Alec considered that, after twenty years, Natasha Flint was no longer Randy’s top earner. As she had grown older, younger and more beautiful women had replaced her. He’d just seen proof of that.
The longevity of a hooker could be as little as five years or as long as ten, but few lasted more – and only if their pimps provided necessary health care and protection. After all this time, if Natasha was still in the game, she was probably soliciting on the streets right now or looking out for the newbies while Randy was busy elsewhere.
Alec would make a point to find her.
For the time being, Alec closely watched his target while aimlessly dropping quarters in the slot machine. A pretty server offered him a free drink, but he declined. Alec made a point to never imbibe in alcoholic or fermented beverages. He wasn’t sure how such spirits would affect his body. He didn’t want to take a chance that it could prematurely cause or delay his transformation.
“Take it to that man at the bar.” Alec said as he pretended to have imbibed too much already. He drunkenly mumbled a few words she couldn’t understand, and then, with a winning smile he innocently asked, “Wassis name? I think he’s Randy. I’ve had too much to drink. I can’t remember.”
“Oh, him? Yes, that’s Randy all right, Randy Petrov. He’s in here all the time. Sometimes, I think this is his office because he’s always conducting some kind of business from the bar.”
“Does he ever leave?”
“Yeah. Usually, he heads out about three. That’s when most of the action dies down anyway. However, if you’d like company, you don’t need to tell Randy. I get off in an hour,” the pretty waitress said, smiling alluringly.
“Thank you, but I won’t be here in an hour.”
Alec looked at his watch. According to what he’d just learned, he had about twenty minutes before Randy left for the night. He decided to wait outside.
When Randy left the casino, a car picked him up at the entrance. A bodyguard got out, opening the passenger door for him, and muttered, “Evening, boss.”
Alec grabbed a cab waiting nearby, “Follow that sedan,” he directed.
“Sure,” the cabbie easily replied. “What’d he do? Jip you out of some winnings? Steal a girl from you and force her into prostitution? I hear he’s a real bastard.”
“Yeah, he’s a real bastard all right. Do you know where he’s going?”
“Yeah, you’re not the first one to follow him out of Harrah’s. I’ve personally driven two others. But, you might want to watch your ass.”
Alec grunted. “Why’s that?”
“I’m just saying…The last guy ended up in the hospital and the one before that just up and disappeared. Probably never find that sucker again.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say. He’s bad news.”
Alec listened to everything the cabbie had to say. Often, taxi drivers were a wealth of information. They had their ear to the ground and were invisible to their passengers. Ignored and considered just a ‘dumb driver’ they overheard many conversations as they drove good and bad people throughout the city.
“Yeah man. He has connections. He lives over in Lake Terrace, the ritzy neighborhood, but he’ll stop by the Quarter first. He runs a string of hookers over there. He’s got some pretty lookers working at Harrah’s, too. Way out of my price range. I guess the sex-trade pays well. Course, he’s into drugs too so he’s got his hands in all the cookie jars.”
“You ever hear of a girl named Natasha?”
“Hell man, they’re all named Natasha or Svetlana or Angelina or Sofia,” the cabbie laughed.
“This woman would be older. She’s been around for a while.”
“Hey man, that’s a‘right if you’re into MILF, cougars, and grandmas, but that doesn’t ring a bell.”
Alec chuckled good-naturedly as they passed the time in aimless banter while following the dark sedan.
“Seriously, what did he do to you? I love a good story.”
“There’s nothing good about what Randy Petrov did. He’s just a complete psycho and I want to have a few words with the bastard. Do you know his boss?”
“Hell yeah, everybody’s heard about Mikhail Ivanov, most just call him ‘Ivan the Terrible.’ He’s one scary mo’fucker. Not sure you ought to tangle with him.”
“Where does Ivan meet his boys?”
“Ah man. Now, you asking some serious shit. Shit that I can’t answer. You know what I mean? I can’t really say for sure because I don’t know. Only the members know that. But, if I had to guess, it’d be in the warehouse district. I drive a lot, you know, especially the graveyard shift. I’ve seen quite a few of them hanging around in that area.”
