He had heard of a scam that the Bratva were pulling. They conned people, telling them they were selling antique gold rubles, very inexpensive. The rubles were in reality, bags of potatoes. The scam was for every hundred pounds of potatoes bought, a bag of antique rubles would be placed between the crates. Potatoes were bought in the thousands, not one ruble among them. The Brava was making a fortune.
All he’d have to do is buy some small potatoes and some ten-pound bags of large potatoes, get some those purple velvet bullshit bags with the gold strings that close the bag and he could make some of his own money. He would have all he needed to get into the card game, maybe even a little left over for that bitch he spotted on the corner when he got off the train. He thought as his eyes crinkled, and the corners of his mouth pulled up into a satisfied grin.
How would the Bratva ever find out?
He scanned the streets looking for a Woolworths five and dime. He figured he could find the bags he needed there. They had everything cheap. That was all his wife Beverly talked about. She would go on and on until he had to backhand her to shut her up. He didn’t care about the tables that had items for five and ten cents. He needed some purple bags. Beverly might have been worth something, after all, he laughed to himself.
He spotted the Woolworths sign down the block. Nikolay picked up his pace, as he entered the store he wasn’t sure where to look. There was table upon table containing everything from pots to clothes. Passing a hanging rack of the ugliest blouses he had ever seen, he realized that they were the exact one he had ripped off of Beverly before he left. He took a deep breath. Calm down; you don’t need to look pissed off and draw attention. You can never tell who might be around.
The last thing he wanted was to have the Brava find out what he was doing and where he was. They would kill him and not think twice about it. He owed them money, and now he was going to copy their con.
He walked around looking for purple bags. They had to be purple. He knew that these stupid American’s looked at purple as being royal. Yes, he thought, I will sell them royal potatoes and be gone before they can get the bag open. He had worked on the docks a couple of months ago and had learned how to tie knots that could hold a ship together. These chumps were not going to be able to open these bags to quick.
He was just about to give up when he saw a woman holding one in her hand. He rushed over to the table and grabbed whatever he could find. There ended up to be fifteen of them, he did a fast calculation in his head. Fifteen would be enough.
His mind was racing as he left the store. Where can I find little potatoes? I could cut them and use them for the gold rubles, inside these stupid purple bags. Walking down the street, he was not paying attention to where he was going when he tripped over a box of something weird looking. They were purple and yellow. They appeared to be fingers. When he looked up, he realized he was in front of a produce stand. He sneered at the owner as if he tripped him.
“What are these?”
“They are called fingerling potatoes.”
Nikolay eyes widen. Looking down at the box split around his feet, he thought he was sent a message from the “money God," Ploutos, the Greek God of wealth. I could slice them up and put them in bags. The Brava used potatoes, so could I, he thought. I just need somewhere to make up the bags.
He found a pay phone around the corner from the produce stand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dime to call Ivan, an inmate he shared a cell with at Riker’s Island.
Nikolay went up on a second-degree assault charge. He beat a hooker after she slapped him for not paying her for a bj. It was just his luck that a beat cop was making his rounds when he heard the hooker screaming.
Ivan had gone up for getting popped with a nighttime burglary charge. The house he hit was supposed to be empty that night, but the owner was sick and stayed home. Ivan was not paying attention with his back turned, he tearing up the office looking through the safe. The homeowner came up from behind and smashed him over the head. As he spun around, he sent the guy flying. As Ivan’s luck would have it, everything was being recorded on one of the first home security system installed in the area. He was charged with first-degree burglary when they caught up to Iva.
As he fed the phone his dime, he thought, the phone company had some damn nerve talking about increasing the call another nickel for a five-minute call.
When Ivan answered all he said was “Niko.”
Ivan answered, “Twenty minutes.”
Nikolay and Ivan had set up a code when contacting one another, to let them know it was safe to stop by their homes. Ivan never went to Long Island, so it was more for the benefit of Nikolay. Both being on parole, they were not allowed to communicate. That’s the way they circumvented that obstacle.
11
DEA Office
After dropping Krista off, Travis was on his way to submit the bullet she had found into evidence, he had an uneasy feeling. Krista mentioned the Bratva on the way over to York Street, and then not even two hours later, he got tipped off about a drug deal that could involve the Bratva. Something doesn’t add up, or maybe it does. I definitely have to look into this.
Stepping into the lab, Travis spotted Gerry, the forensic firearm, and tool mark examiner. His white lab coat hanging off his left shoulder as if he forgot to pull it up, his hair looked like it had been through a wind storm. The jeans he wore were dark blue, and his golf shirt was a bright orange. He was quite a site, but he was the best in the country.
He was leaning over a comparison microscope, comprised of two compound microscopes that are joined by the eyepiece. This allows the examiner to see both bullets at the same time, giving them the ability to compare the striations of a bullet simultaneously.
“Gerry, I got something for you. Pulled this bullet out from between the staircase of the York murder.”
“I got the bullet this morning. The sweepers brought it in. You found another?”
