by Mike Faricy
“The place just makes you want to shout ‘sock it to me,’” I said.
“Wouldn’t want anything to harm that gorgeous upholstery,” Val laughed.
There was a doorway beyond the couch, which Hale entered. It was the office. We knew that because there was a desk with a black leather chair on wheels behind it. And not much else.
“When was the last time you saw an office without chairs for clients to sit in?” Hale asked.
“Maybe when Mr. Lepke was advising they just stood at attention,” Val said.
“You know, based on his taste in decoration it’s probably safe to say he wasn’t on the cutting edge of current. But, wouldn’t you think that even someone who was just advising would have a computer? A typewriter? Something?” I asked.
“He did, or does,” Aaron was walking behind the desk. “You can see dust on the desktop where the keyboard and screen were positioned and there’s an indentation back here under the desk. I’m guessing that’s where a terminal was located.”
He slipped a pen under a drawer handle and pulled it open.
“Surprise, surprise, empty.” Then proceeded to open all the drawers, all empty.
“A clean office, as in cleaned out,” I said.
More indentations on the carpet suggested the recent removal of two file cabinets.
“Just a wild guess but unless Marvin went on an unplanned vacation somewhere without his bride, I’d guess the odds might be pretty good he’s not doing so well right now,” Hale said.
“All roads still seem to lead to Braco Alekseeva,” Aaron offered, and so we took one.
Chapter 79
Armed with the laundry list of offenses and now the missing Marvin Lepke under seemingly suspicious circumstances Aaron secured warrants and a swat team for the arrest.
Braco’s red Lexus, the apparent recent recipient of bodywork, was parked and gleaming in its reserved spot in the parking garage beneath his condo building. Gleaming two parking spots away was the dark blue BMW registered to the Lee-Dee guys that Kerri drove around town.
“Just to be on the safe side, I’ll have these vehicles towed to the crime bureau and checked for signs of Marvin Lepke,” Aaron said.
“Maybe check for Da’nita Bell and her wheelchair on the Lexus,” I added.
“That too.”
We rode the elevators up to the thirty-fourth floor, then had to get out and take a private elevator the final two floors up to Braco’s penthouse on thirty-six. Aaron had a small army assembled in the lower lobby before we moved on Braco’s penthouse unit.
His private elevator was paneled in some elegant kind of wood, definitely not knotty pine, a plush red carpet on the floor, and framed mirrors with beveled glass on three walls. There were enough of us that it was going to require at least three waves, plus additional guys creeping up a fire stairwell.
Just as we were beginning to load into the private elevator Aaron’s phone rang. I heard one side of a conversation and heated, garbled responses emanating from his phone.
“Agent Peters, nice to finally hear from you. Thank you for returning my calls from the past week,” Aaron calmly said.
“Yes, Agent Dziedzic is here, in a courtesy role only. She is viewing the operation, from a distance,” Aaron said, nodding at Val.
“Little late for that, I’m afraid, we’re set to go in.”
“No, we will not stand down. I have warrants. I’m in the process of dealing with what we suspect is at best a kidnapping and what we fear could well be a murder. Time is of the essence.”
“Oh I see, well, let me rephrase, Agent Peters. At this point you’re wasting my time, which means you’re endangering the lives of my people. Good day,” he said and clicked off his phone.
“Let’s go,” Aaron nodded to his swat guys and entered the private elevator.
When the doors opened I guess it was more a combination of Scar Face meets the Big Lebowski. I wasn’t allowed up until the third wave and only then because they assumed I had to be someone of authority, since I was up there to begin with.
No shots had been fired. By the time I got up there, a Swat team guy wrapped in Kevlar was reading Miranda rights to two thugs with shaved heads who were handcuffed and facedown on the floor of a hallway. Val was there, translating. Across the hallway large paneled doors opened into a massive living room with skyline views on two walls. Even with all the windows the room seemed dark. Despite the summer sunshine the fireplace was roaring, stacks of files about three feet high were lined up next to the fireplace. Remnants of burning files flew up the chimney. Hale, hobbling in his walking cast, was busy pulling singed files out of the fireplace.
Three long black leather couches were arranged in a large U in front of the fireplace. A massive coffee table about the size of a double bed sat in the middle. The table was trashed with empty vodka bottles, dirty glasses, some serious stacks of cash and what I assumed was a mound of cocaine next to a mirror. A couple of rolled-up bills were stuck in the mound like haphazard birthday candles. A pistol lay on the floor between the couch and coffee table.
Kerri was there, wearing a black negligee that perfectly complemented a swollen, nearly closed black eye. She seemed catatonic, with heavy powder residue on her upper lip, chin, and dusted across her chest. Her head lolled to the side and she drooled slightly, I guess in acknowledgment.
Further back in the room, close to what was a wet bar area a group of officers stood around a fat little bald man with a wispy ponytail lying on the floor. He had a Van Dyke style goatee and was clad in a blue and gold paisley robe that looked to be silk. The robe was disheveled and exposed a very fat, very pink rear end. Although I hadn’t heard a shot he appeared to be wounded, one of the officers was applying a compress to his head as I approached.
