The Tea Maker nodded and began making preparations.
Chapter 91
A week later, the Tea Maker walked along the icy sidewalk, just southeast of Krasnaya Ploshchad – Kremlin, Red Square. He shuffled slowly along the walkway, not wanting to slip. The Violete, a striptease club friendly to the outfit, was his destination. A meeting had been arranged for eleven in the morning with a contact that could help deal with Viktor.
His mind raced as he prepared for the meeting. Taking care of Viktor would not be a simple task. He was very powerful and so were his friends. Still, Viktor reported to the Elders. They ran the outfit. And they had had enough of his disrespect for authority. Viktor had to go.
Bundled in a thick, knee-length jacket, the Tea Maker considered the task at hand as carefully as he could, but the numbing cold bit through his shoes, easily distracting him. It was too much. The Tea Maker took a shortcut down a tiny lane littered with dumpsters and debris. There was still snow on the ground, but it was minimal. It would be easier and faster this way.
For both men.
The Tea Maker had taken no more than fifteen steps into the lane when a bullet ripped through his right hamstring. He yelled out, half in pain, half in shock. He fell to his knees and began crawling toward the back door of the Violete. He didn’t have time to figure out what exactly happened, but he knew enough to realize he was already badly injured. He remained focused on the door, his safe zone.
The second bullet hit his left hamstring, leaving both legs immobile. The Tea Maker now lay flat on the ground relying only on the strength of his forearms to pull him forward. It was the crunching of the snow that got the best of his curiosity. He stopped and looked back to see who had done this.
The minute his attacker came into view, the coldness of fear raced through his body. This was Death paying a visit and it would not be painless. The Tea Makers mouth hung open as he stared at the man behind him. Like a ghost, he had appeared from nowhere, a handgun equipped with a silencer occupying his right hand.
His attacker lifted the weapon and put a hot slug into each shoulder, taking away any hope the Tea Maker might have had of escaping. His attacker bent down next to him and lowered his scarf.
“You… How can it be?” the Tea Maker gasped.
Looking at him was Viktor Kazapov. His face was filled with one emotion—rage. The Tea Maker was confused. He began sorting through possible scenarios that could have led to this outcome. His phone conversations, other meetings, his enemies… Anyone of these could have spurred the leak or, worse yet, housed a mole. Who gave him up? How could Viktor have possibly known about this meeting… to hire Ghostface?
The barrel of the gun was shoved into the Tea Maker’s mouth, chipping a tooth in the process.
“You think you can hire me to kill my own brother, my twin, my likeness, my blood? You are sadly mistaken, old man.”
Twins! Ghostface and Viktor? With all his wisdom, the Tea Maker had never suspected, never considered this. The Elders had been outsmarted.
The hitman laughed at the old man. “You did not suspect such a possibility? No one does.”
Ghostface pulled the trigger repeatedly delivering a favorite move of his. Then he finished it off by shoving a metal skewer through each eyeball. It had been a while since he had left his shish kebab calling card.
Chapter 92
San Francisco, California
The visitor returned to 1634 8th Street around four in the afternoon. Carrying a bag of groceries in one hand, he ignored the row of mailboxes in the lobby of the apartment complex. Mailbox 401 was filled beyond capacity, the tiny door bulging.
After exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, the man entered apartment 401. He locked the door behind him and stood still listening for anything out of the ordinary both inside and outside of the apartment. When he was sure there was nothing to worry about he placed the groceries on the counter and removed his toupee and mustache. Boris Turov had once again served his purpose.
Viktor Kazapov decided not to flee the country; he had spent too much time outside Darby’s apartment and feared the borders were already shut. Better to stay put and ride out the circus. Fortunately for Viktor, Orlov was nice enough to lend him his apartment.
Viktor carried on with his usual routine which consisted of following the case through the newspapers and on TV. As he suspected, law enforcement assumed that he had left the country somehow.
