by Dave Lacey
The temptation to give Nick Moretti the information and let him do the right thing was strong. If he did, though, he would almost certainly be signing his death warrant. Where were the girls? They did not have much time; the captain was already twenty minutes late for his departure, and Ryabukha had pleaded with him to wait. They were going back to Europe. It had taken all of his energy to convince his daughters to go with him, and it broke his heart to think how much they loathed him. But, in the end, he had been able to convey the seriousness of the situation, and had taken an oath on his late wife’s grave as a final measure. The captain was making his way toward him again now, and Ambrosii was running out of time and excuses.
“Please, just five more minutes. I will take care of you. You know this.”
“I’m sorry, but we have to go. We are already out of time and behind schedule.” The captain looked genuinely apologetic. As they were talking, headlights appeared around a corner eight hundred yards or so away.
“Here they are now, look!”
“Okay, I am going aboard to make preparations. Please be quick.” With that, the captain turned on his heel and walked back up the gangway.
Ambrosii turned anxiously to await his daughters’ arrival. As the car approached, he started to have doubts as to the occupants of the vehicle. It was a black suburban with blacked out windows. He didn’t remember any of the girls having one of those. The vehicle drew level with him and the rear passenger side door opened.
“Get in, Ryabukha,” the man in the back seat called to him.
Ryabukha slipped his right hand into the pocket of his overcoat.
“Don’t be stupid,” the man said with a pronounced sigh. “If we wanted to kill you, we would have done so already. Get in.”
“I,… I can’t. My daughters…”
“We have your daughters, Ambrosii. You should just get in.”
The Russian seemed to age immediately the words were spoken; he lumbered forward painfully slowly, lost in a world of regret and indecision. He climbed in and closed the door behind him, wondering if that was the last anybody would see of him.
Chapter 18
Moretti was as angry as he had ever been. He had raced around the city looking for Ryabukha, and had turned up nothing. Every time he had come upon the Russian’s men, he had been met with cold faces, an implacable silence no amount of threat or cajoling would change. Seemingly, the former dock worker had disappeared, quite a feat for a man of his dimensions.
Nick was convinced now that the man had known a great deal more than he had disclosed when last they had met. But he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might be. His best guess was that it was to do with the dark side of the business, in which Zef had been involved. Still, he found it hard to believe Ryabukha would have allowed him to do anything that would have placed him in harm’s way. The man had loved him like a son!
After three hours of searching, Nick had put out a bulletin for Ryabukha across the city, and was even considering extending it to cover the state. His justification had been the suspicion of foul play in the death of one Zefram Mayer and the possible involvement of one Ambrosii Ryabukha.
He was slightly uncomfortable with such a claim, but felt that he had been left with little choice in the matter after the Russian’s disappearance. It was now five hours since his search had started, two since the APB had been put out. So far, they had turned up nothing.
Just as Nick had reached the point of giving up for the day, he put a call into Leshaun Jackson.
“Nicky, where you been?”
“All over the fucking city, Leshaun, all over the city. I can’t find him. I’ve tried every haunt he has, and even some he doesn’t. Nothing!”
“It looks even worse when you consider what happened this afternoon.”
“What happened?”
“You haven’t heard about the explosion?”
“Oh, yeah. Not sure what the one has to do with the other though.”
“It was Kasprowicz; it was his apartment.”
“Stanislaw? What the hell happened?”
“Gas explosion, apparently. But I guess when you add it to the news you got today, it don’t look good.”
“I know. This is pretty extreme. You think it could be a rival? You think Ambrosii knew that all this was coming and that’s why he’s gone underground?”
“I don’t know, but it’s all starting to add up to something I don’t like the look of. If it is a rival, who could it be? Who would have the balls to put a move like this on Ryabukha?”
“That’s a really good question, and one which I have no answer to. I need to find him. He’ll be able to unpick all of these riddles, Leshaun. And I’m desperate to find out what happened to my friend.”
“I’m gonna head over to the Kasprowicz place. You wanna meet me there?”
“Yeah, I guess. There’s nowhere else I can think of trying. I’ll be there in twenty.” He hung up. This morning he had woken up feeling down at the suicide of a friend. Less than twelve hours had passed, and he was now at the centre of a potential gang war which threatened to completely disrupt his, and his city’s, equilibrium.
***
“Where are we going?” Ryabukha asked.
“We’re just going to drive around for a while, Ambrosii. We need to talk.”
“Why are we talking? It would seem you don’t make a habit of talking to those who’ve broken your rules?”
“Ah, but you’re different aren’t you? You are an awful lot smarter than most would imagine a big man to be. You wrote out a statement didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You know very well what I’m talking about. Who did you give it to? You didn’t give it to your family lawyer, or your business lawyer. So who was it?”
Ambrosii relented. “If I told you, would it not defeat the purpose of my doing it in the first place?”
The man chuckled. “It’s nice to meet somebody smart, Mr Ryabukha. You have no idea how many preternaturally stupid people I meet in my line of work.”
“What exactly is your line of work?”
