“Then don’t behave like a child,” Dmitry said with a scowl on his face. The veins protruded out of his neck. “I am trying. And you have to be patient.”
“But I want to help,” Ivan said, backing down just a little. “And I know how to, but you don’t trust me enough to let me do it.”
Dmitry gritted his teeth. “You’re only sixteen, Ivan. And you’re telling me that you want to start a gambling hall. You’re not even old enough to drink. No one would ever believe it anyway, unless they saw a birth certificate. I’m telling you, it’s a good idea, brat. I could pull it off.”
“If I give you the funds to start this gambling hall, you realize that it will still be under my control and my rules. I don’t want you pimping young girls out of it or selling drugs.”
“Fine,” Ivan said, feeling his brother starting to give in.
“You say fine, now, but I’m serious. If I find out that you’re fucking up, then I’ll shut you down.”
“I understand.”
Dmitry nodded. “Alright. I know I’m going to regret this, but I’ll give you the chance you keep begging for only if you work for it. I’ll need to know of every gambling hall in the area, who runs it, what they run out of it, where they are, how much you suspect they are bringing in and who their major players are.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“That’s the reconnaissance I was telling you about.” Dmitry stood up and walked to the door. “You get me that information, and I’ll fund your little place.”
Ivan sat back on the bed with a smile on his face. “I won’t disappoint you, Dmitry. Trust me. You’ll see.”
Dmitry didn’t bother with giving his vote of confidence. Instead, he simply bent down and picked up the bottles of beer littering the doorway. Throwing them in the trashcan beside his brother’s desk, he closed the door behind him and went into his room to think.
***
Exactly one day later, Dmitry could not believe his eyes or his ears. He sat with Davyd in front of the television, pen and pad on his lap as the announcement that would change their lives was made.
The leader of the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev, announced that he was stepping down from office. Broadcasting live on television, the Soviet Union became a mere page in history with the ten-minute speech that preceded what was soon to be recognized as the Commonwealth of Independent States.
"Due to the situation which has evolved as a result of the formation of the Commonwealth of Independent states I hereby discontinue my activities at the post of president of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics," he said. "Free elections have become a reality. Free press, freedom of worship, representative legislatures and a multi-party system have all become a reality,” Gorbachev said solemnly.
Dmitry looked over at Davyd and cracked a smile. They were finally in business. Flipping through his notebook, he wrote something on his pad and stood up.
“Do you know what this means for us, brat?” Dmitry asked excitedly.
“It means you need to find some large buyers,” Davyd answered, trying to control his mounting enthusiasm through sipping on his cup of coffee.
Dmitry nodded. Davyd was right.
The phone rang, interrupting their multiplying thoughts. In dash, Dmitry ran to the phone and answered it.
“Dmitry,” the deep, rough voice said.
“Da,” Dmitry answered.
“This is the general. Are you watching the news?” he asked in Russian.
“Da.”
“Good. Get your numbers together in 24 hours with your first bid. It has to be bigger than 1,000 and under 5,000 of any product to do business. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” Dmitry said, signaling Davyd. “Where should we call you?”
“I’ll call you,” General said, hanging up the phone.
Dmitry hung up and leaned against the wall.
“Was that him?” Davyd asked, standing up.
Dmitry nodded. “I’ve got to get in touch with Emma tonight.
***
It only took Emma five minutes to call him back after he left the message. He sat by the phone waiting, hoping that she hadn’t gone somewhere else with her order. But as she had promised, she had waited.
“That was quick,” she said whispering. A barrage of voices in the background nearly drowned her out. “Hold on just a minute,” she said, excusing herself from the crowded room. In silence, she returned to the phone. “You there?”
“Da. I can do business with you, offer you economies of scale,” he said, using the word he had just learned the night before from a business management book.
“Oookay,” Emma smiled. “You must be referring to bulk. We can order 500 AK-47s and 100 hand grenades like I told you before.”
Dmitry tapped his pen against the table. “That’s not going to get you anywhere, Emma, and you know it. Now, my guy is reliable, and he’s ready to get the order filled, but it has to be at least 2,000,” he said, knowing as the words left his mouth that it was a hard sell.
“Are you insane?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.
“When you look at what you’ve been paying versus what I can offer, you’ll realize that it’s better to get this now, while it’s at a good rate and while I’m still gracious.”
Emma shook her head. “Don’t try to fuck with me, Dmitry. The Free Right has been good to you.”
“And I’m willing to be very good to you. But you need to hear me out, and you need to put me on as your primary dealer. I know that you must be getting this shit from a thousand sources. Why is beyond me. I can provide you with everything that you need at very reasonable rates, and it’s all courtesy of the USSR. Or haven’t you been watching the news?” He used Kirill’s line.