Again and again the men responsible for his capture that night, primarily Detective Peter Sokolov, had to answer the same question over and over. How did they let him get away? How could he just vanish without a trace? Viktor snickered every time.
Viktor had parked Orlov’s car far enough from the scene that it became another car on the street. Escape was actually quite easy. Even Viktor himself was surprised.
Viktor’s cell phone rang. He muted the TV and answered. “Hello?”
“Brother, how are you?”
“I am living. What about Moscow?”
“The Tea Maker? He will make no more tea,” the voice laughed.
“And the others?”
“I will take care of them soon enough. Don’t you worry, brother.”
“I have some news you will like. The detective believes we are the same person.”
“This is good. My next kill will be spectacular enough to gain his attention. He will think you are in Moscow.”
“The plan is working better than I expected. I will see you soon, brother, but I have some unfinished business here first.”
Viktor hung up, satisfied with how things were progressing. He had suspected that the Elders would try something like this.
When Viktor informed his brother of the plot, he was only too happy to help. Ghostface had been craving another assignment worth his time, the Parisian kill being his last. Taking out the Elders would bring him great joy. He had come to despise them lately. Over the years, the hitman had done their bidding, making the impossible possible. But still they treated him like a vendor, a service for hire. “Where’s the respect for the greatest assassin to ever walk the earth?” he would always ask Viktor.
Viktor knew the Elders’ deaths would send shivers through the entire organization. And it would be very clear who everyone would think had killed them. There would be no mistake. Plus, the media would not be able to ignore such a tasty treat of reporting the assassination of the men who ran the Russian Mafiya. This would provide weeks of fodder and, in the end, make Viktor Kazapov more powerful than ever—the man who took down the Elders.
Sokolov would assume he was in Moscow and naturally, Darby and the rest would relax their guards. Viktor couldn’t ask for anything more. Everything was happening as planned—that is, until he heard someone knocking at his front door.
Chapter 93
Back at Ms. Kaminsky’s house, Tav and I were busy planning our escape. We could no longer take the mothering and the constant feeding. It was all too much. Even Raphie, with his voracious appetite, looked full. It was time to return to The Vic. The plan was to tell Tav’s mom we were hitting the clubs and then not return, letting her know we were too tired for the drive so we went back to my place.
Tav stood up and, like a seasoned newsman, informed me he had to float a couple of logs down the stream and that it might be a while.
“Wait. Before you pollute the place, let me take a piss first.”
“I can’t. Gotta go. Use the other toilet.”
I was afraid you would say that.
The other toilet he was talking about was the one inside the master bedroom, Ms. Kaminsky’s room. Even though Tav was my best friend, I never did tell him what happened the last time I went in there.
We were both teenage boys. We were in Tav’s room watching a porno he’d gotten from his neighbor, Scotty Hansen. While Christy was busy getting stuffed on the pool table by the mailman, I needed to use the bathroom, legitimately. The hallway toilet was broken so I had to go use the one in Tav’s mom’s bedroom. I ha
d never been in her bathroom before. It was big and smelled nice. A lot of pink. While I was taking a piss I noticed something purple hanging from the shower curtain rod: Ms. Kaminsky’s panties. I immediately told myself to just finish up and ignore what was hanging above me. But I couldn’t. I kept looking. How could I not? One would have never found women’s lingerie hanging in the bathroom at my house growing up. I wasn’t even allowed to go into my sister’s room. Thank God for the Sears catalogs showing up at the house. It was my only opportunity to explore in detail what women wore.
When I finished pissing, I reached up and pulled the panties down. They were soft and silky. Lace ran along the edges of the waistband. The panty had a full cut, definitely not like the risqué ones that Sears sold to younger women. I held them up and looked at them from the front and the back. Then I peered inside to check out the cotton crotch. I never really looked at Tav’s mom as anything but Tav’s mom, but that day, she wasn’t his mom and this was about as close as I had ever gotten to a woman’s nether regions.