“I went down to York with Special Agent Levell, she found it.”
“What were you doing down there with her? Why is the Manhattan division involved?”
“They’re not. It’s her brother that was arrested for the murder.”
“No shit, and you brought her down to the scene, what are you crazy? Don’t tell me you got the hots for her. You know she’s referred to as the Crazy Ice Queen, she’s batshit crazy.”
“Seriously, what are you 12? I couldn’t care less what she is referred to as. I’m not trying to get in her pants. I’m just trying to help her out.”
Gerry raised his hands in the air surrendering, “I’m just saying, that’s the rumblings ‘round here. She doesn’t date. Not even goes out for a drink after work. When I was working in Manhattan, I overheard that any free time she has, she’s looking into her parent’s files. You know what her father did, right?”
“You need to get a life and stop caring about what other people might or might not have done. Never realized you were a gossip monger.”
“Just trying to help a brother out, get it, brother, brother in arms.”
Travis looked up at the ceiling as if asking for help. “Got it. Now can we get down to business? Were you able to get to the bullet the sweepers brought in?”
“I was just about to take a look when you walked in.” Gerry bent over the microscope to compare the two bullets he had, one from the coroner’s office and the one he had shot into a chamber of water from the recovered gun.
“Find anything,” Travis asked.
“Yep, take a look for yourself.”
Travis looked into the lens, “They match, that was the gun, definitely a .38 mm. Krista’s not gonna be too happy, but it looks like the prosecutor will be.”
Walking out the door, he looked over his shoulder saying, “Let me know what you find with that second bullet. I’m heading over to trace to see if they pulled anything from the clothes.”
“Will do.”
Travis walked out of the firearms lab. He was about to go into T
race when his partner, Boyd called him.
Boyd had a commanding presence, with an impressive athletic body. His golden brown eyes were set in an angular face and accented by prominent cheekbones. With a flawless mocha complexion that was the envy of most women. His black curly hair was cropped high and tight.
“Travis, you got a minute?”
“What’s up?”
“The team we left down in Camden came up empty-handed. The intel we picked up was crap. When I find my CI, I’m going to put a hurtin’ on him.”
“Could be that with all the cops in the area dealing with York Street, they got spooked.”
“I intend to find out. I am going to meet him in an hour. Where are you headed?”
“Trace, I want to see if anything popped from Levell’s clothes.”
“It looks open and shut to me. Dead guy, gun, covered with blood, gunshot residue on hand. Open and shut.”
“The public is probably glad you work for the DEA.”
Boyd’s eyes widen, making his forehead wrinkle. “You want to explain that?”
Travis laughed at Boyd’s expression. “What’s that old saying? Just because it quacks like a duck … I’m just saying; we need to follow all the evidence. Who knows what we might find.”
“You think the guys innocent? Or is it his sister, Krista that has your head twisted?”
“My heads not twisted. He is probably guilty, but if I learned anything from the years, I’ve been doing this, never take anything at face value. There just might be more in play.”
“I get that, but we have bigger fish to fry. Do you really want to be wasting your time with a murder case that we should probably hand off?”
“I don’t know Boyd. I have a gut feeling about this. I think somehow they’re connected. I going to pull a couple more threads and if they don’t unravel in our directions, I’ll hand it off.”
“I going to have a face to face with my CI. You do what you need to do. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“What I do need to do is talk to the Captain and run my thoughts past him.”
“We got another hit, something about a call that came in over two years ago. The switchboard recorded it when the call came through. They were in the process of digitizing old files when one of the techs thinks he put ‘two and two together.’”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You know those techie types, always thinking they are the ones solving crimes. He believes it’s related to our case, even convinced the Cap’. We are to follow the voice.”
“Follow the voice? Let me get right on it.”
Boyd couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud, “My thoughts exactly. I handed it back to the electronics department. Told them to run it against any voice files we have, pertaining to the east coast drug ring. That will keep them busy for a while. We’ll see what they come up with if anything.”
12
Undoing
The flight to California could not have been worse. There weren’t any seats in first class left when he bought his ticket, so he had to sit in coach. He sat in his seat assignment; in the middle, between a woman who fell asleep and snored so loud, you could hear her over the plane's engine. Then there was the guy in the aisle seat that wouldn’t shut up. Jeff kept thinking, If I had my gun I would shoot him.
When he finally made it to his meeting, life didn’t seem to get any better.
Jeff jaw clenched and unclenched, his breath coming and going in short bursts. Looking at the heavyset, balding man sitting across the table from him, that wore a sneer on his face like a badge of honor, made his skin crawl. Jeff wanted to pick the pen up off the table and stab him in the eye.
“What do you mean, you’re not a distributor? You said you had avenues to follow that would help us.”
“After the fuck-ups, you’ve had; we don’t want any part of you or your business. I also understand you weren’t even going to be here if your partner didn’t get blown away. I guess we aren’t important enough, not until you had no other choice.”
