“Let me in,” he said, smile dropping.
She was definitely little Red Riding Hood but was he the Big Bad Wolf?
By the look of her small frame and bright eyes, Dmitry knew that the young teen was being held against her will. He winked at her. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” He wasn’t about to lie and say the same of Lenard Arnolt.
Moving out of the way, Tawni pulled the door open and stepped aside. A small tinge of excitement erupted inside her at the idea of what might be coming Lenard’s way. No more scrubbing tiles and toilets with toothbrushes, no more sleeping in a dank, dark boiler room. No more perverted Lenard.
“Damn it, Tawni. Who is it?” Lenard asked, standing up. He shuffled around the desk, breathing hard and wiping his face with his handkerchief. “Answer me!”
“It’s for you,” she said, closing and locking the door behind them.
Lenard wasn’t expecting guests on a Sunday afternoon. At first, he worried it might be his wife, but the pitch of Tawni’s voice lets him know that it wasn’t anyone they knew.
Dmitry rounded the corner, slowly coming into full view with the fifty-seven-year-old accountant, in his short sleeve yellow button down and gray polyester pants.
“Can I help you?” Lenard asked, trying to make his way back around his desk where his snuff nose .38 was hidden in the bottom drawer.
Dmitry ducked into the small, wood-paneled office, claustrophobic already because of the low ceilings and the smell of ink, paper and coffee. He looked around the office with his nose turned up. It was a shitty office, outdated and cheap.
“Yes, you can help me.” He shot a glance back over at Lenard, voice low and calm. “The question is, will you?”
Not likely, Lenard thought to himself as he put his handkerchief on the table and stood up straighter. “I can try. What’s your name?” The giant made him nervous. His presence sucked all the air out of the room and paralyzed his senses. Men like Dmitry made him feel inferior with their good looks and perfect bodies. They reminded him of how short he fell to alpha males with their superior genetics and privileged arrogance.
“My name is Dmitry Medlov.” Dmitry motioned toward the green leather chair in front of the desk. “May I have a seat?”
“Sure,” Lenard said, returning to his own chair behind the desk. The drawer to the gun was locked. He glanced down at the keys beside his keyboard and tried to think of an excuse to unlock it.
Just then, Vasily walked into the room, gun in hand, and stood at the threshold of the door. Without a word, he glared at Lenard.
Dmitry sat down and pulled his chair up as close as his long legs would allow. He watched Lenard’s eyes grow wide at the sight of Vasily and his weapon. Adjusting in the chair, he snapped his fingers. “Hey, pay attention to me. He’s just here to keep the peace. I’m here to talk.”
“I’m not sure I understand why either of you are here. I’m just an accountant,” Lenard said, reaching for the keys.
Dmitry reached over and put his hand on top of Lenard’s, pulling the keys from his grip. He sat back in the uncomfortable chair and dangled the keys on his index finger. “I want you to pull up Ryan Colt’s account on your little computer, there, and print off a list of all of his properties, his assets, his stocks and bonds and most importantly his banking accounts. And…I want you to transfer his money to this account.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Throwing it on the desk, he exhaled a heavy sigh.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Lenard insisted. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”
Dmitry half-expected the man to lie but not to be so bad at it. Amateur. “Little girl, come in here,” he said, voice elevated.
Tawni came warily through the door, keeping her eyes on Dmitry and slipping past Vasily.
Dmitry raised two fingers and motioned toward himself. “Come here. Closer.”
“Yes, sir.” Head ducked, she walked over to Dmitry and stood beside his chair. He was easy on the eyes, but hard to stare at. It was like looking into the sun. He radiated so much power and authority, it crippled her with fear.
“Do you remember what I told you?” Dmitry asked.
“Yes. You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” Tawni swallowed hard.
“That’s right, so there is no need to tell me a lie, da.” He took his eyes off Lenard for a moment and glanced at her – a frail, half-clothed girl in the middle of a war. He could see she was afraid, so he tried to ease her concerns. “I’m a man of my word, little girl. I don’t hurt children.”
