by Rickie Blair
Dimitri turned to the window and watched a small passenger plane land at the Island airport.
“What does he want from you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why is he helping you?”
“We were … good friends once, a long time ago. He might think that we could be again.”
“So, not selfless.” He swiveled his head to look at her.
“I don’t know what you mean.” The phone rang, making her jump, and she raised it to her ear.
“Sorry, Ruby,” Hari said. “I was with Antony and some other people and I couldn’t talk.”
“I spent an hour in the police station. They think I’m a crook. Did you tell them something that would make them think that?” She paused to catch her breath. “Whatever you think I did, you’re wrong.”
“I didn’t tell them anything, I swear. I’ve been looking into a few things and I have some information. Why did they let you go?”
“Never mind that. Does Antony know about the bonds? Did you tell him that I don’t have them?”
“Antony isn’t communicating with me at the moment. He’s too busy planning your funeral.” Hari gave a snort of derision. “Last time I checked, he had the entire female staff in tears. He is such a jackass. Anyway, he doesn’t know about our meeting. I told him nothing.”
Ruby shook her head and mouthed nothing at Dimitri, who nodded.
“Listen, meet me tonight,” Hari said. “I’ll explain everything. Carmen’s. Eight o’clock. Wear one of your … you know … disguises.”
Ruby handed the phone back to Dimitri.
“What did he say?”
“I’m meeting him tonight, at a restaurant downtown.” She looked at her watch. Five o’clock. Plenty of time.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Ruby turned and gazed out at the harbor. The ferry had docked and would soon head back to Centre Island. She traced the boat’s outline on the window.
“Dimitri, how much do you know about the vor y zakonye?”
“Enough to stay away.”
She turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow.
He spread his hands, shrugging.
“I am Russian. Not criminal.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” She winced and put a hand on his arm. Dimitri was the only person who had helped her so far. Who else could she trust?
“No problem,” he said. “I understand.”
Ruby nodded slightly, sighing, and turned to the door.
“I can go to the restaurant by myself. Hari has something to tell me and if he sees someone else—” She shook her head. “Anyway, you’re going to find Mila for me. Remember?”
He nodded. “Soon.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
From a coffee shop across the street, Mila Luzhkov watched as Ruby left the condo building on Queen’s Quay and hailed a cab. Mila checked her watch. Almost an hour had passed since Ruby had entered the building. More than enough time to—Mila shook her head. She wasn’t here to speculate.
It had been easy to follow her husband. A scarf over her head, a pair of sunglasses, and an old coat was all it took to blend into the background. She hung back when he stopped to buy cigarettes at the corner and then watched him trot down the steps to the subway. The subway platform was crowded and she boarded the car behind his without being seen. As the train rumbled through a dozen stops on its way south, Mila watched Dimitri through the windows of the adjoining doors. He hung onto an overhead strap and stared straight ahead. Viktor transacted his business in the smoky back room of a seafood restaurant in the suburbs, far from the expensive shops in the city’s center, so Dimitri must be meeting someone else.
Dimitri got out at Union Station, a key transfer point where subway, bus and train lines intersected. Mila stepped off as well. As the subway cars emptied, she hugged the tiled wall to avoid getting swept up in the crowd. When Dimitri reached the top of the stairs, she followed him out.
But by the time she made it to the street Dimitri had disappeared among the pedestrians who choked the sidewalk. Mila craned her neck, trying to find him. Which way had he gone? A man coming out of the subway, his head down to check his phone, bumped into her.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping around her without looking up.
Mila ignored him. She glanced up one side of the street and then the other, but there were too many people and she was too short to see over their heads. Her quarry had vanished. She might as well go home.
Just then the pedestrians on her left parted, and she saw Dimitri’s familiar profile striding along the sidewalk twenty yards away. She hurried after him for several blocks until he entered a soaring glass-walled condo building on Queen’s Quay, overlooking the harbor. In the café across the street, Mila ordered a coffee and settled in at a tiny table by the window to watch the condo’s front entrance.
What happened ten minutes later took her by complete surprise. Her jaw dropped as she watched a dead woman emerge from a taxi. Despite the wig and the hat pulled low over the woman’s forehead, Mila recognized Ruby Delaney right away.
Ruby sauntered up the front steps and into the lobby, pushed a button on the intercom and disappeared inside. Mila looked around the café to see if anyone else had noticed this apparition, but the other patrons were chatting or tapping away on laptops. She returned her gaze to the building across the street, tearing her paper cup into tiny pieces.
Mila had observed many society wives aboard the Apollonis. Some were friendly like Ruby, some were irritable and demanding, and some had husbands who either ignored or bored them. Those wives found other outlets for their passion.
Boredom was not Ruby Delaney’s problem. Turning up in a big city was reckless. The wig and makeup were good, but not foolproof, not up close. It would take only one photograph on the Internet to reveal a delicious secret. The notorious ‘Ruby Danger’ was far from dead.
Not long after Ruby left the building and hailed a cab, Dimitri also emerged. The collar of his sheepskin jacket was turned up and he wore a black wool cap low on his forehead. He ambled toward the subway.
