, yes… you earned that one, Alexi Grigoriovich,” he said. “You have grown these ten years, eh? Our resident starets. You can look me in the eye and say your piece. I respect that. Now, speaking of Vincent, let’s figure out what to do with him.”

I was all too happy to have his attention turned on something and someone else. The night had barely begun, and I was already feeling the trap tightening around me. While the captains fell to talking about Vincent, the coke trade, and how they were going to avoid incidents like this in the future, I sat back with my glass of vodka and pretended to drink it while watching their hands and faces. Nicolai seemed particularly animated, but he had the grayish complexion of someone masking illness.

“Hey, uh… Alexi, man. What are they saying?” Vincent whispered aside to me. “I keep hearing my name.”

“You’re being put up in a safe house, with a bodyguard.” I dropped my voice. “That’s all.”

“That’s it? I mean, I’m hearing a whole lot of ‘Vincenti this, Vincenti that.’”

“It is decided, then.” Sergei lifted a hand, breaking the bubble with his thickly accented English. “Vincent, my friend: I hate to interrupt your evening out, but we are going to send you to a safe house now, while the night is young and hunters are still sleeping. Do you agree?”

“Uh, sure.” Vincent’s voice was a little strangled. “That’d be great, actually. I could do with more sleep.”

“Good, good. And couldn’t we all.” Sergei motioned to Vera. “Vera here will take you to the security office. You are getting two of our very best to keep you safe in your bed.”

“Thanks. But this suit is—”

“Don’t worry about the suit,” I said. “I don’t need it.”

Vera broke from her static position, boots whispering on the plush carpet, and crooked her fingers to Vincent. Cheerful but shell-shocked, he followed her out like an eager puppy, stumbling a little over the points of his shoes. He was a childish, clownish man. It made me wonder, exactly, why the Santos Twins liked him so much.

Once they were gone, Sergei clapped his hands together. “Now we have time to relax before business. Lev has been telling me about his collection of beauties for years now, but I am yet to see a single one.”

“You have only been here a few hours, Pakhun,” Lev said. “They’re merely a phone call away. What are you all looking for? Blonde, brunette…?”

Sergei waved a ringed hand. “I’ll take your recommendation, Leva. Whatever one you like the best.”

Something about their choice of words rubbed me the wrong way. It reminded me of Jana, and of the black nothing of the pistol in her hand. I spoke up before any of the other men could. “Call up Crina for me, Avtoritet.”

“The small dark one?” Lev asked.

“I didn’t know you indulged, Alexi.” Sergei arched a brow. “You were always so virtuous.”

I smiled thinly. “Men will always be men, Pakhun. And yes, Crina is small and dark, Avtoritet.”

While they poured the second round and fell to small talk, I excused myself to the bathroom with my glass. The relief at finding Vincent and earning my crust was transient. Even if I paid out every cent of debt tomorrow, there was always going to be something I owed this man. He was already working the con: I could smell it. And I would not be able to fight back from my current place. Whatever Sergei spun tonight in front of Nicolai, Lev, Vanya… they would believe it. And nothing would change for me.

I wanted to be sick. Instead, I poured the rest of the vodka down the toilet and filled it with fresh water from the tap. It’s not like they’d know the difference.

When I went back outside, the girls had arrived and were adding their yellow and green treble to the dull grayish grind of male conversation. Crina was sitting beside Lev, listening with one deep scarlet lip rolled under her teeth, and she glanced across when I emerged. Her eyes lit up, and she patted his thigh before breaking off to join me.

“Let’s go to a booth.” I jerked my head towards the curtains and watched Sergei watch me as I slid my hand around Crina’s cinched waist.

Her eyes widened, but she made good on the giggling and teetering as I led her into relative privacy, the catcalls of the other men following us behind the hush of velvet and the lingering nausea of old cologne.

“What’s gotten into you?” Crina kept her voice down as she gently pressed me back and straddled my lap. She did it slowly, but her hands stayed on my shoulder and upper arms, her knees on the cushions, and her crotch held off mine. “You don’t—”

“Something is going down tonight,” I replied. “Something bad. I don’t know what’s coming, but you need to get out of town as soon as you can.”

She froze over me, her face deep in shadow. “What? Why?”

“I can’t give you a concrete reason right now, but there is dangerous talk out there. It’s a matter of time,” I replied. “Sergei is back, and… the Organizatsiya is a monster, Crina, and it’s hungry. Sergei has already criticized me over the casino incident. You were there. And they—”

She pressed a finger to my lips, looking back at the edge of the curtains. “All right, Alexi. I believe you. You’re right. Maybe about tonight, maybe not… but I can tell you that I lost three clients this week. Gunned down, shot, strangled. And I nearly lost you.”

I sighed. “I don’t want you involved in any of this.”

“I chose to be here.” Her eyes were hard and fierce in the dim light, gleaming like jet. “But I always have an exit plan. Don’t worry, okay? If you say things are going down, I believe you.”

Relief swept through my chest. “Thank you.”

“I’m a survivor,” she whispered. Her fingers dug into my shoulders. “And so are you. So you make sure to take your own advice. You cut town, tonight. You’re too good for these guys, Alexi. Don’t let their world kill you.”

