by Ryan Stygar
Li called over to Ramirez, “Sarge! Are you hit?”
Ramirez stood and wiped the trickle of blood on his knuckles against his pants. “I’m good Brett, just a little cut on the hand. How about you?”
“I’m… I’m alright,” Li trembled. He over back to where Ramirez had Watson cuffed and subdued the floor. “That was some scary shit, we almost died!”
Ramirez sighed relief that Li wasn’t hurt. After a quick scan of the destroyed strip club, Ramirez clicked on his radio and reported that he had one suspect in custody with two others at large.
“Units are on the way,” the radio crackled in response. “Hold your location and do not pursue, I repeat do not pursue the suspects.”
“Copy that, holding our location,” Ramirez replied.
“Fuck!” Li screamed. He kicked a barstool across the floor. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and he went off like a firecracker. “That got out of hand real fast!”
“I know… I’m sorry Brett.”
“You’re sorry?” Li fired back. “Well shit, I’m glad to hear you’re sorry!”
He started to berate Ramirez for getting him shot at twice in two days, stopping only when he saw the club manager trying to slink away. “Hold it perv!” Li shouted. “You’re not off the hook, not by a long shot!”
Brett Li seized the whimpering club manager by the wrists. “I didn’t just dodge a bunch of bullets to walk away empty handed.”
He tugged the manager’s wrists behind his back and clicked on a pair of cuffs. “You didn’t think to warn us that those assholes were armed?”
The manager blubbered uncontrollably, “Please! I am sorry, I didn’t know!”
“Bull-shit,” Li snapped back.
“Maybe this scumbag can help us put this gangster away, he’s a witness,” Ramirez suggested.
Li hissed into the manager’s ear, “We almost got killed. I’m pissed off! Do you hear me? Seriously pissed off!”
“Please!” the manager squeaked. “Anything, I’ll do anything you say!”
Ramirez stepped closer and grabbed the man by his shirt. He then pointed a finger at Watson, who was still writhing in pain on the floor. “Do you know who that man is?”
“That’s Watson Lafayette,” the manager whimpered. “He’s a Lieutenant for the Sumatra gang, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just please don’t send me to jail!”
“Not another word!” Watson howled from the ground. “I swear I’ll gut you like a fish you coward!”
“Brett, go shut him up,” Ramirez ordered.
“With pleasure,” Li said. He whipped out his baton and whacked Watson hard across his back.
“Now…” Ramirez said, turning to the manager. “I want you to tell me everything you know about that man on the floor.”
Half an hour later, Ramirez was leaning against the hood of his newly issued, unmarked Dodge Charger. He and Brett Li were sipping hot coffee while the strip club was being overhauled by LVMPD investigators. The parking lot for Angels Strip Club was packed with police cruisers and detectives who were assessing the damage and gathering statements. The club manager was in tears, but Ramirez noted with pleasure that he was cooperating with the police.
“Now that we have Watson Lafayette in custody,” Brett Li observed, “Bringing in Jacob and that other guy shouldn’t be too hard. With our reports, plus the manager as a witness… gosh I hate to say it, but I think your gamble paid off Sarge.”
Ramirez didn’t say anything for a while.
Li added, “I’m sorry I snapped at you back there. It was just the adrenaline talking, I didn’t mean any of it,” He tilted his head when Ramirez remained silent. “You okay?”
Adrian Ramirez sipped his coffee. “Something’s not right,” he said darkly.
“What do you mean?” Li asked.
“Do you remember what Jacob said, before he slashed me with that knife?”
“Fuck you?”
“No… before that. He said that our report was ‘dead’ and that he ‘made sure of it’. What do you think of that?”
“I think he was just talking tough for his friends,”
Ramirez shook his head. “All our files on him were gone; if he’s talking tough then he also seems to be able to back it up. Tell me you see it too,”
“I do,” Li admitted. “There should be an APB out for those guys that assaulted us yesterday, but for some reason there isn’t. Unless it’s the world’s most coincidental computer virus, then someone inside the department is helping those guys stay clean. I don’t like it but how do we fight back if we don’t know who we’re fighting?”
