by Don Donovan
The manager shook his head. "Can't say I do."
Jimmy wrote down the number of Café Q-Bano and said, "You call me at this number next time you see Rizzo, you understand me? Next time you see him. If I'm not there, just tell them who you are and you're with the 305. They'll get hold of me."
"Sure, Jimmy. Sure," the manager said, his nerves showing.
When they got outside, Jimmy coughed again, hacking a couple of big globs, and spit them out.
Falco said, "Good you got another pair of eyes in there, waitin' for Rizzo."
Jimmy turned to Flaco. "I trust that fucking idiot as far as I can throw him. I want you down here every day till you see that motherfucker. You even think you see him, you let me know right away. Zayas is who we really want, but if Rizzo comes in, call me."
"You got it, boss," Flaco said.
Jimmy wiped more sweat from his neck and eyes, then got back into his Mercedes and headed for his restaurant in air-conditioned comfort.
THE RUSSIANS
HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 22, 2012
20
Alicia
Hollywood, Florida
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
10:50 AM
THE FRONT DESK CLERK AT THE CROWNE PLAZA HOTEL directed Alicia and Amy Xing to the Sian A room, the conference room set aside for small meetings. The parley with the Russians would begin in ten minutes. They headed across the lobby to the elevator.
Amy had flown in from Taiwan on Monday to mediate this session. She gave herself an extra day to wash away the jet lag, which can be brutal following a nine thousand-mile eastbound trip requiring over eighteen hours in the air. Now, after two straight nights of sleeping twelve hours a night, she was primed.
She was learning the money laundering business from Alicia, who had taken Amy with her to Panamá, St Kitts, and London, where she revealed many of the secrets of her profession. Alicia had done this at the direct request of Don Rafael Flores himself. Amy's father, the former money laundering chief of the Taiwan/Hong Kong drug cartel, had passed away suddenly and the torch landed in Amy's lap. She needed to get up to speed fast, and since Alicia was known as the best in the business, one of the Chinese cartel leaders called Don Rafael to arrange for some on-the-job training. Amy, twenty-four and quite intelligent, showed herself to be a quick study.
In more ways than one.
The two women, each dressed in a dark business suit with designer origins and no-nonsense high-heeled stiletto pumps, stepped off the elevator and glided into the Sian A.
The room was a comfortable size, unlike many boardrooms, where often there is little room to navigate behind the chairs when people are seated in them. This hotel, in a moment of wisdom, had recognized that problem and corrected it.
The table was covered with a linen tablecloth, with seats for six people, two down each side and one at each end. A pitcher of water and a crystal glass, along with a small bowl of fresh fruit, sat in front of each seat. Two coffee machines rested on a separate table to one side, one dispensing Cuban coffee, the other containing Paulig, a Russian favorite.
The players were gathering in their respective corners, all of them drinking coffee. Maxie Méndez and Jimmy Quintana conferred in the near corner while two other men — the Russians, presumably — whispered in the far corner. One of the Russians was older, somewhere in his fifties, and the younger man appeared to be still in his thirties, the same age spread as Maxie and Jimmy.
A few seconds after the women entered, everyone stopped talking and took their respective seats. Amy sat at what looked like the executive head of the table, while Alicia took the opposite end seat and held her breath.
So much was riding on this meeting. Alicia had wanted to sit at Amy's right hand, but Amy nixed the idea, telling her she would then be on the same side of the table as one of the warring parties, and it would appear to be showing a hint of favoritism, something a mediator cannot afford to do. All parties at the table had cell phones in front of them next to their coffee.
"Gentlemen," Amy said, "if we may begin, I would like to thank each of you for coming on such short notice. We know some of you had to travel a great distance, and everyone appreciates the effort you have made. I would also like to welcome you here to the beautiful Crowne Plaza Hotel here in Hollywood. I hope everyone's accommodations are suitable.
She paused while the men nodded as to the suitability of the rooms.
She went on. "From Hialeah, we have Maxie Méndez and Jimmy Quintana," — she gestured toward each man — "and from Brighton Beach, we have Pavlo Marchuk and Nazar Voloshin." She smiled and said, "I hope I got the pronunciations right. My skills in Ukrainian are nonexistent."