Chapter 7
Just as the cabby had said, Randy first stopped by the French Quarter. The dark sedan slowly drove along Bourbon Street towards Governor Nichols. It made a right there, and then turned on Royal. At Conti, the car doubled back to Chartres, covering every block where Randy’s prostitutes worked their assigned corners. All the girls busily solicited tricks.
All but Natasha.
“That bitch Natasha isn’t at her corner. She’s probably holed up in a bar drowning her sorrows,” Randy spat as anger consumed him. “Pull over at the dive bar on Toulouse. I’m going to kick her sorry ass! I might even kill the lazy bitch.”
As the sedan pulled up to the bar, everyone except the driver jumped out of the car before it came to a stop - but Randy, annoyed with their hovering and worried that they’d report anything Natasha said, waived his protection away.
“Stay!” he ordered. In his fury, he yanked on the bar door so forcefully that it clattered noisily against the outside wall startling the few customers inside. “Natasha!” he yelled loud enough for Alec and the cabby to hear, “Where are you, you fucking lazy whore!”
Alec directed the cabby, “Go past the next intersection and pull down the first side street.” He knew that Randy didn’t want his men to overhear anything Natasha had to say, so Randy would most likely take her behind the bar. After the cabby followed those instruction, Alec said, “I’ll get out here and check out the back alley. Wait for me.”
Natasha, already deeply depressed, shrank even lower into the padded booth where she slumped. She’d been slamming the cheapest whiskey the bar served in hopes of feeling better. Hoping to forget. The liquor didn’t work any magic on her. She was tormented by the life she’d lived – been forced to live – since coming to this country. She was tortured by the image of Sabrina as she bravely suffered Randy’s abuse.
Why? What had she hoped to accomplish? Having always looked out for her own interests, Natasha couldn’t fathom Sabrina’s reasoning or her determination to protect others.
“Love,” Natasha scoffed. Love was the only excuse. Sabrina suffered because she cared about others. Having never loved anyone except herself, Natasha couldn’t comprehend it – she couldn’t imagine any of it, but especially her own part in it. She hated herself more than ever and she despised Randy Petrov even more.
Randy immediately spotted his wayward whore even though she tried to hide, to blend into the worn-out vinyl fabric. He grabbed Natasha by her thick, long hair, and jerked her out of the booth. She landed on her butt and couldn’t get to her feet. Randy wrapped Natasha’s mane around his fist and dragged her towards the back door and the alley. She didn’t fight him or scream. She knew better.
“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” Pete, the rotund barkeep, rushed forward to intervene. “I won’t stand for such abuse in my bar to any of my customers.”
“She’s a fucking whore, you bloody idiot. She’s my fucking whore. She doesn’t have any rights!” Randy yelled. His hunting knife instantly appeared, skillfully slashing close to Pete’s eye, and nicking his round red cheek instead as a warning. The bold intimidation tactic successfully sent Pete scurrying back behind the counter.
“You call the police and I’ll come back and slice open your fat belly!” Randy threatened. “You understand?
”
The bartender nodded his trembling head.
In the alley directly behind the bar, Randy jerked Natasha to her feet and then punched her in the stomach. Knocking her breath out, the blow sent her back to her knees.
“Please, Randy. I just needed a little time,” she gasped for air as she looked up at him. “After what you did to Sabrina, I feel sick all the time. I can’t get it out of my mind. Her dying image haunts me. Even from all that you’ve done…your cruelty, I’ve never seen anything so terrible. I needed a drink to calm myself, to calm my nerves.”
“So, what? You turned a few tricks, and instead of sucking some more dicks, you sucked down some of my booze, you lazy bitch. That was my fucking money to spend! Not yours! You don’t spend my money!”
He slapped her hard across the face. His rage knew no bounds because now he didn’t care if he killed her. She had outlived her usefulness, and if she was no longer around, he could tell any story he wanted to cover his own ass about the goddess’ death.