Ramirez paused a minute. “If you won’t say it, I will,”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t think it’s weird how heated Wyatt gets whenever I butt heads with the Sumatra?”
Li held up a hand. “This is drifting dangerously close to a personal vendetta. Sure, Wyatt’s an asshole, but it’s not like he doesn’t have a point. Messing with these guys is dangerous; look what happened to your house,”
Ramirez shook his head. “Wyatt won’t let me open an investigation about that either,”
“Well you can’t expect him to sign off on you investigating a crime that involves your personal property,” Li said quietly. “It’s a conflict of interests,”
Two black and white Chevrolet Suburbans with the LVMPD seal on their doors rolled into the parking lot.
“Speak of the devil,” Ramirez said, eyeing the Sheriff’s convoy. He looked down at his feet and kicked a pebble across the ground. “Ready to watch me get yelled at again?”
“Hey,” Li said as Wyatt emerged from his car. “We did this by the book and we just arrested a dangerous gangster. Whatever is going on with the IRD or the Sumatra, it doesn’t matter when we have hard evidence and a witness willing to testify. This was a clean bust. Don’t let your personal beef with Wyatt cloud your judgement,”
They both watched as the Sheriff shook hands with the senior police officers on the scene and got up to speed on what happened. Ramirez sipped his coffee and noticed more than a few unfriendly glances from the Sheriff as the detectives told him why and how one of Dimitri Jordan’s Lieutenants ended up in the back seat of an LVMPD police cruiser.
Li tapped Adrian’s shoulder as the silver-haired Sheriff started walking in their direction. “Look alive,”
“Ramirez…” Wyatt said. He was frowning when he approached them at the hood of the Charger. “What did we just talk about?”
“Watson and his friends shot first,” Ramirez said. “We defended ourselves,”
“And why were you here antagonizing him in the first place?”
“Sheriff…” Ramirez began, but Wyatt cut him off.
“I want you and Brett in my office first thing tomorrow morning. We are going to have a long and serious talk about this.”
20
A dam sat in his old S10 and watched a pair of crows fight over a piece of bread as he tried to plan his next move. Letting out a groan, he plunked his head down on the steering wheel. Answers were not coming to him easily.
If he gave the binder to Lukas Petrov, then Jacob and his thugs would string him up like a piñata again. If he gave it to Jacob, then Petrov would hunt him down and do God-knows-what when he found him. It felt like a no-win situation.
Since either choice seemed to have damning consequences, Adam felt the only reasonable thing to do was to work with the gangsters on a first-come, first-served basis. Lukas Petrov was expecting him that morning, therefore, he would get the binder, not Jacob. Adam threw open his door, startling the crows who squawked angrily at him as they fluttered away. He dropped the metal binder into his black duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the Las Vegas Strip.
The early crowd on the Strip was thinner than in the later hours, since most of the tourists were undoubtedly nursing hangovers in their suites. Still, Adam found himself d
odging gazes from the not-insignificant flow of pedestrians along the sidewalks.
He walked past Planet Hollywood and then under the replica of the Eiffel Tower by the Paris Hotel and Casino. Even at this early hour, the inside of the casinos buzzed with energy from the rows and rows of slot machines. Those seated in front of the flashing, whirring lights could pour money into the machines for hours, often without food or rest. The lack of clocks and windows meant that inside the casinos there was zero indication that dawn had just broken outside.
Those fools will go broke trying to get rich on those things Adam thought. He had a head filled with bitter memories of trying to gamble his way into a big break, only to walk away poorer than ever.
He emerged from the glittering interior of the Paris Casino and eventually passed the cool blue canals of the Venetian. On his left, an early breeze ruffled the sails of the replica pirate ship moored at Treasure Island. He lifted his gaze toward the Stratosphere, which rose a short distance ahead of him.
Adam shrugged against the strap of his black duffle bag. The metal binder inside was thick with documents and it was heavy. Keeping a fast pace along the sidewalks, he wiped his clammy palms against his jeans. Adam felt his nerves go into high alert when he passed the Wynn; an idling police cruiser was parked conspicuously outside the hotel’s entrance. A pair of cops leaned against the black and white car, chatting and sipping their morning coffee as the watched the morning foot traffic.
