Black Delta Night

by Jessica Speart

  It had become essential that I act quickly to cement Sergei’s trust. Clearly, another agency had become interested in him. I suspected it wouldn’t be long before they’d once again try to kick me off the case—perhaps permanently, next time.

  The Velvet Kitty’s lot was jammed. Little wonder; the club’s logo had an added attraction in the dark: the cat’s nipples flashed in an ever-changing array of colors. I knew there was a good chance Tatyana would be at the club tonight. I’d learn soon enough if she’d kept my secret safe.

  I parked near Sergei’s pink Cadillac and approached the club’s front door, only to be accosted by one of the exiting patrons. The guy tottered as he walked and his shirt was two sizes too small, revealing way more fat than muscle.

  “Hey there, cutie! You’re lookin’ luscious tonight! How ’bout giving me a Velvet Kitty rub in my car before you start your shift?” he drunkenly inquired. “I’m talking full contact, for which you get twenty-five smackeroos that you don’t have to split with the boss.”

  I began to walk past, when his hand landed someplace it shouldn’t have.

  “Come on sugar tits; don’t be like that. I’m talking a quickie!”

  In two seconds, Mr. Wonderful was thrown flat on his back. Perhaps our chance encounter would teach him it’s not nice to touch without an invitation.

  “I hope that was full contact enough for you,” I said, and stepped over his body. “That’s my version of a quickie.” God, Vincent would have been proud of me!

  I walked inside, feeling ready to deal with any situation, only to stop dead in my tracks. The one thing I hadn’t counted on was staring right at me. Santou sat in a booth next to Galinov. Jake blanched and slowly shook his head. I took that to mean I was to vamoose, go play somewhere else. Santou smoothly focused his attention back on Sergei.

  I’d pretty much had it with people trying to push me around, from my attacker this morning to the joker in the parking lot. I didn’t care who Santou was working for; I had no intention of scooting away with my tail between my legs. Galinov was square in my sights and I refused to give up my prey. If Santou wanted Sergei, he’d have to fight me for him.

  I impudently sashayed over, giving a little extra sexy sway to my hips. Sergei’s face lit up as he caught sight of my approach.

  Top that one, Santou! I silently gloated. I knew I’d hit my mark as Jake’s complexion turned a shade paler. At the same time his eyes revealed that he’d never expected anything less.

  Sergei jumped to his feet and wrapped me in a bear hug, as if I were a long-lost relative. “Moy dorogoy! My dear, what are you doing here?”

  “I hope I’m not disturbing anything, but Woody was unavoidably detained, so I’m taking his place tonight.”

  Santou’s eyes worked like magnets, drawing my own from over Sergei’s shoulder. He’d once told me that his grandmama had practiced voodoo when he was a young boy. If so, she must have passed the art on to her grandson. Santou now held me in thrall with the ease of a snake hypnotizing its victim. I felt myself tumble down a rabbit hole, uncontrollably falling into a featherbed of sinfully sensuous thoughts and emotions.

  I couldn’t help but remember how Santou’s fingers had expertly hit every pulse point in my body. Jake seemed to know it, as well. His hint of a smile sent a shiver of electricity rippling through me.

  “Rachel, you’re shivering! Are you telling me that you were alone on the water with Woody tonight?” Sergei questioned, rubbing my arms with his hands.

  “Virgil wasn’t available and I thought he might need some help.”

  Galinov’s eyes narrowed as he processed this information. “And everything went all right?”

  “Absolutely fine,” I assured him.

  “Here. Let me pour you some vodka. It will warm you up. That and sitting close to me. I have enough body heat for the both of us.”

  I scooted onto the bench, aware of the wound-up intensity vibrating off Santou. If he was nervous, it didn’t show. He casually draped his arms over the top of the cushioned booth and leaned back, his eyes boldly traveling up and down my form as if examining a piece of merchandise. Santou was not only calling my bluff, but playing his own game of chicken.

  “So, Sergei. What have we here? She’s quite a looker. You going to introduce me to the lady?”

