Anatoly's Retribution Read online

  Boris found that insulting. Little booty women needed love too. “I like small asses, but I’m a breast man. That’s where you get the real bang for the buck.” He looked at the woman’s midriff. “She’s got more than a mouthful up there. I’d fuck her.”

  Marat rolled his eyes again, this time to the point of them getting stuck. “You are an asshole. I doubt she’d let you kiss her feet let alone fuck her,” he said, exhaling a breath out of his nose. God, he couldn’t believe he was actually stuck in the car with Boris. It would have been easier to just let Dmitry shoot him.

  Marat glanced at his watch again and tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. “Come on, already. It’s getting late.” The countdown was still active in his head. “Boss said we have until noon. I don’t care if I have to bring back the fucking President, I need to make sure I don’t give him another reason to be pissed off at me.”

  “Relax. We’ve done harder things in five hours.” Boris rattled loudly through his brown back of breakfast from McDonalds, further agitating Marat. “Do you want a sausage and egg biscuit?” He glanced up from the bag at Marat without a care in the world.

  Some might have confused Boris’s behavior with being arrogant or careless. But both assessments would have been wrong. Boris had always been the imperturbable type.

  One could never really push him to the point where he lost his cool. His favorite word in the world was Relax because that is how he lived his life – like one big Xanax ride. It was hard to fathom that Boris was a hardened killer with more notches under his belt than any of the soldiers working for Anatoly or Dmitry.

  “I don’t want a biscuit. I want you to focus.” Marat answered quickly. “And that shit is bad for you. Eat something with some protein in it, or you’re going to get fat. We aren’t eighteen years old anymore.”

  “I didn’t have time to fix a protein shake before you had me run out the house,” Boris said, pulling the sandwich out the bag. “Since you’ve been working with Boss Anatoly, you’ve gotten…”

  “What?” Marat interrupted with a frown.

  “…bitchy,” Boris finished. There, he had finally said it.

  Marat went on the defensive. “It’s a lot of work, coming behind fucking Nadei and Vasily. Boss wanted all the protocols changed. I don’t have time to be nice to you.”

  “Don’t be nice to me. Be nice to yourself. Make time to get laid,” Boris said with a smirk.

  Marat couldn’t disagree there. He was long overdue for a good lay, but working for an underworld Czar didn’t exactly make having a private life possible. “Easier said than done.”

  Boris felt the need to be messy, especially since Marat seemed so down in the dumps over the one mistake he had made in his entire career. Perfection was overrated. “I saw the way Peaches looked at you a few weeks ago at the compound in Memphis. You know, she’s got nice bones. Nice hips. Shapely to be so small.”

  Marat huffed and waved off the idea. “Peaches is young…too young. I’m thirty-four years old. She’s like barely twenty-one.”

  “Peaches is a grown woman who knows what she’s doing. If you paid attention, maybe you’d see that too.” Boris saw it, even if no one else did. In a house full of men, she seemed to take up her own space. He liked women who didn’t take any shit.

  “If she’s so good looking, why don’t you go for her?” Marat asked.

  Boris shrugged. “I did. She said she wasn’t interested. But then,” he turned with one leg hiked up in his leather seat, toward Marat. “Then I asked her if there was anyone she was interested in, and you know who she said…”

  Marat interest was mildly piqued. “Who?” he asked, despite his desire to end this fruitless conversation.

  “You,” Boris winked. His brown eyes gleamed. “She asked if you were seeing anyone.”

  Marat’s face lit up just enough that his normal ominous grimace was not so pronounced. “Did she?”

  “Da, she did. She said you had a charismatic air about yourself, and you seemed like a real man’s man. She even said she wondered what you were like in bed.” Boris held back a laugh.

  “Wait. What? She said that?” Marat turned his full attention to his best friend.

  “No, of course she didn’t, you big suka. I’m just fucking with you,” Boris laughed and turned around, just in time to see the VIP manager of the club come out of the front doors and walk to his Ford F-150 parked a few feet outside of the yellow crime scene tape. “Is that our guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Marat said, forgetting for the moment that he really needed to kick his best friend’s ass later.