The men graciously returned the smile. "Your pronunciation was perfect, Miss Xing," the older man — the one Alicia pegged as Marchuk — said. She was surprised to learn these men were Ukrainian and not Russian. She made a mental note to bone up on the difference between the two peoples and their historical relations with each other.
Amy continued. "Miss Alicia López, at the other end of the table, is a financial advisor for Mr Méndez and his friends in Colombia, but it was she who contacted me about mediating this discussion, so I felt it natural for her to be present as an observer only." Alicia nodded at the group. Amy went on. "It has been agreed these discussions will be conducted in English, since everyone involved is English fluent, but not everyone is fluent in either Spanish, Ukrainian, or Russian." All nodded in agreement.
Reaching for the glass pitcher sitting in front of her, Amy poured herself a glass of water. Alicia watched her, noted the sweeping curves of her heavy breasts and remembered the sweaty hotel rooms in Panamá and St Kitts, and London, too. Little Amy. So reserved and professional in these gatherings, so hungry and submissive in bed. So longing for stern punishment, and Alicia was there to dish it out. A few more seconds of these thoughts and Alicia's heart rate picked up. So did her breathing.
Amy sipped the water carefully, then said, "We are here because Mr Marchuk and Mr Voloshin, along with the people they represent, are very upset over the sudden passing of one Vitali Kovalenko, a valuable member of their organization. Mr Méndez and Mr Quintana want their Ukrainian friends to know they had nothing to do with Mr Kovalenko's tragic passing. They acknowledge such a move on their part would have been foolish and dangerous to all concerned, and as businessmen, they absolutely deny giving any such order."
Alicia was pleased with Amy's conduct so far. Everyone was fully at ease and not a drop of tension existed in the room, not even at the mention of Kovalenko's death.
Marchuk spoke. "Who are we to believe committed this horrible act, if not members of Mr Méndez's organization?" His Slavic accent was present, but slight. Alicia could tell he'd worked on his English.
Maxie said, "We have no idea who could have done it, but I am one hundred percent certain the order did not come from me or any of my people." Then he quickly added, "Nor did it come from anyone in Colombia."
Voloshin leaned forward. He had sandy hair and a good build. Alicia thought, your basic enforcer. He said, "There is no other possibility. If he had been killed on street corner, it could be considered random crime — wrong place at wrong time — but he was killed in his brother's apartment! Only someone following him, someone who wanted to kill him, would do that."
"I agree with you, Mr Voloshin," Maxie said. "That is true that he must have been followed. But I promise you, it was not anyone in my organization."
Amy broke in. "Gentlemen, I may … may have an answer." She reached down to the floor for her briefcase, snapped it open, and pulled out a newspaper. She held it up. "I call your attention to today's edition of the Miami Herald."
The day's big headline read, ROMNEY URGES AKIN TO DROP OUT. Pointing to a page one story below the fold, she read the headline, "Dancer found murdered in car".
She read the article in an even voice.
"One of the stars of the Miami City Ballet was found
shot to death in the front seat of his car late last night on Northwest 65th Terrace in Liberty City, a neighborhood notorious for its high crime rate. Anton Kovalenko, 28, was found by a nearby storekeeper who had just closed his business for the night. Police later determined Kovalenko had been shot twice in the head, execution-style.
"Kovalenko, an internationally-renowned ballet dancer, joined the Miami City Ballet in 2004 upon his arrival in the United States from his native Ukraine. According to Olga Montero, the ballet's artistic director, he had trained in Ukraine under Russian masters, considered the greatest in the world. Montero called his death 'a stunning loss for the world of ballet' and said Kovalenko was 'utterly irreplaceable'.
"Police have no suspects at this time. They also say this killing is apparently unconnected to the gangland slaying of the victim's brother, Vitali Kovalenko, 30, a known mobster who was killed in Anton's Miami Beach apartment last week."
Amy put the paper down.
