Pay Dearly

by M. S. Brannon

  Now the Vory V Zakone is only one of many Russian gangs in control of the black market. However, the Thieves are at the top of the food chain. They are the epitome of the Russian Mafia, and they play by an entirely different set of rules than the traditional Italian Mafia.

  I slam my laptop shut and whisper, “What the fuck?” Damn, this is more intense than I could imagine. I haven’t even looked at the tattoos yet, but they have to be some sort of code within the gang.

  I get up from my bed and walk to the kitchen, needing a drink. I pour myself a small glass of vodka and sip it down. The liquid burns my throat, but I hardly feel the sting. My mind is spinning from what I just read. Then my memory snaps me back to the past—back to the night my father was killed. They were speaking in a language I couldn’t place, but it sounded old-world somehow. Were they part of the Russian Mafia?

  I close my eyes to help me relive the worst night of my life. I recall the intruders saying something about Little Odessa. What the hell is Little Odessa? It’s then I recall it, and my knees begin to buckle. I drop my glass of vodka in the sink to catch my body from collapsing to the floor, but it’s there in my mind, the star on the man’s chest, the man who savagely raped me. He tried leaving me for dead after he cracked me on the head with the butt of his gun. The star was on his chest. That was the tattoo.

  I run back to my bedroom and pull up the pictures of John Doe number one, seeing the shape of the star cut out of his chest. It’s in the same location as the man who raped me, and the body today has the same fucking tattoo. Are … Are these the men responsible for my father’s murder?

  Not wasting another second, I google the Russian tattoos, particularly the eight-pointed star I know I’ve seen before. They are a common marking of the Thieves, indicating they are high-ranking in the organization. How they are earned is an entirely different, but it seems, as long as they do something criminal and honorable for the organization, they are welcome to get them. The spider climbing up means they are living a criminal lifestyle as a thief. If it were facing downward, then it means they are done with it.

  Pages upon pages of websites are available to read, and as I click on the links, I start swimming in information. The vast amount of detail regarding the various tattoos is overwhelming and all too much. I can’t read anymore. I am still reeling from the Thieves killing my father. I know it was one of them, but I’m certain I’ve seen these tattoos and drawings somewhere recently.

  I pull up my closed cases and review the names. The only one that flags my memory is Victor Zaretski.

  “Of course!” I shout and pull up his case file on my computer.

  The pictures from his demented killing chamber start to pop up on my screen. I can feel the chill of evil run down my back as I recall the last time I was there. Located on the wall are faded drawings, many of them of the tattoos I’ve just researched. The clarity of the photos sucks, though.

  I know this has to be a link to what is going on today. I know Victor Zaretski’s murders are related or directly tied to what is going on in Blythe Harbor now. There is only one way to find out.

  I need to visit the place where it all went down for Victor. I have to go to the place where it all began in the hopes that the images on the walls are still there. I need answers. I have to find the killer.

  Chapter Ten

  Nikolai

  August 3, 2015 9:57 p.m.

  The city seems quiet when I pull into the outskirts of Blythe Harbor. The drops of rain bead up on my windshield and roll off the glass as I drive slowly closer to my destination. The rain is coming down heavier than when I left Seattle hours ago. The street lamps glow from the bulbs as they light up the dark road and shine little orbs of light every twenty feet.

  The sound of the wipers coincides with Beethoven’s Symphony Number Five playing through the speakers of the Challenger. The strings, percussion, and horns awaken me with every crescendo throughout the piece, sending a jolt of energy through my body. It’s fully transformed me into assassin mode.

  I can feel my body reacting to the journey I am about to embark on. My gut begins to stir when I pull into the entrance to the ports and down the gravel road toward Manny’s boathouse. I’m not sure why the feeling is residing in my stomach, but I do know I trust it more than anything else.

  Manny instructed me to go to boathouse eight. I should see an old, red pickup truck parked outside, next to his boat, The Willow.

