The Tahitian Pearl: A John Otter Novel (John Otter Novels Book 2)

by Sean Blaise

  Alexi's breath, while he'd looked at his group, had fogged up the scopes glass. He wiped it quickly and began to breathe through his mouth, so he could blow the hot air away from his eye and scope. The simple steam vapors from his breath could throw off a shot and ruin the element of surprise putting his team and Dmitry in danger.

  Alexi looked down the rifle scope at the group of shooters. They were obviously rebels, wearing the uniforms of the separatists. They were going over the bodies of their victims, looking for weapons and anything of value presumably; but they seemed unaware of the man behind the car. He was hidden from view, for now. However, soon enough they would discover him by the body of the fourth victim which was near the back tire of the Mercedes.

  Alexi panned the scope from each rebel, one after another. He was looking for someone in particular, and, on his final sweep, he found him. The leader. Alexi could always pick a leader out of a group he ambushed. He never could quite describe what it was that tipped him off; but it was a presence, or a bearing that indicated the alpha dog in a group. And, as one himself, it was easy to pick out his counterparts.

  The man in question was dark, he had thick leathery skin, and appeared a lot older than he probably was. He had a heavy cluster of crow’s feet wrinkles around his eyes that made him appear distinguished; and probably meant that he smiled a lot. But as he turned and surveyed the body of another victim, the eyes came into view. The smile lines had been an illusion. The eyes were cold and jet black. They were like looking into a dark cavern from a moonlit road. There was no doubt this man was a killer.

  Alexi adjusted his scope, for the small five knot cross wind, and he raised the scope to account for the distance of what he calculated to be about four hundred yards. He lined up his shot and waited, timing each of the freezing breaths he took, counting his heartbeat, looking for that moment of pure calm, flatness, and stillness to release the bullet. Dmitry should be there by now. It was time. Alexi aimed and, just then, as if some animal, prehistoric, instinct told the man he was being stalked, he looked up right at Alexi. Alexi pulled the trigger.

  CRACK!

  The rifle kicked heavily as the bullet pierced the chilled air at over three thousand feet per second. It found its mark with vicious intent. It entered just below the creased wrinkles of the man’s left eye, vaporizing it instantly. The bullet sloughed through the cheek bone with ease, before its passage filled the dark man's brain cavity with massive pressure, liquefying his cerebrum. Then the bruised lead slug crunched heavily into the bone of the man’s right cheek, slowing and fighting its way through, before tearing the bone clear off his face with its momentum. He fell without a sound.

  Panic broke out with the rebels as they were sprayed with the brains and blood of their leader. They looked around helplessly for the direction of the shot and scattered towards the cover of the car. It was then that the bursting staccato of Dmitry's squad penetrated the frozen air. Two of the men who had chosen the wrong side of the car were instantly cut down. The barrage of an AK-47, at less than fifty feet, was gruesome. One of the rebels seemed to be split right in half, as one of the young soldiers emptied his clip in the man’s belly.

  The two remaining rebels were hiding on the opposite side of the car, Alexi's side. They were in a death trap. Like a boar held at bay by hounds, the men looked around with savage panic, trying to find a way to live. But it was too late now. How their fates had changed in less than a minute.

  Alexi aimed his rifle at the younger of the two men. He had no need for perfection with this shot, as the men could not possibly return his fire, and to run would place them squarely in the fire of Dmitry's squad. Alexi had almost missed on purpose, just to toy with them, let them know what was coming. Like a cat tossing a mouse around, he was enjoying his game. But his aim was true, and he hit the young boy in the neck squarely, blowing his spine out the back, causing his head to nearly fall off forward. The other man screamed a pitiful scream and threw his weapon over the car. Alexi thought about killing him too; but he knew that his intel might prove valuable. And whomever was still hiding behind the car, might just pay him something for the man that had almost killed him. Alexi whistled loudly, and Dmitry moved forward. Alexi kept the bull's-eye on the man's chest, should he try anything; but he could see the urine on the man’s pants and the tears in his eyes, and he knew his will was broken.

