Wolf's Vendetta

by Craig MacIntosh

  Ivanov exited his Escalade curbside with two of his crew. While Andrei Helinski ran interference in front, Ivor Sergov did his best to part a waiting line of hopefuls clogging the club’s entrance. A bouncer, a beefy, bearded Baku bear named Anton, left his post and approached Ivanov. Helinski, hand on his concealed Glock, stood in the big man’s way.

  Anton rolled his eyes, pretending the smaller man didn’t exist. Speaking to Ivanov, he said, “Dimitri, perhaps you don’t want to go inside tonight, eh?”

  Ivanov brushed past Helinski and reached for the bouncer’s hand. “Anton, how are things? And why shouldn’t I visit the club tonight?”

  The hulking man whispered, “Verlov. He and his two dogs came in twenty minutes ago. He is sitting in your booth. We don’t need the trouble, Dimitri. Perhaps you think about not being here, okay?”

  Ivanov asked what the club’s manager had done about the usurper. “So, your boss lets this stranger take my place? Does he forget Boris Levich? Does he forget who I am? I come to enjoy the evening with my boys. Why this insult?”

  The Azerbaijani pleaded, “Please, no trouble, eh? I think Verlov wants to make trouble. To make a statement. Don’t give him the pleasure, Dimitri. You know my boss don’t stand up to a man like Verlov.”

  “If I turn around and leave there will be more trouble in the end,” Ivanov said. “Anton, my friend, I know you want to keep the peace. You are a good man. Boris Levich knows you keep trouble from his door. I know this. This is not a problem. Believe me, you will see.”

  Sergov held the door. Ivanov stopped on the threshold, his eyes fixed on two curvaceous, heavily painted blondes at the head of the line. “Your names?” he snapped.

  Flattered by the attention, the taller of the two women batted long lashes dusted with glitter. “I’m Katy and she’s Marina.”

  Ivanov grasped the lapels of the woman’s fur coat, opened it, and eyed her form-fitting beaded top, décolletage, skimpy silver lamé skirt, and platform shoes. “Perfect. You’ll do.” Offering his arms to both, Ivanov smiled. “Why wait in the cold. Come with me, eh? I’m meeting a friend. I know he will be happy to see you.”

  Winking at a puzzled Sergov, Ivanov headed inside, the giggling pair clinging to him. Behind him, Anton resumed his post at the club’s door, shaking his head. Helinski and Sergov followed in Ivanov’s wake, both primed for, but dreading, the expected showdown with Verlov.

  Leonid, the club’s manager, a doughy nephew of one of Levich’s gulag comrades, intercepted Ivanov. Visibly nervous, the overwrought man ignored the blondes on Ivanov’s arms. “Did Anton not warn you?” he said.

  “He did.”

  “It’s not my fault, Dimitri. Before I could seat Verlov at another booth he headed straight for yours. What could I do?” Ignorant of the meaning of the exchange between Ivanov and the club’s boss, the women blinked at each other. “So, now you’re here. What am I to do?”

  “Do not give it a second thought, Leonid. Watch and learn.”

  Ivanov handed the women’s coats to Sergov. “Tell Andrei to call for backup. Then both of you find a piece of wall and stay there. Keep an eye on Verlov’s bulldogs.”

  Patting his weapon, Sergov said, “If there’s trouble…”

  “There won’t be trouble.”

  Ivanov nodded at the women. “Now, let’s meet my friend, shall we?” He headed straight for the seated Verlov.

  The Ukranian gangster baited him. “I was told this is where you sit, Dimitri. I told that little mouse of a manager that I liked this spot. It suits me. One can see everything.”

  Ivanov looked around the club. “What? All alone. Where are your two chimpanzees?” Verlov reddened but Ivanov ignored it. “I told these two lovely ladies I was meeting a friend. Girls, this is the well-known Konstantin Verlov.” With a hand at the small of each woman’s back, Ivanov pushed the women toward the booth and slid in behind them. “Say hello to Katy and Marina.” Reading Verlov’s expression, Ivanov knew he had gained the upper hand. He signaled a server. “A round for us. Champagne or vodka, ladies?”