Mila waited until he was out of sight. Then she dropped change on the table and slipped on her coat. Crossing the street, she fingered the two keys in her pocket. The larger fit the building’s front door and she smiled as the lock clicked open. On the fifteenth floor, she slid the second key into another lock. With a glance back at the hall, she entered the apartment and closed the door behind her.
It had also been easy to copy the keys. She switched Dimitri’s key ring from his good pants, laid out for his usual night at the pub, into his jeans while he was in the shower. After he left the apartment, she retrieved the key ring and took two unfamiliar keys to the convenience store on the corner, where the proprietor made copies. Mila was back by the time Dimitri returned for his forgotten key ring. From the kitchen, where she was rolling out dough for piroshky, she suggested he search his jeans. He retrieved the keys and left.
But two copies remained behind, safe in her apron pocket. The number on a tag attacked to the keys, 1507, she kept in her head.
The waterfront condo was filled with light, even on a dismal October day, and much warmer than their walk-up. Mila pulled her scarf off and unbuttoned her coat as she looked around. Who paid for this? Miss Delaney? She walked across the carpet to check the items on the bookcase. A few books in Russian, magazines, an empty vase. And in the kitchen, a cheap aluminum frying pan on the stove, a few plates and cutlery in the cupboards, and two dirty coffee mugs in the sink. At the top of the spiral staircase Mila stared at the rumpled sheets on the bed in the alcove over the kitchen. Overlapping glass-sized rings etched the top of the nightstand and an ashtray held several butts. She picked one up. Lipstick stained the filter. Scowling, she put it back.
But the object she wanted most, the leather box from the Apollonis, was not in the apartment. Not in the closets, the kitchen cupboards, or the bathroom. She even checked under the carpet in th
e living room, patting the plush surface with both hands and rolling up the edges. She was running out of time. Dimitri could return at any moment.
Her heart racing, Mila gave the kitchen one last look. The sawdust on the floor caught her eye. Dropping to her knees, she peered at the kick board under a kitchen cabinet and gave a gratifying sigh. Her father had hidden manuscripts the same way.
Mila stood up and rummaged through the toolbox for a flathead screwdriver, a hammer, and a small flashlight. She stretched out on the floor and worked the tip of the screwdriver between the kick board and the cabinet. When the nails popped out, she pried off the board and trained the flashlight on the space under the cabinet.
The leather box was there, and much more besides. She shook her head. Ruby Delaney would regret her affair with Dimitri.
Mila found four hiding places under the kitchen cabinets. She pulled out the red leather box and set it aside. Retrieving an empty duffel bag from the coat rack by the door, she spread it open on the floor. After placing the leather box in it, she took inventory of the three other compartments. They held half a dozen handguns, suppressors, ammunition, and a Kevlar vest.
There was also a yellowing manuscript. She scanned it, recognizing the name of a former mobster who had long since died in prison and, with a start, the name of the author. She placed the manuscript back in its hiding place.
A rolled cloth concealed several stilettos. Another small bundle turned out to be a jewelry box. Opening it, she stared at the tangled necklaces, lockets, and rings. Mila fished out a tarnished silver locket and opened it. Snapping the locket shut, she put it in her pocket, replaced the kick board and moved on.
The final compartment held a digital camera and a manila envelope. She shook the envelope and a dozen photographs spilled out. Mila spread them out on the floor. They were pictures of Miss Delaney. The backgrounds were blurry, so they had been taken with a telephoto lens. Was Dimitri planning blackmail? Or something more sinister? In several of the photos, Miss Delaney stood outside a rundown three-story house. Mila peered at the street sign in the foreground.
Once all the kick boards were back in place, she listened at the apartment door and then slipped out. Heaving the duffel bag over her shoulder, she headed for the elevator.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“It’s a little late to be working, isn’t it?”
Antony looked up from his desk. Hari stood in the doorway, holding a briefcase, his expression grim. Antony glanced out the windows of his corner office where the city’s lights had long since winked on. Whatever this was, he had no time for it.
“What do you want?” he said with a scowl, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “I’m busy.”
“I’ll bet.” Hari advanced across the yards of broadloom between the door and Antony’s desk, pulled documents from his briefcase and dropped them on the gleaming mahogany surface. “In fact, I’d say, judging from this list, that you’ve been quite busy.”
Antony picked up the first page and studied it, a hollow feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. How had Hari gotten his hands on this? His hand trembled and the paper rustled. He dropped it on the desk and looked up.
“Where did you get this?”
“Never mind that. What does it mean?”
“It means I don’t tell you everything.” Antony turned to the portable shredder beside his desk and fed in the papers. The machine crunched and whined, then stopped. Down the hall a vacuum cleaner whirred, and on the streets below a siren rose and fell.
Hari slumped into a leather chair, facing the desk, and frowned.
“Don’t be so damned theatrical. You know that was a copy.”
“Theatrical? I thought that was your department. Yours and Ruby’s.” Antony rubbed the back of his neck. “You still haven’t told me where you got that list.”
Hari leaned forward, jabbing his finger on the desk.