  Chapter 13

  The man they had saved that day with, behind the Mercedes, was named Slava. Slava had been deep in Russian arms trafficking, buying and selling the tools of war to anyone who wanted them. There was never a lack of business in modern Russia. From mobsters, to drug runners, to Muslim separatists, they were all eager shoppers at the Slava store. And, like any good retailer, Slava always offered discounts for bulk purchases. He loved the business until he saw the money to be made in the fledgling oil and natural gas industries.

  Slava, from that day he was saved behind the car, had always treated Alexi like a son. He also began relying on Alexi's brute force for protection. He took Alexi under his wing, and showed him the art of negotiation, and business. He had been the man who forced Alexi to learn.

  Alexi, before Slava, was a murderous brute. He would often fly off the handle. Alexi was no different than a violent attack dog, trained only in rage and violence: understanding nothing about compassion. He was trained, groomed, and bred to believe that only strength mattered. Compassion, caring and kindness were far from Alexi's heart. Slava changed that.

  For the first time in his life, Alexi loved, and felt loved. Slava treated him like a son, and Alexi responded to the attention from a father figure like a seedling given water for the first time. It was from Slava that Alexi had learned the subtle art of negotiation.

  "When you get in a room, Alexi, always remember, he who speaks first, loses the negotiations."

  It was a lesson Alexi had never forgotten. Together with Slava's street business knowledge, and Alexi's rapidly improving savvy, they had taken the Russian business scene by storm. Whenever they were going to be beaten at a deal, they would convince the other party to withdraw. Through various deals, and backroom negotiations, the team bought up oil and gas interests in the mostly defunct Siberian fields. They were wealthy and living the good life.

  Part of living the good life in Russia involved copious amounts of vodka, cocaine, and prostitutes. It was the way of life for the rich, and getting richer, in Russia. Then one day everything changed for Alexi.

  They were staying at an upscale hotel in Moscow. Slava and Alexi had just closed the biggest deal to date. Celebrating in the Russian way, they had guns, vodka, and cocaine. The party had gone on into the early morning hours when a businessman arrived. With him was a beautiful, young girl, not more than 11. She was trembling and the older man looked pale and distraught. Alexi had watched the discussion go on from across the room, through a hazy fog caused by the endless vodka. It appeared as though the man was arguing with Slava; and Slava had had enough of it. He hit the man squarely in the face; while pulling out his gold, encrusted, pistol and putting it in the man’s eye. The girl screamed and begged and begged for what now appeared to be her father to live.

  Slava laughed and kicked the man, and he scampered away. The young girl looked scared as Slava grabbed her roughly by the arm. Alexi struggled to make sense of what was happening. Slava saw the confused looked on Alexi's face and smiled a leering smile full of gold teeth.

  "Payment,” he said in Russian. "Pure, you can have some if you like after I'm through."

  Alexi was disturbed. He felt a wave of nausea overwhelm him as Slava pulled the little girl down into his lap. Memories began to flash through Alexi’s drug-induced fog, hot and heavy. The shame and hurt came tumbling back, as he remembered sitting on a lap, too, being handled in just the same way: like garbage, a toy. Alexi got up quickly and stumbled to the bathroom. He had barely closed the door when he saw Slava pulling the tiny girl into his bedroom. Alexi told himself to do nothing, not to interfere; but
whenever he decided to do nothing, he felt another stab of nausea rip through his stomach. He remembered that pain so well, and the smell of his abuser’s garlic and pickled herring breath on his neck.

  A scream erupted from the bedroom; and, without thinking, Alexi headed to Slava’s bedroom door. Kicking it in was easy, and he tried, stumbling through the haze in his head, to focus his eyes on the scene before him. The young girl was naked down to her small underwear, the kind that invariably said innocence and youth. Her stubby breasts were barely developed, and she attempted to cover them as best she could. But Slava was holding her to his lap, naked completely, his body hair seeming to cover her in a quilt. He looked up, startled at Alexi's sudden intrusion, and the anger came swiftly to his eyes.

  "I said you could have some after me! Now get out!" Slava shouted.

  Alexi didn't know what to do. He loved Slava, as the father he never had. Yet, he couldn't allow this young girl to be violated. Her eyes tortured him. They begged him to save her. He remembered how he had given that same look, and the person had betrayed him. He would not, could not, let her down.

  Alexi tried to play it calm. He slurred drunkenly, "come on, Slava, some more shots!"

