Marat stepped into the church’s sanctuary and sat on the very last pew. Curious to listen to the entire spiel, he settled in and watched as the charismatic salesman made his pitch, flashing pictures of children and poor old women over the screen, appealing the hearts and minds of the gullible bunch.
Robert was more tanned than usual after a stint on Cocoa Island in the Maldives. He had had a good run this quarter and was rewarded with a new Lamborghini by Popov for his efforts, which only served as more of an incentive for him to sell, Sell, SELL.
Robert tugged at his gold-rimmed glasses after his 15-minute pitch, prepared to answer any questions the group might have. “I can tell that the spirit of the Lord is upon us tonight,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Who is with me to go out there and make a difference in the world?
Marat had heard enough. Standing up with his suppressed weapon tucked in the back of his pants, he made his way down the center aisle toward the front of the church.
“Amen, looks like we have someone else who is…” Robert stopped. Though he had never seen Marat before, he knew that the tall, burly, Russian marked with tattoos and donning jeans and a black T-shirt with boots was not the type of man who would be interested in signing up for a mission trip to Haiti.
Marat walked up to the first pew and looked over at the girls. “They seem very interested in what you have to say.”
Robert’s face tightened with nervousness. “How can I help you, sir?” His mid-western voice trembled with fear.
“You forgot to tell them how they’ll be sold off like cattle, turned into prostitutes, made to do unspeakable acts, shot up with heroin, beaten daily and stored like slaves.” Marat winked at one of the girls whose face went pale with shock.
“Sir, I think you have the wrong group,” Robert said, chuckling nervously. “We’re here to spread the word of the Lord.”
Marat reached into his pocket and threw out pictures of the girls found in the brothel back in Miami. The girls picked them up off the floor and covered their mouths in contempt. With judgmental eyes, they glared at Robert for an explanation about the beaten, broken women in the pictures.
Robert did what he did best. Lied. “Sir,” he said, extending his hand to tamp down the drama. “We are part of the…”
Marat cut Robert off. “Hey, enough with the bullshit. I’m not here to listen to your side. I’m here to shut you down.” Pulling the weapon from the small of his back, he pointed it at Robert. “Any final words?”
“Please, don’t!” Robert begged with his palms raised.
“Good enough for me.” Marat pulled the trigger, sending the man backwards on the hardwood floor of the church.
Immediately, the small contingent of parishioners jumped up and ran, trying to get as far as possible from both Ryan and Marat.
Bleeding out, Robert laid face-up on the floor, trying to grab his last breaths as he mingled his fingers in his own blood.
Marat walked up and stood over him. “Anatoly Medlov sends his regards.” Pointing the muzzle of the gun at Robert’s head, he pulled the trigger and ended the man’s suffering.
When he was done, Marat casually walked back out of the front doors of the church and jumped into the car parked down the street, headed for the private plane waiting on him.
***
Faith Baptist Hospice Center
Memphis, TN
There were a few hours to spare before Royal’s big party, and two major things Dmitry needed to do beforehand. Taking Anil to see his mother at her new hospice care center was at the very top of the list.
Instead of bringing a large contingent of people – guards and children and what not, Dmitry opted to take his son himself, like a normal person, with no guards, no family, no airs. They simply jumped into one of the family cars and dashed across town alone for what was sure to be the hardest reunion Dmitry had suffered in quite some time.
Parking in the front of the center, Dmitry and Anil went inside the last place that his mother would ever live before her final transition.
Royal had assured them both that this was the nicest place that money could buy, but Anil just wanted her comfortable. He wanted to not worry every day that someone would neglect their job, thus her and end her life prematurely or make it harder while she was here. He wanted her to rest easy and get the best medicines that mankind had to offer. He wanted her to be at peace, knowing that he was okay now…now that he had Dmitry Medlov.
It was still strange to be in public with his father. He was used to the stares at his size and maybe even at his attractive features, but it seemed the bystanders were even more smitten with Dmitry.
Dmitry, however, was blind to it after so many years – all of the attention he commanded. He moved with ease through the sterilized halls, carrying a large bouquet of white lilies in one hand and his baseball cap in the other. He didn’t want Anil’s mother to see him in a suit, dressed to the nines, and looking like a billionaire. He wanted her to see him like she did that night he walked up on her on the beach in Trinidad when they were both young kids running aimlessly in the world, trying to figure out who they were supposed to be.
“Here it is. Room 305,” Anil said, stopping at the door. Looking back at his father, he took a deep breath. “You ready?”
Dmitry grinned. “No, but I doubt I ever will,” he said, opening the door for the both of them.
The spacious room was decorated with flowers and paintings picked out by Royal and delivered by the family’s personal florist. It looked more like a bedroom than a hospital facility with a large comfortable medical bed, a supersized flat screen on the wall and a garden that backed up to the French double doors that led out to the healing grounds. This was much nicer than any place Anil’s mother had ever been placed before. Most of the time he was lucky to get a window and clean sheets. This was the Taj Mahal of hospice care, reserved for those with means.