  ***

  Parking on the street outside of his Pennsylvania Avenue condo, Kyle jumped out of his truck and hit the alarm. He was used to getting home a little late every once in a while, but normally he had a chance to put more food out for his cat, Elsy. She had to be starving now.

  Hiking up the red bricked walkway to the three-story white Art Deco building where he lived, he bid good morning to a woman coming out of the door and stepped inside.

  His new gig was already turning out to be a big disaster. Their first real celebrity event had yielded a shootout and a bus load of bad PR.

  After getting a shower and taking care of a few housekeeping items, he had to get back to the club for a staff meeting to figure out how to recover from this.

  Sticking his key in the door, he pushed it open to find Elsy sitting on the sofa, waiting for him. Her black hair had shed on his white linen sofa again.

  He closed the door and smiled apologetically at the feline. “Hey, baby,” he crooned. “Daddy is sorry for being gone so long.”

  Making his way over to the sofa, he scooped her up with both hands and kissed the side of her cheek. “Daddy missed you. Yes, he did,” he said in a high-pitched baby voice.

  Gathering her in his arms, he headed toward the kitchen to fix her something to eat when the front door flew open.

  He looked over to see two muscular men, standing well over six feet tall, with black-as-night hair and arms covered in tattoos.

  This wasn’t a social visit.

  “What the fuck?” Kyle said, holding his cat tighter.

  “Relax,” Boris said, closing the door behind them. He locked it theatrically. “You should always lock the door behind you. Safety first.”

  Kyle noted the thick Russian accent. “Thanks for the advice. Now who are you, and what do you want?” he asked, walking toward the house phone. He had a cell in his pocket, but these weren’t the kind of men who looked like they took kindly to reaching for anything. “I’m calling the police.” He hoped his declaration might scare them into fleeing.

  Neither Boris or Marat batted an eye.

  “Why would you want to do something stupid like that, eh?” Marat brandished his weapon, slowing Kyle’s stride. “We just want to talk.”

  “Or we can shoot you in the face,” Boris added with much less finesse. “Your choice.” He pulled out his weapon and twisted the silencer counter clockwise to the muzzle.

  This was turning out to be the worse day of Kyle’s normally uneventful life.

  “Look, if this is about the money I owe, like I told Rick, I’ll have it all by next week. Fucking Klenchvenko was a shoe-in. I thought it was a no brainer. But I’m getting the money. I’ll make good on the bet,” Kyle said, heart thudding in his chest.

  Marat snorted derisively. “We’re not bookies, you idiot.”

  “I don’t look like a bookie,” Boris said insulted due to his inflated sense of self.

  “No, you look like a goon,” Marat chided.

  Kyle swallowed against a dry throat. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Good, because we don’t want any trouble either. And it doesn’t matter who we are. We’re here for you.” Marat looked over at the sofa and waved his gun toward Kyle. “Sit.”

  Kyle was a statue. “I’d rather stand.”

  The brief silence and glaring stares at h
im was enough for him to finally comply. Moving slowly over to the sofa, he sat down and put his cat in his lap.

  Marat walked over to talk to him while Boris went to look through the small, well-kept apartment to make sure that there was no one in the back calling the police or racking a shotgun.

  Boris raised his voice as he disappeared down the hallway. “Anyone here with you? Wife, girlfriend….”

  “Boyfriend?” Marat asked, eyes locked on Kyle.

  “Just the cat,” Kyle answered, rubbing his animal nervously.

  Coming back down the hall, Boris confirmed it. “He’s alone. Just the three of us, the cat and a dildo on the bed. We’re good.” He shot Kyle a dirty look. “I hope that big purple thing is not for you.”

  Marat wouldn’t give Kyle the opportunity to reply to Boris. He was done playing around with this guy. “You are the VIP manager for The Tide.” He sat down across from Kyle in a chair facing the frightened man and rested his weapon on his right thigh. “Are you not?”

  “Yes,” Kyle said, assuming this must be one of the thugs from the night before. He glanced at the gun and cleared his throat, suppressing a cough.