There was silence on the other end of the phone as Emma thought. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Do you have a tuxedo?” she asked curiously.
“No,” Dmitry answered suspiciously.
“Can you get one tonight?”
“I’m seven feet tall. I doubt it very seriously. Borrowing one from the neighbor would likely be out of the question.”
“Well, do you have anything but jeans? I don’t want you to stand out.”
“I’m seven feet tall, Emma.” His voice was stern.
“I suppose you’re right. Fine,” she said, dismissing whatever thought was on her mind. “Do you have a pen handy? I want you to meet me at this address in one hour. And bring your brother. If anyone asks, you and your brother are athletes – basketball players - in the city looking at universities.”
Dmitry grabbed his pen. “Bring my brother?”
“Yes, did I stutter? You want my business, my money. Then, bring your brother and your ass to this address in one hour. Don’t be late, or the deal is off.”
Dmitry wrote down the number and hung up the phone. What had he gotten himself into?
Chapter Four
Dmitry pulled up to one of the many mansions of Kensington and parked down the street from the address he had been given by Emma. Kingston was one of London’s top upscale neighborhoods known for its elite citizens and its exclusive parties. In short, it was no place for the likes of Dmitry and Ivan. Nevertheless, they were present and accounted for. Sighing as he eyed the crowd flooding into the home, Dmitry looked over at Ivan and checked his clothes.
“I’ll do my best to make this short, but you must promise to do your best to act civilized,” Dmitry lectured as he straightened Ivan’s collar.
“I know how to act,” Ivan said, pulling away. “And I’m not a child. I know how to dress myself. I’m here looking at colleges, remember?”
“If only that were so,” Dmitry said, grabbing the door handle. “Stay close. Don’t get too involved in any conversations and stay away from the alcohol.”
Getting out of their banged up, black Mercedes, the pair hiked a short block up the street to the well-lit home, donning Christmas lights and decorations and checked their names at the door with the bo
dyguard.
A black man as wide as a wall in a black wool sweater stood with a clipboard in his hand. He took one look at Dmitry and Ivan and waved them in. “You must be the ball players,” the man said, opening the door. “Lady Hutton is expecting you.”
Ivan looked at Dmitry and grinned. “She’s a freaking lady,” Ivan muttered to Dmitry as he passed through the doors. “This chick has a title? That’s awesome.”
As they entered the lavish home, a woman stood behind a large, red-skirted table with gift bags. She passed them both one and wished them a Merry Christmas.
“This place is swank,” Ivan observed as he walked into the large gathering with his brother.
“Let’s just find Emma and get this done with,” Dmitry said, envying the people who were actually supposed to be there. “And remember what I told you earlier.”
“You won’t let me fucking forget,” Ivan said shortly.
The crowds looked up at them in total amusement. The men were baffled and mildly intimidated by their size, while the women were automatically drawn to the attractive pair – one brooding brunette with a joker-like grin and one serious blonde with a serious scowl.
“Dmitry, up here,” a voice said from the top of the spiral staircase.
Dmitry looked up to see Emma dressed in a red, flowing gown. Diamonds sparkled from her ears and neck. Her red tendrils were pulled up off her face, bringing more attention to her long neck, her soft shoulders and her full bosom. She looked like Christmas morning.
“Damn,” Ivan laughed. “Emma can clean up, can’t she?”
Without taking her eyes off of him, she made her way quickly down the stairs to join the pair.
“On time, I see,” she said, eyes sparkling.
Dmitry nodded. “Like I said, I want your business.”
Emma looked around and put her index finger over her lips. “Shh… everyone around here just calls me, M. I want to introduce you to some people - one in particular that you need to speak with,” she said nodding. “Come with me.”
Dmitry and Ivan followed Emma down the long hall, past the beautiful paintings and gorgeous, king-like rooms to a closed door at the end of the corridor.
“Wait. What’s his name?” Dmitry asked as Emma put her hand on the gold doorknob.
“Her name,” Emma said narrowing her eyes at him. “The Free Right is anti-abortion group among other things.” Opening the door, she led them inside the immaculate study of Lady Catherine Hutton, who was sitting with a group of women and men by the fireplace. All were dressed in formals, appearing to be more royalty than militia. They gathered around talking quietly, conspiring.
“Mom,” Emma said, moving in front of them. Her skirts swooshed behind her. “I’d like you to meet the gentleman I was telling you about.” She motioned toward Dmitry. “Dmitry Medlov meet Lady Catherine Hutton.”
Lady Hutton turned from her group. Dressed in canary yellow, covered in yellow diamonds, draped in milky white skin, dripped in elegance, smelling of privilege, the blonde woman turned to her daughter and smiled.