“Stupid bastard ran straight into the doorframe at full speed and cracked his head open,” the officer was explaining to Aaron.
I noticed there was an empty gun holster belted over the silk robe beneath a massive beer belly.
“The infamous, Braco the Waco,” Aaron said as two swat guys raised the paisley-clad troll to his feet.
I’m not sure what I expected but it wasn’t this. I’d been thinking maybe someone around six foot five. Braco couldn’t have stood much more than five and a half feet. Instead of lean and muscled with piercing eyes that shouted a warning, he had triple chins, bags under his eyes, florid cheeks, and looked more like an Elizabethan English professor than some Russian gangster in a human trafficking scheme.
Aaron smiled, took out his Miranda card.
“Agent Dziedzic, if you’d help with translation when you have a chance,” he called over to Val.
Chapter 80
Suddenly there was shouting from one of the back rooms, followed quickly by three or four shots. Everyone flinched and ducked, except for Braco, who wobbled for a moment, then just dropped to the floor. He hadn’t been shot, he just flopped over or passed out.
Aaron moved forward with four officers, crouching as they went.
“Just stay put and don’t get in the way,” he directed me.
I followed at what I assumed was a safe distance.
The shots seemed to have come from a dining-room area, and the shooter had retreated into the kitchen. Swat team guys were crawling along the side of the dining-room table. Once they were in position the team leader waved two more into the room along the opposite wall. I took Aaron’s advice to heart and hung back, way back, halfway down the thick carpeted hallway.
“Tell whoever it is to throw their weapon out,” Aaron said to Val.
She called out in Russian, then repeated the sentence.
We waited.
“Again,” Aaron said after what seemed a very long time.
We waited awhile longer and then someone suddenly grabbed my collar from behind and yanked me to my feet. Shouted something in Russian as a pistol barrel cracked into the back of my head.
“Don’t fucking shoot!” I pleaded just in case someone
didn’t get the message.
Aaron’s eyes were wide, Hale looked deadly serious, and Val said something in Russian.
A response hurled back from behind me. I had other things to worry about just now but I was keenly aware of garlic breath. The hand on my collar forced me forward, repeated a growled phrase in Russian again and again, all the while using me as a human shield. We slowly made our way toward the elevator, our backs against the wall.
“Everyone stand down. Just let them go, let them go,” Aaron said, Val translated.
The hand grabbing my collar seemed to take a larger hold and tightened around my neck.
I couldn’t spot Braco, not that I needed to talk with him at the moment. Kerri was cuffed and looked to be unconscious, kneeling on the floor, butt against the coffee table, head on a couch.
The voice behind me growled something.
“He wants you to pick up a bundle of cash,” Val translated as I was pushed toward the coffee table.
I picked up two just to stay on his good side, stuffed them in my pocket.
We made our way into the hallway, across to the elevator, and then inside.
On the short ride down I stared wide-eyed at the reflection of my pale faced image while a sneering Tibor “The Butcher” Crvek held my collar, banged a very large pistol against my head, and giggled insanely.
“Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot. Very sensitive situation here,” I pleaded to a group of cops milling around the lobby area two floors down. The Butcher moved us against the lobby wall and snarled something in Russian. Then snarled again.
Footsteps came pounding down the fire staircase. Aaron, Val, and half the St. Paul police force.
The Butcher snarled again.
“Jesus,” I sobbed.
“He wants everyone to back up. Let him get to the other elevator,” Val said.
“We’ll lose him,” someone shouted.
“Stand down, stand down everyone, back up, come on, move,” Aaron commanded.
“Oh fuck,” I whined.
The Butcher moved us against the wall, growled.
“Push the button for the elevator, Dev. Push the down button,” Val translated.
As instructed I pushed the down button and then thought when we get onto the elevator I don’t stand a chance. I’m dead about one second after the door closes.
I looked Aaron in the eye, blinked slowly a few times to signal something, what? Just to signal I guess. The elevator arrived a lot sooner than I had hoped, gave a soft ding a moment before I heard the door slide open behind us. The Butcher grabbed my collar even tighter and began to pull me, half chuckling, taunting the crowded lobby as we backed into the elevator.
Throughout my life I have found abject fear to be a particularly good motivator.
I took two small steps backward as The Butcher dragged me. With the third step I pushed back as hard as I could, bringing my right arm up, hoping to turn out of the way and grab his gun. It didn’t quite work that way, the gun fired before I could completely turn. The roar deafened me but apparently missed as we fell. I rolled off him just as we hit the floor, a number of weapons fired and his body jerked repeatedly.
“Hold your fire, hold your fire,” Aaron screamed.
The Butcher was on the floor, very still, half sitting, leaning to the left and staring vacantly. There was a small hole, surrounded by powder burns along the right side of his nose, a larger exit wound on the left side of his face, just in front of his ear. Blood was pooling on the plush carpet.
