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CHAPTER14
Istroll out of the duplex right as the SUV comes around the corner. Ivan is punctual if nothing else.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I chirp.
Ivan is unamused. He’s never been what you could call a ray of sunshine, but he’s become grumpier than usual over the last few weeks. I gave up on making small talk when he’s in a mood. He navigates the big vehicle swiftly through New York traffic. I’m not sure what I thought being a personal assistant to the head of the New York Bratva would be, but it certainly wasn’t this.
The last few weeks have been the most boring of my life. A large portion of the day is spent at my desk at the import/export company Dimitri is apparently the head of. Whether or not this is actually a critical part of his empire remains to be seen, because nothing interesting happens here. The meetings are logistical, the phone messages are generic. I haven’t caught any reference to Black Sea Shipping, any boats from Ukraine, or any business coming to or from the entire state of Delaware. The SUVs have different plates than the ones from my dockside surveillance, and I haven’t seen Scarface since that night in the club.
When not at the office, I spend my daily grind trailing around behind Dimitri. I schedule his business lunches and usually attend to take notes. I know the more interesting things happen in Russian, but I haven’t been able to consistently be close enough to bother trying to record them with Pierre’s bracelet. If I’m going to risk having that on me, I don’t want to risk it for the potential of a snippet of overheard conversation from a table away at a restaurant. He has many properties by the docks, but I always stay in the car there. I ignore the times Dimitri comes back to the car and immediately changes into a spare shirt, or the times I watch Ivan putting heavy rings on each finger before they go inside.
Dimitri and, so far as I can tell, every other Russian man in the city frequents their spa. I assumed it was just a front for a brothel, but it turns out it actually is a spa, and Russian men like to discuss business naked and sweating in a sauna before getting massages. Good on them. I spend my time in the waiting room on my tablet replying to emails and company inquiries, or working on whatever other project Dimitri has me on at the time.
I’m sitting on the spa sofa, tablet in hand, herbal tea on the table to my left, feet folded underneath me and my shoes tucked neatly under the table when two gentlemen in suits walk in. I don’t recognize them. When they speak to the attendant, I hear a Spanish inflection that I can’t quite place.Interesting.The attendant leads them away and returns several minutes later. I’m a familiar sight here, so no one notices, or cares, when I put the tablet down and head back myself.
The bathrooms are back here. As are the massage rooms, communal bath, changing rooms and sauna. I pause outside the sauna. I hear Dimitri’s business voice. The overly friendly ‘let’s make a deal’ tone. I hear the Spanish voices again. Unfortunately, I can’t hear much more than muffled snippets. Once I hear Dimitri say ‘shipment’ but that’s about the only clear word. I also can’t stay all day here. First off, someone could see me listening outside the door. Second, someone will notice my absence from the lobby. Begrudgingly, I continue to the bathroom and use the facilities before returning to my sofa.
About an hour later, the two men exit, talking in quiet Spanish. I hear the words for ‘girls’ as well as ‘police’ and ‘business’ as they go by. They look pensive.Interesting indeed.
Ivan appears shortly and tells me that Dimitri has other things to do but that he needs me for the rest of the day, and that Dimitri needs help this evening. He tells me to have clothes sent to Dimitri’s home. I text Deborah for a new set of business clothes and pajamas, just in case.
Ivan drives silently back to the docks. I’ve long since given up trying to figure his moods out, so I pull out my iPad and settle in, but am surprised to see Ivan open my door.
“Come, it’s too dangerous to leave you out here alone.”
Umm, what?I notice the tension on Ivan’s face.
Inside the warehouse is an odd mix of bachelor pad and storage unit, with a couple of semi trucks that are suspiciously familiar. He converses in Russian with several men. A few look at me in a manner that makes my skin crawl. Ivan growls, and I hear Dimitri’s name mentioned. Then they don’t look at me anymore.
We’re walking back to the SUV when I hear tires screech. Ivan looks up while pulling two handguns from under his jacket. I didn’t know he had two guns on him. Why that’s the detail I think of first, I’ll never know.
“Down!” he yells, shoving me behind a metal barrel. I curl up so I don’t leave any body parts that might get shot off sticking out.
You don’t grow up in Texas without knowing about guns. Still, the loud gunshots make me jump out of reflex. Several more men have come out of the warehouse, shouting in Russian. They all have rifles and are shooting back at god knows who.Jesus fuck, please be good shots.With my luck I’ll be shot by the Russians because their aim sucks.
Glancing around, I see there isn’t much else between me and the SUV. I consider running for it but decide against it because I’m mostly certain Ivan has the keys. I haven’t seen Ivan since he shoved me down here. Speaking of, there are a couple more barrels that look just like this one sitting about fifty yards away. A bullet hits one.
It bursts into flame.Oh, hell, no. Nope. Not today, Satan.I am not getting blown up in a shitty warehouse parking lot. I’ve made my peace with my new mantra when a low whistle sounds. I’ve never heard that before.
Then the warehouse blows up. Along with all the Russians I saw earlier. The gunshots stop, an odd silence broken only by the ringing in my ears follows.Fuck it.I pop up and run for the stacks of metal shipping containers on the other side of the parking lot, doing a little zigzag for good measure. I hear shouting but the wind is rushing by my ears and my heartbeat is pounding so I would never be able to hear the words.
I’m just about to round the corner of a container when my hair is grabbed, and I’m snatched clear off the ground. I fall on my ass, my scalp throbbing and tears in my eyes.
I struggle to get air back into my lungs. A man walks into view, upside down since I’m still staring straight up and he came from somewhere near my head. He’s beefy, with shaggy blond hair. He’s wearing tactical pants and has a rifle hanging on a sling high across his chest.
“Who the hell are you?” he says with an accent that makes the ‘you’ more of a ‘ye.’ He shouts something I can’t understand over his shoulder. Another man appears. Blondie turns slightly to face him.That was dumb.I roll over, pop to my feet, and throw the handful of gravel I grabbed into his face. Then I run.
More shouting, more of the language I can’t understand. I weave in and out of the containers. I can hear the voices getting closer.Fuck.
I turn to the closest container and haul myself onto it. I press flat on my belly, willing my heart and breathing to slow down. I hear them moving around, fanning out, shouting. What language is that? While I’m asking rhetorical questions, how aboutwhat the hell just happened?I keep my musings to myself and focus on slow breathing in and out and on keeping the trembling from starting.You can freak the fuck out later.
I wait forever. Then I wait a little bit longer. It’s been quiet for a long time.
I peek over the edge of the container. No one. I sit up a little and look around. I’m alone. I crawl down the container, banging my knee and shin in the process. Biting back the curse, I slowly creep toward the entrance of the parking lot. I’d rather go out the back, but the lot is surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence with razor wire. I can’t begin to climb it.
It occurs to me that a building burst into flames and a gun fight broke out and I haven’t seen a cop or firefighter yet. Odd, even in an industrial area. Someone had to notice. I’m too exhausted to think about it right now though.
I’m crouched behind the last container. It blocks most of my view. There is nothing I can see between the container and the gate except the shot-up black SUV we arrived in. And some bodies. I debate the relative merits of staying in place until the cops show up. Then I dismiss the thought. I’m not sure why they aren’t here, but I doubt they’re coming. I stand up, take a deep breath, and run.