  Galinov caught Santou’s drift and swiftly brought it to a halt. “No, no, my friend. This one, she is not for you.” He handed me a glass of vodka and raised his own in salute. “Priscilla is an associate of mine who likes to take risks almost as much as I do. In fact, she is proving to be an invaluable asset.”

  Priscilla? I glanced at my Elvis clone and took it as a definite sign of progress.

  Galinov clinked his glass against mine. “Na zdorovye,” he toasted. “Drink up!”

  “In other words, you want to keep her all for yourself. Not that I blame you.” Santou pointedly stared at my cleavage before looking back up. He couldn’t have made his disapproval of my attire any more clear, while managing to hide the fact from Sergei. “She really must be something special.”

  I glared at Santou. “I’d appreciate not being referred to as some sort of commodity. And if you have something to say, you can speak directly to me. I don’t know who the hell you are, but for your information, I belong to no man.” I spiked the blow with a lethal smile. Raising my glass, I downed the remaining vodka.

  Sergei chuckled and refilled both our glasses. “I don’t think my friend likes you, Mr. Folse. Our business is over for tonight, anyway. You push too hard and I haven’t yet made a decision. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he said by way of dismissal.

  Jake slid out of the booth, and then picked up my hand and kissed it. “Please accept my apology, miss. I meant no harm. It’s just that you’re very beautiful.”

  My anger promptly dissipated into a clump of sawdust in my throat. For that one moment, I no longer cared who won the game. All I knew was that I didn’t want to lose Santou ever again.

  “How about I call you in a couple days, Sergei, and we’ll see if we can’t work something out?”

  Santou didn’t wait for a response, but turned and walked away. My eyes remained glued to his form until the very last whisper of his presence slipped out the door.

  “So, Agent Porter. Now that you’re here at my club, what do you think?” Galinov asked.

  But I knew his inquiry was much more than a question. It was a test.

  I glanced at the lap dance going on at the next table. “I’d say you’ve got yourself quite a gold mine.”

  Galinov nodded heartily in agreement. “That it is. It’s good you approve.”

  If I’d thought the place was sleazy before, now that I knew what was really going on, it seemed downright sinister.

  “You brought the eggs with you?” Sergei questioned.

  “Yes. They’re in my vehicle.”

  “Good. Let’s go get them.”

  I followed Galinov past the painted faces of girls staring blankly into space as their bodies performed like machines. I only hoped their souls had learned to grow wings, on which they could mentally fly thousands of miles away.

  I unlocked the Excursion and delivered the container of roe to Sergei.

  “Huh,” he grunted, calculating its weight in his hands. “About eight pounds. Not bad. Still, I think we’d better move even further south if we plan to catch the bigger fish.”

  That’s when I knew what I had to do next. “So, tell me. How do you store the eggs? Are they kept in a portable ice chest in your house?”

  Sergei looked momentarily perplexed, then his face began to darken. “Why do you ask this? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve had the opportunity to check out some amazing storage spaces at other dealers’ facilities. But those were legitimate caviar places, of course.” I directed my arrow at Sergei’s pride, laying my trap. “They’re big-time players and have very elaborate setups. You probably don’t have anything like that.”

  Zap! My
arrow hit its bull’s-eye.

  “And what the hell do you think I am? Some fishmonger standing on a street corner in Moscow?” Galinov erupted. “You’re impressed because you believe somebody has a fancier place? I tell you, there is nobody with a bigger or better business! I have a fortune stockpiled in caviar and paddlefish roe!”

  “I don’t mean to offend you, Sergei. But there’s only so much roe a dealer can keep on hand; it has to be moved fast. After all, it’s a perishable product.”

  It was now Galinov’s turn to gloat. “That’s where you’re wrong! For most dealers, yes. But not for me.” Sergei’s finger tapped against his temple. “You are dealing with one very smart cookie. I have developed a method for freezing eggs which others don’t know. You will come with me to the house, and I will show you something you’ve never seen before!”

  “Tonight?” I demurely questioned.

  “Tonight!” Sergei roared, reestablishing his unquestionable masculinity.

  A minute later I was in my Ford, following Sergei back to his Moscow on the Mississippi. Billy Paw opened the front door before we even reached the top step. Talk about your loyal manservant! He wore a loud flannel shirt stained with what smelled like chewing tobacco, yet I could have sworn he glanced at my dress with disdain. Who’d put him on the Best-Dressed list?