  “And you would know who fixed and served the drinks last night, da?” Marat raised a hand to stop the man before he continued. “Kyle. Before you say something that you’ll regret, because I can see the need to resist in you right now, let me warn you that I’m on a tight deadline. So, if I think you’re fucking with me, I’m just going to kill you.”

  The blender in the kitchen rang out loudly as it grinded ice, pulling both of their attention across the room.

  “Sorry,” Boris called out, sticking his head out of the kitchen with an irksome smile that suggested he knew he had scared them. “I’m fixing a protein shake.”

  Marat shook his head in sheer disbelief. “You can’t be serious right now.”

  “You said that the sausage sandwich was shit. Did you not?” Boris asked with a frown that knitted his wiry brows.

  “Yes,” Marat answered.

  “You also said I needed to fix a protein shake. So, that’s what I’m doing. You don’t mind, do you, Kyle?” Boris asked.

  “No, I don’t mind.” Kyle answered flatly. He dragged his eyes back to Marat and his gun.

  Marat tried to find his groove again. “My associate might be a bit off, but he’s not stupid, despite what it looks like. And I’m not either. So, tell me what I need to know, and we can get out of here. You can finish rubbing your pussy, and I can get to what I need to handle. Who fixed and served the drinks last night for the VIP party? Do not leave out a name.”

  Kyle nearly vomited the answer. “The bartenders for the VIP section last night were Rebecca Lawrence and Toni Sullivan. The servers for the party were Amy Bruckheimer, Lucy Sledge, Amy Myers and Rosa Flores.” He shrugged. “It’s not confidential information. You could have simply called up the club, and I would have told you that.”

  Marat sucked his teeth. “Which one of them would be most likely to slip a mickey into a bottle of vodka before it was served.”

  Kyle frowned. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  “You’ll take an educated guess if you value your life,” Marat said calmly. He didn’t like Kyle’s smugness. If he gave him just one reason, he’d cap him where he sat on his dingy ass sofa and leave him here for the cat to feast on until his rotting carcass started to stink.

  Boris emerged with a large cup filled with a protein shake and walked over to the sofa. Plopping down beside Kyle to make him feel more uncomfortable, he eyed the man, still wondering about the dildo.

  “Which one of the people you named make the most money?” Boris asked. He had been listening the entire time to every word and knew that Kyle would not be forthcoming. He was protecting someone.

  “What?” Kyle asked. He looked in between the men and blinked fast. “Rebecca, I guess.”

  “Rebecca makes the most money in tips or flat pay?” Marat probed.

  “Yeah in both.” Kyle clutched his purring cat, unsure of what information the mysterious men were probing him to get.

  “She makes more than everyone else. A few bucks more.” He paused. “Five bucks more.”

  Marat’s mouth curved up into a knowing smile. “You’re fucking her.” Five dollars more than everyone else wasn’t normal.

  Kyle’s mouth shot open, but his eyes told that the answer was yes. He sat back against the sofa and clenched his jaw. “We have an arrangement, okay?” Placing the cat beside him, Elsy slunk up beside Boris and rubbed her mane against his arm. Traitor. Kyle shot her a disapproving look.

  “So, it would be fair to say she thinks she can get away with stuff from time to time,” Marat continued. “You pay her more. She’s your favorite. She’s got a little pull with the boss man as long as she shows you her appreciation.”

  Kyle didn’t like the characterization, but could not deny it. “Basically.”

  Marat looked over at Boris. He didn’t have a crystal ball or magic powers, but he knew people. And he was willing to bet donuts to dollars that she was their pill dropper or knew who the person was.

  Marat had what he needed. “Okay, my friend, this is what you’re going to do. You are going to give me Rebecca’s address and cell phone number, and you are NOT going to call her when we leave here. As a matter of fact, you’re not going to ever tell her about us, period.”

  “Or anyone else for that matter,” Boris interjected. He didn’t like Kyle either. If Marat asked him, they should shoot the dildo-using cat lover and keep it moving. But this wasn’t his show.