Tawni felt Lenard’s eyes burning through her back, but for the moment she felt untouchable by the old letch. Nodding, she waited for Dmitry to tell her what he wanted.
“Do you know Ryan Colt?” Dmitry asked Tawni.
“Yes,” Tawni answered.
“Very good,” Dmitry said, voice light. “Now, does Lenard Arnolt know Ryan Colt.”
Tawni’s eyes darted to the floor. Hesitantly, she nodded. “Yes.”
“How does he know him?” Dmitry continued.
“Ryan sold me to him.”
“Sold you to him,” Dmitry repeated, turning his gaze to Lenard, like an angry father. “Like a piece of property?”
“I am Lenard’s property,” Tawni lamented. “He tells me all the time. He makes me wear this thing on my leg to make sure he knows where I am all the time, too.”
Lenard was quiet, deathly still, unable to speak and more than slightly embarrassed. The gun in Vasily’s hand was locked in his peripheral vision, reminding him that he had lost all control of the situation. He stewed in his nervous sweat, perspiring under his yellow shirt like a pork roast in a steamer.
“Lenard, did you know it was illegal and immoral to own a little girl in this fucking country?” Dmitry taunted.
“Hey, she can go whenever she wants. I just gave her a place to sleep and a job. There is no law against that. And she’s not as little as she looks. She’s nineteen.”
“I’m seventeen and he knows it,” Tawni piped up.
“Still a child either way,” Dmitry growled. “I have a little girl, and if someone were to try to buy her, I’d gut them like a fucking fish. I’d yank out their entrails and shove them down their throat. Do you know what entrails taste like, Lenard?”
Lenard gulped for air. Raising a hand in protest, he tried to lie his way out of his mess. “Hey, I’ve done nothing wrong to Tawni…”
“Yes, you have!” Tawni screamed, whipping around to face him. Tears streamed down her face. She pointed at him, feeling her elbow lock in place. “You beat me. You rape me. You make me suck your short little dick. You make me scrub your floors and toilets with a toothbrush. You make me live like a rat!” Feeling safe with Dmitry there, she allowed her true feelings to show. “I hate you!”
“Now, now, Tawni. It’s okay,” Dmitry said in a soothing voice.
“She’s lying,” Lenard said again, though he doubted anyone in the room believed him.
“I don’t think she’s lying,” Dmitry said, grabbing the girl’s hand to calm her. He felt her pain and the need to vindicate her, but he wouldn’t do it in front of the girl and risk further traumatization. “Vasily, why don’t you take little Tawni into the next room, close the door and give Mr. Arnolt and myself a little time to get to know each other better.”
Left alone, Dmitry cut the bullshit. Throwing the keys down on the table, he pushed up to the edge of the seat and pulled his knife from under his pants leg. The serrated blade gleamed under the light. Setting it on the table in front of Lenard, he sucked his teeth. “Stop looking at me, you disgusting pig vomit, and print the shit I told you.”
Lenard turned to his computer without another word. Pulling up Ryan’s files that were already on his desktop, he printed out the papers across the room on the printer.
“How much money does he have in the accounts you manage for him?” Dmitry asked.
Lenard pulled up the excel document and scrolled to the bottom. Squinting, he rea
d the figure. “He currently has $26,495,315 in all six of his offshore accounts.”
Dmitry figured as much. “Is that including all of his money off the books?”
“Yes,” Lenard answered quickly.
“Transfer all of it to the account I gave you,” Dmitry ordered. “Now.”
Lenard looked at the knife on the table and then back at the computer. What he was doing was going to get him killed. Part of that money belonged to a Russian named Popov. He had never met the man in person, but he got the feeling from Ryan that he was the real brains behind the operation.
“Don’t think. Just type,” Dmitry said, picking the knife back up and pushing his fingertip against the edge of the serrated knife.
Lenard moved quickly. Pulling up the accounts and putting in the passwords and login information given to him by Ryan, he wired the money from one account after another until the balances in all six accounts equaled zero. While it was not physically exhausting work, somehow when he finished, he was out of breath.