Adam shot his eyes downward and tried to ignore the officers’ curious stares. His skin tingled at the spot where the Bersa Thunder was tucked inside his waistband.
Great. A run-in with the police was the absolute last thing he needed right now. How would that go? Oh hey Officer, yeah this is just my concealed handgun, nothing to worry about! Oh, what’s in my bag? Just some super sketchy documents the Russian Mafia uses to sell opium. I stole it after I killed two guys and set their bodies on fire. Yep, yep, yep. Why thank you, Officer, I hope you have a pleasant day too!”
Yeah, he was sure it would go down just like that, wonderful.
He had to limit his contact with the men in the tan uniforms. Adam ignored the uncomfortable sensation of being watched as he passed them. Putting a few dozen yards between him and the cops helped Adam reign in his wild pulse rate for a few minutes, until a series of buzzes in his pocket caught his attention. It was one of the cellphones, but it wasn’t Lukas who was calling him.
Son of a bitch. Can I catch a break for like, one day?
This was not a good time for the other team to be calling. Adam fumbled with the buzzing phone for several seconds before he managed to flip it open.
“Hello?” he answered. All he had to do was BS his way through the this conversation. If he just told Jacob what he wanted to hear, then maybe Petrov could help him out of this mess afterword.
“Good morning Mr. Friend,” Jacob’s voice said. “You’ve had a day to work; did you get the stuff from your boss?”
“Yeah… I uh, I have it,” This isn’t good…
“You don’t sound so sure of yourself, do you have it or not?”
“I do! I have–
Adam’s recovery was cut off when he realized that Petrov’s phone was vibrating in his other pocket. Holy shit what is this? Some kind of horrible prank?
Adam panicked and answered the second phone.
“Hello?” he whispered, trying his best to keep the conversation private from the phone on the other side of his face. To the people who witnessed him walking and talking with two flip-phones pressed against his ears, Adam probably looked like an insane person.
“Change of plans,” Petrov’s voice said while Jacob’s voice chattered on the other phone. “My driver can see you on the sidewalk, we are going to turn around and pick you up,”
“You have half an hour to get there,” Jacob chimed in from the other phone.
“I’m sorry where?”
“The Sumatra Hotel,” Jacob answered.
“Right where you are, Mr. Friend,” said Petrov.
“In an hour,” Jacob snapped from the other side. “Aren’t you listening to me?”
Adam felt like a schizophrenic trying to make sense of the two voices speaking to him.
“Yes! Yes I’m listening!” he said.
“Good,” Both voices replied at once.
The black Mercedes S500 pulled along the sidewalk where Adam was standing, Petrov hung up and then the rear door of his car opened.
“I… uh… I gotta go now!” Adam snapped Jacob’s phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket before Lukas Petrov could see it. It wasn’t long before the damned thing started vibrating again.
“It is good to see you, Mr. Friend,” Petrov said as he exited the Mercedes. He stepped onto the sidewalk to meet Adam. “Have you found my property?”
Adam’s hands were quivering when he unzipped the duffel bag and revealed its contents. Petrov took his time as he inspected the binder and verified that it was both genuine and undamaged. Flipping through the pages one at a time took several long minutes, which made Adam’s skin crawl. He tried not to let on that he was in a hurry to get off the street, even while his pocket vibrated angrily.
Petrov put down the binder and zipped up the bag.
He gave Adam a nod, “Very good.”
Petrov reached into the car to grab something. In the driver’s seat, Adam recognized the gigantic driver from the other night, plus an additional man in the passenger seat who had no interest in introducing himself. The phone in Adam’s pocket kept on buzzing and he could only imagine how aggravated Jacob must have been. The unnerving image of Jacob cursing his name was broken when Lukas Petrov handed him a strap of ten thousand dollars in cash.
“I believe this is an adequate reward for a job well done,” Petrov said. He turned to look at his Russian companions. “Dimitri Jordan will have a very fierce fight ahead of him now!” Both of the men chuckled and started chattering with each other in their native Russian.