Natasha, now crying, stammered, “Go ahead and kill me. I deserve to die. But not for spending your fucking money. No, you heartless bastard. For all the other terrible things you’ve made me do since I came to this country as your slave. I was once a God-fearing, bright-eyed young girl. I once believed your lies! You turned me into this trash, this garbage. I hate myself and I hate you even more! I deserve to die for what you did to Sabrina. You’re a monster and I hope you get what you deserve. Kill me! What are you waiting for?”
Distracted by something in the distance, Randy almost whispered, “I don’t know. I thought I saw something. Something huge and red running towards us! Something is after us!” His panicked voice grew lower, hoarser with each syllable.
“Something is after you, Randy Petrov!” Natasha retorted. “And I hope it gets you! Maybe you will finally get what you deserve. How could you do the things you did to Sabrina? She didn’t deserve to die that way. No one does.”
“She should’ve told me what I wanted to know, dammit! And you, you’re the one who set me onto her. All your crying and bitching about how she had it so good…,” Before he could finish the sentence, the vision he’d glimpsed a moment earlier was on him. Fiery, monstrous red hands picked him up, shaking him like a ragdoll. Hot sulfur blew across his face as the devil roared.
Randy couldn’t believe his eyes. If he’d been standing, he would have fallen to his knees in terror. Still, in spite of his fear, and as he would’ve done in any fight, he tried to chop free from the burning arms that held him. He ineffectively beat his fists against the gigantic forearms hoping to break the demon’s hold. When that failed, he brought his arms up between the flaming arms, trying to force the monster’s limbs apart to free himself. His efforts only cooked his own flesh but had little effect, if any, on the devil that suspended him in the air and shook him repeatedly.
With whiplash and vertigo shattering his resolve, Randy didn’t know how to fight such a vision. It had to be a vision, a hallucination, but as he looked at Natasha, he knew she saw it too. She fervently made the sign of the cross and bowed her head to pray.
“Fucking no good whore! Get off your knees and do something. Help me!” Randy screeched. “Find something to use as a weapon and kill this thing!”
No help there. Why would she after the many years of abuse? He should’ve never dismissed his guards… he wondered if they could hear him or this roaring fiend.
The monster shook Randy some more and then threw him towards a half-open dumpster. He landed with a dull thud and screamed in pain and anger, “You broke my fucking back! You broke my back!” However, before he could figure out anything else or assess his condition, the evil thing loomed over him again.
“Natasha, get off your sorry ass and get my men. They’re in the car out front. Hurry! For God’s sake, Natasha, do something.” His voice was now a whimper.
She still didn’t move, but she looked up. No longer willing to follow Randy’s orders, she merely continued to pray as she watched his torture. Knowing she was next, Natasha prepared to meet her maker. She ignored Randy’s cries, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his long-overdue punishment.
A snarling mouth with long, sharp fangs bit off Randy’s nose, and then, spit it back to him. Randy felt the hole where his nose had been but his piercing cries were ignored as the abuse continued. Long talons gouged out his eyes and slit through the flesh on his cheeks. The monster was ‘marking’ him the same as he had done to Sabrina.
Next, it retrieved Randy’s hunting knife and tore open his shirt to brutally carve the symbol into his own chest. Randy shrieked in agony at each cut, but he got the message. This was retribution for Sabrina Devereux.
He continued to cry out for help, but his voice was weak. His men would never hear him. Sitting in the car with the radio on, they were too far away anyway. As a final measure, the lid of the bin repeatedly crashed down on Randy’s head, smashing it to pulp, as the devil roared his rage, frustration, and misery – his grief.
Natasha also knew this was about Sabrina.
The monster was in the shape of a man, albeit a huge fiery demon’s form and over eight feet tall. However, if she knew anything at all, Natasha knew everything about men. She was good at reading their emotions and signals. Although the demon roared in rage, she heard the pain and anguish in the sounds it made. The monster was in agony, suffering greatly.
Could this monster be Alec Winters? Was his fury so intensified that she imagined this vision of an avenging demon? Natasha didn’t know. She only knew that she was next.
