Dungeness and Dragons

by William Cook

  “You dumb fuck,” Gideon spat, as he straddled his younger brother’s body. “Are you trying to send us to prison?” He stepped away from him, leaving Paul curled in a fetal position, weeping. “What are we gonna do now?”

  “Kill both those cops,” Paul said through his tears.

  Gideon relaxed his fists and shook both arms to relieve the tension in his muscles. He took a deep breath, stooped, and tousled his brother’s hair. “Sorry about hitting you, bro, but sometimes you make me real frustrated. You know? Now c’mon. Let me help you up.” He put his arms around Paul’s shoulders and helped him to his feet. “There you go.”

  “We gotta kill ’em. We gotta.” Paul coughed several times as his breathing returned to normal.

  “Not without the go-ahead from Volkov. Doing cops could bring a world of hurt down on the whole operation. We don’t make a move like that without Volkov’s say-so.”

  “I’ll call him right away.”

  “No. Let me do it. I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want him to think we screwed up. I just want him to know we have some very nosy cops down here, and something needs to be done about it right away.”

  29. The Problem with Calling Bad Guys on the Phone

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2019. “I will think on it and get back to you.” The Russian returned his phone to the table by his cup. He hated having his morning coffee interrupted by business, especially unfinished business. He was sitting in the sun room with his wife, looking out over the skyline of Portland, listening to the rain chatter on the glass.

  “Trouble, Vas?” Ana put the delicate china cup she was holding into its saucer and reached for the carafe of coffee.

  “Always, meelaya.”

  “A refill?”

  “Please.”

  She poured the steaming liquid into his cup, then placed her hand over his. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  He frowned, then unburdened himself. “One of my men in Driftwood says that two policemen questioned him and his brother about their warehouse in Depoe Bay, where they conduct part of my operation. He thinks they may know too much.” He hissed as he raised the cup to his lips. “One of the policemen—Whitehorse—is the man I had intended to ruin for Abram’s death and the Chaos fire. My lawyer let a golden opportunity slip through his fingers. Which reminds me—please make sure Andrei cancels our dinner engagement with Hartman and his wife.” He resisted an impulse to slam his fist down on the arm of the chair. “I am sorry to be so upset, lapka. This is not the way our morning coffee should be.”

  His wife saw his left fist clench and release. “You work very hard, radnoi. You have so many things that hang in the balance, that demand your attention. You have every right to be upset.”

  “There is more. This man who spoke to me just now? He spoke too cautiously—like he was hiding more than he was telling me. I do not know if I can trust him or his brother any longer. They are crab fishermen recruited by Sokolov. Although they have done well so far, I am beginning to have my doubts about them. Would they survive closer scrutiny by the police? Would they say too much about my business?” He stood and walked to the windows. His warm breath made a tiny patch of fog on the glass. He turned and resumed his seat by his wife. “He asked my permission to kill the two policemen.”

  Ana clicked her lips. She took a deep breath. “You have always told me that killing policemen is bad for business. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, but what choice do I have? The police will keep pulling at threads until everything unravels. My plans are too important to let that happen.”

  Ana took a sip of coffee and looked into her husband’s eyes. “These crabbers of yours in Driftwood. Are they essential or expendable? Could you replace them if you had to?”

  A smile spread across his face. “Radnaya. You are a wolf after my own heart.”

  Two hours later, Volkov sat in his study behind a large mahogany desk, on which sat three laptop computers open to different screens. The large windows behind him were shuttered with floor-to-ceiling draperies in an abstract pattern of blues and grays. The two walls on either side held oak bookshelves lined with leather-bound copies of classic Russian literature in their native tongue. Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky vied for space with Pushkin and Chekhov, Gogol and Nabokov, and many others. It was a collection that would have been coveted by any library or museum. The back wall sported an enormous, detailed map of California, Oregon, and Washington, speckled with red and yellow stick pins.