  Slava smiled, relaxing a bit. "In a minute my friend, I will finish this tasty first." He kissed her neck briefly and struck the immature stub of her breast. Alexi winced. He knew he would be in jeopardy if he intervened.

  "Stop, Slava, she is no hooker, she is too young," Alexi said, his mouth drying up quickly. "Please," he implored.

  Slava looked up at him disgusted. "What?"

  "I said stop, Slava," Alexi said coldly. "I won't ask again."

  Slava let the girl go briefly. She ran to the corner of the room and cowered, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes never wavering from Alexi.

  "You may go, girl," Alexi said to the girl. She grabbed at her dress and, as she did so, Slava grabbed her cruelly, crushing her tiny arm in his massive hairy hand.

  "No, she will not go. What is wrong with you, my friend? Too much vodka? She is here for my pleasure. Call Dmitry, he will get you other girls."

  "Slava, I don't want a fight; but I won't allow this."

  "You won't allow what? You are not the boss! I am the boss! Have you forgotten?" Slava spit furiously.

  "I have not, but she must go. I saved your life, Slava, I am asking you to let her go."

  "And this is what you want?" He grabbed the girl roughly and shoved her to the bed. "Do you want to fuck her before me? Do you want to be the first is that it?"

  "No, Slava, I want her to go; that is what I want."

  "Well watch me fuck her then," Slava said.

  With that, he ripped off her thin underwear and pulled his boxers down. He was excited already; it would only take a minute before it was all over. Alexi moved quickly; he was shocked by the alacrity of his movements considering his state. Slava looked up at the blur of Alexi's muscled body moving towards him. He had a look of genuine surprise on his face and he barely put a hand up to resist.

  Alexi hadn't realized the depth of his rage until he had his hands on Slava's shoulders. He twisted backwards, quickly, and threw Slava across the empty room. The small night table was perfectly located in the million-to-one spot to crack open a skull. Slava hit the corner of the hardwood table perfectly, lodging the sharp corner up under the back of his skull. It was a death blow. He twitched violently and Alexi rushed to Slava's aid. Slava still had the surprised look on his face, and Alexi felt tears pour into his eyes. He had only wanted to stop him, that was all.

  "Why Alexi, why?" Slava said as he slid to the floor. Alexi never got a chance to reply.

  Alexi was heartbroken. His only father figure was dead; and at his hands, no less. He slumped to the ground holding Slava's head in his hands, and his lap quickly became covered in sticky, warm blood. Then he looked up and saw the little girl standing there. She was crying and holding her arms around herself. He knew how she felt; he also knew how much worse she would have felt if he had done nothing. He looked at her, she was beautiful, with piercing blue eyes.

  "What is your name girl?"

  "Ingrid.”

  "Ingrid, go to the room next door and get Dmitry."

  Ingrid looked at Alexi, unsure whether to trust him or try and run.

  "You can trust me, Ingrid. I will only protect you. Now, go! And hurry!"

  Ingrid fled the room.

  Chapter 14

  Dmitry looked down smiling. It was hard not to smile. Three beauties looked back at up at him with doe blue eyes. They were so eager.

  He played with the bag of cocaine in his hands, watching the girl’s eyes follow it down. He sprinkled the fine white powder like snow on his erection for the third time, making a neat line right to the very tip. It was a beautiful sight.

  It was the gorgeous brunette’s turn. Her name was Katayia, or Maria, or something like that. It didn't matter anyway, he thought happily. The bag in his hand was all he needed to get whatever he wanted from these girls. And he would want all night long.

  "Your turn, my bunny," he said smiling at her.

  Her nose began at the base and slowly sniffed the powder moving out towards the tip while her tongue licked at the underside of his shaft at the same time. So much talent, Dmitry thought, as he looked skyward and closed his eyes.

  SMASH!

  Dmitry whipped his head forward in the same moment as he reached for his shoulder holster and pulled his Colt 45, that he always wore, and aimed it at the door. His hotel door had been flung open and in walked a little girl, her eyes were as big and round as saucers at the sight of Dmitry naked, and the three girls surrounding him like a shrine. They locked eyes for a moment both trying to comprehend what was happening. Dmitry dropped the gun and the little girl spoke.