Adam cupped a hand over his vibrating phone to reduce the noise it was making. Petrov put a hand on Adam’s shoulder and began saying something about another hit-job against the Sumatra gang. Adam said nothing; he just stared blankly behind Lukas Petrov’s back.
Petrov stopped speaking when he noticed that Adam was pale as a ghost. “Mr. Friend, are you listening?”
Adam was frozen. Petrified, he just stared wordlessly over Petrov’s shoulder. A tingle ran down Lukas Petrov’s spine as his sixth sense kicked into full alarm. Something was wrong. Lukas turned to look at the intersection between Treasure Island and the Wynn. At that precise moment, a pearl-white Ranger Rover turned onto the Strip and quickly accelerated toward them.
The phone in Adam’s pocket stopped buzzing.
The powerful V8 engine roared and the Range Rover blasted right through the red lights in a full charge. Tires screeched as the other cars slammed to a halt, avoiding being hit by the rampaging SUV by mere inches. Pedestrians shrieked and scattered in all directions.
Petrov shouted orders at his men and then drew his CZ-75 pistol from inside his coat. “Get in the car!” he screamed, shoving Adam toward the Mercedes. He then looked to his men and cocked his gun. “Load weapons!” he ordered.
The Range Rover skidded to a stop, facing the wrong way in traffic when it did. Completely ignoring the rush of cars trying to escape the chaos, Jacob and his men sprang from the doors and fired a volley of bullets at the Mercedes. Screams nearly drowned out the barks of the guns as bystanders tried to get away from the shooting.
Petrov didn’t flinch. While pedestrians shrieked and scrambled out of the line of fire he just pursed his lips, took aim, and shot back at Jacob and his men. Spiderweb-shaped cracks sprawled across the Range Rover’s windshield as Petrov’s bullets trailed left toward the open passenger-side doors.
Jacob ducked, but the man behind him took a bullet to the throat and collapsed under a burst of red.
Click! Click! Click!
Petr
ov ejected the empty magazine and reloaded his weapon as bullets whizzed past his ears. Adam was cowering against the Mercedes to avoid being shot.
“Get in now!” Petrov yelled and kicked Adam into the backseat of the car. By now the cops Adam had seen earlier were sprinting toward the scene, but all the screaming civilians trying to run away kept them back, much like a rip current pushing swimmers out to sea. All the chaos kept the police too far away to restore order while Jacob and Lukas blasted away at each other.
In the wake of the terrified mass of people, two innocent bystanders lay bleeding on the sidewalk. Adam tried to scrunch down lower in the Mercedes, but to his horror, he soon realized that it’s aluminum body was next-to-useless as a defensive barrier. Glass rained on his head from above while the POP-POPing of bullets piercing the doors made him flinch helplessly.
Petrov shoved Adam down with his elbow and leaned out the shattered rear window. “Stay still!” he barked while he fired back at Jacob’s men.
Petrov’s driver stomped the accelerator, causing the tires to scream against the asphalt as they sped away. The accelerating Mercedes threw Adam and Petrov against the side of the car while the driver hooked around to get as far from the Strip as possible. Jacob’s surviving men piled into their SUV to pursue the Russians, leaving their dead comrade in the middle of the street as they gave chase.
Dimitri Jordan had just finished his morning shower when the phone rang in his marble-floored bathing quarters. The bath complex was lined with massive windows which gave him a panoramic view of the Strip and the rising sun. The Emperor of Vegas accepted a crystal glass of water to drink while one of his nearly-nude servant girls wrapped a fresh towel around his waist.
“Kiersten, bring me the phone,” he called out as he took a seat. His bathing room held a stone bath deliberately placed so that he could enjoy the expansive view of the city while he soaked. Beside it, a hallway ordained with gold molding and Persian carpets led to his shower.
A raven-haired beauty in her late twenties entered his bathing room with the ringing phone in hand. Kiersten was an exceptionally fit woman with a gallery’s worth of tattoos covering her well-toned features. Jordan always felt a magnetic pull toward her, and she was the only person on Earth who had the power to make him feel weak in the knees. When she arrived, he gently brushed a hand against the shaved side of her head and then caressed the long black hair on the other.