“I like this girl,” Kruger said, putting the Jeep in gear and pulling into the street. “So, what’s up with your investigation?” he asked Marc.
“We can talk about it later.”
“What, you worried about Estrella telling the cops?” Kruger asked. “Do you like cops?” Kruger asked over his shoulder.
“No,” Estrella answered.
“I’m a cop,” Kruger said. “Do you like me?”
“No,” she replied.
Kruger turned back to Marc. “She’s cool, so spill. What’s your next move?”
“Crazy punk,” Marc groaned. “I’m meeting with Yelena Sokolov tomorrow morning at the Agia Sophia coffee house.”
“She has good taste,” Kruger said. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“Do you know where Janet and Gracie are living?”
“Somewhere close to Colorado College. I’ll drop you guys off.” It only took a few minutes to get from Downtown to Janet’s house. The ride was pretty quiet, with everyone keeping to themselves. As Marc and Estrella got out Kruger leaned out his window. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow for your meet with the princess.”
“Sure thing,” Marc responded. “Thanks for helping me out, Kruger. This is gonna be another hard one.”
“Nothing is easy anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Marc stood on the curb and watched the shadow of the Jeep disappear into the night. No tail lights or even brake lights. Marc wondered if they were burned out or traded away with the seat belts. He shrugged away the chill of the night and turned toward the house. None of the windows were letting light out to avoid getting them shot at during a drive by shooting.
“Stay in front of the door,” Marc cautioned Estrella as they walked up to the house. “Janet’s kinda careful, so be respectful.” He banged on the door. “Hey, Janet!” Marc shouted into the intercom. Him and Estrella stood on the porch in silence. She gave him a questioning look, and he motioned that she should wait a minute.
After a while the porch light turned on and the intercom squawked. “Who the hell is it!” A small door opened in the wall between the barred front window and the door and the ominous nose of a double barrel shotgun poked its way out.
“See what I mean?” Marc pointed at the shotgun. “It’s Marc and a stray.”
“I am not a stray, you gringo son of a bitch,” Estralla bit out quietly.
“If I called you a friend she was gonna cut you in half with that shotgun,” Marc said. “This way you get to live.”
“You are loco,” Estralla whispered as the front door opened.
“At least I’m not dead,” he whispered back.
“What the hell are you doing knocking on my door at this time of night!” Janet answered the door in a tank top and flannel pajama pants. The shotgun was cradled under her arm. “There is no excuse for what you’re doing out this late, and I will not accept you waking me up in the middle of the night again, do you understand me?” Janet waited until Marc acted like he was sufficiently penitent. “Good. Hey sweetie,” Janet said turning to Estrella with a smile. “It’s not often I get to meet any of Marc’s friends. Have you known him long?”
“We just met,” Estrella answered. “I helped him out of a bind.”
“Perfect,” Janet said, smiling even bigger. “We need all the blackmail on him we can get. Come inside, please. I’ll put you up in the guest room, okay?”
“That would be wonderful.”
“And you,” Janet turned on Marc, “get the couch. And beat the dust off before you come inside. Got it?”
“Yes, Janet,” Marc said meekly, trying not to smile. “You’re in good hands here,” he said to Estrella. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
***
Marc woke up the next morning when he heard Janet moving around in the kitchen. He pulled the covers over his head, groaning at the early hour.
“Don’t moan at me like that,” Janet called from the kitchen. “Some people actually have jobs, you know.”
“I have a job,” he grumbled into the pillow.
“Freelance muscle is not a job. Now get off the couch and clean your stuff up before the rest of the house gets moving.”
“Yes, dear.” Marc picked up his sweater from the floor and pulled it over his head. “Did I sleep through our guest sneaking out this morning?”
“I had her shower last night and took her clothes to wash them. She’s not going anywhere for at least a few more hours. Of course she used the hot water so you’re just going to have to stink for a few more days.”
Marc smiled as he stepped into the kitchen. “Thanks for taking care of Estrella, Janet. She put herself on the line for me last night.”
“Anyone you’re willing to bring to my house at one in the morning is someone special,” Janet said. “She’s really young to be on the streets on her own.”
“I’ve seen younger. She’s lucky the mob didn’t get its hands on her before now,” Marc said quietly. “She deserves more than dying at twenty as a strung out, used up piece of brothel candy.” He left the kitchen for the front hallway and started pulling his boots on. “I’ve got to head out early this morning. Where do you keep the keys for your gun case?” The house was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marc,” Janet said.
“I’ve got three of my guns in there,” Marc retorted. “Give me the keys.”
“I’m not going to help you get killed!” Janet shouted at him as he finished putting on his boots and stood up and grabbed his weapon harness.