  "Alexi, needs you."

  That was all it took. Dmitry pushed aside the brunette who was still sniffing at imaginary leftover powder on his cock and he grabbed his pants and rushed to the door.

  Dmitry burst through the door to Slava's room with his gun drawn. He went into the bedroom, and then he saw him. Slava was lying there. Right in the middle of the hotel bed; and in the middle of an ever-widening pool of blood. Alexi was sitting there, too, eyes red and a vacant look on his face. He looked up when Dmitry entered.

  "What's happened, Alexi?" Dmitry asked, stunned.

  Dmitry walked around the bed and placed his index fingers underneath Slava's nose, although he had no real hope that he was alive. There was nothing. He was dead. He looked around the room and saw the corner of the bed stand, dark red, and the pool of blood beneath it.

  Alexi just sat at the edge saying nothing, unmoving. The little girl had stayed outside, not wanting to see the dead body again. Dmitry walked over and put his hand on Alexi's shoulder.

  "Alexi, what happened?"

  “I didn’t mean too, I just had to stop him,” Alexi said as he looked up. "What do we do now?"

  Dmitry was stunned. It was the first time Alexi had ever asked his advice. He knew Alexi and Slava had a father-son relationship; and whatever had happened was hard on Alexi. Alexi had killed before, but this was different. They had some very big problems in the near future. Like the gun deal they had going down in four hours with some very nasty Ukrainians who were planning on dealing with Slava. Only with Slava. Dmitry wished Alexi had chosen a better time to ask his opinion.

  "He has to disappear,” Dmitry said.

  "How? The lobby is busy, and everyone knows Slava the big tipper. They will know he did not leave."

  Dmitry swallowed hard. It was risky but there was only one way they could escape.

  "Burn him. We have to make it seemed he burned to death."

  And that's what they had done. Dmitry placed a lit cigar in Slava's right hand and spilled a pool of vodka on the sheets next to him. A very plausible scenario. He knew the coroner would look for smoke inhalation as a cause of death, but there was no way to fake it. They lit the fire and watched as the hotel near
ly burned to the ground. A hefty envelope to the coroner had pronounced cause of death as death by smoke inhalation. A month later, when the paperwork and suspicion had cleared, the will was read. Everything, Slava had was left to his killer. Alexi Popovich. Accidental or not, Alexi had become a millionaire overnight.

  Dmitry had saved Alexi that night, in much the same way that Alexi had saved Dmitry in Chechnya. They were even now. But Dmitry had stayed on from that day onward, anyway, always watching Alexi’s back. Alexi had given Dmitry a second chance at life, a chance at a life well above what he could get on his own. The truth was Alexi was his only family left, and Dmitry would protect that with his life.

  Chapter 15

  A new hire, Claire had only worked aboard the Ivana for three months. She had fit in nicely with the other girls but seemed to be struggling to find the approval of Ingrid. John had wondered whether or not it was due to the fact that Claire was smoking hot. She had full, succulent, lips, and bright blue eyes that pierced your soul. She had lightly tanned skin that reminded John of hot poured caramel over a fudge sundae. Her hair was a natural bleach blond; and made all the more startling because her eyes were shockingly blue. Her breasts, while usually hidden behind crew T-shirts, never went unnoticed regardless of her attire. Like ripe, honeydew melons, they fought a never-ending battle of wits with whatever clothing was burdened with restraining them for the day.

  John attempted to avoid Claire as often as possible for all of these reasons. Like seeing a fine, electric guitar hanging forlornly in a store, John desperately wanted to take it down and play it. To not to was a waste, he thought. He had no doubt in his mind that she would rock his world.

  Claire, for her part, had instantly found herself attracted to John. He was a triple threat. Even though she knew it was extremely bad practice to date a fellow crew member. He was tall, dark, and cocky. Everything about him screamed "manly" to her, from his large, scarred hands, to his gorgeous broad back that seem to fill up rooms with powerful control. She found his face locked in stoic concentration and seriousness most of the time; but when he smiled, she had been hooked. His face would transform from powerful, and in charge, to boyish and fun-loving. It was these two Johns that intrigued her so much; and she felt nervous around him. She had noticed that he avoided being alone with her, and she felt that this might mean that he harbored similar feelings for her.