Tipping the Valet

by K. K. Beck

  “Listen, Flavia,” said Tyler. “They’re confused. They’re arguing. This might be a good time to go out the back door!” He ran over to the door with its cottagey window. The dogs had finished bolting their sandwiches and came over and groveled at his feet. He ignored them and rattled the round doorknob. It seemed to be locked.

  He went back to the workbench and grabbed the sledgehammer he had spotted earlier. And then, from outside, after hearing a bunch of Russian men screaming at each other, he heard a new voice. A woman’s voice.

  The garage door was being raised again, with a groaning sound. Tyler and Flavia froze and stared at the door.

  An old lady with a witchlike mane of gray hair stood there. She wore an old-fashioned pale blue flannel nightgown, and she was screaming in a Slavic language and gesturing wildly. From behind her they heard the voice of Dmytro Zelenko yell in English, “Fuck you. Now my mom is upset! Are you guys crazy!”

  “Listen,” said Tyler, “I’m not Chip.”

  The old lady stopped yelling.

  “You have an issue with Chip, I don’t care,” Tyler went on. “We can just forget about this. I guess you guys just made an honest mistake.”

  The old lady started yelling again and pointed at the dogs, then at the sledgehammer in Tyler’s hand. Then she flapped her hands at Tyler and Flavia. Tyler set the sledgehammer back down on the workbench. Now the old lady turned to her son and began berating him, ending with a sharp smack across his face. Yalta Yuri and his henchman flinched sympathetically.

  “Okay,” said Tyler. “I guess we’ll just walk over to the car now and be on our way. Come on, Flavia.”

  Dmytro Zelenko was now stroking his mother’s arm and speaking to her in soothing tones.

  Flavia surprised Tyler by beginning to walk calmly out of the garage. Tyler walked out with her.

  Dmytro turned to look at them. “Hurry up, just go!” he said.

  “Are the keys in it?” asked Tyler, pointing to his car. The guy in the Oakland A’s shirt nodded.

  Dmytro turned to Yalta Yuri. “Okay, it’s the wrong guy so let’s just forget about it. My mom is really upset.”

  The old lady had now begun to sob.

  “Yeah, whatever,” said Yuri.

  “Can we please have our phones back?” said Flavia.

  A few minutes later, after they had driven away and managed to find the entrance to the freeway, Flavia said, “I knew he’d let us go as soon as I saw that he was afraid of his mother.”

  “Okay, now I’m calling Veronica,” said Tyler. “She can call the cops and tell them exactly where they can find these guys.”

  “But it’s two in the morning!” said Flavia.

  “Well, I can at least leave a message on her phone if she doesn’t pick up.”

  Surprisingly, Veronica answered. Tyler gabbled on for a while about being abducted, and asked her if they should call the police.

  “Listen,” said Veronica. “I can’t deal with this. I’m very upset right now. Muffin is really sick.”

  “I have an address for the guys that abducted us,” said Tyler.

  “The address will still be there tomorrow,” said Veronica. “We’ll regroup in the morning when the detectives will be available. I don’t want to explain all this to a 9-1-1 operator. And I don’t want to get up and go with you to make sure you don’t screw up when you talk to the cops. Muffin can’t be left alone.”

  “Okay,” said Tyler.

  “But don’t go home. Either of you. This whole thing sounds very weird. I don’t want those guys to track you down again. Why don’t you guys spend the night at your grandfather’s house in Ballard?”

  When Tyler explained all this to Flavia, she said, “Can we go by that address for Captain Zhukov on the way there? It’s close to your grandfather’s house, right?”

  ———

  DETECTIVE Dave Chin elbowed his dozing partner. The two men were parked in the shadows in a nondescript van in an alley behind the Zelenkos’ body shop.

  “Hey,” said Chin. “I told you it was a good idea to keep an eye on this place. I had a clear sense these guys all had some unfinished business. Even though they were speaking Russian, when that guy from Santa Monica barked at the Zelenkos, both of them looked at their watches. I figured they had some kind of appointment, and knowing the kind of guys these are, I figured it might be under cover of darkness.”

  His partner rubbed his eyes. “What’s happening? Is Volodya Zelenko still in there?”