“I am… a fixer of sorts. The man who can.”
“I see. I would rather get this over and done with if it’s all the same to you. I always find the waiting is the worst part. My daughters don’t know anything by the way.”
“Yes, that’s a strange one. I find it remarkable that you would tell a man who is no relation to you, yet you wouldn’t tell your daughters, your own flesh and blood.”
“I knew how dangerous it would be after I told Zefram, and I was right. How do you tell three women who want nothing to do with you to start with?” Ambrosii paused before changing tack.
“Why did you kill him?” His eyes blazed.
“Calm down, Ambrosii, the time for righteous indignation is behind you. You brought this on yourself and the boy. He was foolish, and he had a big mouth. He was unable to keep his own counsel. There simply was no alternative.”
“What will you do with my daughters?” Ryabukha was desperate now.
“That, my dear fellow, depends entirely upon you. It would seem that we have reached an impasse. If I dispose of you, a letter finds its way to…the press?” He looked questioningly at the Russian, who nodded. “Yes I thought so, very good. Well, we simply cannot afford for that to happen. So, unless we can find the person who is keeping your secrets, we’re unable to proceed. By the way, I didn’t introduce myself; my name is Ernestine Rook.” He proffered a hand toward Ryabukha. They shook hands.
“So what does happen next?”
“As I said, a stalemate. You need to leave the country. There’s no way you can remain now. We’ll put you on a plane tonight, and you’ll not return. Your daughters will stay here. We’ve not told them why we have them contained. But we will tell them that you have been deported and that no charges will be brought against you.”
“What is to stop you from killing me on the plane, or whe
n I reach wherever it is that you’re taking me to?”
“Because I assume you’ve established a regular pattern of contact with your conduit. Which, if broken, will result in him sending his communiqué to the relevant organisations?”
“Da. My daughters….”
“Will be safe. I’m not a stupid man either.”
“You killed Kasprowicz. Why so dramatic? Surely people will find out?”
“No, eventually it’ll be linked to a rival gang. The collateral damage is acceptable.”
“Acceptable? You people are worse than criminals.”
“I really don’t think you’re in a position to judge, Ambrosii. You also have done things in the past that will always follow you.” He gave Ryabukha a searching look.
“Am I in any danger?” the Russian asked finally.
“Not from me. Not unless we find your man.” Rook looked at him openly.
“You will allow me to take money with me?”
“Your accounts will not be frozen. You may access them from wherever you are.”
They had arrived at an airport, the sound of jet engines growing louder all the time. Ryabukha couldn’t believe his luck. His plans had been left almost unchanged, except for his daughters remaining behind.
“What about my girls? Can they join me?”
“Not for the time being, no. We need some degree of leverage, I’m sure you can understand? However, there will come a time when we’re finally unable to contain the news any longer, then you may have them join you, if they wish. We are here.” Rook gestured toward the door. “Do not contact the detective. Or anybody else who would have an interest in where you are.” The noise from the planes caused them to raise their voices now.
“Mr Rook, I’m sorry I ever had the need to meet you. What will happen to the other people who know?”
“That’s none of your concern. Your plane awaits, Ryabukha. Have a safe journey. And try to remain safe for as long as possible.”
Ambrosii’s eyes bored into those of his captor. Relieved as he was to be leaving, he could not help but think of those who would not be so fortunate. Suddenly he had the urge to ram the man’s smug arrogance back down his throat, to physically damage him and order the letter sent to its final destination. His face remained impassive, but his hands had clenched into large balls of meat and bone.
“Don’t be silly, Ambrosii, think of your daughters.” It was Rook’s turn to glare.
Ambrosii hesitated, and considered satisfying his own immediate desire to kill. Then he relented, knowing he was playing with the lives of his daughters.
“Very good,” said Rook. “I would take no pleasure in giving such an order, regardless of how things may appear.” For the first time, Rook’s cold, imperious visage slipped, and he was left looking old and haggard.
With a nod, Ryabukha closed the door of the suburban. He turned and strode to where two men in dark suits waited for him. They guided him across the tarmac to a largely unmarked Gulfstream jet.
“Where am I going?”
“France, Nice to be exact. You’re a lucky guy,” the taller of the two agents told him.
“Yes, very lucky,” Ambrosii muttered as he trudged up the boarding steps, feeling more alone than he had for a long time.
***
“He’s boarding the plane as we speak,” Rook informed his superior.
“Is it going to experience any difficulty over the Atlantic?”
“No. We were correct in our assumptions about the letter. And we don’t know who has it.”
There came a hiss of air from the other end.
“I don’t like this. It’s a messy affair –”
“If you’ll pardon me, sir, the whole thing is a messy affair.”
“Whose fault is that, Rook? You’re in charge of this campaign; you allowed it to reach its current dénouement. What are the next steps?”
Rook sighed. He felt considerably more than his sixty-two years.
“We continue to go back up the branches until there are none left.”
“The senator? The general?” the old man asked. His voice petulant.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure that will be necessary. We have to be careful. If we go too far, somebody will put two and two together.”