Again. A wash of déjà vu passed over me, and for a moment, I remembered the flash of white hair, the smell of putrefaction and burning wax, the intense cold. My chest hurt with the remembered knowledge of everything dying, that I was dying, and that our only hope was to run for the sea and—

Crina must have felt my tension loosen because she leaned in closer, breaking off the ploy of lap dancing to hug me awkwardly, urgently, the same kind of one-armed hug I gave Vassily just before he went in to be sentenced for his bloodless crimes.

“I will. Thank you.” It was all I could say.

When we emerged, there was a new bottle of vodka and the obligation to have another glass. I threw back my water and let them pour, nursing the new drink while conversation wound down, laughter became less frequent, and Sergei more contemplative and intense. When a natural silence fell, he nodded to Lev, who wrapped up with a quiet word. We waited until Nicolai and his escort came out of the bathroom, and then she left with the other women, Crina included. She didn’t look back, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I did love her, just a little bit. She would survive, no matter what.

Nicolai locked the door behind them as we settled back down expectantly. They were drunk, beaten off, relaxed. I was sober and not looking forward to whatever was about to be discussed.

“Well, gentlemen. I will get straight to the point.” Sergei said, looking out over the rest of the table. “The USSR is dead. Now, we have to think about where this organization will be going in the future. How we will grow.”

How could it grow? I thought of Rodion, the photo the press had gotten of his red-sprayed car window and slumped head. Semyon, cringing beside his bed, his cases full of dirty money. No growth was possible. Lev and Nic and Vanya looked to Sergei, rapt and attentive without any obvious sense of irony.

“It is time for a reorganization,” Sergei said heavily, hand thudding on the tabletop in emphasis. “Because I know for a fact that everything is going to collapse. The announcement of the dissolution will be out any month now. It is said and done. This is the result of perestroika, which is—and I tell you now—brought about by the West in support of a union in Europe. America and Germany want this union, and they will do everything for it. They forgot what history has taught Russia about giving power to the West, and I tell you now… if the Slavic countries do not pull together in the decades to come, there will be a new kind of fascism in Europe. It will one day make Germany look like a play-date.”

That did stun the room into silence, even me.

“Now. In the short term, chaos is good for us.” Sergei’s eyes glinted with anticipatory pleasure. “Very good. Business thrives on uncertainty, debt, speculation, risk. My friends are already looking at their pick for presidents in Ukraine, Russia, and Georgia. KGB men, the lot of them. But if we don’t have a hand in this, we will miss out on a huge opportunity. So, I have decided that we will diversify. We are going to Ukraine to build a hub of trade that will link New York directly to Europe and Asia, my friends. Fuck South America. Goods will travel through the Middle East and up through Russia, then out to anywhere we want. The future is in China and Afghanistan, not Colombia.”

Sergei’s head swiveled towards Lev. “Lev, you are once again going to be my Advocate. I need you by my side. It falls to you to decide who will lead this community in your stead. My top choice has always been Vassily, who has grown up here and knows the U.S. better than anyone. But you, Nicolai, you always loved America. What do you have to say?”

All eyes turned to Nic. His mouth flickered in an approximation of a smile.

“Well. I’d say Vassily ain’t fit to lead his head out of his own ass. He got hooked on product while he was in prison.” While everyone else hung on his words, he looked me dead in the eye as icy, hard certainty settled in my chest. “And Alexi here… well, Pakhun. I told you about Grisha. And since then, it’s just been one fuckup after another.”

Lev glanced at me knowingly. He’d tried to warn me. But Nic? The man who had patiently mentored Vassily and me when we were green? He’d trained us to take these positions, to succeed him… and apparently, he’d decided that he didn’t want to let go.

“I throw in behind Nicolai,” Vanya added, a little too quickly. Politics had never really been his strong point, but he was apparently still better at pre-arrangement than I was.

Nic’s eyes gleamed hungrily, victoriously. Damn his skinny, traitorous, ambitious ass.

“I see,” Sergei said. He looked to me. “And you, Alexi?”

“What, exactly, did I do?” My voice was quiet, but for the moment, it carried. “What, exactly, did I fuck up?”

Nic shrugged. “How many times have I had to pull your ass out of the fire now? Three? First Semyon—”

“That went off without a hitch,” I said. I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.

“Then this Manelli spook, who wiped the floor with your ass, turns up and tries to hit us at the casino—”

I banged my hand on the table with enough force that he shut up. “I know exactly what you’re driving at. He got nothing out of me. Not a single damn thing!”

Nic scoffed. He flicked a hand. “Then how’d they find out?”

“Jana Volotsya.” Rage wound my voice tight, hard, and flat. Lev tensed.

“Who what now?” Vanya looked to me.

“Well… I can confirm that Jana was certainly involved in abducting Vincent,” Lev said carefully. “We’ve started the cleanup at her house, but I’m still sorting through all her paperwork. Did you hear anything about what she was involved in?”

