by Frank Zafiro
Katie let out a small chuckle. “All right. Good enough.”
Sully squeezed her shoulder gently. Then he raised his radio to his mouth again. “Adam-122 to Officer Battaglia.”
“Go ahead,” replied Battaglia. Katie heard a snatch of twanging guitar in the background.
“Go ahead and transport to jail,” Sully transmitted. “I’ll stay here and finish up.”
“Copy.”
Sully slid his radio back onto his belt. “He’ll be long gone before the ambulance gets here,” he told her.
“Thanks,” Katie said. Slight nausea crept into her stomach as the adrenaline faded further. She swallowed heavily.
Sully chuckled and shook his head. “Katie MacLeod, I’ve gotta hand it to ye,” he said. “Ye are the bomb, lass.”
Katie managed a weak smile but said nothing.
Together they waited for the sergeant and the ambulance.
2217 hours
Valeriy Aleksandrovich Romanov stood in the enclosed bus stop, smoking. He watched what he thought of as something akin to a street opera performance at the apartment complex across the street. When he had first arrived and seen the police car parked out front, he decided to wait a while and watch. His nephew, Pavel, had frowned at the prospect of delay, but Val simply told him, “A man that can be patient eventually finds his foe at his feet.”
The boy frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Val told him.
Pavel sighed. “You sound like my father.”
“I know,” Val answered.
And that is no accident. For more reasons than one.
He turned back to the opera before him. When he’d witnessed a struggle in the small foyer of the apartment building on the other side of the glass doors, he experienced no inclination to intervene. He could see that it was between a larger man and a smaller cop, but couldn’t make out faces. All he could see was the sleeveless white T-shirt that Ivan preferred and the dark blue uniform.
Val simply waited and smoked. If it wasn’t Ivan fighting with the cops, then all he had to do was wait for them to finish their business and leave. It didn’t concern him at all. After they left, he could attend to the purpose for which he’d come to these apartments. If, on the other hand, it was Ivan who was fighting with the cops, then it wouldn’t do Val any good to go running in and getting involved. Besides, Ivan was strong. He could win his own fights.
A minute later, two more cops appeared from upstairs. Val didn’t sigh, but he shifted his assessment of the situation. The likelihood now was that whoever was fighting with the cops was going to jail. Three against one were not good odds, even for Black Ivan.
And if Ivan went to jail, that might cause Val a little problem.
“Why are we still waiting?” Pavel asked, his tone impatient.
Val shushed him, handing him the newspaper. “Here. Make yourself useful,” he said. “Pretend to read this.”
Pavel glanced down at the River City Herald and frowned. “It’s in fucking English, Uncle,” he complained.
“Then only read the words you know,” Val snapped. “But stop staring across the street. Do you want the cops to notice us and come over here, too?”
Pavel paused, then nodded with understanding. He turned his attention to the newspaper, pretending to be thoroughly entranced by the city’s chronicle.
Val resisted shaking his head. The boy was brave enough, but he didn’t use his head. He only brought him along and tried to educate him out of respect for his sister.
Don’t lie to yourself, Valeriy.
He brought his cigarette up and took another drag in order to mask a small smile.
The thought was true enough, though. The other reason-probably the real reason-he brought Pavel along was because he was Sergey’s son. Sergey was married to Val’s sister, but more importantly, Sergey was the boss. Being brother to Sergey’s wife was a good connection to have, but being Pavel’s mentor only firmed up his position in the family.
His thoughts were broken when two cops emerged from the apartment entrance with Ivan between them. They marched him around the corner of the building, then disappeared behind it.
“That was Black Ivan,” Pavel murmured.
“Yes.”
“Where are they taking him?”
Valeriy shrugged. “Jail, I suppose.”
He masked his smile at the irony of his own comment. In the former Soviet Union, of course, the scene that just played out before him could have meant any number of things. A guy like Ivan could disappear into the bowels of the KGB building. He could end up floating in the Dnieper River. Or he could simply go to jail for a little while.
Of the three options, it was the third one that really represented the most danger for a man like Ivan. If one of their men came back from a light trip to jail, there was almost always the paranoid assumption that he was now working for the government as some sort of spy. He’d heard stories of-
“What if they find the packages?” Pavel asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Then they do,” Val answered. “Now shut up and read your paper.”
“I only know a few words,” Pavel complained. “It makes no sense.”
Val ignored the young man until he sighed and returned to the Herald. He watched one of the cops return to the foyer. The police car left with Ivan in the back seat. Another police car arrived, this one without overhead lights. A small Asian officer exited and went into the foyer. Eventually an ambulance arrived at the front of the apartment. Val watched and smoked his cigarette to the very end. He tossed the butt into the nearby can and lit another.
The medics brought the cop out of the apartment building on a gurney. Val frowned. That could mean even more trouble for Ivan. Although American cops didn’t take quite the same dim view that Kiev cops did when it came to an assault on one of their own, it did seem to be a crime that the courts actually punished people for.
That worried him. He didn’t want Ivan out of commission for long.