Too afraid to run, she watched every moment of Randy’s punishment as she remembered Sabrina’s warning, “You will be sorry when Alec finds you.” Natasha would soon pay for her part in the murder of the goddess too. Aware that she deserved it, she simply sat there glad that this nightmare life in America – home of the free – would soon end.
Chapter 8
Alec had killed Randy and Natasha, but he wasn’t yet finished. Oh no – he still had a lot to do. Even though he knew that Randy had acted on his own accord, Alec wouldn’t rest or be satisfied until he made the entire Russian mob pay for Sabrina’s heinous murder. It had begun with Randy’s boss. His discontent had started the pendulum swinging and it could only end with Ivan the Terrible’s death. Alec wanted to destroy the Russian mafia that had grown like a cancer in the bowels of New Orleans. He wanted to burn their organization to the ground.
The deaths of Randy and Natasha weren’t enough. It hadn’t satisfied Alec’s bloodlust. He’d wanted to make them suffer the way Sabrina had suffered. However, the demon persona had its way. The two murderers had died too quickly; their frail human bodies no match for his superhuman strength. His need for vengeance wasn’t slaked – Sabrina’s memory deserved far more justice than Alec had given her so far.
Meanwhile, and shortly after Randy dragged Natasha outside, Pete called the police in spite of Randy’s threats. The crazy Russian had scared the crap out of him and might come back to make good on his threats anyway, but Pete had a thing for Natasha and he didn’t want to see her harmed.
Squad cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens headed to the Toulouse Bar. “What the hell,” the driver exclaimed as he saw the commotion in his rearview mirror speeding towards them. Randy’s bodyguards, nervous and worried, asked each other, “Is this about Petrov?” No one had an answer.
“I’ll check it out, but you need to stay here out front,” the guard from the backseat said as he tapped the other man in the front seat on the shoulder. “And you should drive around the block and wait for us at the end of the street.”
The driver pulled out to circle the block.
Alec patiently waited as he utilized his supernatural hearing. He needed to know everything the men knew in order to get to their big boss, Ivan.
“Petrov is dead and so is that bitch, Natasha,” the guard reported when he rejoined the other man in front of the bar. As they walked towards the sedan, the conve
rsation continued.
“Fucking-shit! What do we do now?”
“We have no choice. We have to let Ivan know.”
“Who killed him? Did you hear anything else?”
“Nothing useful but he was beaten to a bloody pulp and dumped in the trash bin! Such disrespect! Bloody shame to treat him that way.”
“What else did you find out?”
“With the police surrounding the place and the alley, I couldn’t get any closer. However, I did overhear one of the officers say that he had some kind of symbol carved on his chest.”
“Probably the same kind Petrov loved to carve on his victims.”
“Probably retribution.”
They repeated the story to the driver once inside the car. The three men agreed with the assessment. Petrov was known for his cruel, sadistic attacks when anyone crossed him. He always left his mark to ensure that others knew he was serious, but he also carved it on any target he murdered.
The sedan headed to the warehouse district. The taxi followed. “Let me out here,” Alec instructed as he paid his fare. “Thanks for all your help.”
Alec disappeared and the cabbie shook his head in amazement. He’d never seen anything or anyone like the man he’d driven that night and he wasn’t about to let the night end without knowing the conclusion.
Two of the men got out of the sedan and ran into the building while the third parked some distance away. Alec broke the driver’s neck and put him back in the car. Next, he followed the two guards inside.
The warehouse was large, but only a portion of it was finished. Cordoned off to control access, the available area served as several offices and a plush meeting room big enough to hold two or three dozen men. Now, at this hour, only a handful milled about. Alec killed anyone between him and his target, Ivan the Terrible.
In the meeting room, an old man sat in a large leather armchair smoking a Cuban cigar. He absentmindedly flicked the ash towards a round tray before briefly looking up as Petrov’s men hurried forward. Then, as if bored, he returned to studying his manicured nails. His voice was flat, unemotional, as he asked, “What is it?”
Harbor City (An Alec Winters Series Book 4) Page 3