“Well, we’re almost at the point where none of it matters anyway,” the old man said.
“Does that mean we just let things run their course?” Rook knew the answer, but was feeling a little belligerent.
“Of course not, and I don’t like your tone. Make sure that we don’t leave enough breadcrumbs for somebody to make a connection. That is your job. You better be absolutely certain that the Russian does not break his silence, Rook. It will not go well for you if he does.” The threat was unnecessary. Rook already knew the result if he failed at any point: he would simply be left behind.
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I’m confident he’ll remain passive until the time comes,” Rook said.
“Call me when the senator’s daughter has been taken care of.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead.
Chapter 19
Clarence had been to three hotels before visiting the Lowry on the edge of the city centre. He was bored with this little exercise now, and he wanted to move on with the task at hand. This kid had managed to evade everybody to this point, and Clarence didn’t even know if he was inside the building. He would have to pick up the pace; there was another member of the church to visit, maybe more. It was all very exciting; he had never been so busy. He knew about the first one, the black faggot, and he was surprised and not a little disgusted that they’d not given him that one. It would have been a great way to start, and he was confident he could have convinced the police it had been an accident.
As it was, the police were looking into that case, and he knew that if they found the boy before he did, there would be a great deal of trouble. He had asked if he could remove the two detectives, but had disappointingly been turned down. Checking hotels had been the obvious choice for him after he had discovered that Warwick the younger was not at home with his father, and clearly was not staying at Alphonse’s flat. He had gone into the hotel reception in each of the first three, purporting to be the boy’s father who was desperate to find him after the death of his mother. They had all taken pity on him, but had no record of a Paul Warwick or of anybody under any other name who matched his picture. Which had brought him here, to the Lowry. A strange place to put such an expensive and flashy hotel, but here it was.
In a few minutes, he would get up and go in. At present, he was ‘getting into character’. That made him smile. If he did find Paul he had yet to decide how he was going to take care of him. Many options had passed through his head, but the answer was obvious really. Any sort of death, whether a true accident or not, was going to set alarm bells ringing. Paul Warwick had to disappear for good. As far as the police were concerned, he was already missing. By making him disappear, Clarence would only be extending this belief.
It would remain one of life’s little mysteries. The difficulty came from the fact that Paul’s mother had been part of the same project. Had the two not been related, then the boy having an accident would make no difference to anybody. The next leg of the project would need some careful consideration: the more people were involved, the greater the danger of exposure. Time to go in. Good, there was a middle-aged woman on the reception desk again.
“Hi, I wonder if you can help.” He contorted his features, looking for maximum sympathy. “I’m looking for my son, Paul Warwick. His mother died just this week, and we’ve not been able to find him since.” He had rubbed his eyes in the four by four, giving them a nice raw quality.
“Oh, I see. I’m very sorry, sir. We’re not really supposed to reveal anything about our guests. Perhaps you could go through the police in ord–”
“Please, please help me find my son.” One hand lay flat on the desk, to emphasise his desperation. He took a bit of cha
nce and forced out a sob. “He’s all I have left. I don’t know how I’ll cope if I can’t get him back home.” He wondered if he had gone too far; had he perhaps wailed too loudly?
“Please, sir, try to stay calm. Let me check our records.” The receptionist busied herself with the booking system, trying to find a guest named Paul Warwick. Clarence smiled at the top of her bowed head. He was really quite good at this, he mused; perhaps a little hammy, but good.
“Okay, we have a guest here with that name. But I can’t give out room numbers to you I’m afraid.” She half smiled in apology.
“That’s okay, as long as I know where he is, that’s good enough for now.” He took out the picture he had of the boy and showed it to her. “Can you tell me if you recognise him?”
“Oh, yes, I do remember him. He’s a very good looking young man, very polite.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll leave now and let you get back to your work. Thank you again.” He turned and walked out of the foyer. It was difficult to suppress his emotions once again. When he got back into the car, he removed the wig and glasses he had worn when entering the building. Paul Warwick was here. Now all Clarence had to do was wait until he came out.
***
Paul Warwick sat alone in his hotel room, high above Manchester City Centre, pondering his next move. Everything was happening so fast, terrifyingly fast, and it was difficult to keep up. Alphonse had promised to look after him, no matter what, and now, within months of Paul meeting him, he was dead. What made it more painful was that it was Paul’s fault. If only he’d not told him. Why had he told him? He knew why – it was because he’d loved him and had wanted to do something for him. Then it had gotten worse. His mother, of all people, had been found dead in the shower! Well he had figured out right then and there that she hadn’t slipped at all.
Whoever had killed Alphonse had killed his mother, and if they were capable of that, then killing him would be nothing. He hadn’t slept for three days, and had no idea who to turn to. His immediate reaction had been to go to the police. But what if they were involved? What if they had killed his boyfriend and his mother? After a few more days of stewing, he was almost convinced his only avenue was the police. Part of him had accepted he could not escape his destiny. But if an ignominious death was his fate, then the least he could was let somebody know why he and two other people were dead.