  “Uh-huh. And those three clowns from Cali who were there earlier today just dropped by. And they got the other Zelenko with them. Dmytro. Volodya must have been waiting for them. I seriously doubt he just happens to be in there beating out a door panel at this hour.”

  The detectives fell silent and now observed five men—the two Zelenkos and the three visitors who’d been there earlier in the day—heading out to a large black Cadillac Escalade SUV behind the shop. There was the sound of crunching gravel in the alley and car doors slamming.

  Detective Chin started the engine. “Get on the radio, will you? I don’t know what these guys are up to, but if there’s any reason to stop any of them, I’d like to have some uniformed backup.”

  ———

  CAPTAIN Zhukov’s address was at the end of a short gravel street that dead-ended at the water’s edge in Ballard, tucked behind an upscale gym, all chrome and glass, that catered to the affluent young singles who had been moving into the neighborhood. The newcomers lived in the massive condominiums that had replaced a lot of the old blue-collar businesses and little wood-frame houses where Ballard fishermen and carpenters had lived a hundred years ago.

  Tyler hadn’t known what to expect, but there had to be some mistake. There wasn’t anything here. He pulled over and killed the engine and the lights. In front of them was a dusty collection of the kinds of plants that spring up in neglected corners of Seattle—horsetails, Scotch broom, and Himalayan blackberry—and then a chain-link fence with some morning glory working its way upward. And there was a big gate in the fence with a thick chain wrapped around it a few times.

  At the entrance to the fenced-in area was a small building made of concrete blocks. Faded painted letters in pale green read SWANSON DRY DOCK COMPANY.

  Behind the fence, across an expanse of asphalt, loomed a giant ship, painted white with touches of rust here and there. It was many stories high, with metal steps like old-fashioned fire escapes zigzagging up the multiple decks.

  “That’s a factory ship,” said Flavia. “They go fishing up in Alaska and gut and process and freeze the fish on board.”

  “Maybe someone named Zhukov is the captain of this trawler,” said Tyler. “But it seems kind of weird for a sea captain to be moonlighting as a mafia chieftain. Maybe Grandpa got the address wrong. Or I maybe I entered it wrong in my map search.” He took out his phone and started searching again.

  “Wait,” said Flavia. “Can you read those Russian letters? Look!” She pointed to the side of the vessel, where the vessel’s name was painted in Cyrillic letters.

  Tyler changed his search to one for an application that converted phrases in the Roman alphabet to Cyrillic. He found one and entered “Captain Zhukov,” then held up the phone to compare the results to the side of the ship. It was a near match. Tyler figured the Russian word for captain was slightly different. But the Zhukov part was identical.

  “Wow! Captain Zhukov is a ship, not a person,” he said. Come to think of it, Grandpa had said “go check her out” when he’d called.

  Just then they heard another car pulling up alongside them.

  “Duck,” said Tyler, sliding down in his seat and putting his hand on Flavia’s shoulder and pushing her down. Cautiously, he peeked out the window into the dark. The car had stopped right next to his. It was a Toyota.

  Someone got out of the car. A man with a lit cigarette. Tyler lowered his head quickly as he walked right next to Flavia’s window and flicked the cigarette at it. Tyler could see
her scrunched down, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was staring up at him with wide eyes.

  The man unwrapped the chain on the gate. Strangely, there wasn’t a padlock on it. And whoever this was now opening the gate appeared to be wearing an Elite Valet windbreaker.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  IN THE BLACK CADILLAC SUV, parked at a right angle to the little cul-de-sac, in the parking lot of the Malibu Fitness Center, Yalta Yuri and one of his henchman sat in the front seat. Wedged in the backseat, between the two large Zelenkos, was his other associate.

  From this position, they had a good view of the gate area from the side. “Okay,” said Yuri. “That makes fourteen. So we wait for the last one. Maybe the second guy comes in his own car and they go back together and get the last one. Or maybe, if they’re smart, the other guy comes in the last one to be loaded. Because if they’re smart they’ll have one of their own vehicles parked around here somewhere to leave in.”

  “Okay. Let’s go and get them now,” said Volodya.

  “Hey, we gotta wait till the last car comes back,” said Yuri.

