Russian Roulette

by Austin Camacho

  “Why Rehoboth Beach, for God’s sake?” Hannibal asked.

  “When she was younger, her parents would take her there in the summer,” Yakov said, clutching the seat as Hannibal pressed the Volvo up past eighty-five. “They vacationed at Rehoboth because Ocean City is too crowded. Are you familiar with the little town?”

  “As it happens, I am,” Hannibal said. “Rehoboth beach is the biggest of Delaware's Atlantic resorts, part of a continuous line of seashore tourist areas, like Dewey Beach and Bethany Beach. They each kind of have their own personality. The Coffee Mill is in Rehoboth. That’s the little shop I order my custom ground coffee from. Without the summer beach traffic in my way, I can make it there in just about two hours.”

  “Fine. As long as we get there alive.”

  The wide, level road took them to MD 404, which turned into DE 404 as they crossed the state line. While the sun inched lower in the western sky, Yakov Sidorov talked about his youth in Mother Russia, his brief meeting with Nikita Petrova in Afghanistan, and his journey to the United States to make his fortune. His patients were almost all Eastern Europeans who paid in cash. He asked no questions except those related to their health and for their part they never argued about his rates or threatened to sue him for malpractice.

  The sun was just thinking about surrendering to the night as Hannibal cruised down the wide Main Street, lined with most of Rehoboth Beach’s two hundred shops, twenty or so hotels, and about as many bed and breakfasts. He circled the big gazebo at the beach end, still not finding a parking space. When they did find a meter without a car in front of it, they were three blocks from the ocean.

  Viktoriya had asked Yakov to meet her on the wooden boardwalk, a mile or so of eateries, games, hotels, and eclectic shops. Beyond the railings the umbrellas on the white powder sand beach were disappearing one by one, and lights winked on in front of shops as the night life was about to kick off.

  “I see why so many vacation here,” Yakov said as they walked past colorful storefronts and restaurant tables on front porches. “The town is charming, with a certain artistic appeal.”

  “Yes,” Hannibal said. “Quiet, clean and safe. Although maybe not so safe for everyone.”

  Sharp salt air wafted in with the tide on a persistent breeze. The two men walked slowly, staring into the alcove entrances of the minigolf courses and arcades.

  “Viktoriya should be easy to spot here,” Yakov said. “The style here seems to strongly favor short hair on women.”

  Hannibal smiled. “Yeah, well you might not know that Rehoboth Beach is also becoming one of the mid-Atlantic's most popular gay and lesbian getaways. Think of it as South Beach, north.”

  Yakov opened his mouth to respond but Hannibal stopped him with an elbow in the ribs. He pointed toward a food counter where Viktoriya stood with both hands wrapped around a container of boardwalk fries. She was balanced on heels with tiny straps circling her ankles. The shoes were wrong for the beach, and the satin shorts and camisole impled she had left someplace in a hurry. Her shiny black tresses whipped in the breeze, waving them in. Her mouth dropped open as they approached. When they were within reach, she hugged the older man, but her wary eyes never left Hannibal. The embrace was strong, but brief.

  “How do you know Uncle Yakov?” she asked.

  “I thought he could tell me a bit more about your husband,” Hannibal said. “We were talking when your call came in.”

  “We need to see him,” Yakov said. “If Dani is wounded, he will need immediate attention.”

  She drew back into the corner of the counter. “Dani’s gone and I don’t know where.”

  “What do you mean gone?” Hannibal asked. “Is he alive?”

  “He was when I saw him last.”

  Hannibal nodded, and turned to Yakov. “We obviously have much to discuss. We need to go sit down someplace and have the girl bring us up to date. And I know just the place.

  * * * * *

  Rehoboth Mews was not much more than an alley a couple of blocks from the boardwalk. It was a narrow walking path from Main Street to the next street perpendicular to the ocean and held five or six small shops. Hannibal had an account at one of them, The Coffee Mill. He didn’t visit often, but the manager recognized his name from the monthly shipments.

  “Hannibal Jones,” she said, barely tall enough to see over the counter. “It’s always a pleasure filling your orders. Rather a surprise to see you at this time of year.”