  I slow my car down then shut off my headlights and look to the numbered boathouses. As I pass each one, my gut remains on alarm, the feeling getting more and more intense with every building I pass. Located at the end of the row is boathouse eight.

  I turn the wheel sharp to the right, making my car horizontal in the middle of the road, then shift it into reverse. I release the clutch and back my car into the parking space next to the red truck. I always make sure the front end of the car is facing my nearest exit. If I need to move or make a quick exit, I can make them quickly and with minimal trouble.

  When I turn the engine off, I pull out my gun from the holster under my suit jacket and release the clip. I confirm it’s full and make sure it’s ready to fire in case I need it. Then I pull the leather gloves from my briefcase, slide my hands inside each one, and clicking the latches shut, I pull the briefcase off the front seat and step from the car.

  The drops of rain are cold on my face, but I welcome it each time they touch my fiery skin. I walk around the back of my car, setting the alarm and leaving it. My dress shoes crunch under the sandy pavement as I detect the smell of the ocean in the air. My surroundings seem calm and the wind is cool, but my anxiety heats up my body.

  I step over a concrete parking barrier and slowly creep onto the wooden pathway leading to the docks. When I am closer to the boathouse, I see Manny’s boat is fastened to the dock, rocking gently in the water. I know now I’m in the right place.

  Out of the corner of my eye, a figure emerges from inside the boat. The light in places is sketchy, making it hard to see. I immediately pull my gun, knowing my gut feeling of this place is right, and something is going to go down any second.

  I fall back into the shadows, moving my body next to the exit ladder of the rocking boat. I have my gun drawn, and the safety is off and ready to fire. The silencer is in place, muffling the sound if this little meeting doesn’t go like it’s supposed to.

  A small man turns around and starts making his way down the ladder of the boat. I hold my gun and body still in the shadows as I patiently wait for him to plant his feet on the swaying dock.

  The rubber soles of his canvas shoes tap the wood of the dock, and I make my move. I step forward slightly and press the tip of my gun to his temple. The man freezes immediately, knowing if he moves a single fucking inch, I will blow his head off. His hands are gripping the ladder, squeezing the metal so tightly you can practically see his knuckles wanting to break through his skin.

  “Mr. Black?” His voice is deeper than expected for a man this size. It eases me slightly, knowing he sounds like the Manny I’ve been conversing with.

  I lower the gun slightly, allowing him to turn to me fully, and when I look into his eyes, I know he is Manny. I’ve never met him before, but from how Stephan described him, there couldn’t be another man with a star tattoo under his right eye and a scar over the left. Still, I am on alert. I suppose I will be until this job is finally done.

  “You want to come sit down?” He motions toward the door of the boathouse, and I nod, motioning him to move first.

  We walk into the boathouse where the smell of fish collides with my nostrils. It’s very strong, making my nose twitch slightly from the pungent smell. I suppose, if you live on the docks, this is something you get used to.

  Manny walks over to a small table and chairs, holding his arm out to sit, which I do. I put the gun in front of us on the table and wait for his cue. I told no one except him what I was looking for, and if he doesn’t know what I am talking about, then I will shoot hi
m in the skull and move on.

  “What is my purpose here?” I ask.

  He flashes a confused look in my direction, and I glare at him. My fierce look is unbreakable as I assess him.

  “Sir?” Manny replies, still wearing the concentrated look.

  I pull my gun and lift it to his forehead. I push the metal end of the silencer into his brow then cock my head to the side, and Manny’s eyes explode open in a terrified yet surprised manner. He starts shaking his head, pleading with me through the silent gesture to spare his life. However, whether he goes on living is purely based on how he answers my questions, and so far, he’s not doing a very good job of it.

  “I don’t know you, Manny. Nor do I have the inclination or time to know you. I have asked you a question. Your answer will determine if your fate is to have your brains sprayed all over the back wall. Now, I will ask you one last time. What is my purpose here?” I push the end of the gun a little harder into his flesh to let him know that I will kill him.