"I think what we have here, gentlemen," she said, "is a clear case of mistaken identity. Vitali Kovalenko was killed by someone who thought he was killing Anton. The brothers did look very much alike, even though they were not twins. When the killer read in the paper he had hit the wrong target, he went after Anton, his intended target all along."
"But," Marchuk said, "we know Vitali had taken over the drug territory of this … this …" He looked to Voloshin.
"Wilfredo Zayas," Voloshin said.
"Yes, Wilfredo Zayas," Marchuk said. "We know you wanted this territory, but Vitali had beaten you to it and taken it for us. Nuñez apparently threatened Vitali, or perhaps …" He gestured toward Maxie. "Perhaps someone else in Mr Méndez's organization threatened him. Vitali kills Nuñez to show strength, to send the message to lay off that territory, and Mr Méndez retaliates by killing Vitali."
Amy looked at Maxie. "Mr Méndez?"
Maxie spoke, voice controlled. "Mr Marchuk, if Vitali had hit Raúl Nuñez, you would have a very valid point, that we might well respond by taking Vitali out. However, I can assure you, Vitali did not kill Nuñez."
He looked at Jimmy, who said, "I was there that night, Mr Marchuk. I was there with Raúl. We had gone to that place to kill Wilfredo Zayas ourselves. We were waiting for him in his room but he snuck up and got the drop on Raúl. He then ran away before I could get him, but we are hunting him as we sit here."
Marchuk was clearly surprised by this news. He said, "One moment, please." He turned to Voloshin and they began murmuring in a language Alicia did not understand, probably Ukrainian.
The brief confab over, Marchuk stated, "It is still possible all this could have been arranged by Mr Méndez to appear the way you have just described it. There is no proof of what you say."
Amy said, "Mr Marchuk, with all due respect, there is no proof that Vitali killed Raúl Nuñez, which you say is the reason for Mr Méndez allegedly killing Vitali. Let me ask you, if he did in fact kill Nuñez, would it have been under your orders, or could he have done it on his own?"
Marchuk replied without hesitation. "Someone like this Nuñez, Vitali would not need order from me. If he felt Nuñez was being unreasonable, he could have acted on his own authority."
"And you obviously did not give the order, so since he could have acted without your knowledge, we do not know for certain he killed Nuñez. I think, with the killing of Anton, there is powerful evidence of mistaken identity in Vitali's case." Marchuk raised his head to speak. Instead, Amy said, "Yes, yes, I know, Mr Méndez could have arranged that, too. But I say again. There is no proof. No evidence at all."
Voloshin said in a slightly raised voice, "We don't need evidence. This is not court of law."
Amy sipped a little more water to give Voloshin a chance to cool down. "No, Mr Voloshin. You don't need evidence. But do you really want to start a war — a costly, bloody war — on the questionable possibility that Mr Méndez orchestrated this whole thing? I grant you, he may have done exactly that, but there is absolutely no evidence that he did. If you do go to war, after all the blood has been shed and the money spent, you can only hope that he did, in order to justify what will no doubt be great losses. Think about these losses, and ask yourselves, do you really want to go endure them and all the hardship they will cause on nothing more than a flimsy notion?"
Marchuk and Voloshin remained silent. Amy leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers.
"You know," she said, "back in Taiwan, where I come from, I have seen several such wars, fought between rival organizations over territory, revenge, perceived insults. Many, many people were killed in these wars. Killed needlessly. My own father was one of them, killed in an unspeakable manner. Behind each one of these wars was one driving force: paranoia. One person casually mentions he'd like to have someone else's territory and the riches that go with it. He has no intention of acting on that idea, but the word gets back to the person whose territory it is, and paranoia sets in. Pretty soon, the order goes out to kill the man who said he wanted the territory, and blood begins to flow. On both sides." Another brief sip of water. "For all of your own sakes, gentlemen, don't let that happen to you. Let us resolve this matter today. Right now. No blood on the floor."
God damn, Alicia thought. This girl has got some fucking balls on her, stepping between these two groups like this. Anxious bedroom thoughts flew through her mind again, causing a little shiver.