  “Maybe, but I’m sure glad you stay open year round. I need drinks for my friends here, but mostly we need a quiet place to sit. And I think you can provide that.”

  Within five minutes, Hannibal, Yakov, and Viktoriya were seated at one of the outdoor tables. Strings of oversized Christmas tree lights decorated the doors and crisscrossed from the buildings on one side of Rehoboth Mews to the other.

  Hannibal would have felt trapped if they sat inside the coffee shop, but sitting in front of it was different. Despite having storefronts on both sides, Rehoboth Mews was little more than a narrow alley, reserved for pedestrians. That meant that people could only approach from two directions and Hannibal could watch both ways with ease. Hannibal had splurged on cups of Jamaican Blue Mountain for himself and Yakov. Viktoriya had requested a frappuccino.

  “Now, tell us what happened to Dani,” Hannibal said.

  She slurped at her straw, peeking out from under her hair at Yakov. He nodded. She spoke.

  “Well, we wanted to go someplace to have a little sort of honeymoon, you know? Dani didn’t want to fly anywhere, said he was just sick of traveling and besides, there were nice places right nearby. I mentioned the beaches up here, where my folks used to bring me, and he thought that was perfect. So, he asked me to rent a car.”

  “Didn’t want to do that himself, eh?” Hannibal asked.

  “He had stuff to do, you know? Had to settle up with Mama and do bank stuff and, you know. Stuff. So anyway, I get this big old four by four because he doesn’t want to leave any of his stuff behind. We pack it all up and drive up here.”

  Hannibal let the rich flavor roll around his mouth, swallowed, and smiled at the girl. He hadn’t heard her say much before and was surprised to find that Valley Girl inflections could fit with the first-generation Russian-American accent.

  “You didn’t talk to your mom before you took off?”

  “No, he did,” she said, waving the question away. Yakov clenched his eyes shut tight, which startled her. “What?”

  Yakov shook his head. “Please. Continue.”

  “Okay, well we get here and he rents us a little house, kind of divey place eight or nine blocks from the ocean. Said it belonged to a friend, you know, so we would stay there as a favor. So I says, ‘What, are we broke?’ and he points to this duffel bag. So I open it, you know?”

  “And it was full of cash,” Hannibal said, rolling his eyes to the sky.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  Hannibal waved a palm to erase her question. “Can we skip to the part where Dani is shot?”

  “Oh, God.” As she continued, Hannibal could almost see her heart pounding faster, shaking the material of the tight camisole. Her voice actually quavered a bit and she looked down as if trying to avoid an ugly sight. Maybe she was. “I was out in the kitchen making us some iced tea. I heard the doorbell ring and I figured it must be the owner because who else knew where we were, right? So I hear Dani talking to somebody and I figure I’ll be polite and pour a third glass of tea. Then....” She closed her eyes and shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe her own senses. “Then I hear this pop, like somebody set off a firecracker in the house. I’m curious, so I go out into the living room.”

  Viktoriya’s lips curled in and the tears finally came. Yakov laid a protective arm across her shoulders. She stared up at Hannibal’s lenses as if asking if this was enough. He kept his face impassive.

  “When I get to the living room, Dani is alone. He’s sitting on the sofa holding his chest.
I thought he had a heart attack or something. Then I saw the blood dripping out from under his hand. I scream but he says he’ll be OK. I run to the phone in the bedroom to call 9-1-1.”

  “But he didn’t want that,” Hannibal said.

  She looked at Hannibal with the wide eyes of surprise. “You’re right. He said an ambulance would bring police into it and that would be trouble. I should call Mama first. So I called home, but there was no answer. It just rang and rang. I was so scared. So I called you, Uncle Yakov. He didn’t want anyone to come to the house, so I told you I’d meet you on the boardwalk. So then I felt a little better, anyway. But when I went to tell Dani what was going on, he was gone. I heard the SUV pull away out front. I think he thought I was in danger as long as he was with me.”

  “You poor girl,” Yakov said, gathering her into his arms.