In the hospital bed, Anil’s mother rested peacefully after receiving a full range of pain pills and medicines. Machines beeped around her, monitoring all her vitals. A Bluetooth aroma diffuser released the smell of lavender in the room while playing the sounds of the rain over the stereo system. Books that Royal had requested be read daily were lined up on the table beside her bed. It was serene and peaceful, just like the Medlov family had promised.
“Mom,” Anil said, barely above a whisper as he walked over to stand by the side of her bed. Eyes already wet at just the sight of her, he rubbed his hand over hers and then bent over the railing and kissed her forehead. “How are you?” He reached up and turned on the lights above the bed so that she could see him better.
Wrapped in white cotton sheets and a coverlet, with her hair pulled into a bonnet, she stirred awake at the sound of her son’s voice.
Despite the physical effects of the cancer and how it had eroded her once beautiful temple, she was still the most beautiful woman that Anil had ever seen and the strongest he was certain that he had ever met.
“I’m not here alone. I brought someone to see you.” Anil looked over at Dmitry who was standing at the edge of the bed. He looked frightened, which shocked Anil.
Unable to speak, she parted her lips as though she wanted to say something, then dragged her heavy eyes over to Dmitry.
As soon as she saw him, tears started to stream down her face.
“He found me,” Anil smiled. “And he’s going to help me take care of you. We’re in Memphis. It’s a city in Tennessee. You’ll be in this nice facility from now on with a staff that will actually do their job.” He smirked. “You’re going to be well taken care of.”
“Sanaa,” Dmitry said, walking closer to her. He had forgotten the flowers he was clutching, forgotten his son’s presence, forgotten everything at the sight of her. He swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze fully. “I…” he fought with the right words. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Anil realized at that moment that his mother had not just been some one-night stand. They mig
ht have made him over just a night, might have known each other for just a night, but his conception had meant something.
“Do you want me to give you a minute?” Anil asked, feeling uncomfortable at his parent’s silent tears. Even he understood that there were certain things that he just didn’t need to hear.
Dmitry wiped his face, cheeks reddened by his elevated blood pressure. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
“Mom, I’m going to go and get you more ice chips,” he said, grabbing the bucket on the table across from the bed. “Be back in a few.”
When they were alone, Dmitry looked down at the woman, hair long gone including her once dark beautiful brows. Her full lips curved as she fought the pain. Her skin was blotched with scars, discolored from the chemo and blood transfusions. Still, Dmitry saw the young, resilient woman he briefly had the pleasure of knowing.
It pained him to see her in such a state. Life was strange in those it chose to keep and those it chose to take away.
Sanaa was an innocent. She should have been coming to see him, instead of the other way around.
Pulling the sheets over her arms, Dmitry cleared his throat. “I never knew that you had given birth to my son. You have to believe me. If I had known, there is nothing that I wouldn’t have done to take care of you.”
Sanaa tried to smile. Flashes of a young blonde man sullen and lonely filled her head, though all she could do was try to make eye contact. How she wished she could have told him all about Anil’s childhood and all that he had missed.
Dmitry scrubbed a hand over his face. “What do I say?” He chuckled nervously. “What do I say to you to make up for twenty years?” His voice trailed off as he threw his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I feel like the last thing you want to hear is me feeling sorry for myself. So, I won’t do that. And considering the lengths you have gone to in order to protect my son and all you had to sacrifice, I’m certain that you don’t want to hear about how good things have been for me. So, I won’t do that. What I will say,” he looked back down at Sanaa and shook his head.
Damn, this was hard.
“I will say that I never forgot that night, and I never forgot you.” A tear dropped from his eyes and landed on her bed linen. “I was so overwhelmed that night, Sanaa. I wanted to die. I wanted to kill myself. I was thinking about walking right into the ocean and just ended it right then and there, but you came out of nowhere like an angel and you reminded me that there was life still left to live. And I can never thank you or repay you enough for that kindness or my son.”
Sanaa tried to speak but the harder she tried the more painful it became. Dmitry took her hand in his and kissed it. “Sweet Sanaa.” Licking his lips, he looked over her small weak body and sniffled. “I can’t give you back your body or your health. But I can promise you that I’m going to take care of our son. I’ll give him a family, a future, a name. I’ll give him what I can, although I know it will never replace a mother’s love.”
As he raised back up, he noticed the gold necklace around her neck. “Could it be?” he asked, flabbergasted. Trailing his fingers over the gold chain, he pulled at the pendant attacked – a gold cross with a three-carat diamond in the middle. It was the same necklace that Dmitry had given her over twenty years ago the night he met her on the beach. The orderlies who had been in charge of helping her before she arrived in Memphis, must have assumed it wasn’t real. Otherwise, they would have surely stolen it.
“You still have it,” he said, rubbing his forehead. Wow. “This could have fed you for a year, and you didn’t sell it.” Brushing his thumb over her cheek, he tried to pull himself together. “One day, I’m going to tell our son the story behind this necklace. He’ll just love that. I’m going to tell him how you saved me, and how we met. But until then, I’m going to take care of you, the way you took care of me. I’m going to take care of him and give him everything that you and I didn’t have, because that’s what fathers do. And I promise you this, because I know what your worry was all the years you protected him, no one will ever get away with harming him. I have a long memory, and anyone who ever crosses my children will pay with their lives.”