The two sides talked among themselves for a few moments. Finally, Marchuk spoke. "What do you suggest, Miss Xing? What should we do about Vitali?"
Amy said, "It's not what we should do about Vitali. He is dead and he is not coming back. We don't know who killed him, and we don't really know if the order came from anyone in this room. I would suggest this: should Mr Méndez, or anyone in his organization, learn who the killer is, he should inform you immediately so you may take action."
She looked at Maxie and Jimmy. They both nodded in agreement.
"Furthermore," she said, "I would suggest all of the Wilfredo Zayas territory remain in the hands of Mr Marchuk's people." The Ukrainians nodded at this one. "We all know Miami is a loosely organized city, not under the direction of any one group. The importation of drugs is controlled from Colombia, but once they arrive here, there are still many open territories in the Miami area that are begging for order. I would further suggest Mr Méndez and Mr Marchuk sit down and look at a map of Miami and decide who gets what." At this point, she stood up and leaned over the table aggressively, saying, "And under no circumstances is there to be any retaliation for anything that has happened up till now. None."
Marchuk and Voloshin held a brief discussion in Ukrainian, while Maxie and Jimmy conversed in Spanish. A lot of anxious talk and hand gesturing on both sides. Then Marchuk said, "I think I can go back to Brighton Beach with this. If Mr Méndez is in agreement."
Maxie said, "I can bring this to our Colombian friends with a clear conscience." Marchuk nodded his assent.
Amy smiled. "Well, gentlemen, if everyone feels they have had their say, and if we're all satisfied with the proposals, I suggest we adjourn."
21
Alicia
Miami, Florida
Friday, August 24, 2012
8:05 AM
AMY BEGGED ALICIA TO STRAP ON THE DILDO again and fuck her in the ass. The two of them lay in the enormous round bed in Alicia's downtown condo after an exhaustive night of extreme sex.
Gray morning light flooded the well-appointed room. This was Alicia's private pied-à-terre, forty-three floors above downtown Miami, a place she came for little get-togethers like this one. She tells Nick she has to go out of town on business for a day or two, and he buys it. God forbid he should ever find out. She could never do that to him. Or to little Francesca. They were at the very center of her life and she could never do anything to hurt them.
Now fully awake, she looked at the bedside clock.
"Come on, it's getting late. We've got work to do," she told her little Chinese submissi
ve.
Amy turned over onto all fours and presented her tidy little asshole to Alicia. "Please?" she asked. "Won't you pound me hard again? I've been such a bad girl, I really deserve more pain."
Alicia allowed herself a little interior chuckle. The stars were certainly lined up right when I found this one, she thought. She's going to work me to death.
"No. We've got to meet Jimmy Quintana in an hour and a half and then we've got to be at the airport. You know it's important. Come on." She gave Amy a good, loud swat across her buttocks.
Amy didn't get up. Instead, she wiggled her ass in Alicia's face. "Please?" she whimpered.
Alicia spanked her a few more times, never taking her eyes off the Chinese girl's reddening ass. Hot volts of desire shot through her loins.
She sighed and thought, The things I'll do for love. And she reached for the strap-on.
≈ ≈ ≈
They arrived at the Hotel Croydon at nine-forty. It had turned into a beautifully sunny Miami Beach day. Collins Avenue was uncharacteristically light on traffic and the Tavern at the Croydon was in between the breakfast and lunch crowds.
It was an indoor-outdoor kind of place, casual dining, but with a real Miami Beach feel to it. Black and white tiles on the floor — each tile with a different design on it — gave off a unique look. The food was good, service friendly. Alicia always liked this place.
Jimmy waited for them at an indoor table over in the corner. Alicia was disappointed because she liked the outdoor area, with its limited view of the street, shaded from the sun, and very pleasant. And if she'd gotten there first, they would've had an outdoor table. But of course, they didn't get there first because Amy's sweet little ass needed drilling.
He stood as they approached his table. The women shook hands with him and they all sat. The waitress was on them immediately. Alicia ordered a granola bowl and coffee, while Amy ordered a fruit salad. Jimmy stood pat with his coffee.