  The blonde named Katy shot a tentative look at Verlov and forced a smile. “Champagne. Why not?”

  “Why not indeed,” said Ivanov. “Marina, what about you?”

  The second woman nodded eagerly. Ivanov leaned toward Verlov and raised his glass in salute. “More vodka? Nothing’s too good for my guest.” Verlov forced a grin.

  “Ah, vodka it is,” said Ivanov. He ordered champagne for the women and vodka for Verlov and himself. When the server returned, Ivanov took the opportunity to scan the mass of club-goers. Sergov and Helinski were in good position to head off any trouble. Verlov’s pouting bodyguards sat by themselves, ignored by the partiers around them. Music boomed across the club, dancers crowded the floor, and servers hurried the bartenders.

  At his end of the booth, outfoxed and knowing it, Verlov drained his glass and took refill after refill. Laughing a bit too loudly at inane comments the blonde Katy made, he eventually tired of the game he had started. Short of ordering one of his byki to shoot Ivanov, the contest had ended in a stalemate. The women emptied the bottle much too fast. Both were slurring their words. Ivanov took Marina to the dance floor twice.

  On Ivanov’s second go-around, Verlov broke the impasse by taking the opportunity to decamp, leaving the stupefied Katy slumped in the booth. Enjoying his win, Ivanov sent the two pouting women home in a cab. The reinforcements Helinski had called in were released to the dance floor. Later, in a private room upstairs in the club, Ivanov and his lieutenants talked about the confrontation.

  “I underestimated you,” said an admiring Helinski.

  “So did Verlov,” said Ivanov.

  “You used the Blonde Option,” said Sergov. “Very clever.”

  Ivanov laughed. “The longer it went the older those girls looked.”

  “Still, not a bad way to outfox an enemy,” said Helinski.

  Ivanov, grim, propped his chin in his hand. “Next time won’t be so easy. Verlov wants me out of the way. I think he’s already planning how to do it. I won’t see it coming next time. That worries me.”

  “It should,” said Helinski. “He wants to take over sooner than you think. You’re in his way. With you gone he can take his time with Levich. Grab the top spot.”

  “I ain’t worried,” snarled Sergov. “Fuck Verlov. He’s beshenaya sobaka—a mad dog. You know what I say is true.”

  Ivanov dismissed the bravado. “You speak like a durak—a fool. Verlov is made of iron. He’s ruthless. How do you think a man like him survives?”

  Helinski said, “You’re more ruthless. You have no heart…hey, no disrespect…I mean this in a good way, you know?”

  “Enough about Verlov,” said Ivanov. “What happened tonight tells me we have to move faster than I thought. We have to catch him when he’s at Dagmar Danilev’s place. I need that layout of her house you promised me.”

  “We’ll do it,” swore Helinski. “By the end of the week.”

  Ivanov ended the meeting. “We’re done. Drop me at my place.”

  Chapter 42

  Within two days McFadden kept his promise to contact the journalist. “It took some doing to track this guy down,” he told Wolf at breakfast.

  Wolf pushed aside an empty plate. “So what’s the verdict?”

  “He sounded wary but interested. He wants to talk to you first.”

  “Outstanding. Who is he and where is he?”

  “Name’s Nash. Naturalized Irishman. Has a condo in Santa Barbara.” McFadden handed Wolf a card with the contact’s name, phone and address. “Reggie can drive you up there if you’d like. She could drop in on her mom and let you have the car for the day.”

  “Works for me, Sam.”

  “I didn’t give away a lot other than you’re a friend from the service. Take along one of the CDs Kurskov made for us.”

  “Good idea. This guy Nash speak Russian?”

  “I assume so. I do know he’s persona non grata
with the Russian mob. That makes two of you. You’ll probably get along just fine.”

  “Appreciate it, Sam. I’ll give him a call before lunch.”

  “Do that. He’s expecting to hear from you.”

  Reggie wandered past the table, gave her husband a kiss and propped a hand on her hip, her eyes on Wolf. “I hear we might be making a trip to Santa Barbara.”

  “Hope you don’t mind being seen with me,” said Wolf.

  She arched an eyebrow. “You can ride in the back under a scrap of carpet. And we can stay overnight at Mother’s.”

