by Nicole Fox
I whistled low and gave him a winning smile. “Come on, Xavier,” I teased him, “you ain't even hit your prime, yet, and you know it.”
He laughed again and nudged Koen with his elbow. “I like this one,” he said. “She strokes the ego just the right way.”
But, as I watched the way the grandpappy and grandson got along, and as I looked around the den of the older man's home, I realized one thing: I couldn't ever go to the cops about my problem, or about the criminal organization I knew the Boss was running. As corrupt as the local cops were, and boy were they corrupt, I'd never thought it would go all the way up to Washington. Not like this.
Any whiff of trouble, and Koen's grandpappy would just yank him out of the fire before the cops even knew what happened.
Koen was protected, virtually a made man.
Which meant that, as nice as Xavier seemed, he was just as crooked as his grandson. There was no two ways about it.
That meant I'd have to stick with my original plan, after I'd gotten Benji out. Weasel my way in, get in under his skin, then strike. Cut the head of the snake and the body dies. Then, maybe, I'd have my revenge.
But, as I watched the two men interacting, it was hard to reconcile what I knew to be the truth with what I saw right in front of me. Just two men that seemed to love each other.
“Shoot,” Xavier said, snapping his fingers, “I sure am a poor host. Y'all two want tea or a beer or anything?”
“Tea for me,” Koen said. “Still gotta get to the repairs and stuff. You, Jace?”
“Beer?” I asked.
“Anything for you, sweetie pie,” Xavier said, then turned around and bustled off into the kitchen. I could tell from the way he was acting, he just seemed tickled that Koen had brought someone along with him. And even more tickled that someone happened to be a pretty girl.
“He's in a good mood today,” Koen said after his grandpappy was out of earshot in the kitchen. There was a certain satisfaction to his voice, and I could tell he was happy that he brightened the older man's day.
“It's because he thinks I'm your girlfriend,” I said in an almost sing-song voice as I sidled up next to him.
It took him a moment, but eventually Koen made a face as he realized I was right. “Shit,” he groaned.
“Ain't my fault,” I said, grinning as I twisted the knife, “I'm just along for the ride. I ain't the one breaking the old man's heart.”
“You like to cook, Jace?” Xavier called from the kitchen. “You should come in and see this kitchen, if you do.”
I raised an eyebrow at Koen, but he just shrugged. “It really is a nice kitchen,” he said.
I could barely make mac and cheese from a box without setting the whole block on fire. But, still, being a working girl meant being an actor. I headed into the kitchen and put on the proper face, one of astonishment and awe. In this case, it wasn't too difficult. The kitchen was all granite and chrome, with a great big professional-looking cooking range and a fridge big enough to store a dead gator in.
“Impressive, huh?” Koen said from behind me.
“Yeah,” I agreed as I walked further in.
“Take a seat,” Xavier said, gesturing to a set of barstools that were pulled up to the counter. “Take a load off.”
“You know, Gramps,” Koen said, “there ain't exactly a law saying every woman need to know how to cook nowadays.”
Xavier laughed that huge laugh of his again, filling the kitchen up till it felt like the windows were bowing out in their frames. “Oh, I know, Koen, I know.” He turned to me, smiling as he placed an open Abita in front of me. “You see, Jace, Koen's Grammy couldn't cook a lick. Not a dang lick. This was all for me.”
I grinned back at him and took a swig off my beer. It went down smooth and cool.
He slapped his belly and laughed. “See this? Liking food's the Baldwin curse.”
“Always figured the Baldwin curse was more about liking the food too much, Gramps.” Koen said.
Xavier Baldwin laughed again, and I swore I heard the window panes almost crack.
We talked a little more after that, going back and forth and dithering on certain topics. Xavier didn't pry too hard about my past, or my age, and I made up lie after lie about my childhood. It came out of my as habit, this need to protect my past, my privacy.
Finally, though, when there was a lull in the conversation, Koen added something that was a little unexpected. “Hey, Gramps,” he said after a moment. “Caught the news last night. You hear about that executive getting killed in the Hilton? That Sven Morokov guy.”
My ears perked up immediately. Sven Morokov . . . was an executive? What? I thought he was just some skeezy gangster-pimp, tied up with Fire and Brimstone!
The old, retired FBI agent's face went sour, like he'd bit into a bowl of etouffee expecting crawdad, but got a cockroach instead. “Yeah, I saw,” he said, almost spitting the words. “Serves the bastard right, I'm sure.”
Koen made a face as he took a sip of sweet iced tea. He set the sweating glass down on the granite counter. “You alright there?”
Xavier shook his head and waved it off. “Oh, it ain't nothing. Just that whole company that guy was tied up with, Volkov, it never should have been allowed to start in the first place. We told the State Department and the ATF not to let the licensing go through, but they wouldn't listen to me or my partner.”