I brought the panties up to my nose. I just had to know what it smelled like. I took a sniff. Nothing. So I took a deeper one. It smelled like soap. This pair had been washed. But knowing that it had spent the day snuggled between her legs was plenty enough for me.
I sat down on the toilet and wrapped the soft material around myself and got to work. I closed my eyes and imagined myself helping Tav’s mom paint her house.
I would take my shirt off because it was hot. Tav’s mom would change into a white bikini to cool herself down. She would then fix me a glass of iced tea and ask me to take a break. She had a new waterbed she wanted to show me.
Pushing me from behind into her room, she would trip, causing me to spill the ice tea onto my pants. “Oh no, Darby, you must take them off and let me wash them before the stain sets in,” she would say.
Getting down on her knees, her head perfectly aligned with my crotch, she would undo my belt buckle while repeating my name over and over. Until suddenly I realized someone was actually saying “Darby” over and over.
I opened my eyes and looked up to find Ms. Kaminsky leaning against wall by the bathroom door. There I was, sitting on her toilet with my fist pumping away, destroying her lacy delicates. But that wasn’t the worst part.
The cycle had already begun. My man juice was well on its way and was looking to end in a big finish. I couldn’t stop it. I had no control over stuff like that—I was sixteen. Staring at her, I tried to contain myself as a grunt escaped my mouth. Too late. I sounded like the elephant man cumming, “Arggheewwwhhheshaaa.” I had released the hounds right onto her unmentionables. After I finished, I looked down at the mess and then back up Ms. Kaminsky and managed a falsetto, “Sorry.”
Tavish’s mom took a breath and then calmly told me to throw the panties into the hamper and put my pants back on. I did exactly what she said and as I walked by her with my head down, she reminded me to lock the door the next time I had to use the bathroom. She never said another word about it, nor did I.
I always thought that was cool of her. I mean, she could have freaked out and kicked me out of the house, but she didn’t. She knew I was a curious and horny teenager that didn’t know any better—a far cry from what would have taken place at my house had Tav been busted disgracing my mother’s delicates.
With my Catholic upbringing, this would have been considered a mortal sin. Actually, everything was a mortal sin to my mother. As much as I loved my parents, they never got me the way Ms. Kaminsky did. She was open-minded. Maybe she’s where I got my gift for big ideas.
Chapter 94
Nothing feels better than waking up in your own bed. It’s the truth. Our escape to The Vic was a success. Tav’s mom quickly got over it.
Aside from the reunion with my bed, coming back to The Vic was a little bittersweet. A federal agent was killed here and more were killed out front. For at least a week, no one was allowed to enter the place, and that included me—not until the FBI had their opportunity to fully conclude their investigation of Special Agent Wilkonson’s murder.
Detective Sokolov had turned me on to a crime scene cleanup service. My first thought was, “Why do I need to hire a company like this?” He told me that Wilkonson’s head was taken clean off his body when he was shot and there was a lot of him spread out all over the place. I didn’t need to hear any more than that. I called Crime Free. They came in and cleaned up the rest of Wilkonson, disinfected the place and even replaced the windows and fixed the bullet holes in the walls.
When Tav and I entered The Vic, there was no sign that a shoot-out had taken place here. But it cost me a pretty penny. Thank God I’m set to meet with Ivan tomorrow for a payday.
While I was messing around on Facebook, Natasha logged on and asked how I was doing. She had heard about Viktor.
Natasha: hi darby!!!!!!!!! everything ok?!
Darby: Hi Natasha. Everything is fine. We think Viktor left the country. I moved back into my house.
Natasha: did u hear? there has been assassination in moscow. 1 of the top men in Mafiya is killed.
Darby: I haven’t heard. This man worked with Viktor?
Natasha: papa says viktor killed this man. viktor is ghostface. did u knew that?
Darby: I knew he was Ghostface but I didn’t know he was assassinating people in Moscow.