  “But if that’s the second-to-last one, we can deal with Cheep first and take care of Veek afterwards when he gets here. Is more efficient,” said Volodya.

  Dmytro reached across the man between him and his cousin and punched Volodya on the arm. “Shut up!” he said. “Let Yuri organize the work however he wants.” Now Dmytro leaned forward and addressed Yuri in the front seat. “We’re just gonna beat them up, right? Just scare them?”

  “That’s right,” said Yuri. “Because they cannot ever think they can fuck with us. It’s disgusting how you let them get away with this shit!”

  “Well, it’s working out okay for you, because you’re getting all the cars,” said Dmytro mildly. “Not that I care if you get the cars, of course. But I’m not sure why my cousin and I even need to be here.”

  “Because you need to learn how to run things properly,” snapped Yuri.

  ———

  THE surveillance van with Detective Chin and his partner was parked further away from Yuri’s vehicle, a little higher up in an alley, but it was also positioned to be able to view the main gate of Swanson Dry Dock, and with the aid of binoculars, to read the plate numbers as the cars waited to be driven into the dry-dock compound.

  “Geez,” said Thompson. “That one’s stolen, too.” He had just called in the number of the Mercedes Vic had delivered. “That makes fourteen! How much do you think it all amounts to? I’m really stoked. Think it’s a five-million-dollar bust? I’d definitely call that grand theft auto.”

  “Resale value depends on where the cars are ending up,” said Chin. “And judging from the writing on that ship, they’re going to Russia. They can probably get a heck of a lot more for them there.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t send one of those backup cars to tail those valet kids and find out where their stash of cars is?” said his partner.

  “Why bother? They’re delivering them to us like clockwork. I don’t want to spook them.”

  “So when do we move?” said Thompson. “I mean, we can round up these guys any time.”

  “Yeah, the delivery boys. But I still want to know what our Russian friends are up to. It’s like they’ve got these kids under surveillance. They’re not helping or anything. Why do they need to be here? I want to see if they are going to participate somehow. And who knows how many Ivans are on that boat?”

  “It would be nice to go over and ask those guys in the SUV some questions.”

  Chin sighed. “It’s not against the law to sit in a car. They’re all lawyered up already. I would kind of like to see them take an active role.”

  “That would make seven arrests in all. Nice night’s work.”

  “Thank God we’ve got backup squirreled away in the gym parking garage,” said Chin.

  ———

  WHEN Victor Gelashvili pulled in to the dead-end street in the fifteenth car, a Lamborghini, he started to feel a little giddy. It was almost over. He felt a strong urge to laugh. He told himself to calm down, not to let down his guard until they were both back at Chip’s apartment.

  Ahead, he saw Chip’s car, and then he saw that Chip was waiting for him just by the gate, still holding the chain that they had wrapped around it to make it seem locked. But then Vic had the strange sensation that something was different about the little cul-de-sac.

  He looked to the right, and then to the left. There was a car here that hadn’t been there before. And, it was a car that looked familiar. As a valet, Vic had developed a photographic memory for vehicles, and Vic knew he’d seen this older Volvo before. He also knew, before he remembered whose car it was, that he associated it with someone who really irritated him. Suddenly, he remembered. It was that damn Tyler Benson, the one who’d tried to push him around at Alba. What the hell was his clunky old Volvo doing here?

  Enraged, Vic set the hand brake, and flew out of the Lamborghini to take a look at Tyler’s car. Maybe he should do something to it to teach Tyler a lesson. Pull the distributor cap or something.

  But when he went over to the car and glanced inside, he couldn’t believe it. There were two people crouching down in the front seat!

  “Hey Chip,” he yelled, “come over here right away!” He ran over to the driver’s side. Sure enough, it was Tyler Benson.

  Chip, carrying his chain, ambled over.

  Inside the car, Tyler was horrified to see a face peering into the car. He pulled himself up on the seat—there was no point hiding anymore—and he was prepared to pull out right away, but the Lamborghini, its engine still running, was blocking his exit. He’d have to take a chance that there was some way to leave the area further up the short street—other than the waters of Lake Union. Maybe he could get into that parking garage that seemed to be attached to the Malibu Fitness Center from here, then find another exit out into the street.