  Hannibal didn’t think she was in any danger, but he wanted to be sure. “The duffel full of money?”

  “Gone too,” she said. “Maybe they shot him for it.”

  As good an explanation as any, Hannibal thought, although if her story made any sense, the shooter didn’t have time to find the right bag. It seemed more likely that Dani took the money with him.

  “What a horrible day for you, my child,” Yakov said. Hannibal thought he knew where that conversation was going, and he wanted to forestall it a bit. He pulled out the photo he had shown everyone else.

  “This might help us find Dani’s attacker,” Hannibal said. “Who else do you recognize in this picture? That’s your husband in the back there.”

  “Yes, standing behind Uncle Boris,” she said. Yakov moved his arm and sat back, his mouth slack. “Yes, Uncle Yakov, that’s Uncle Boris and Aunt Renata.”

  “And Danny went by Gartee Roberts at that time,” Hannibal said.

  “Gartee? What the hell kind of a name is that? I never heard him called any other name but Dani.”

  Hannibal chose not to challenge the obvious lie.

  “How did you know the Tolstayas?” Yakov asked.

  “Another disappointment,” Viktoriya said, slurping the last of her drink out of its cup. “I was a big North Africa freak in college. Uncle Boris was going to take me on a trip to see Algeria where he has some business connections. Papa was all for it for a while, but then he backed out of it. That was right after I met Dani. He was working for Uncle Boris. He ended up getting the trip to Algeria.”

  Yakov took Viktoriya’s hand, painting his face with a gloss of sincerity. “So many losses and disappointments. And now...”

  “Listen,” Hannibal said. “Yakov has something he needs to tell you. I’m going to walk down the path a little way and make a call, OK?”

  In the doorway to a little clothing store that was now closed, Hannibal called Orson Rissik.

  “Jones?” Rissik growled into the phone. “I know this can’t be Hannibal Jones. He would never call me at my home on a Sunday night. He knows better.”

  “Sorry to bring business into your house,” Hannibal said. “Please apologize to Mrs. Rissik for pulling you away from your real life.”

  “If there was a Mrs. Rissik she’d tell you to piss off. But this is still my personal time and you better have a murderer in custody to be calling me now.”

  “That I don’t have, Chief, but I thought you’d want to be first to know the latest on this Petrova case. Or cases, I suppose.”

  “Oh.” Hannibal heard a brief pause, and then Rissik said, “Let me get a pen.” When he got back, he was all business. “All right, what have you got for me?”

  “Here’s how it lays out,” Hannibal said. “Nikita and Raisa Petrova have a grown daughter named Viktoriya.”

  “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Well, she recently married,” Hannibal said. “They came to Rehoboth Beach to honeymoon, which is where I am now.”

  “And I need to know this because…?”

  “Because the husband’s been shot. His name is Dani Gana, also known as Gartee Roberts.” Hannibal spelled both names and waited for Rissik to confirm that he had them. “He’s run off, maybe to draw danger away from the girl, but I don’t think he’s likely to get far with a sucking chest wound. I’m watching the girl since she might be next on the hit list, but can you get with Maryland police and put out a missing persons on the husband? You might save a life, and might even make some sense out of the murder of the parents.”

  “I’m with you,” Rissik said. “Give me your exact location. And, hey, I’m glad you called me before the Maryland guys.”

  In the time it took Hannibal to give Rissik a few more details and end the conversation, Yakov had done his grim duty. Hannibal walked back to the table to find Viktoriya’s face buried in Yakov’s shoulder while her body shook with heavy sobs. No one could be surprised. Three years ago she lost her father under suspicious circumstances. She was hardly married a day before someone shot her husband. Now she had learned that even before that, her mother had been murdered. It was a series of emotional body blows that would bring any sane person to her knees.

  Hannibal returned to his seat, swallowed the last of his coffee, and waited for Yakov to look up.

  “I understand that this is a very difficult time, but we can’t stay here and she can’t go back to that rented house.”

  “Oh God, no,” Viktoriya said. “And I can’t go home now that I know... I know...”

  “Of course not,” Yakov said.