  “Can I get youuu something, boss?” Billy Paw drawled, catching Galinov’s sequined cape with one hand while holding out the other for my gun.

  “No. Nothing right now. Go away. Make yourself scarce.”

  A beam of resentment emanated from Billy Paw that was nearly as strong as a nuclear flash. This was the first I’d seen it directed at Galinov. If Sergei wasn’t careful, he might find himself with a revolution on his hands.

  Sergei led me through the kitchen to a door I hadn’t noticed before, where he fished a set of keys from his pocket and chose one with a large, square head. Unlocking the door, he then switched on a light and we proceeded downstairs to an enormous room filled with a stereo system, an assortment of radio equipment, and lots of knickknacky Elvis memorabilia. It could have passed as any other suburban basement except for the steady hum that issued from six commercial-sized freezers. The metal coffins lined two of the walls.

  Galinov walked over to the steel lockers and flung open each of their doors. Inside were buckets filled to the brim with little black beauties, also known as Delta Gold, Chattanooga beluga, and Aphrodite’s eggs. In addition, there were bucketfuls of Caspian beluga, osetra, and sevruga roe. He added tonight’s catch to the millions of embryos that lay perfectly preserved in a suspended state of animation.

  “Okay! Now tell me where you’ve ever seen anything else like this before!”

  I had to admit he had me on that one.

  “I have ten thousand pounds of frozen caviar. Mix in a little beluga or osetra, slap on a Russian label, and I can pass it off as the genuine article. Do you know how much money all this is worth?”

  My mind did a quick tally. Beluga was retailing for ninety-five dollars an ounce these days, and fancy Manhattan restaurants easily sold a thousand pounds of the stuff. I came up with somewhere around 1.2 million dollars. Then I multiplied it by ten. My brain began to short-circuit, just trying to add up the numbers. Wow! Sergei had as much caviar on hand as Harrison Ford got paid per picture! That really was impressive!

  Galinov drew close, his breath hot and heavy on my neck. “Last year alone, New York consumed eighty-one tons! Just think of it!”

  My mind performed another speedy calculation. That amount of caviar equaled the size of forty elephants!

  “You Americans are insatiable—it is what I love best about you!”

  Sergei turned me toward him, and presented me with his best Elvis sneer. “Why did you really go out on the water tonight? What were you trying to prove?”

  Think Body Heat! I instructed my inner actress, going for a young, slim version of Kathleen Turner.

  “I wanted to keep an eye on what Woody and Virgil were up to. Somebody might try to take more than their fair share when this much money is at stake. Besides, we’re in business together now,” I added in a low, sultry tone. “I believe in safeguarding my investment.”

  Sergei drew me close, until all that separated us were his protruding rhinestones. “Could it be? Maybe you really are my Priscilla. If so, you are one lucky female. Why is that, you ask? It is because just like Elvis, I know how to satisfy my women. I believe it is time we became more intimate.”

  Sergei’s arms wrapped around me like tentacles. Maybe showing so much cleavage hadn’t been such a good idea. Now what the hell was I supposed to do? Kick him in the groin and make a run for it?

  Galinov’s vodka-laced breath nearly knocked me out as his lips pressed hard against mine. The next moment, a deafening crash resounded from the floor above, and Billy Paw began to curse loudly.

  “Goll darn it to hell and holy tarnation! Dear Lord and Elvis, help me now!”

  That did it. Sergei flew upstairs as though having heard that Elvis had just arrived in the building. I followed, pausing as my foot hit the first step. Hidden beneath the stairwell were two metal cabinets. I mentally filed the discovery away, then hightailed it up to the kitchen, where a large teapot lay smashed on the floor.

  “You idiot! That belonged to Elvis’s mother!” Galinov roared. “Vern gave that to Gladys after Elvis appeared on The Milton Berle Show! How could you be so stupid?”

  I slipped past Sergei, who dropped to his knees, bringing Billy Paw down with him.

  “We’re going to gather every single piece up and then glue it back together!” Galinov raged, close to tears.