Val watched as the medics maneuvered the gurney near the rear of the ambulance. The cop’s head rose and glanced around. That’s when he noticed the feminine features.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Pavel lowered the newspaper. “What?” he asked, his voice once again urgent.
Val waved away his question. “Read,” he ordered, not even looking at the boy. Instead, he watched the medics load the female cop into the ambulance.
Black Ivan was beaten by a woman?
Val shook his head. No, that couldn’t be true. He must have been beating the woman cop until the other two arrived. That would explain why she was being taken to the hospital.
A few moments later, the Asian cop drove away. Now only one police car remained, the one parked in front of the building.
Val waited and watched. After about thirty minutes of smoking and listening to Pavel rustle the newspaper impatiently, the final cop exited the front of the apartment complex and made his way to the patrol car parked next to the curb. He fished in his pockets for his keys, trying a couple in the door before one worked.
“Is he the last one?” Pavel asked.
Val noticed that his nephew didn’t look up from the newspaper when he spoke. Maybe the boy could learn after all.
“I think so,” Val answered. He took another drag from his Marlboro as the patrol car pulled from the curb and jetted away southbound. “But there’s only one way to know for sure.”
Pavel smiled.
Val flicked his cigarette away; it caught the edge of the butt can and dropped inside. He made his way across the street at an angle, not bothering to use the crosswalk. Pavel stood and trotted to his side.
A red SUV slowed for them. The driver, a man in his forties with a goatee and a baseball cap on backwards, protested with a short beep of his horn.
Pavel’s head snapped to the left. “What the fuck are you honking at, son of bitch?” he yelled, taking two steps toward the truck.
; “Leave it,” Val said, not even bothering to turn his head. “We have more important business.”
Pavel obeyed reluctantly, giving the driver a forceful middle finger and suggesting an activity the man could do with his mother. Then he followed Val to the opposite curb.
Val reached for the front door and pulled. The glass door shook but didn’t budge.
“You want me to try some of my door keys?” Pavel asked. “This looks pretty standard.”
Val shook his head. His finger traced over the listing of residents in the small apartment complex. Twelve of the fifteen were Russian surnames. He depressed the button for number fourteen.
After a moment, a female Russian voice answered. “Yes.”
“I forgot my keys,” Val said, his Russian coming in velvet tones. “Could you please buzz me in?”
“Of course,” she replied. A moment later the buzzer sounded and Pavel tugged on the door. It opened easily.
“Thank you,” Val said.
“You’re welcome.”
As they stepped inside, Val mused, “It is always good to be surrounded by countrymen.”
Pavel grinned, but his smile faltered when Val stopped in the foyer and stared at him with a cold, hard look until his nephew squirmed uncomfortably. Eventually he asked Val, “What is it?”
“That business with the truck,” Val said coldly.
“What? The bastard almost hit us.”
“No. He slowed down.”
Pavel looked down for a moment, then met Val’s gaze again. “Okay, fine, but he honked at us. He honked at you, Uncle. I can’t let someone disrespect you like that-”
“Don’t use me as an excuse for your lack of discipline, Pavel.” Val’s voice was iron. “We are on business. We have a purpose. Don’t let yourself be distracted over petty issues. Who cares what some idiot in an SUV thinks? All of that was over nothing, but if you’d pulled him out of his truck and beaten him senseless, then we would have something. Something bad. Something shit. And we would not have accomplished our goal here.”
Pavel hung his head. “I know. It’s just-”
“No!” Val snapped. “There is no ‘just.’ Discipline is what keeps us from ending up in jail or deported. Do you want to end up like Black Ivan? Hauled off in a police car?”
“No.”
“Then do not be so eager to prove your manhood to me. I know you are strong, Pavel. I know you are brave. You will have plenty of opportunities to show it. But keep the discipline.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Pavel mumbled, his tone contrite.
Val waited another moment for his words to sink in and hopefully resonate. Then he turned and headed upstairs to apartment seven.
At the door he gave a heavy rap. There was a short pause, then he heard the rattling of a chain. The door swung open. Elena Cherny’s hard glare appeared in the crack. Val immediately noticed her red, swollen eye and split lip.
“Where is Ivan?” he asked, testing her.
“Gone,” was all she said.
Val stepped forward. Elena made no move to step aside or allow him entry. Val paused. He smiled tightly. “Ivan was expecting us. I’m sure you want to be a gracious hostess, even if he isn’t home.” His words were coldly polite.
Elena considered. Her gaze flicked back and forth between Val and Pavel. After a moment she swallowed and nodded, moving aside and swinging the door wide.
Val entered with Pavel on his heels. His eyes scanned the simple, tidy apartment, but he found no sign of serious struggle. Either it hadn’t been that bad, or Elena had cleaned up.
“I can make coffee while you wait for his return,” Elena suggested, though her tone made it clear she didn’t want to make Val coffee or even want him in her home.
Val didn’t care. He had a task to perform, and perhaps a little bit extra to do as well. He shook his head at Elena’s offer and motioned to the kitchen table. “Too warm for coffee,” he said. “But perhaps we can sit?”