I wanted to say it. I wanted to tell them about the Fruit, to lay it out like a grand prize I’d been holding back so I could spit it in Nic’s face. But I knew, even as I weighed up my answer, that none of these men would understand the Fruit’s significance anyway. They’d laugh, at best, because what could it do for them? Would it make money? Add to the business? My dreams and visions, the struggles behind the scenes of the murders, the discovery of a fruit from the Tree of Knowledge meant nothing to them.

I’d never sought power in the Organizatsiya before, but I wanted it now. This was culmination of a long game played out with my life and the lives of people I cared about. Nic had spent years on this. He had us all lined up.

“She was working with the Manelli spook and Semyon.” I grated the half-truth out flatly. “Working behind Lev’s back. She organized Semyon’s magical protection, maybe even facilitated him turning to the Feds. She played us off one another. And now, she’s dead because of me. Vincent is safe, and the trade link with him. And you want to talk about my failures, Nicolai? What about your failure as lead enforcer to find the rats in our rank? You didn’t know Jana was a threat.”

“I don’t have magic,” Nic replied. “She was a freak, too. That’s your job.”

“No, it’s not.” I was pointing at him, and every time I moved my hand like a weapon, Vanya flinched. “And it was your job to protect Vassily’s financial operation. He generated two million in stocks the year after graduation. He invented the credit card serial generator, and if we concentrated on that and oil instead of coke and guns? We’d have the richest operation in this country.”

“So he’s a nerd. Computers don’t mean shit.” Nicolai sneered.

“You set him up to go to prison, didn’t you?” I knew I should have been subtler, but I blurted it out before I could stop myself. “You and Semyon.”

“Alexi has a compelling point,” Sergei said. He looked like he was enjoying the fight.

“Really? That’s what you were trying to get at? Fuck off.” Nicolai chuffed around his cigarette, cupping his hand to light up. “Semyon’s dead. You can’t prove shit.”

He was as nonchalant as a tomcat, but I saw understanding dawn in Lev’s eyes. He sat back and rubbed his brow. All of this had been happening under his nose, and his powers of persuasion, of subtle control, meant nothing. He was far too weak as a leader to wield it.

“You set him up the whole way.” I wanted to do to Nic what I’d done to that guy in the bathroom: blow him apart. I tried to channel the energy, the power, but it was like squeezing clay from a tube. Something must have showed, because everyone froze warily.

“That is an interesting question. But I have one last question for you, Alexi, before I say my piece.” Sergei sat back, hands clasped on his belly, just below his breastbone. “Why did you kill Grigori? With his own sledgehammer, no less?”

I wanted my chin. “He was a rabid dog. He killed my mother, and he wanted to kill me. I took him out before he could. This city wasn’t big enough for us both.”

Sergei nodded and rumbled low in his chest. And then he shook his head.

“My boy, you don’t understand the most important thing about this mess,” he said. “Because you forget one thing. Your mother killed herself.”

“Because he beat her,” I said. “He pushed and—”

“She broke. Because she was weak.” Sergei’s eyes flicked up to look at me then, full of disappointment… and warning. “And so are you.”

There was a deeply uncomfortable pause around the table. In the silence, I set my glass down, still with half the shot of Kors, and stood.

“Sit down.” Sergei motioned with his eyes to my seat.

Vanya and Nic tensed, and I remembered Lev’s warning to me. They thought I was an atom bomb, primed to explode. I hadn’t been: but I was now.

“With all respect, Pakhun, I’d rather go and study my Art.” I turned a small, stiff smile on him. “Excuse me.”

“You are not excused,” came his brittle reply. “I haven’t finished speaking.”

“Then please, by all means, speak.” I stayed in place, but I was not going to sit.

Nic folded his arms, watching me in silent triumph.

Sergei heaved a dramatic sigh. “Nicolai, I name you Avtoritet of New York, as Grigori Sokolsky—honestly, the man I wished could have managed Brighton Beach until his deathbed—is not here to claim that honor. Lev will be by my side as Advokat as we establish our Asian contacts. Vanya, your man Petro Yankovic has been voted by the others as suitable for the role of Cell Commander, and he will take Nic’s place when he rises to his new station. As for you, Alexi, I have other work for you and Vassily befitting your age and skills.”

Other than dog chum? I was genuinely surprised. With Nic as Avtoritet and Petro running the enforcement in the Beach, there would be no contracts for me. There would be nothing for me.

“Vassily is to go to Miami, to liaise with our younger, enterprising operation there and to assist with keeping the road to Colombia open and free. South America is still worth our time. He will have a chance to prove himself there.” Sergei watched me with some amusement now. “And you will be coming with me and Lev for a tropical vacation. We are building a community in Thailand first of all, and we have business in Phuket which will require your particular skillset.”

It took me a moment to process what he had just told me. Leave the country? I knew what went on in Thailand. There would be no fuel racket there, no advancement into fake credit cards and careful money laundering. Southeast Asia provided three things to the black market: slaves, organs, and heroin. None of them were the sort of business I wanted to be involved with.

“I understand,” I replied. “I will talk to you tomorrow, Pakhun. Avtoritet.”

I directed the last to Lev with a slightly bowed head. Nicolai’s eyes tracked me at a slow burn on the way out, but this time, no one tried to stop me from leaving.