  McFadden said, “Not a bad idea, Wolfman. Could give you a lot more time with Nash. You two will have a lot to talk about. You game?”

  “I like it, Sam.” Wolf glanced at Reggie.

  “Mother would enjoy seeing you again. That would give me more time with her.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said McFadden.

  Wolf made his call. Nash agreed to meet the following morning at a small café near his gated condo development. If they found common ground, he told Wolf, they could return to his home to continue the discussion. Alerting Reggie that they would leave within the hour, Wolf sought out McFadden, who was supervising a pool cleaning crew. Out of earshot of the maintenance duo, he said, “You were right. Nash sounded cautious.”

  “Given what he’s been through, he has a right to be. You should know he lost his wife over his reporting on the Russian mob. Bastards rigged a bomb in their car.”

  “That’s a helluva note. I hope he’s willing to talk.”

  McFadden snorted. “He’s doing it as a favor to me. Maybe this guy can set you straight about mob money being used to fund a proxy war.”

  “Or confirm what I think is going on.”

  His eyes on the pool crew wrestling with a hose, McFadden spoke without looking at Wolf. “Well, either way you’re going to get an education. Like I told you, I’ve read this guy’s stuff. He’s good. Tells it like it is. If he thinks you’re wrong about your theory, he’ll probably say so.”

  “I could handle that.”

  McFadden looked at Wolf. “I hope this works out for you. Just do me a favor. Don’t let Reggie anywhere near this. Don’t let her know any details.”

  “What does she know?”

  “Only that you’re going to meet this journalist. She doesn’t know a lot about him other than he’s a writer who tagged along with me over there. She’ll ask what you’re up to, of course.”

  “Yeah, I would expect that. She doesn’t miss much.”

  “True. But she’s better off being in the dark.”

  Chapter 43

  Not sure what Verlov’s next move would be, Ivanov broke his routine. As a precaution he slept in different beds, some belonging to old girlfriends, some newly won. Other nights he stayed in homes where members of his crew lived. A couch here, a bed there—all in an effort to throw Verlov off his trail.

  The business of loan-sharking, collecting protection payoffs, below-the-radar drug dealing, and shaking down new immigrants continued with occasional glances over the shoulder. Cordial to Ivanov in Boris Levich’s presence, Verlov bided his time, acting the perfect team player in the old man’s court. Ivanov knew better, his instincts in a heightened state.

  The contents of a second letter—like a previous missive, hand-delivered to Levich by a recent arrival from Moscow—caught Ivanov off guard. Called to the godfather’s fifth-floor penthouse fortress, Ivanov and Helinski stepped off the elevator. Greeted by two unsmiling bodyguards, the pair surrendered weapons and endured the usual pat-down. Neither Verlov nor his byki were to be seen.

  A good sign, thought Ivanov.

  Passed to the inner sanctum alone, he approached the seated Levich, who waved him to a gilded chair. “Ah, Dimitri, good of you to come.”

  Ivanov knew to hold his tongue.

  Levich leaned forward. “You remember when I sent two of Sasha’s boys on that errand? The one that ended badly?”

  “Virginia Beach?”

  “Yes. You had asked to go but I gave you a task instead.”

  “I did as asked.”

  Like a grinning skull, Levich nodded at the memory. “Ah, yes, faithful Dimitri. Trustworthy, my boy. I will not make a mistake like that again. I should have sent you. Poor Sasha, a fool.”

  Waving the letter in his hand, Levich said, “The Brotherhood is insistent we try again. Sasha’s men were to find a ledger…a book of secrets.” Levich paused for breath, grasping for words just out of reach.

  “A book? This is what Sasha’s crew was looking for?”

  Levich said, “Yes. This accursed book has become a stumbling block. We must have it. All I know is that it contains information that should never have been committed to paper. So, we must simply get it back. You understand?”

  “I’m sure my men will not fail you.”

  Fire blazed in the old man’s eyes. “NO. You must return this book to me personally, Dimitri. You alone are capable.”

  Sensing a trap, Ivanov said, “Surely Verlov would be an excellent choice to handle this. He is more experienced than me, Boss.”