Elena nodded and both of them sat. Pavel stood nearby, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms menacingly.
The two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Val rested comfortably in the chair, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. He removed his silver Zippo and slowly rotated it through his fingers. The motion was fluid, like an experienced gambler with a betting chip. As the lighter flowed through his fingers, the gold-trimmed red lettering on one side flashed under the low hanging kitchen light. Elena, who sat with hunched shoulders and her hands in her lap, glanced at the dancing lighter. The letters-CCCP with a hammer and sickle emblazoned in the roundness of the p-would be familiar to her. While Val was no great fan of the government of the former Soviet Union, he knew that seeing the letters, along with the hammer and the sickle, served to remind his countrymen that some things do not change. Even in America.
“You know who I am?” he asked her finally.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Then you know my business is always important?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tell me, then, where did Ivan go?” he asked evenly.
Elena paused, then shrugged. “He does not tell me things.”
Val nodded slowly. “I see. We came to get a package from him. Do you know if he left it for us?”
Elena shook her head. “He doesn’t tell me his business. I cook, I clean. He does business.”
Val pressed his lips together. He stopped twirling the lighter and gave it a couple of sharp taps on the table top before sliding it into his pocket. Then he leaned forward. His jaw set, he gave Elena an icy stare.
“That is twice you’ve lied to me, Mrs. Cherny,” he growled. “Do not let there be a third, or the beating you took from your husband will seem a pleasant diversion.”
He watched for the fear to come into her eyes, but saw only a flicker. That both surprised and delighted him.
This woman is very brave. She is truly Russian.
“Shall we start again?” he asked, his voice pleasant once more.
Elena nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” Val said. “Where is Ivan?”
“The police took him away.”
“Why?”
Elena gave him a look of disbelief, then motioned toward her face. “He did this.”
“Why did you call the police?”
“I didn’t,” she said forcefully. “One of the neighbors must have.”
Val shook his head. “No Russian would call. Only three names on the board downstairs are not Russian. Which of those three called?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you had to guess.”
Elena shrugged. “Probably the bookworm across the hall. She always looks at Ivan with disapproving eyes.”
“You’ll talk to her,” Val said. His inflection made it clear that it wasn’t a question.
“Of course.”
“Good. Now tell me, what did you do to deserve being hit?”
Elena gave him another brief look of barely contained anger, but suppressed it just as quickly as it appeared. “We argued,” she said in an abrupt tone.
“About what?”
“Husband and wife things,” she said shortly.
Val sighed. He glanced over at Pavel and nodded slightly. The young man stepped forward, reaching for Elena with eager hands. Her eyes flew wide and she shrank back in her chair. “No! Please!”
Pavel didn’t stop.
Val didn’t stop him.
The punch broke her nose, by the sound of it. The sickening splat was followed by her surprised grunt of pain. Before she could make another sound, Pavel slapped his hand over her mouth. Blood flowed freely from her nose and over his fingers. With his free hand he grabbed a fistful of hair. He jerked her head back and drew his face close to hers.
“Hurts?” he asked, his question ending in a hiss.
Val watched dispassionately while she struggled to free herself from Pavel’s grasp. He knew that the blood from her nose was coursing into her throat, m
aking it difficult to breathe. Panic would set in shortly.
Pavel turned to him for further instruction. He tipped his head slightly to the left. Pavel let go of the woman’s head and gave her a shove. She took a wet, ragged breath, then bit back a sob. Pavel ignored her, reaching for a kitchen towel and using it to clean her blood off his hand.
Val let her compose herself for a few moments. Then he said, “You see, I don’t like being lied to. It wastes my time. But more than that, it is an insult.”
Elena pinched her nose shut with a wince.
Val lifted his chin toward her. “That is as good as it gets. What I have to offer you, if you lie again, is considerably worse.”
Elena wiped her lips and glanced down at the blood on her fingers. Then she met Val’s eyes and nodded.
“Good,” Val said. “Now, tell me why Ivan hit you.”
She swallowed thickly. Pavel handed her the dishtowel. She wiped her hands and held the towel to her nose. “I asked him to get a different job,” she said, her voice muffled by the cloth.
Val nodded, motioning for her to continue.
She pulled the towel away and stared at the bright red blood, then pressed it back to her nose. “I found the package on the counter. Both packages.”
“He separated them?”
She nodded.
“All right,” Val said. “But why did you concern yourself with your husband’s business?”
Her eyes flashed sullenly, but she didn’t reply. Instead she pulled the towel away and took another look at the blood there.
“It’s clotting already,” Val said. “You have a warrior’s blood.”
She folded the dishtowel in half and wiped away the remaining blood from her mouth and nose. “I found the packages. I told Ivan I was frightened for him. These things bring trouble. Trouble from the police and even more trouble from-”
“That is none of your concern,” Val told her. “Ivan is a good soldier. He is smart. There would have been no police here at all if you hadn’t argued and forced him to discipline you.”