“It’s done,” Lenard said flatly. He felt utterly defeated by Dmitry, and he had only touched his hand. Looking across his desk, sweat pouring down his face, he waited.
Dmitry pulled his phone from his pocket, typed in his password and pulled up the account he had given Lenard. Checking the balance, he nodded in satisfaction. “There it is, down to the last penny.”
“Ryan Colt is going to kill me,” Lenard muttered. He had never been in a fight in his entire life. But in retrospect, he wished he had put up more of a fight with Dmitry. “His boss, Popov, is going to kill you.”
“Alexei Popov?” Dmitry smirked. That was laughable. “You let me deal with Popov. And I don’t think you have to worry about Ryan Colt anymore.”
Lenard’s face lit up. “Why? Is he dead?” Maybe he had worried for no reason. It was a smart play, he had to admit, but worth it, if it meant all of this was over.
Dmitry stood up from his chair and planted his large hands on the desk. “No, Ryan’s not dead, you are.”
Raising the knife, he planted the blade right in the middle of Lenard’s fat hand. The tip of the knife cut through flesh and bone and tore into the desk.
The scream that hurled out of Lenard’s mouth, mixed with spittle and bile, was shrill and full of agonizing pain. Glaring down at his appendage, stuck to the table, he tried to use his other hand to pry himself free.
“Oh, God!” Lenard cried. “Please, don’t hurt me! Please, don’t kill me! I have a family! Please, I have money. $200,000. Behind the painting of the horses over there.” He gasped for air, feeling as though at any minute he would pass out. “The combination is 14-35-17-22. You can have it all.”
Blah, blah, blah. Dmitry had heard it all before. Every man he had killed in the past used the same reasoning for sparing their pathetic lives. What he didn’t understand was why they didn’t think of those things before committing some grave act.
“I really liked this shirt,” Dmitry said, ignoring Lenard’s pleas. “My daughter bought it for me last Christmas. And you know, I couldn’t imagine someone using her the way you have used that child in there. It’s a shame that I can’t take everything that you’ve done to her back, but when I walk out in that fucking lobby, I’ll be able to promise her that you’ll never do it again.” He smiled devilishly at Lenard. “I’m okay with that, aren’t you?”
“Please!” Arnolt screamed. “Don’t!”
As Lenard struggled, Dmitry walked around the desk, stood behind Lenard’s leather chair and shoved the keys into his open mouth, knocking out one of Lenard’s front teeth in the process. He reached over the man’s fat body and pulled the knife from his hand.
Lenard immediately reached to fight off Dmitry, but it was a useless pursuit. He had never spent a day in the gym and was as flimsy as a piece of paper.
Plunging the knife into Lenard’s fat belly, Dmitry trailed his blade upward and ripped Lenard open from his navel up to his sternum. The warm blood gushed over the desk and all the piles of papers that went falling to the floor around them.
Flailing his hairy arms wildly, Lenard knocked over the computer monitor and remote control as his intestines poured out into his lap. The television continued to play in the background.
“She’s just a kid,” Dmitry growled into Lenard’s ear, holding him down in the chair as he took his last few breaths. “How in the hell can you rape a kid? What kind of monster are you?” He reached back up with the knife and stabbed Lenard again, this time in the heart to make sure he was dead.
Lifeless, Lenard slumped over in the chair, his body mangled and deformed.
Raising up to the full length of his seven feet, Dmitry pushed the body forward on the desk and spit on him.
PEDOPHILES SHOULD ALWAYS DIE.
He walked over to the painting when he was done, moved the painting, opened the safe using the combination that Lenard had given him and smirked.
Inside the safe were six stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills. He took the money out and counted it.
A few minutes later, the door to Lenard Arnolt’s office ominously creaked open and a bloody Dmitry Medlov emerged with two handfuls of money and a shirt drenched in his newest sin. His eyes were hooded, dark with the rage that still boiled inside of him, his face tight with furious intensity.
Today, he had let the butcher reemerge, finding glory in his misdeeds after being pent up for so very long in a virtuous cage.