  Levich waved both hands, dismissing the suggestion. “You must go, Dimitri. I know you will not fail me. I don’t need to suffer more of the same aggravation this damned book has already caused me.”

  “Where to begin? Surely, I can’t return to Virginia Beach.”

  “Of course not. That is a dead end. I would not risk you there. No, you will go to Los Angeles. We have friends there. They are to assist you in whatever you need.”

  “Los Angeles? Perhaps I can take some of my boys with me.”

  “No. They stay here. I may need to call on them. You will have all the help you want on the coast. All you need do is ask.”

  “And we are certain this book is now in California?”

  Shaking the letter, Levich growled, “It seems the man who has this book has traveled there to seek help in understanding its contents. It is your job to get this book before it ends up in the wrong hands.”

  “It seems as if it has already reached the wrong hands.”

  “True, but your job is to get it back. Do what you need to do to make sure that it goes no further. Do you understand, Dimitri?”

  “I will do my best.”

  “Of course you will.” Handing his instrument of wrath a thick envelope, Levich said, “You leave tonight. What you need to know is in this envelope. Tickets, contacts, and money. Verlov assured me you would be the perfect one to succeed where others had failed. I agreed.”

  The audience over, Levich rose to usher Ivanov from the study. On the threshold the frail Levich enveloped the younger man in a hug. Aware now that Verlov’s hand was involved and resigned to what he considered an impossible assignment, Ivanov felt as if death himself was embracing him.

  Chapter 44

  Driving north on I-5, Wolf was a captive audience to Reggie’s chatter from San Diego to San Clemente. The woman could talk. At San Juan Capistrano he traded seats. With him behind the wheel, she poured out her hope to visit the Philippines again with McFadden.

  “Probably not a trip he wants to make, Reggie.”

  “If you said it was a good idea, Sam would do it. He’ll listen to you.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen. You’d have to do some serious convincing to get him back there. Don’t forget, Sam and I are not exactly welcome there after what we did.”

  “Enough time has passed. I’m sure you’ve been forgiven.”

  “I doubt it. Save your breath. Sam will never go for it.”

  She backed off, changing subjects for the moment. They passed the time talking of other things: Sam’s growing business, her mother. Coming full-circle, she again tried out her idea of visiting the Philippines. Staying neutral, Wolf played sounding board to his best friend’s wife.

  South of Mission Viejo they took Highway 73 toward Newport Beach, the first in a crowded coastal corridor of like towns filled with hordes of surfers and over-priced real estate. Afte
r that came Huntington Beach with its iconic pier and surfers scrapping over choppy waist-high waves. Picking up U.S. 405, they skirted Garden Grove and Anaheim to their north, gritty Long Beach to their south. Under a sun veiled in smog, they fled the contiguous sprawl that was Los Angeles and joined the swollen river of traffic flowing along the coast. At Reggie’s insistence, they stopped for lunch at an Asian place near Santa Monica.

  Digging into a bowl of shrimp and noodles, she flashed a coy smile. “Care to share what you and Sam are up to?”

  Wolf averted his eyes and worked on a heaping plate of fried rice with chopsticks. “Why do you always think we’re up to something?”

  “And why do you always answer my question with a question?”

  Acting surprised, he said, “Really, I do that?”

  “Don’t patronize me. You and Sam have this amazing ability to pick up where you left off regardless of how much time has passed.”

  “It’s a male art. We’re sworn not to reveal it to women.”

  “I can keep a secret.”

  “I don’t think so.” Wolf laughed. “Nice try, Reggie, but you’ll have to wait until we get back to San Diego. As for knowing what I’m doing…I haven’t got a clue at this point.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” she said.

  “It’s for your own good.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Ask your mother.”

  “I will.”

  “She’ll back me up, Reggie. You’ll see.”

  “We’re eating with Mother tonight. She’ll get you to talk.”

  “That’s what a dinner guest said to Calvin Coolidge once.”

  “Who?”

  “President Coolidge. Silent Cal. A woman sitting next to him said she had bet a friend she could get him to say at least three words.”

  “Did she succeed?”

  “Coolidge turned to her and said, ‘You lose.’”

  The pout returned.