I cocked my head to the side. Sven worked for some company I'd never heard of, but the government was involved somehow with it. That was interesting.
Koen clearly thought so, too. He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes intently locked on the old man. “This is juicy,” he said, grinning.
“Oh, Jace don't wanna hear any of my old stories from back in the Bureau,” he said, suddenly self-conscious.
“Sure I do,” I said, taking another big suck off my beer. If it was tied to the man who murdered my brother, I was all fucking ears.
Xavier sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He wasn't exasperated, or anything, but I could tell he was collecting his thoughts and getting all his ducks in a row. He leaned back on the counter behind him, perching his butt right on the edge.
“Alright,” he began, “so back in the late 80s, early 90s, the USSR collapsed, right? Well, in all that chaos that happened, there was a big spike in organized crime. Russian Mob types. There'd always been underground crime, of course, cause there always is. That's just facts. But, the reds, they kept everything tamped down real tight, managed it. When the government collapsed, though, all that scum rose to the top, like when you're making a good chicken broth.
“Now, out of these, rose up a man named Aleksey Volkov, called him The Wolf. He made his money running guns into Chechnya, before and after the collapse. Eventually, though, this wasn't quite as lucrative anymore, not for how dangerous it was. So, he started running arms elsewhere, to little hotspots we might've had an interest in at the time, places like Central America-”
“Wait,” Koen interrupted. “So, the owner of Volkov is an ex-gun-runner?”
Xavier nodded and Koen whistled low. “But, don't interrupt, boy,” Xavier admonished. “Save all the questions to the end, so this old man don't lose his train of thought. Where was I again?”
“Gun running for the government?” I supplied, by way of a question.
Xavier nodded. “Right. So, eventually, the Russian government starts to rebuild itself, starts to pick up the pieces at the end of the 90s. Well, when it comes to well-connected men with lots of money, Russia's the place to be, right? They love their oligarchs, them billionaires, and they might as well be gods among men over there.”
“Right,” Koen agreed, nodding. “But, if that were true, why did Volkov come over here?”
“Remember that whole Chechnya gun running part of the story?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding along with him, completely enraptured in this little story about my dead boss's big boss, “back in the early 90s?”
“Yeah, well, that.
You see, the Russians just love a man with money, because money is power, but that Chechnyan independence thing is a real kicker. Their government cracks down on that hard. So, eventually, The Wolf had to flee Russia. He smuggled as much as he could out of the country and applied for asylum here.”
Koen laughed, shaking his head. I could tell it was in as much disbelief as anything else. “You're telling me, a Russian mob boss applied for asylum here, in the States? I think I've heard everything.”
“Not everything,” Xavier reminded him. “Cause, surprise, surprise, he got it. Despite all my warnings. Certain people in the government thought he'd be a useful asset.”
I didn't know the first thing about international politics, or any of that CNN crap. “A useful asset?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Xavier said, drawing out the word, “sometimes, when you gotta get certain things into corrupt countries, places with dictatorships, you need a man who specializes in that kind of thing, things like smuggling and hiring certain kinds of people.”
“So, people like Aleksey Volkov,” Koen added. “Sometimes, you don't want blood on your own hands.”
“At least,” Xavier said, “so as no one can see. But, that wasn't the real kicker. Real humdinger was that the ATF somehow rolled over and let him get a license for the manufacture of firearms. He took all that money he'd brought over and, right around 9/11, started investing it in Volkov Arms. The rest, as they do say, is history.”
“Wow,” Koen said, taking another drink of tea. “Sounds like a pretty bad dude.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I focused on my bottle, started working away with my thumb nail at the edge of the damp, colorful Abita label. “He ever get into other things, though? 'Sides guns and stuff, I mean.”
He nodded. “Sure he did. All sorts of stuff. Those mobs, girl, they do all sorts of frightful things not fit for a lady to hear about. But, I'm sure of it.”
So, guns, women, drugs, more than likely. But, still, Sven was meeting with Koen, and kept calling him The Boss. Whoever he answered to, though, I couldn’t interrogate Sven now. He was stretched out on slab somewhere, keeping cool as a winter night.
Of course, Koen had no idea about any of this. That, or he was a better actor than I assumed.
Whatever the truth was, I was gonna find out, though. And, when I did, someone was gonna pay. Tomlin deserved that much.
Chapter Seven
Koen
That evening, Jace and I headed in through the backdoor of Club Hellfire. I feigned politeness, but it was really only so I could keep my eyes on her. Sure, she'd ridden on the back of my bike, but making a move on me in that situation would have been a losing proposition for her.
Nothing quite like killing the rider when you were stuck on the back.
The club was barely empty as we stepped into it, mostly just staff running around taking care of the incidentals, and we skirted the main area so I wouldn't get grabbed for any questions or “Hey boss!” interruptions. The place wouldn't really start bumping for more than another hour.