  “You … You are looking for Stra … vin … sky,” Manny mumbles as he stammers to answer my question.

  With that, I lower my gun, leaving my hand wrapped around the butt of it. I lay it in front of me again, still pointing it at his chest. One wrong move, and I will destroy him.

  “Good, now the answer is what?” I ask, already wishing this conversation to be over with.

  “I don’t know exactly where he is. For the last five years or so, he has been lying low, but the last I heard, he was in Little Odessa. I do know he’s been traveling a lot more between Russia and there, but at this current moment, I don’t know where he is.”

  I raise my gun, infuriated with his answer. This is not what I wanted to hear.

  “Manny, I was told you would have answers to Stravinsky’s whereabouts. In fact, it was insisted that you were the man to see if I needed to know where he was at any given moment.” I push my gun up to his forehead again as I rise to my feet.

  Manny can’t do anything but plead for his life. He starts to tear up, the well of water holding in the corners of his eyes, and I look upon him in fascination. Like with Anna or many of my other conquests, I find the eyes the most intriguing right before they die. Manny’s are glazed over with tears. They look like liquid tar pooling in his sockets.

  I pull the hammer back on my gun and shake my head, knowing this asshole has nothing left to give me, and I have no more time for him.

  “Waaaiiittt!” His shout echoes inside the small boathouse. “Some of his men are here.”

  “What do you mean by ‘here’?” I ask.

  “Here, in Blythe Harbor. They arrived a day ago.” I lower the gun again, allowing him the peace to speak. “They came around here, asking about a man who’s living in the area. I guess he’s a man who’s been here awhile.”

  My curiosity is rising, wondering who the men really are and if the man in hiding is formally a part of the crew. Then I think I know who he is, and he’s as good as dead.

  “And what did you tell them?”

  “I told him about the Smith guy who lives off Hyde Avenue. He used to work on the docks until the harbor master had to lay a bunch of guys off a few years ago, but I really don’t see him anymore. I’m not sure if he’s still here.”

  My gut sinks when I hear him say Smith. I know the Smith guy, and I know he left the organization a long time ago. Regardless, I need to get my hands on him first. I need information, and I think he may be the person to give it to me.

  “Do you know where the two guys are staying?”

  “In one of two places. Mostly, people stay in an old motel off of 101. The night manager there is the type to accept your money and won’t ask any further questions. He takes the cash and turns a blind eye if you know what I mean.” Manny is beginning to breathe more regularly as I walk from his body and begin to pace.

  “And the other?”

  “Well, if they want total solitude, then they will be staying in The Ruins.” I look skeptically at Manny, not understanding what the hell he’s talking about. “The Ruins is where a bunch of murders took place. It’s supposedly haunted with the ghost of the dead. No one goes there, not even the police.”

  “Ghosts, I can deal with.” I look down at my watch, seeing it’s ten thirty. If I’m going to do something, it needs to be in the darkness of night. I don’t want to expose myself and blow my cover before I get a single thing accomplished.

  I decide to let Manny live as I toss five thousand dollars on the table and walk toward the exit. As I pull open the door, I see a newspaper clipping hanging next to the exit. It’s a mug shot of a man named Victor Zaretski. I worked with him in the past. He was an interrogator for our organization, but I didn’t get the opportunity to know him because of my first stint in prison. I do know he’s on death row for the crimes he committed when he went off the deep end.

  Next to his mug shot, I see a beautiful woman. She’s got long, blonde hair that flows down her back and a sexy, confident smile that shines from her face. Her cheekbones are defined, and she has lips a man would only want to devour.

  Her eyes look oddly familiar, though. They are a crystal blue, the color of the Caribbean, and piercing. I’ve seen eyes like hers before. I feel like I’ve looked into those eyes right before they died, but I can’t place it. I’ve looked and killed so many people in my past I’m not sure if she’s one or not, but I recognize those round, blue orbs. She is absolutely stunning, and if I weren’t on this quest, she would be my next.