Jeff stood up so fast his chair went flying across the floor. “I don’t owe you an explanation. You take care of your business the way you see fit, and I’ll do the same.”
“Then we agree, I. Am. Not. Helping. You. With. Distribution. I will take care of my business. You put this project in too much unnecessary spotlight for us to pursue. We’re done, Mr. Mitkin.”
Jeff stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him. This is bullshit; this is not what should be happening. Who does he think he is? This is all thanks to Anton. I should have trampled him when I first met him.
Jeff and Anton first met at Southaven Park where Anton would escape to during many of his father’s violent tirades, his mother almost pushing him out the door.
The park stretched on for miles. He could lose himself on the trails that snaked through the forest, skimming rocks or watching other families playing baseball. That day he had wandered off his usual trail and into the horse paths, almost getting hit by the horse that Jeff was riding.
As Jeff pulled hard on the reins of the horse, he yelled, “What the hell is wrong with you? You trying to get killed?”
Anton’s blood started to boil, he got yelled at enough at home, he didn’t need a stranger yelling at him.
“Who do you think you are yelling at? Maybe if you knew how to drive that thing, you wouldn’t have almost run me over.”
Jeff’s eyebrows almost hit the top of his hairline, his eyes as wide as golf balls as he was holding his stomach, he nearly fell off the horse he was laughing so hard.
“Drive? Hahaha, seriously? How about ride, and this THING is called a horse.”
The corners of Anton’s dark blue eyes started to crease, and before he knew it, he had tears running down his face, trying to catch his breath he said, “I know what it’s called.”
Jumping down from his horse, he extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Jeff. Are you going riding?”
“Anton, and no, just out for a walk.”
That day at Southaven Park, was a turning point for Anton. They found that they both had more in common than they first thought. Jeff’s grandfather was from the same oblast in Russia as Anton’s father. They shared a Russian heritage.
Anton received an invitation whenever Jeff’s parents hosted lavished parties or went sailing on their yacht; Sailing was one adventure Anton had only dreamed about before the two met. He would sit on the dock and watch the sailboats as they started their journey out to sea. He would pretend to be on board with the waves crashing on the bow, the power from the winds energy, propelling the catamaran forward, the feeling of the ocean’s spray as it hit his face.
He was able to experience this and many other events because of Jeff. The beach party in the Hamptons was one of his best memories, that is where he met his wife, Isabella.
He turned around and spotted her. His pulse quickened and he could feel his heart in his chest. Her hair was as black as a raven. She had eyes that reminded him of the tiger eyes pendant his mother had before his father took and sold it. Her sundress spilled around her tiny body like silk in the wind.
“I see you spotted Isabella.” Jeff laughed.
Anton couldn’t take his eyes off her, as she bent to pick up her sunglasses that were in her bag. Watching her cover those piercing eyes.
“She looks like something out of fantasy game, don’t let her size fool you. She makes up for in fierceness, what she lacks in size. She has destroyed many a guy. Wraps their heart around her little finger and lets it go before they even know what happened.”
Anton exhaled, not even knowing he was holding his breath. “I’ve always liked a challenge, you should know that about me by now.”
Jeff raised his hands in surrender, “It’s your funeral, not mine. I make it a point to run not walk the other way from her. We are good friends, and I intend to go no further. I’ll keep a six pack on ice for you.”
“Would you introduce us?”
> Jeff head slightly nodded in Isabella direction as he said, “Doesn’t look like I’ll have to, she’s on her way over here.”
“Hey, Jeff, who’s your friend? Isabella asked as she lowered her sunglasses. Anton felt stripped naked standing there as she looked him up and down and back again, with a slight smile. Staring straight into his eyes before pushing her glasses back up, she said, ”Hi, I’m Isabella, Isabella Welsea.”
Anton caught a glimpse of Jeff, his face held an amused expression. Standing there not saying a word, he could only imagine what he looked like . He was thankful when Jeff took over and introduce him.
“Isabella, this is Anton, a friend of mine I met at the horse stables.”
“Hey,” was all he managed. After a minute he cleared his throat and choked out. “You want a beer?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” her voice dripping with honey.
Anton caught Jeff eyeballing him before he turned to leave with a laugh in his voice he said.” Hey Anton, don’t forget, Six Pack.”
If I had only known the trouble he would bring my life, I wouldn’t have cared how smart he was. That day in South Haven Park was the worse day of my life.
As he looked back on those days, he realized his jaw was tightening as he gritted his teeth. Something he had been doing a lot lately.
He had never told Anton that Isabella had turned him down flat. He had asked her to see a movie, thinking she would be so excited that he asked her out. When she laughed at him and said no; he wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed or pissed at the situation. The fact that she partially threw herself at Anton had always chapped his ass. A nobody, no breeding, no money, no anything except a brain.
He had crazily thought that if he died and she had lived, he could have consoled her. He could have been her hero, her savior. They could have been the power couple and done it so much better than her and Anton.
Vindication- Ties That Bind Page 7