  The two men seated before him were giving Volkov their undivided attention. Both were dressed in dark suits and ties and looked as though they would be at home in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company. Oleg, the man in the leather chair on the right, had a smooth, almost angelic face, framed by short, sandy hair. Pavel, the one on the left, was an enormous man whose suit and shirt threatened to burst under the strain of his muscles. His black beard was neatly trimmed and complemented the hair that hung in tight braids over his shoulders.

  Volkov nodded at his generals. “It is always the pebble in the shoe that causes the most discomfort, is it not? Little dermo town of Driftwood is more trouble than all of Portland.” He laid both his hands on the desk and interlaced his fingers. “What do you think we should do?”

  Oleg took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The crab fishermen should disappear. If their bodies were found, the police would redouble their efforts to look beyond them. If it looks like they have fled, not so much.”

  “Do you agree, Pavel?”

  “That sounds like the wisest choice. How do the Americans say it? Better safe than sorry? Would it be hard to recruit new boatmen?”

  “It might be, without Sokolov down there. He had the pulse of the whole central coast.” He looked toward the ceiling, then back to the men. “But we may not need another boat. The little durak is very pleased with the latest delivery and has asked that we not dispose of her as we did the others.”

  Oleg shook his head back and forth. “Is that a security risk? What if she should escape? Everything would be compromised.”

  “She will remain aboard Elysium, under the strictest guard. And she has grown very fond of her ‘medicine.’” Volkov stood and opened the draperies behind him. The gray light of the cloudy sky filled the room. “I am thinking of withdrawing from Driftwood altogether. Without Sokolov there to manage the university, that little business is more trouble than it is worth. Our energies would be better spent by expanding in Bend and Eugene. Our fiction of needing Elysium to bring our product north would no longer be necessary if we do not need new playthings for that boy.” He sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied look on his face. “Trucks on the Interstate will work perfectly well. It may even be time to delegate our drug business to others. It is such…What is the expression? Such ‘small potatoes’ compared to our newest ventures.”

  Pavel pursed his lips. “What about that policeman you describe as your thorn?”

  “Whitehorse? Yes. What to do about him? He vexes me. Your thoughts?”

  “Hurt him by hurting someone he loves,” volunteered Oleg. “Wife, child, friend. That is something Alyosha is very good at. His particular… skill set.”

  “Alyosha. Of course. He is getting a bit long in the tooth, but he is still very effective.” Volkov smiled. “Find out the people who are closest to Whitehorse, while you plan the demise of our crabbers. Use any other men you need. Report to me daily.” He dismissed them with a nod.

  Each man stood and gave a slight bow of his head. As they turned to leave, Volkov addressed them a final time.

  “Your tireless service is duly noted. You are indeed my comrades-in-arms, and you will be rewarded accordingly.”

  30. Itsy, Bitsy Spider

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 30, 2019. Whitehorse frowned and looked up from his monitor. “The hair is Carmody’s. We got a DNA match from that brush you picked up in her apartment.”

  Esperanza studied his partner’s face. “You don’t look or sound very
happy. What gives? Proof that Carmody was there adds weight to the probability the other kids were there, too. Preponderance of the evidence and all that stuff. We know the Drakes own the place. I say we haul their asses in here.”

  “And do what exactly? We’ve been over this before. We got no bodies. No proof of foul play.”

  “Maybe if we leaned on ’em we could get one of them to crack. Maybe that prissy one.”

  “Not likely. We need more. I think I need to go back to Judge Harowitz and get an eavesdropping warrant to put some bugs on their boat, in Mid-Coast Seafood, and in their houses.

  Esperanza nodded. “Not a bad idea. I’ll mind the store. Go for it.”

  “Once I have it, we’ll have to plan a time when we know the brothers aren’t in so I can plant the stuff. I suppose we could keep them under surveillance until we know their habits.”

  “That’ll take a while, partner. Stakeouts are such a royal pain in the ass.”