  “Besides, if anyone is looking for her, they’ll have her mother’s properties covered.”

  “Looking for me?”

  “If they were after the money, they might think you’ve got it,” Hannibal said. “We don’t want to take any chances.”

  “My place?”

  “Not if the hunters know all the players,” Hannibal said. “We need to get her to a safe, neutral place. I think Dani had the right basic idea, but I want her closer. So we go back to the District and book her into a small, innocuous motel.”

  Hannibal stood and the other two followed suit. The evening was turning cool so they walked briskly to his Volvo. Hannibal opened the back door for Viktoriya. As Yakov slowly lowered himself onto the front passenger’s seat, Hannibal’s cell phone rang. He took the call standing beside the car. It was brief. After he put his phone away, Hannibal opened the back door and waved Yakov out.

  “We need to talk,” Hannibal said.

  -25-

  Monday

  Mornings were getting tough for Hannibal, but he figured that was due to the amount of drinking he had been doing in the last week. He admitted to himself that it might also have to do with the twisted case he was working on. He had gotten in pretty late the night before and gone straight to his apartment to get some sleep. Now, tying his tie, he stared into the mirror and remembered the conversation he had with Yakov Sidorov the night before.

  “I’m afraid you have another nasty job ahead of you,” Hannibal told Yakov, with one eye on Viktoriya in the car. “The locals have already found Dani. In his rented vehicle. Dead from a second gunshot wound.”

  “Oh no,” Yakov said. “She can’t take any more.”

  “Not that it matters that much, but they didn’t find the money,” Hannibal said. “If the hunters got it, maybe the danger to her is over.”

  Yakov nodded. “True, but is it not just as possible that Dani hid the money someplace before he died?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  That had led to a very difficult drive back to Washington, after a quick stop for Hannibal to run in to the rented house and pick up a few of Viktoriya’s necessities. By the time Hannibal got her checked into a low-profile motel, delivered Yakov into the hands of his worried wife and got himself home, Hannibal needed a solid night’s rest. Now he was ready to get back to work as soon as he got something to eat. He grabbed a carton of milk, a box of cereal and a couple of bowls and headed across the hall, figuring he could eat while he updated Ivanovich.

  Walking into his office he found Ivan
ovich in the second room, topless, working out on the heavy bag Hannibal kept hanging there. Based on the musky smell, the bag work must have started quite a while earlier. He registered Ivanovich’s smooth musculature and upper body definition, as all fighters do when they see another in training. This would be a hard man to put down, Hannibal thought, and wondered if his guest had been working out every day.

  “Good morning,” Ivanovich called, wiping his face with a towel and returning to the office. “There is a message on the phone from a Chief Orson Rissik. What happened to you yesterday? Do you have any news?”

  “I’m sure you’ll consider it good news,” Hannibal said, setting the bowls on his desk. “Viktoriya is now a widow.”

  “You killed the bastard?”

  “No, Aleksandr, I didn’t kill the bastard, but somebody did.” Hannibal settled into his desk chair, dialed Rissik’s number and poured cereal into the bowls. Ivanovich poured two cups of coffee and placed them beside the bowls.

  “Now she is all alone in the world,” Ivanovich said. “She is lonely and defenseless. Where is she?”

  “She’s in a safe place,” Hannibal said, pouring milk into both bowls. “Eat your breakfast.”

  “You must take me to her,” Ivanovich said, walking around the desk to stare down at Hannibal. Hannibal held up his palm as the call connected.

  “Good morning, Orson. What can I do for you?”

  “First and foremost, you can tell me where this Queenie Cochran is. She’s wanted for questioning in connection with her husband being hospitalized and now in connection with the death of your missing man, Dani Gana.”

  “Afraid I don’t know her whereabouts,” Hannibal said, glancing at Ivanovich’s impatient eyes. “I left her at the hospital, planning to go up and visit her old man.”

  “Yeah, well she never did go back up to visit him again,” Rissik said,

  “It might help to know that she’s from this area,” Hannibal said, “and that she was known as Renata Tolstaya before she married into the Cochran name.”