My ears were ringing and I could feel a burning sensation on the back of my head and neck just before I passed out.
Chapter 81
I awoke sometime in the middle of the night. I could see it was raining out although I was having trouble hearing anything against the window. The hospital room was empty except for some equipment quietly blinking next to me. There was a soft light on over the bed, and I drifted back to sleep.
When next I woke it was to a nurse looking at a chart as she wheeled a breakfast tray in front of me.
“How’d we sleep?” she asked. What I could hear of her voice sounded muffled, like I was wearing earplugs.
“Okay, I think,” I said groggily, not recognizing my own voice.
“My hearing is screwed up, I think.”
She nodded, said something I didn’t catch, then smiled and left the room.
I devoured a stack of pancakes with bacon, a glass of orange juice, and some coffee. I kept trying to open my ears by yawning and swallowing but nothing seemed to work. There was a greasy substance on the back of my head, a salve I guessed, maybe for powder burns.
I thought of The Butcher on the floor of that elevator, glazed eyes staring, toward what? Maybe the gates of hell. I felt absolutely no remorse.
I attempted to listen to the television mounted on the wall, but I was having trouble hearing it when a nurse came in and turned the sound down, then waggled a finger at me, and mumbled something I didn’t quite understand.
Sometime in the early afternoon a doctor came in and talked to me. I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying, but I caught the part about release forms and going home. I thought about calling Heidi for a ride, but why bother? I wouldn’t be able to hear the phone ring, let alone her response, and my natural aversion to text messaging made it all just a lot easier to climb into a taxi.
Chapter 82
Three nights later I was sitting in the Spot Bar, minding my own damn business, content in a mild and steadily growing alcoholic haze. A bit of a private celebration after discovering two thick packets of hundred-dollar bills still stuffed into my pockets when I pulled on my trousers before leaving the hospital. Compensation from Braco I figured, and justly earned.
I failed to mention the cash in my after-action interview with the police department. They didn’t ask, I didn’t offer. Aaron had fired at least two of the rounds into The Butcher and, according to department policy, had been placed on a mandatory week of clerical work.
“Get you another Jameson, Dev?” Jimmy asked.
A little voice inside my head said Just finish this one and go home.
“Yeah sure, why not?” I replied. My hearing was mostly back. I missed the occasional word here and there but in general it had returned. I could use a phone anyway and the new Jameson made me think I might turn the night into a complete celebration. After a couple more healthy sips to build up courage and with very little reflection I phoned Heidi.
“What?” she answered.
“Whoa, hell of a way to greet a hero,” I said.
“Hero? You haven’t answered any of my calls and I …”
“Did you hear any of the news reports? I couldn’t even hear the phone ring, let alone anything you’d say.”
“Well, I’m a kind of busy right now.”
“Not your gnarly hairdresser pal, again? I thought you…”
“What I said was never mention that piglet to me again. Ever. No, I’m with Keith tonight. He’s an artist, if you must know.”
“An artist?”
“Tattoos actually.”
“Tattoos? You’re getting tattooed?”
“In a manner of speaking, with any luck. Look, I’d love to chat but I have to get going here. I’ll phone you in the next couple of days.”
Yeah sure you will.
“Hello.”
“Hi Val, Dev Haskell. How you doing?”
“Dev, oh good to finally hear from you. Yeah, well, you sort of caught me at a bad moment. I wonder if I might call you back in a bit?”
“Yeah sure, look, I was just thinking I sort of wanted to get your take on everything that happened in that elevator. I’m missing some critical moments, you know. Would you have time to stop by, maybe later tonight say for a nightcap?”
“Oh, I’d love to, but actually I’m out in DC right now. Maybe we could link up later on. If you look on my business card, my email address is on there. Send me an email and I can forward after-action reports to you, let you
read through those.”
“To tell you the truth I wasn’t thinking of reports, exactly.”
“Oh, you know in a warped sort of way that’s sweet, Dev. But, things are going pretty well all of a sudden and like I told you once before, you probably wouldn’t be the best career move for me. You know?”
“Yeah. Look, I’ll email you for those reports. I’m looking at your card right now. Good luck, all the same.”
“You too, Dev, stay in touch. Okay?”
“Yeah sure. Talk to you later, Val.”
I sat drumming my fingers on the bar trying to come up with someone who hadn’t sworn “they never wanted to see me again, ever!”
“Here you go, Dev,” Jimmy said setting a fresh Jameson down.
“Jimmy, am I losing what’s left of my mind, did I…”
“From the lady.”
“Lady?”
“That redhead, she’s,” Jimmy looked back over his shoulder. “Well now, where in the hell did she go? She was standing right there a minute ago, maybe she ducked into the ladies room.”
“Redhead? Accent?”
“Yeah, she’s got an accent.”
“Good-looking?”
“Very, that’s her, wherever in the hell she went,” Jimmy said looking around again.
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone? She was really a knockout.”
“You should see her naked on the beach.”
“What?”