***
Beverly Hills, California
Rodeo Drive
Mateo Salon & Spa
Boris felt like he had gotten the better end of the deal. Marat was sent to Slovakia, but he was sent to Los Angeles with a suite at a five-star hotel and per-diem that would be spent in full at the strip club tonight. But today, he had a little business.
Stepping out of the men’s locker room with a fluffy white towel securely wrapped around his waist, his rippling muscles cascading down the front of his body, tattoos dancing across his chest and abdomen, he made his way to the steam room where he was supposed to cook for one half hour before he received a relaxing massage by a redhead named Diane.
“Go in here?” he asked the woman leading him down the hall to the sauna.
“Yes, right in here,” she flirted as she pointed at the large cedar doors, then glanced down to his bulky groin.
Boris winked at her. What could he say? He was a ladies’ man. “What are you doing after you get off work? I don’t know much about the area. Maybe you could take me out to dinner, da?”
The massage therapist started to entertain Boris, but the Cyrillic words across his fingers and neck made her remember her mother’s guiding advice about bad boys. “Maybe another time.”
At least he could say that he tried. Boris moved on. “Anyone else in here?” he asked, peering into the small glass window on the door. “I get a little nervous around too many men, you know, being naked.” Identifying his mark, he turned back to her and smiled.
“You don’t have to take off your towel. Just sit in there and relax. If you start to feel light headed, come out.”
“Russians invented the steam room, the bath house…all that shit,” he said, grabbing the knob to the door. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good, I’ll come and collect you in thirty minutes.” Sashaying away in her black jeans and smock, she could feel Boris’s eyes burning through her.
“One more thing, before you go. How long has that guy been in there? His time is almost up, eh?” he asked before she could get away from him. Giving a congenial smile, he pretended to be shy. “If he leaves soon, then I’ll actually have the sauna to myself, right?”
She stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Oh, that’s Mr. Mickey Shelton. He’s a big-time promoter – represents the boxer Igor Klenchvenko and some other sports figures. He comes in here every week when he’s in town. Sits in there for over an hour. Likes the way it makes him feel.”
“So, that’s a no on him leaving soon?” Boris asked, trying not to seem the least bit interested in his mark.
“Probably not.” Heaving a sigh, she tried not to stare directly into Boris’s enchanting eyes. “Anything else.” She wondered if he would ask to take her out once more. Maybe this time, she might say yes.
“Net, you’ve been a big help. Spasiba.” Opening the door, Boris stepped inside of the sauna and closed the door behind him. Shelton was in the corner with his arms propped up and head tilted back on the cedar bench. He didn’t bother to look up to see who was joining him.
Boris went to the opposite side of the room and sat down. Pulling his phone from under his towel. He quickly texted someone and waited.
A few seconds later, Mickey’s cell rang. He was supposed to leave it in the locker room, but considering his profession, he was never without his phone. Looking down at the screen, he saw that it was Klenchvenko.
“Igor,” Mickey said, singing his name. “My man, how are you?”
Igor sat in his mansion off the coast of Santa Monica sipping on a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, watching the waves beat against the beach and building up liquid courage for his newest and most relentless of tasks. “Mickey, I’m very disappointed in you,” he managed to say without slurring his words.
Mickey sat up on the bench a
nd snatched the small, white hand towel off his face. “What? Why?”
Igor tried to keep the conversation short. “You hired those girls for my party knowing they were escorts – they were sex slaves. Then you charged their services from their pimp to my account. I just got the bill,” he said, glancing at the expense sheet.
“I had no idea those girls were escorts,” Mickey lied. “Honest. You have to believe me. I thought I was paying for strippers to dance, man, dance…that’s it.”
“Well, I don’t believe you,” Igor said with a scowl. He stood up and stalked over to the window. “Those girls were slaves. SLAVES.” He exhaled a breath. “How could you?”
“Listen to me. Hiring those girls was a mistake. But look, haven’t I always been good to you?”
“To be good to me has never meant to be cruel to others.” Igor put his hand against the window and leaned with his head against the cool surface. “You could have ruined me, and worst of all, you had no problem helping ruin those girls. Plus, after everything that Dmitry and Anatoly did for me, you put our relationship in peril. Anatoly saved my fucking father for Christ’s sake.”
Mickey tried his best to sway Igor. He was his top guy, his main money maker. Losing him would most certainly affect his business. “Let me make it up to you,” Mickey pleaded.
“You’re fired.” Igor let the paper fall from his hands.
Mickey’s mood instantly changed. “Now wait. You can’t fire me. We’ve got a contract.”
“No, Mickey. You’ve got a contract on you, and I won’t go down with your ship. Anatoly Medlov is not taking prisoners. Not to mention, I owe him for what he did for my own family.”
“A contract?” Mickey’s face went pale. “Now, look. I was the one who worked with you to fix the fight with those fucking Russians mobsters. I was the one who personally negotiated for new bout when everyone else said you were finished. Without me, your life goes right into the fucking shitter.” Mickey paused, hoping the fear of his threat might resonate with the young Russian boxer.
Anatoly's Retribution Page 23