“Y'all get busy in here, don't you?” Jace asked from beside me as I led her up the stairs to the clubhouse.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We move 'em through, alright. Lots of tourists coming through, wanna see a real biker bar. This place during Mardi Gras is something else. They even get me slinging drinks behind the bar.”
We made our way through the club’s halls, to the real seat of power for the F&B MC, and found Fed upstairs in one of the rec rooms, watching TV.
“Yo, Fed,” I called from the door to where my second-in-command was playing pool with a couple of the guys. “You got a sec, bro?”
“Sure thing, brother.” Fed passed his cue off to Happy and made his way over to join us. “What's up, man?”
I glanced from Fed to Jace, and back again. “Why don't you grab our girl Benji and join us in the meeting room? Four of us got some things to discuss.”
Fed frowned and nodded. I don't think he exactly liked bringing Benji into a meeting like this, but I knew he wouldn't say no. “Yeah,” he said, “coming right up.”
He turned and headed back down to the club, while I brushed past Jace and went to the meeting room.
“What're we gonna discuss?” Jace asked as I guided her into the meeting room and gestured to a seat at the table.
“Just how things are going,” I said, reassuring her as she took a seat. “Figured you ain't seen your friend since last night, and we still got questions about last night in the hotel.”
She made a face at my words as I took a seat next to her, and even that face was pretty as a picture. Something about her, even with all her makeup scrubbed off. And, Hell, the way she'd twisted Xavier around her finger so easily did make me wonder if she was pulling the same kinda shit on me. I mean, if the old FBI agent was that susceptible, what chances did I have?
But, one thing was sure. I knew she was dangerous, and still I kept her close. Sure, I kept my eyes on her, but there wasn't much to that. With a woman like Jace, keeping an eye on her was the easy part of the job.
“I already told you all I know,” Jace said as I settled in, her face annoyed at the prospect of more questions.
We both knew her words were lies, but she just didn't know I knew. I was kinda interested to see how far she'd push this whole thing, her hiding the death of her relative. Which was actually kinda funny because, for all the reasons I could think of killing a man, the death of a family member was top of the list. Easy.
Benji and Fed came in a few moments later, with Benji running around the table to hug Jace. The two women embraced warmly, clutching to each other like it'd been weeks, and not hours, since the last time they'd seen one another.
“You getting settled in, girl?” Jace asked her friend.
Benji nodded, grinning. “Yeah, hon. Been a while since I had to do any kind of real work like this, but it's been kind of nice not having to suck a dick all afternoon.”
Jace laughed, and they both took a seat.
“Men are treating you alright, then?” I asked Benji.
“Oh yeah,” she said, smiling.
“She's kind of a mascot already,” Fed said from across the table. “Happy threatened to start chopping fingers with the cleaver if anyone gets too pushy with her.”
Happy certainly had a way with words, and could feel downright fatherly when he wanted to. I kept my face neutral and nodded, even if I was laughing on the inside. “Good,” I said. “Alright, ladies, I gotta few questions about last night.”
“Can't say how much help I'll be,” Benji said, looking around the table. “I wasn't there and all, to see what happened. But I'll help y'all anyway I can. You guys have certainly helped me out.”
I listened to Benji's words, but my focus was on Jace's face as her friend spoke. It went through a range of emotions, all subtle. A tug at her lips here, a lifting of an eyebrow there. She didn't know what to think about us, I could tell. Whatever she'd thought originally that had caused her to try and poison my morning juice, I think she was starting to change that opinion. I'd begun to see it taking root like a stretch of kudzu at my Grandpa's house, digging in and tearing out whatever preconceived notions she had.
And, for whatever reason, I needed her to change that view. Not just for the information locked up in her head about what happened in that hotel room, but for something else. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I needed her to trust me, no matter how much I currently distrusted her.
“Well,” I said, trying to keep my voice reasonable as I glanced to Fed, “all we ask is you return us the favor. We need to know, from both you ladies, what the hell happened. We know Sven ran you girls, you told us yourself. But now, come to find out he was working for Volkov Arms, and a member of the Russian mafia.”
I folded my hands in my lap and leaned in close to Jace, my face close enough to where I could almost smell her, my face inches from hers. “Now, what do you know about this Sven guy? Was he trying to m
ake contact with us on behalf of The Wolf? Or was there something else going on? And who is Tomlin Spears?”
# # #
Jace
Benji and I looked at each other in pure, honest shock. She was surprised because she knew I had a younger brother I'd left behind named Tomlin. I was surprised because Koen knew who the hell he was.
I didn't know how he knew who my brother was, or that he'd been in that room. Maybe the cops had identified him when they did Sven. I wasn't sure, hadn't really thought about it, even when Koen had mentioned it back at Xavier's. I was more interested in the old man's description of Volkov Arms, and this Aleksey Volkov's ties to the international underworld.