  “I have a better idea, guys,” Chiara piped up. “Tony, why don’t you ask them to come in for questioning—something about a detail you both missed when you saw them last. While they’re here, you keep them busy, and Charley can do his thing.” She picked up her pencil and began twirling it in her fingers. “Wait! Wait! I have a better idea.” She jumped out of her chair. “Not only can we keep them distracted, but we can up the ante and get them even more worried. Tell them Charley took some pictures when he was in their warehouse, and upon closer examination of the photos, you’ve found something very troubling. You want to show them the photographs in person here. Then take them out to the warehouse and show them the names scratched into the baseboard. Tell them those are the names of missing kids. Ask them for an explanation.” She leaned back against her desk, smiled, and folded her arms, looking every bit the Honorary Detective of the Driftwood PD. “You can even tell them we have DNA evidence that Patricia was definitely there. Make ’em squirm.”

  Whitehorse and Esperanza stared at each other wide-eyed, mouths open. Esperanza broke their silence.

  “Where did we find this one, Charley? Holy hell, what a mind!”

  “Brilliant, Chiara. Brilliant. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

  Esperanza was almost laughing with his enthusiasm. “Hey, girl, you just reminded me. Take a look at this picture we took at Drake’s house. He’s got it hanging on the wall of his living room.”

  “Oh, my God! Send it to my phone so I can show Sammy.”

  “Pretty special, huh? With all that’s been going on, I forgot to Google it.”

  “Well, what you have there is the Holy Grail of comic books. Sammy talks about it likes it’s the Mona Lisa or something.”

  Esperanza’s interest was piqued. “Any idea what it’s worth?”

  “He told me one copy went for two million in 2011, and another sold for more than three on eBay in 2014.”

  Whitehorse whistled. “He had more upstairs, but I can’t remember what they were.”

  Chiara chuckled. “Guess our crabber friend is a millionaire. Wait’ll I tell my man.”

  Whitehorse was unable to get the eavesdropping warrant until late the next day. Once he got it, he decided to position himself in Depoe Bay early the following morning. He drove his car onto a side street and stepped out into a light rain. He could hear the surf on the rocks across the way. Pulling his coat collar up, he walked to a diner which gave him a clear view of 101. He ordered a coffee and called his partner.

  “I’m here. Once I see Gideon’s pickup heading north, I’ll zip over to the warehouse and plant those bugs first. Then I’ll fix his house. I’ll get back up to Driftwood and do Paul’s place next and then get down to the marina for the boat.” A young waitress with a lock of her brown hair falling over her forehead brought his mug to the table. “Thank you,” he said, as he took his first sip. Then something else occurred to him. “Come to think of it, I wonder if these guys are out crabbing. That would make things a whole lot easier. We’d just have to watch the harbor to see when the Smaug motored back in.”

  “Good point. I’ll call Paul and get right back to you. Sit tight.”

  He had the number in his Contacts list. “Hello, Mr. Drake. Officer Esperanza here. Glad I caught you. Thought you might be out crabbing.”

  “Since we’ve hired a new crew, my brother and I don’t have to do so much of the hard work. And our crew has been so successful the last few weeks that we’ve given them a couple days off. But I’m sure this isn’t a social call.”

  “Well, you’re right about that. We’ve had a chance to examine some photos my partner took when he was in your warehouse the other day. Enlarged them. We found a troubling bit of evidence we want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh? What was that?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. I’d like to show you. Can you come in to the station? It shouldn’t take much of your time.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  Esperanza heard the man sigh. “I’m afraid it is, Mr. Drake. I’ll call your brother.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll get him. When does this meeting have to take place?”

  “Can you meet me here within the hour?”

  “We’ll be there,” the voice snapped. The call ended.

  Esperanza gave a thumbs-up sign to Chiara. “That went perfectly, HD.” She smiled back as the policeman called his partner.