“For five years, I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do. I even considered you my best friend. And now I find you’ve been secretly melting down assets as if this was a retired Soviet battleship.”
Hari leaned back and narrowed his eyes.
“So what does that,” he pointed at the shredder, “mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“Obviously, I don’t know.” Hari glowered at him. “That’s why I’m asking.”
Antony gave a slight shrug and swiveled his chair to the window. The siren had faded into the distance. Time to change the subject.
“Aren’t you going to say we’ve been through a lot together and I owe you? Or, wait,” he flicked a hand, “that I took the only woman you ever loved?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Still carrying a torch for Ruby?” Antony swiveled back and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, Hari, how’s that wife of yours? Happy without you in Mumbai?”
Hari launched himself at Antony and grabbed him by the collar.
“You son of a bitch.”
A gust of alcohol-laden breath warmed Antony’s face. He raised his eyebrows and Hari abruptly let go, slumping back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
“You’ve been robbing us all for years, you bastard.”
Antony tried not to smile. The ball was back in his court now.
“I get it, I do. You’re worried about your money. That’s the Hari Bhatt I know.” He walked to the credenza, poured a finger of Talisker into each of two glasses and handed one to Hari.
Hari took it with a scowl and tossed it back, setting the empty glass on Antony’s desk with a thud.
Antony raised his own glass and nodded at him before taking a sip and putting it down. He tapped the side of his glass.
“It’s a long story, but you know most of it, so let’s skip ahead. You’re a talented accountant, Hari. Without you, this wouldn’t be half the company it is. But all good things come to an end. Carvon is—what’s the GAAP term for it? Oh, right. Screwed. After next week, when the financials come out, a few short-sellers will be very, very rich.” He picked up his glass and took a swallow before replacing it on the desk. “Well, rich by their standards, anyway.”
“So you decided to clear out the hold before the ship went down? How did you expect to get away with it?”
Antony held up a finger.
“Wait a minute. I did not clear out anything. I took a little loose change that was lying around and put it to better use, that’s all. The money in those accounts,” he pointed at the shredder, “would not have made any difference to the company in the long run. It wouldn’t have delayed the inevitable by much. And surely, as captain of the great ship Carvon & Co.—to continue your nautical metaphor—I’m entitled to a little something for my years at the helm. A retirement fund, say.”
“A little something? Five hundred million dollars? Are you insane?”
“Well, what do you think I deserve? Five million? Fifty? That kind of money doesn’t go too far these days.”
“You deserve nothing, Antony. And when you’re behind bars, as you surely will be, you’ll be making five dollars a day, stamping license plates.” Hari rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands. “We’re both going to jail. Until now we could have argued aggressive accounting and a bad market. But this is out-and-out fraud. You bastard.”
Shrugging, Antony picked up his glass.
Hari raised his head.
“We could put it back. Clear out your offshore account and put it back.”
Antony gave him a withering look.
“You shouldn’t drink, Hari. Makes you stupid.” He held his glass up to the light and swirled the liquid. “There’s nothing to worry about. I funneled the money through Ruby’s companies. Since she’s conveniently disappeared, she won’t be able to object.”
“Ruby had nothing to do with it. They’ll figure that out.”
Antony looked away, unwilling to meet Hari’s eyes. He remembered, for some foolish reason, the blue dress Ruby had worn the day they met and
the way it clung to her curves. She had worn it on the Apollonis, too. Something tugged at his throat and he swallowed hard, shaking his head. Ruby was resilient. She would be fine.
“Eventually,” Antony said. “But I left a convoluted trail. And by the time the SEC unravels it, I won’t be here to answer any questions.” He raised his glass in a salute. “To the good ship Carvon & Co. on its final voyage.” He winked at Hari and drained the glass.
“And what happens to me?”
“You’re a smart boy, Hari. Surely you’ve put a little aside for emergencies.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The rooming house hallway was deserted, the air filled with the musty smells of old carpet and stale beer. On the first floor, a television game show blared from the apartment at the back. Ruby reached the bottom of the stairs and glanced at that unit’s closed door. The landlady would be slumped in her recliner with a bottle of rye and a can of cola by now. In a few hours she would be snoring.
Ruby closed the front door and stood on the porch. After glancing up and down the street, she pulled her hat over her ears and headed for the streetcar stop at the corner. A woman waited there, stamping her feet and blowing on her hands. She looked up.
“Miss Delaney?”
Ruby froze.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Mila said.
Ruby stared, her heart thumping. For days, she had wanted nothing more than to find Mila. But now that she had, she was too surprised to speak. The women stared at each other for a few moments.
“How did you find me?” Ruby asked. “Did Dimitri call you?” When Mila didn’t reply, she added, “The bartender from the Apollonis? Do you know him?”
“Yes, I know him. He’s my husband.”
A bus pulled up and its door opened with a gust of compressed air. The driver looked at them and then closed the door. The bus rumbled off. Still the women stood, motionless, staring at each other. Ruby tried to recall the furnishings of Dimitri’s waterfront condo. There were no signs a woman lived there. No clothing or perfume or makeup.