Dmitry felt no pity for the man, no guilt for his actions, no remorse for the family Lenard left behind. All he felt was hunger for more.
Crossing the white linoleum floor, he made his way over to Vasily, who was casually leaning against the secretary’s desk, and Tawni, who sat in the chair behind the desk with tears in her eyes.
She was mortified by what she had heard, gurgling noises of a man whose life was snatched from him in the very office where he destroyed lives of others daily.
She glanced up at the giant, his enormity apparent in far more than his size, and wondered why he had saved her.
“Once I leave, have the men circle around and come in here and clean this shit up. After they are done, have them torch the place and take her to wherever she wants to go.” Dmitry knew at age seventeen the girl had no formal education, but also no record. If she disappeared now, none would be the wiser. And once the building was burned, all evidence of the both of them would be gone forever.
“Consider it done,” Vasily said, turning slightly to the girl. “What about her?” He wasn’t a fan of loose ends, but he very much felt Dmitry’s need to protect her.
Dmitry laid the money on the desk in front of her. “Excuse the mess.” He ran a bloody hand through his blonde tendrils and tried to straighten up his clothes. “I can’t make up for what he did to you, Tawni. No one can. I can imagine it was…unspeakable to be forced to live here under him. But that problem has been eliminated. Take this money and leave. Go home, if you want. Go across the country. I don’t care. Just don’t ever mention that you saw me and don’t ever tell anyone where this money came from.”
Tawni looked at the bloody cash with wide eyes. She had never seen so much money in real life before.
“It’s all mine?” she asked, running a hand over it. “How much.” The first thing she planned to do was to buy herself a steak sandwich. Lenard had barely fed her, always worried she would get fat. How she had longed to be able to eat anything her heart desired.
“Two hundred thousand dollars and some change,” Dmitry said, massaging his sore aching neck. “Put it somewhere safe when you get where you’re going?”
“What about Ryan Colt? Will he come after me?” she asked, still afraid of the man responsible for her abysmal failure of a life.
“No,” Dmitry assured. “He won’t be coming after you. No one will. One of my men, whomever Vasily decides, will make sure that you get to safety. When you do, don’t let anyone know you have that kind of money. Put it in a bank, Tawni. Then, go and get some help for what y
ou must be dealing with psychologically.” He thought of his wife and how she had been emotionally scarred after his brother raped her. “It might not seem like it today, but eventually, everything is going to be okay.”
Turning toward the door, he tapped his pocket to make sure he still had the paper with Ryan Colt’s real estate listings. He was hoping he would find the location of Anatoly’s sister once he had a chance to research it.
“Thank you,” Tawni called out, picking the money up from the desk. Tears streamed down her cheeks in rivers of gratitude. She didn’t know the man’s name or anything about him, but he had saved her.
Dmitry turned back around and looked at her for the last time. She was a beautiful girl. What had been done to her was wrong. But he wasn’t her father and their little journey together ended now. He gave her one last piece of advice. “If you really want to thank me, use that money to make something of yourself. Start over. Live well. You’ve got your whole life in front of you. This is just a small portion of a much bigger picture.”
She nodded and wiped her face. “I will. I promise.”
Chapter Seven
Come to Daddy…
The Right Touch Massage Parlor
North Miami Beach, Florida
7:00 p.m.
T he sun was starting to set on the horizon under patchy white clouds and a yellow-gold hue. Seagulls danced through the evening, flying with the gentle breeze of a lazy Sunday evening on the beautiful coastal line. Runners made their rounds on the sidewalk past dog walkers and tourists.
Parked adjacent from the upscale corner building, Anatoly and his men reloaded their weapons and prepared for the grand finale.
This was the last business on the list. It had been a long day since Anatoly woke up covered in his own sweat and confused. After he got his bearings, the only thing he had on his mind was retribution. Ryan Colt had to pay. The strip club had only been the beginning. After leaving there, he and his men brought down his wrath on the rest of Ryan’s businesses, burning them to the ground and destroying everything Colt had built over his lifetime in one single day.
Anatoly's Retribution Page 11