  “Stay down,” he said to Flavia, but she was sitting back up on the seat. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “Oh, shit,” said Tyler. He had just spotted Chip coming toward them with a heavy length of chain. “It’s Vic and Chip.”

  ———

  “ALL right!” said Yuri from his vantage point. “It’s Vic and Chip. Let’s go get them.”

  “Yeah, but Chip is carrying a chain,” said Dmytro.

  “Well, go take it away from him and then we’ll take care of them both,” said Yuri. He got out of the car and began striding forward in a purposeful manner. The others piled out after him, his two thugs flanking him, the Zelenkos following behind.

  Meanwhile, Vic had started to yell. The men weren’t sure what he was saying, but it seemed odd. Who was he yelling at? Yuri stopped. The others all stopped, too.

  Back in the cul-de sac, Vic was yelling at Tyler through the driver’s-side window. “Get out of the car now!”

  Tyler had now decided he’d have to reverse out of the cul-de-sac, and if he floored it and went really close to a shed on the left, he might be able to squeeze past the Lamborghini. But before he had a chance to do that, Chip had swung the chain into his windshield. The windshield remained intact, but made a horrible, loud sound. Flavia let out a scream.

  Yuri and his party had now begun to proceed cautiously forward. But at the sound of a woman’s scream, they stopped again.

  Now Chip had moved to the driver’s side of the car. He bent down and looked at Tyler. Then he yelled to Vic, “Give me a goddamn ninja rock!”

  “Listen,” said Tyler to Flavia in Italian. “Get into that other car behind us and take off—the engine is running. Get in there and get out of here! I’ll follow you.” He hoped he could. He knew that a ninja rock was what thieves called a ceramic spark plug when it was used to shatter tempered auto glass, and it wasn’t just an urban legend that it worked.

  “Che?” said Flavia.

  “Get into the other car!” He reached across her and opened the door. “Subito!”

  He gave her
a push, and she rolled out onto the ground, and he was vaguely aware of her scurrying toward the idling Lamborghini when he heard the spark plug hit the driver’s-side window. Suddenly, it looked like a spiderweb and a second later, Vic and Chip were punching it out.

  Vic’s and Chip’s faces now filled the entire window opening, framed by broken glass. “What the fuck are you doing here? Is that Flavia? What’s she doing here?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Tyler. “But we were just leaving.” Why wasn’t Flavia gone yet? “Go, go, go,” he screamed.

  “I don’t know how to drive!” she yelled from the other car. “Aren’t you coming? You said you’d follow me.”

  “Damn,” thought Tyler. He’d meant he’d follow in his car.

  Vic was now kicking in the door panel on the driver’s side. “You’re fucking everything up!” he said.

  Chip’s hand was now inside the car, fumbling for the button to unlock the door.

  Tyler started to clamber over the gearshift to get to the passenger side and get out to the Lamborghini. He didn’t think he had a chance, but he couldn’t leave Flavia there alone.

  Suddenly, he saw a group of men loom up behind Vic and Chip. Terrified, he assumed all of these guys were going to join the two valets and pile on him, but to his amazement, the new arrivals punched Vic and pushed Chip.

  As Tyler scrambled toward Flavia, who was sitting in the passenger seat of the Lamborghini, one of the thugs grabbed the chain from Chip and started swinging it. Now the two valets started screaming and hit the ground. Volodya pushed past his cousin Dmytro and started kicking them in the ribs, and the man with the chain joined him.

  Yuri stood behind them all, overseeing the operation, and noticed Tyler moving from his car to the Lamborghini. “There’s another one! In the same jacket!” He thumped Dmytro on the back.

  Tyler now slid behind the wheel and threw the Lamborghini into reverse. With Flavia’s passenger door still open, he started backing out fast. The engine protested, and he released the emergency brake, an operation which caused them to careen from side to side. She managed to pull the door closed at the end of the cul-de-sac. He turned onto a curved street that presumably led to Leary Way, the main road out of the area, yanked the car into first, and headed right. He wasn’t sure where these back streets that seemed to snake among various industrial sites led, but he didn’t care.