  “Worked like a charm, buddy. He’s on the phone with his brother as we speak. We’ll be meeting here at the station as soon as they can get here. I didn’t want to tell him about going down to the warehouse afterwards. Wanted to surprise them. Should give you plenty of time to do your dirty deeds.” He laughed at himself. “Remember the AC/DC song? Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap,” he sang.

  “Tell you what, Tony. Don’t quit your day job.”

  “Don’t like my singing, huh? Oh, and the Smaug should be in the harbor. Drake said his crabbing crew has a couple of days off. The Driftwood Marina is pretty small, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding the boat.”

  “Here comes the sonofabitch now,” Whitehorse said, as he saw the pickup speed north on 101 toward Driftwood. “Looks like I’m on, Tony. And hey, watch your back. I don’t trust these guys as far as I can throw them. We know they’re capable of murder, even if we can’t prove it yet.”

  “Thanks, Charley. I’ll be on my guard. Go get it done.”

  Thirty minutes later, the Drake brothers entered the police station. Chiara greeted them at the door.

  “May I take your coats? Can I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee?”

  “No,” Gideon snapped. “The sooner we can get this over with, the better.” His lips curled into a frown as he surveyed the office. “Not exactly the Hilton, is it?”

  “You got that right, Gideon,” his brother said.

  “Just shut-up, Paul.”

  Chiara interrupted. “Actually, construction starts on the new police station in the spring. We’re all looking forward to it.”

  He ignored Chiara and addressed the policeman. “Officer Esperanza, what was it you wanted to show us? And where’s your partner, by the way? He’s the one that supposedly took these photos?”

  “He wanted to be here, but he’s out on a traffic call. We didn’t want to keep you in suspense, so I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

  He motioned the men to folding chairs in front of his desk, as he walked around to his own chair and opened the middle drawer. “These.” He withdrew a large manila envelope and handed it to Paul.

  Gideon snatched it from his brother’s hands. “Let me see that.” He opened the flap and drew out two eight-by-ten glossy photographs. He looked at them both and handed one to his brother. “What the hell is this? What are we looking at? I see a string of names. Looks like chicken-scratch to me.”

  “Mr. Drake, Officer Whitehorse found those names in your warehouse. On a baseboard. Do you recognize them?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m afraid I
am. Marie Lovejoy was 23 when she disappeared from Astoria during Christmas of 2017. Ellie Sarnhoff was only 15 when she vanished from Seaside last spring. Jimmy Lavender was 12, down in Waldport.” Esperanza was studying the faces of the men before him. “Deirdre Chinakost was 25 when she went missing from Florence this past September. The last one is Patricia Carmody, age 21, from Neskowin. Gone about a month now.” The policeman saw Paul’s eye twitch and his jaw go rigid.

  “What are you saying?” Gideon countered, his voice sounding more like a snarl than a question.

  “I’m saying that we think those missing kids somehow all wound up in the Mid-Coast Seafood Warehouse—your warehouse—in Depoe Bay.”

  “You think we’re somehow involved with missing children? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. And if you keep making slanderous allegations like that, you’ll be hearing from our lawyer. I’ll slap you with a defamation lawsuit so fast you’ll shit your pants.” Gideon jumped to his feet and motioned his brother to follow him. “This meeting is over.”

  Esperanza raised his right hand. “There’s one more thing, guys. But I’d like to show you in the warehouse.”

  “Not a chance. You’re gonna need a warrant for that.” Gideon turned and started toward the door, Paul at his heels.”

  “We do have a warrant, Mr. Drake. You know, I don’t want to damage that beautiful lock on the warehouse door. Why don’t you guys follow me down there and let me in, and I’ll show you everything we’ve got. In the interest of transparency, of course.”

  Esperanza saw the veins bulge in Gideon’s neck as his face reddened. “You follow us,” the crabber growled. The brothers stormed out.

  As Esperanza reached the door, Chiara tugged at his coat and gave him a thumbs-up sign. “You rattled their cages good, Boss,” she whispered.

  “Call Charley and bring him up to speed.”

  “You got it.”