  Manny comes to my side and breaks through my thoughts.

  “It’s a shame what happened to him. He’s the reason why no one goes to The Ruins. That’s where Victor killed his victims.”

  I look back at him, answering with my eyes that I understand. It was a shame. Victor was a nice guy, demented but nice.

  “That bitch, she was ruthless and made sure he wouldn’t get life or go to the mental hospital. She made sure he got the death penalty.”

  “Do you know her?” I look at her name under the snapshot. “This Detective Josslyn Stowe?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Not really. All I know is the unrelenting bitch is the golden girl of the police force. That bitch can solve just about any case sent her way, and she eats up all the attention from it. And worst of all, she can’t be bought.”

  I look back to Manny and huff. “Everyone can be bought. The price just hasn’t been appealing enough for her,” I reply as I exit the door.

  I walk out into the rainy night then fall into the Challenger. My head is reeling from knowing there will be three men in Blythe Harbor alone who can point me to Stravinsky’s current whereabouts, and bloodshed will eventually follow.

  August 3, 2015 10:15 p.m.

  I didn’t know where I was going after I left Manny, but I knew, if I found the street, I would find Smith. Of all my skills, persistence and patience are my best attributes. That is how I have survived so long in the criminal world and in prison. You simply have to have patience and focus. I excel at both.

  As I roll past a dark, blue house on the left side of the bleakest area of Hyde Avenue I’ve seen so far, my attention goes on alert when a porch light comes on from three houses down the street, and a man emerges from the front door. I can’t make out his face, but I see he has an abundance of tattoos on his shirtless body. I slowly roll my car forward, keeping my cover as much as possible. My headlights are off, making my black car blend in with the dark night.

  I park the Challenger along the curb and grab my gun from the back seat. It’s wedged by my side as I creep my way toward the white house. The large oak tree provides cover when I get within thirty feet of the house.

  His hair is as black as I remember. The man puts a cigarette to his mouth, and as he lights it, I confirm who he is when the orange glow from the fire lights up his face.

  Here is one of the three men I need to approach, but he will be he last. I have two others whom I know will have the positive whereabouts to Stravinsky. Then I wil
l come back for him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Josslyn

  August 7, 2015 9:10 p.m.

  Knowing my hunch about the killer being related to Zaretski has to be right, I gather up my things and practically run through the front door as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see Gabe’s phone number flash on the screen.

  My finger swipes the answer button just as I fall into my car and shut the door behind me. “Yeah!” I snap curtly.

  “Stowe, we’ve got another body.”

  I can’t believe this. He’s struck again? How the hell is he getting these bodies out so quickly?

  “It’s not apparent if it’s related to the other murders, but I think you need to come here and take a look.”

  “What’s the scene like?” I ask as I start my car. I have no intentions of going to this crime scene, even if it is related. I have to go to The Ruins. I need to follow my gut and see if the killings are related to Zaretski.

  “Forced entry to a hotel room. The manger was shot in the process. He’s the body, but there might be evidence our killer is staying here,” Gabe says with the sounds of commotion from the crime scene unit around him.

  “What evidence?”

  “The maid who discovered him mentioned two scary men were staying in this room. One of them was older and gave her the willies when he looked at her.” Gabe huffs into the phone, trying to walk and talk at once.

  “That doesn’t say shit, Gabe. There are a lot of scary men who live around here, so what you’re saying has nothing to do with our case,” I snap and start my car. The mere fact that he is talking to me about this is driving me crazy. I need to get off this phone. “Look, I’ve got to go. I will call you later.”

  “Stowe?” Gabe shouts in the phone. “The men had accents and spoke in a language she didn’t recognize. You and I both know the only language around here other than English is Spanish, and this woman is Hispanic. So can you tell me now that this has nothing to do with our case?” He is clearly angry and will get even madder when that is not enough to get me out there.