  I retrieved my gun and walked out the door amid the confusion.

  Sleep came easier than I’d expected, enveloping me in its black velvet grip. I floated on a cloud of moonlight, while a spider wove lunar cobwebs. Each was a strand of gold and contained a translucent gray pearl in its middle. But the surprise lay in what was swimming inside—a perfectly formed paddlefish.

  I plucked an egg, which broke in my hand. An iridescent stream gushed out, and the puddle rose as the water exploded. Then a whirlpool pulled me down.

  The darkness was as dense as undeveloped film, until I finally hit bottom. Once there, I discovered I wasn’t alone. An arm brushed against mine and I turned to find Valerie Vaughn, a former stripper from New Orleans. I’d worked on her case after she’d been murdered, her body slashed to resemble an intricate puzzle. A stream of white froth tumbled out of her mouth in a trail of glistening champagne bubbles.

  I quickly became part of a circle of girls dressed in their best “fuck me” shoes and G-strings. We were attached by umbilical cords permanently forged from iron chains. They’d clearly been sold into sexual bondage, each a prisoner in a hidden trade, lost in a labyrinth with no end.

  Their desperate fingers began to claw at my hair, some wanting to be saved, others intent on having me join them. Then I saw a metal freezer on the river floor, patiently waiting with its door open. I fought but couldn’t stop the women from placing me inside the steel coffin, after which it was closed and locked.

  I woke up in bed, screaming and covered in sweat. The lamp was off, its bulb burned out. My demons had cleverly snuck in under the cover of night, knowing I didn’t expect them. I grabbed the remote and, with shaky fingers, quickly turned on the TV. But even the noise couldn’t fully bring me back from my dream’s watery depths. I lay under the circling blades of the overhead fan and imagined them to be a protective wheel of sabers. Just like the Mississippi, my own lair was filled with dark, mysterious secrets.

  Twenty-two

  I fell back into a restless sleep, only to be dragged awake by the nerve-jangling ring of the phone. I glanced at my clock. Six A.M. Who the hell would be calling at this hour? I picked up the receiver and mumbled hello.

  “Bronx! Haul your sorry ass out of bed, throw on some clothes, and get over to the office right now!”

  The voice shot through me wit
h the crackling sting of a whip. I hadn’t heard Charlie Hickok sound this frazzled since our days back in New Orleans.

  “What’s up?” I asked, my adrenaline set on high-octane and already pumping.

  “Something’s happened. We need to talk.”

  Before I could ask for more particulars, Charlie hung up. My stomach churned with the low grind of a failing car battery. I felt sure the call meant only one thing: whatever was going on, I was in some serious deep shit.

  I pulled myself out of bed, and prepared for the day with an extra large slug of Mylanta. Then I showered, dressed, and made a beeline for work.

  What have I done? What have I done?

  “Your job! Now stop being such a wuss!” my inner voice tartly commanded.

  I walked down the deserted hall and through the office door, where Barney Fife pointed his gun at me. But that was nothing compared to the rest of the firing squad that awaited my arrival.

  Holy moly! I found myself confronted by what had to be Billy Paw’s twin brother—only this guy had his act together. His hair was neatly combed back and he wore a suit. Even stranger was that Santou stood beside him. Meanwhile, Hickok sat slumped in his chair wearing a dire expression that clearly read, You’re about to get your ass whupped. Talk about your Unholy Trinity.

  I took another look at Mr. Clean, who exuded a lethal mix of machismo and arrogance. The morning sun streamed through the window, creating a metallic glare on the floor that captured my attention. Glancing down, I spied a pair of worn-out boots capped with shiny metal tips. My eyes instantly shot back up. This was the bastard who’d jammed a gun in my ear and exfoliated my face with a spray of gravel!

  A repugnant smirk was plastered across the man’s face. “How youuuuu doing, Porter?” he drawled in amusement.

  I stared in disbelief, refusing to acknowledge Santou, who’d begun to fidget.

  “This here is Special Agent Ed Tolliver.” Hickok’s voice crackled in the tension-filled air. “And I believe you already know the other sonofabitch next to me.”