  Kyle slept with Rebecca from time to time, but he also slept with about five other girls. He had no true loyalty to her or anyone else. “If I give you this address, will I have a guarantee that you won’t show back up here?” He meant that more specifically for Boris, who was starting to make him sweat.

  Marat laughed. The balls on this guy! He tilted his head, a dimple bursting in his right cheek. The evil twinkle in his blue eyes sent chills down Kyle’s spine. “Do you think you are in a position to negotiate right now? Do you think that I won’t cut you open and stuff the fucking cat down your throat and set this piece of shit box of an apartment on fire after I find the address myself?”

  Kyle felt himself freezing into a concrete position again. The man’s words sent the blood in his veins coursing the wrong direction. Choosing his next words carefully, he looked down at the floor. “I have her information on my computer. I’ll be happy to give you whatever you want,” he said more amiably.

  Boris chuckled with foam on his top lip. “There is that old Russian charm. I knew it would come out sooner or later.”

  ***

  In the same tailored suit from the night before, Klenchvenko walked with Dmitry’s guards through the large house, down the black and white slabs of marble in the long corridor that led to the study, their collective feet echoing like a small army, until they reached the office. Stopping, one of the guards knocked on the black oak door and then stuck his head inside.

  “Excuse me for the interruption. He’s here, Boss,” the guard said as Dmitry looked up from his conversation with Gabriel.

  “That was fast. Bring him in,” Dmitry ordered.

  The guard stepped to the side very mechanically and motioned for Klenchvenko to enter.

  The boxer did so, hesitantly, praying that the man he both feared and respected did not blame him for Anatoly’s current condition. Looking over his shoulder, Klenchvenko rolled his tongue over his teeth and slipped his balled-up fists inside of his pants pockets.

  “I appreciate the call,” Klenchvenko said, looking between two of the leaders in the crime family. He wasn’t sure which was more imposing. Dmitry or Anatoly’s cousin, Gabriel. “I came as soon as I could.”

  “We appreciate that,” Dmitry said, rubbing a hand over his stubbly, blonde five o’clock shadow. “Have a seat.”

  “Spasiba.” Klenchvenko, very slowly, made his way to the chair across from the duo a
nd settled in for what he knew was going to be an interrogation. Their eyes seemed to burn right through him, singeing his cool exterior.

  “Would you care for something to eat or drink?” Gabriel asked, standing up from his chair. He strode across the hardwood floor to the table where a carafe of freshly brewed coffee and tray of breakfast foods were placed.

  “No, I’m good,” Klenchvenko’s voice trembled slightly, despite his attempt to keep it steady. “How is Anatoly?”

  “Still resting,” Dmitry answered, voice low. He propped an elbow up on the wooden arm of his chair and cupped his fist under his chin. Blue eyes glared at Klenchvenko, unreadable and unblinking. “We’ve come to understand from our security team that Anatoly was chasing a woman he thought to be his sister last night.”

  “Da, da, that’s what he was saying.” Klenchvenko raised a brow and corrected himself. “At least that was what he was trying to say. He was out of it. I thought he was drunk. Hell, we all were.” For him, most of the night had been a blur until the sobering last ten minutes.

  “Did you get a look at this woman?” Dmitry asked, looking at his watch. Marat had just a few minutes left to get the person responsible for his son’s situation here.

  “I saw her from a distance, but I was more worried about getting Anatoly to lay down on the sofa, at first. The bouncer at the club – a tall guy, sort of looked like you, he said that something was wrong with Anatoly.” Klenchvenko couldn’t help but wonder after seeing Dmitry today if the bodyguard from last night wasn’t somehow related to him. Their resemblance was uncanny.

  “Did you know any of the girls? Was she someone you had invited, maybe?” Gabriel asked, trying to connect the dots. He could see the fear in Klenchvenko’s eyes, but they needed to get beyond that. “You can appreciate that this kind of behavior is not normal for my cousin. So, it leads me to believe that the woman he thought he saw was no illusion, no mistake.”

  Klenchvenko recalled the woman well. “She was there with some guy I’d never met before. Yes, I invited a few chicks myself. But she wasn’t one of them. My manager was responsible for the VIP list. I just showed up per the contract with the club.”