Natasha: such a terrible man. i hope soon they r 2 catch him. o… guess what? papa says i can visit.
Darby: Really? He’s not worried about you traveling?
Natasha: viktor is not in ur city, so it is safe. i’m almost adult. r u excited? is it still ok for me to visit? i badly want 2 c cable cars and the golden bridge of san francisco.
Darby: If your father is cool with it. I’m cool with it. Just let me know when.
Natasha: ok i have 2 go. ttyl
I’m not going to lie: the news that Viktor was in Moscow gave me the closure I was seeking. I never knew for sure if Viktor fled the country or not. This proves that he did. The shitty thing is, this psycho is still out there killing people. Why can’t they stop him? He’s one man. And why on Earth would he target members of the Mafiya? Is he on the hunt to be the next boss? I hope not.
I wondered if Detective Sokolov had heard about the killing. Probably, but I called and left a message on his cell to be safe.
I closed my laptop and headed downstairs. Tav and Ralphie were on the couch watching football.
Tav looked up at me. “Hey. So what’s the plan?”
“Natasha wants to visit.”
“Natasha… As in the girl you saved in Minsk?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t she a little young?”
“It’s not like that. We’re friends—the entire family and I. While I was there testifying, I told her she could come visit me in San Francisco. I didn’t think she would come.”
Tav muted the TV. “So what did you tell her?”
“I said it was cool so long as her dad was okay with it.”
Tav looked skeptical.
“It’ll be fine. She’s actually a bright young lady. It could be fun showing her around. She’s cool. And get this: she says the news over there is reporting that some big wig in the Russian mob was assassinated. She said Viktor did the hit, which means he’s in Moscow—far away from here.”
“What, is she suddenly connected? How does she know it was him?”
“Her father. He’s a minister with his government. Remember?”
“Well, she seems to be over the whole ordeal.”
“She’s a teenage girl. They think they’re invincible.”
“And what about you? Do you think you’re invincible?” Tav asked as he scratched Ralphie behind the ears. “I don’t mean to bring this up again, but Darb, I’m serious. This business of yours continues to put you and the people around you, meaning me, in a position of harm. Wait, let me rephrase that: a greater chance of coming into harm.”
“That’s unfair,” I said. “This whole
Viktor onslaught had nothing to do with my consulting business. You know that. I’ve explained it already.”
Ralphie started to bark at the tension in the room.
“I know what you said, Darb, but I can’t but help think that if you weren’t in business with the Russians, you never would have had reason to walk past that travel agent and see the flier about dating Russian women.”
Ralphie got louder and more agitated which forced Tav to raise his voice. “Shhh, calm down, Ralphie. See even he agrees with me.”
I watched Tav pull the pug into a bear hug. Ralphie twisted away and lay down across Tav’s legs hoping for a belly rub instead, which Tav never denied him. Ralphie snorted his appreciation.
This conversation was going nowhere. I refused to point the finger at my business. I could have found out about the dating junkets some other way. It was a coincidence.
I often think about that night in Minsk. Had I taken the minibus back to the hotel with the group, I never would have bumped into Natasha. Where would she be now? Either dead or telling some disgusting creep how big and satisfying he was. And for that, I’m glad I decided to walk.
Tav’s outburst could be traced to what happened to him in Hong Kong. I knew it and so did he. He was still angry and he had every right to be.
But I learned a lot from the Hong Kong deal about how this business should work. This is an entirely new career that I’ve created. There are no textbooks I can read or night classes I can take. I’ll make mistakes. Unfortunately mistakes in my business can kill people.
I walked over to Ralphie and gave him a good scratching behind his ears, to let him know we were okay.
“I can scratch your ears, too, if you wanted,” I told Tav.
He laughed.
Hooray. “I got some stuff I gotta take care of. Will you be around later? Maybe we can grab some beers or see a flick.”
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 50