There was a certain grace in her movements. Delicate hands, high cheekbones, telling eyes. Dmitry thought the older woman attractive. He put her in her late forties to early fifties, and she’d obviously been very well taken care of during her life.
She looked up at him in surprise of his startling height.
“Emma, you understated just how grand he is,” she said standing. Offering her hand, she watched Dmitry glide across the room and take it.
He had read about this. Bowing his head, he took her soft hand in his own and kissed it. It hurt to bend over so far to the short woman, but if he had to woo her to get the order he needed, it was worth it.
“Well, now. From the look of you, I’d swear that you didn’t have one ounce of couth,” Lady Hutton said, raising her brow at Dmitry. The crowd giggled. “But your social graces are not lacking, are they young man?”
“Actually, they are,” Dmitry said. His voice rumbled through the room. His crystal blue eyes sparkled through her. “This is my brother, Ivan.”
“What’s up,” Ivan said, raising his hand towards the small gathering from the corner of the room where he looked on at the many bottles of fine liquor. He was no longer paying attention to the snobs. It was time to get drunk.
Emma laughed. She didn’t know Ivan very well, but she rather appreciated how direct he often was. He looked her way and gave her a suggestive wink. Remembering herself, she turned and continued. “It seems that Dmitry has an opportunity for The Free Right.”
“An opportunity? Really?” Lady Hutton turned back to Dmitry. “Is this so?”
“Yes, my lady. One that I’m sure that you’ll want to consider.”
Lady Hutton looked around at her small gathering, obviously loyal to the cause, and smiled. “Would you all be kind enough to follow Moses to the main hall for just a while? There is food and drink for you and plenty of people to meet. We’ll convene as soon as I’m finished speaking with my new friend.” Her eyes landed on Dmitry.
Moses stood in his black tuxedo from his leather wing-backed chair and escorted the small crowd out of the room. Stopping at the door, he gave a disapproving look at Dmitry. “Should I come back?” he asked his mother.
“No, that won’t be necessary, dear,” Lady Hutton assured. “Emma, why don’t you also take-”
“Ivan with an I,” Ivan said, pouring a glass of scotch.
“Right. Why don’t you take Ivan with an I out to get something to eat as well. But I’d prefer, son, if you left the bottle of scotch here. When I’m done speaking with your brother, I’ll make sure that he brings a couple of bottles home for you.”
Ivan took a quick gulp of the fine alcohol and put the crystal goblet down. “Don’t forget,” he said to Dmitry, before he followed Emma out of the room.
When the door was closed, Lady Hutton walked over to it, took a key from the table and locked it. Turning around, she smiled at him and motioned at the chair where her son had sat. “Please, have a seat, Dmitry.”
He did so quickly. Uncomfortable, he sat up. “This chair is obviously meant for a little person.”
“Umm,” Lady Hutton said, returning to her chair across from him. “So, what of this opportunity?”
“Your shipments are very small. I imagine that you must have other suppliers and many other people who are a part of your supply chain, but I have an offer that could streamline all of your munitions needs and provide you an affordable one-stop shop for everything from your AKs to hand-guided missiles and hand guns.”
“From where?”
“We have a contact in the USSR military.”
“Former USSR.”
“Correct. He is willing to work deals with me.”
“Why?”
“He is a…he has loyalties to the organization that I belong to.”
The fire crackled beside him, drawing his attention. He couldn’t help but to look over at it. It still reminded him of his long hike to civilization after leaving the prison over a year ago.
“How old are you, Dmitry?”
Dmitry raised his brow. “Excuse me?” He looked back over at her.
“I get the feeling that you’re very young.”
“I’m nearly twenty.”
“Really? I thought you older than that, just younger than Emma.” She searched his face with a devious grin. “I don’t do business with anyone that I cannot trust.”
“There is no reason not to trust me.” He gazed into her eyes.
“I get this feeling from you. It’s hard to describe, but I recognize it.” Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the vaulted ceiling. “It’s ambition.” She exhaled.
“Is there something wrong with being ambitious?” He sat back in the chair. “I’ve come to you with an offer. 2,000 of whatever you need for thirty percent less than what you’ve been paying for it. I make the order tonight with you; I come in a few days to collect the money, and I have it delivered very soon. That
is the nature of what I do. I’m no freedom fighter. I don’t blow up clinics or save young girls from countries that would murder them for their sexual choices. I simply provide a service at a discounted price.” He looked at her with an unreadable glare.
“And if there is a problem with the order,” she smiled. “Are you willing to cover our losses?” Her fingers found their way to her diamond necklace.
Dmitry paused. “I don’t… There won’t be any problems.”
“There is another type that I don’t like – people who are too trusting. Naiveté is not attractive, even on a young man.”
The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 8