Marc pulled the harness on violently and cinched the straps down tight. “I’m not gonna talk about this!” he shouted back. “Tommy’s dead because people hid behind their doors and let the Russians move into the Springs. He stood right there,” Marc pointed at the front door, “and took seven hollow-points to the body because some East Coast Italians tried to recruit him and the Russians wanted to make an example. Now give me the damn keys!”
Janet didn’t say anything, the anger in her eyes only slightly clouded by her tears. The floor at the top of the stairs creaked. Marc looked up to see Estrella and Gracie standing there. Marc walked over to the gun cabinet in the living room and felt above his head along the top where he couldn’t see. He pulled the key down and unlocked it, pulling the doors open angrily. Several rifles, shotguns, and pistols lined the inside. Marc took out a 9mm pistol in a cross-draw holster and put it forward on his left hip, low enough that his jacket wouldn’t get in the way. He pulled the pistol out and rammed a clip into the grip, setting the safety on before he put it back. At the bottom of the case were several more clips that he stuffed into his pocket. The drawer underneath the cabinet had a catch, but slid open easily. A sawed off over-and-under shotgun sat next to two boxes of long 12-guage shells. Marc grabbed a handful of shells and put them in another pocket, then clipped the sawed off next to the machete on his weapons harness.
He turned around and stomped over to the coat rack. Gracie slipped past him to get to Janet who was throwing dishes around the kitchen. He pulled on his jacket, zipping it up halfway. He went to reach for his overcoat and jerked in surprise when he almost knocked into Estrella. The teen girl was standing behind him and holding his overcoat.
“Let me help you,” she said quietly.
Marc was still, feeling his nostrils flare a little as he breathed. “Thank you,” he replied, trying very hard to make his voice less harsh. Estrella held the coat up so he could slide it on. “Are you going to be here when I get back?” Marc asked, tying his bandana around his neck and adjusting his goggles on his forehead.
“Sure,” Estrella answered.
Marc nodded once, then left the house. The front door slammed shut behind him. As he walked down the front steps the Jeep pulled up to the curb.
“Good timing,” Kruger commented as Marc climbed into the front seat. “Bad morning?”
“Don’t even get me started.”
***
The Agia Sop
hia coffee shop sat at the corner of Colorado Boulevard and North 29th Street in Old Colorado City. Originally a Victorian home, the local Russian Orthodox Church turned it into a coffee shop and bookstore pre-Impact. Marc and Kruger had both enjoyed the establishment back then, but things had changed. When the thieves in law had moved in it was only a matter of time before the Agia Sophia became a social center for the new upper class criminals.
They pushed open the doors and walked up to the counter. “We’re here to meet someone,” Marc said quietly to the svelte barista.
“Upstairs, in the meeting room,” she answered in barely accented English. “Don’t make any trouble,” she added.
Marc nodded, then tilted his head toward the stairs. Kruger went up first while Marc made a point to walk in such a way that his back was never toward the front door. They walked past the leather easy chairs, old wooden tables, and bookcases full of religious texts to get to the meeting room. Kruger knocked on the door softly. It cracked open a little bit, then opened all the way to reveal the massive form of Titus the bodyguard.
“Is good to see you alive,” Titus said to Marc. “I hear that you have trouble after leaving the club.”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Kruger said. He looked at Yelena who was standing in the corner of the room. “Are you really going to help us out, or is this a wild goose chase?”
“Or a trap,” Marc added.
“I have information that is very valuable,” Yelena said strongly. “But I will only give it to you if you help me.”
“Do you know who’s killing and threatening cops?” Kruger asked.
Yelena stepped toward the two Americans. “Will you help me?”
“Who’s running the Russian operations in the Springs?” Kruger pressed.
Marc put a hand on Kruger’s shoulder. “Take it easy, man,” he said. “Big fella doesn’t like the way you’re talking to his lady.”
Kruger looked over at Titus who was opening and closing his fists. “Point taken,” he replied. “If you give me the names I want, I’ll do anything you ask.”
Yelena looked at Titus, who nodded. Tension that hadn’t been apparent melted away from her and she sat down in a big leather chair. “My uncle, Alexei Sokolov, is the head of the Springs’ operations. He’s the one you want for everything.”
“And the other shoe?” Marc asked. Yelena clenched her jaw, working the muscles of her throat, but no words came out.
“Kill the bastard,” Titus answered for her. “He had her parents killed during the riots in St. Petersburg before Impact. They were almost safe, but when jet landed in Siberia they weren’t on board.”
“That we can do,” Kruger said. “And happily. I just need to get to a kiosk and everyone in the Department will be gunning for that son of a bitch.”
A commotion erupted downstairs, loud and shrill enough to be heard all the way in the meeting room. Marc and Titus both leaned against the door to listen. The distinct sound of a female voice cursing in Spanish reached their ears.
“I’ve gotta go,” Marc said. “I think I know what’s going on.” He walked across the common room and headed down the stairs. In the main entrance Estrella was haranguing the barista in eloquent Spanish while the barista was holding her own in similarly beautiful Russian. “Hey!” Marc shouted to get their attention.
“Oh! Thank God,” Estrella said when she saw him. “I’m not too late.”
“What’s going on?” Kruger asked as he, Yelena, and Titus joined them downstairs.
“Those weak-ass gangers from last night followed you here,” Estrella said. “I saw them out the window as you left. They’re in a pickup truck down the street, and I think they have a machine gun.”
“How did you get here?” Marc asked.
“I took the motorcycle that was in the garage at Janet’s place.”
Marc blinked. “Did you get a scratch on it?” Estrella looked at him like that was silly question. “Just…don’t put a ding in it, trust me.”
“We have more important things than a motorcycle,” Yelena broke in. “They will have seen her come in.”
“Lady’s got a point,” Kruger said. “They know her, and they know she’s with you now.”
“I have very simple solution,” Titus said. “Nadia, please take all the customers into basement where they will be safe,” he said to the barista.
“You cannot be serious,” Yelana protested.
“Young lady,” Titus addressed Estrella. “Please take her to basement and stay there till we come back.”
Estrella looked at Marc. “Do as he says,” Marc replied. Estrella took Yelena by the arm and hustled her in the direction that Nadia was leading the other customers. “And Estrella,” Marc called. She turned to look back at him. “Thank you.”
“Be careful,” she answered before moving again.
“I’ve got some firepower,” Marc said, pulling the sawed off from under his jacket.
“All I have with me is my sidearm,” Kruger said.
“There is AK-47 under the counter. Extra clips are behind the sugar,” Titus said as he walked upstairs.
“Where are you going?” Marc asked.
“I can see them coming down the street. Just keep them busy for little while,” the bodyguard shouted.
“How the hell are we supposed to do that!” Kruger said as he jumped over the counter and pulled out the AK.
“Stay down!” Marc shouted as he flipped over a table for cover. “Incoming!”
Bullets from an American-made SAW machine gun in a pickup truck across the street ripped into the front door of the Agia Sophia. Wood splinters and broken glass flew everywhere. The machine gun fired atr the door and lower windows for a few more seconds, then sprayed the upper story windows as gangers with shotguns and MP5s jumped out of the pickup and ran across the street. They took cover against the wall outside before spraying the front counter with bullets.
One ganger made the mistake of entering the shop as soon as they stopped shooting. Marc’s shotgun put a fist sized hole in the teenager’s chest. Kruger kneeled behind the counter and started shooting three round bursts at the door, discouraging anyone else from trying to get in. The machine gun sprayed the first floor again, driving Marc and Kruger back behind cover.
“Not good!” Marc shouted at the top of his voice, not caring if anyone heard him or not. “This is not fucking good!”
“Where the hell is that Russian!” Kruger fired a burst blindly over the counter at the door.
The pickup truck exploded, sending pieces of the ganger machine gunner and the driver in several directions. The shockwave was strong enough that it stunned the gangers for a few seconds. Marc switched the shotgun to his left hand and unsheathed the machete. Getting up, he ran towards one of the shot out windows and jumped to the ground outside. Pieces of empty—now broken—flowerpots crunched under his boots as he landed. The first ganger didn’t even have a chance as Marc ripped the machete across the back of his neck. Marc shot the next one in the leg as he turned, knocking the ganger to face the ground in a screaming mess. Marc stomped on his neck, breaking it, as he brought the machete around to slash the inner arm of a third, almost severing it at the elbow and spraying arterial blood onto the dusty brick wall.
A fourth ganger tripped as he tried to back away from Marc. From flat on his back he pulled the trigger on his MP5 in panic. One of the bullets smashed into Marc’s left shoulder, knocking him back against the wall and making him lose his grip on the shotgun. The ganger jumped to his feet, putting a new clip in his gun and working the action. He leveled the gun at Marc before being flung back by a three round burst from Kruger’s AK-47.
The last thing Marc saw before he blacked out was Kruger standing over him.
***
Alexei Sokolov waited for his bodyguards to check his house in the elite Broadmoor neighborhood before he went upstairs to his bedroom. As he walked down the hallway he heard the muffled click-click-click of a silenced MP5 and the grun
ts and thuds of his bodyguards being shot. He ran to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking the deadbolt. The door was solid oak over steel, and would stop any bullet. Before he could turn around and get the pistol from his bedside table something small and heavy crashed into his head.
“Alexei Sokolov, you are charged with murder, extortion, human trafficking, drug distribution, and a dozen other things that I’m too lazy to say,” a voice spoke to him through his pain induced haze. “How do you plea?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Sokolov mumbled.
2013: The Aftermath Page 33
