It bothers me going over the posted 25 miles an hour speed limit. But if the Asian man gets away, bad things will happen to people I care about. Besides, I'm not going to harm the man. Conner has a whole roll of cash that I'll give him for the watch. I'm not sure how much it is, but it's better than what he'd get at a pawnshop.
The truck is about fifty yards away when it blows through a stop sign. I feel outraged. Nobody is supposed to run through stop signs. When the phone rings, I know it's probably Vlad, but I can't answer it in a moving car. That's illegal. I wonder if I should pull over and answer it or keep following the truck.
I follow the truck, ignoring the ring. The streets in Manhattan Beach are crowded, but the beachcomber doesn't seem to notice. He swerves around a couple with surfboards. I gasp at their obscenities and vulgar hand gestures. Turning on Rosencrans Avenue, the truck picks up speed. Gripping the steering wheel, I do too.
The phone rings again, jarring me. What does he want? But then I notice the ring tone is different. I can't help myself as I pull the phone out of my jacket pocket. The caller is Tatiana. Vlad's wife. I drop the phone like it's radioactive.
Tatiana unnerves me. She's a gorgeous Russian ex-lingerie model who oozes sexuality. Whenever she flashes her seductive blue eyes at me, I can't help but blush. She has the power to make men feel uncomfortable. So why is she calling me? Or Conner?
With all of this confusion bouncing around in my head, I don't notice that the light has changed on the Pacific Coast Highway intersection. Blowing through it, I swerve to miss another Mercedes that rockets out of its lane. My Benz skids, bouncing up on a sidewalk, and takes out a bus stop sign. I hyperventilate. My hands won't stop shaking.
The phone rings again. I answer it without looking.
"Hello."
"What is the meaning of this? What have you done to Bagrat?" The voice has a thick accent. "This" sounds like "thish." It's not Russian, but Armenian. I know the voice from someplace, but not sure where. "He was with you yesterday, and now I hear my nephew is dead. That pieces of him are scattered around Los Angeles. How could this be, Conner? You guys were friends. We did business with you and Vlad. Straight and proper. I treated you the way I treat my son."
"I'm sorry." I'm certain that it is Melik, head of AP. Bagrat's uncle.
"Sorry? Sorry about what? Why is that you sound so different? Is that guilt?"
"I don't know what happened, sir." I silently reprimand myself; Conner would never say sir to any man unless he was being flippant.
"So something happened? Tell me, Conner. What happened to Bagrat?"
"I…uh…"
Somebody knocks on my window. I scream like a child watching a scary movie. A guy in a Fry's Electronics shirt jumps back when I look at him. I forget that I can frighten adults.
"Conner. What happened?" Melik pleads.
"I don't know," I shout truthfully. "Ask Vlad."
I end the call, dropping the phone on the seat.
I wave to the employee, mouthing the word "sorry," and pull the car back on the street. Tearing down the road, I need to find the beachcomber in the beat-up truck. He's ahead of me now. Very far ahead. If I lose him, then Sandra is in danger. It's not fair, but there isn't much I can do. Not as I am, not as Fred. But I don't want Conner to show up either. What would he do to a poor man making a living off of scavenging? I bite my lip. Life isn't fair.
Driving down the 405 I wonder where the beachcomber is heading. Is he local or did he come from another town? If he's local and already home by now, I'm screwed. Originally I headed south because it was an easy right turn, but I think there was more to my decision. The man is Asian. Could mean he's from Gardena if he's Chinese or perhaps Westminster if he's Vietnamese which are both in this direction. If he's Korean and driving north and east to Koreatown, I'll never find him. I'm frightened thinking this way. It's how Conner thinks. Stereotyping by race. But what else do I have to go on?
The phone rings again. It's Vlad. I decide that even though talking on the phone while driving is illegal, everything that Conner and Vlad do is illegal too. I press the speakerphone option.
"Where are you?"
"On the four-oh-five."
"You're not on the beach?"
"I left it."
"So you have the watch."
"No."
"What? You could not find the arm?"
"I found it, er, saw it. But somebody stole the watch."
"What?"
"A man with a metal detector."
Vlad goes off on a series of Russian curses.
Waiting for the tirade to end, I scan the cars ahead of me for any sign of the pickup truck. I wonder if I should've gone north. Then I see the truck in a line of backed-up cars taking the Western Blvd. exit. Thank goodness it's burnt orange. I hit the brakes, and the car behind me lays on the horn.
"Sorry," I shout and wave an apology as I try to cross over two lanes to the exit. It's difficult, but I make my way across. Vlad is still cursing and screaming, which makes this whole ordeal even more difficult.
I notice Vlad is talking in English now.
"What's that?" I ask, after maneuvering into the median between the exit and the highway.
"I said, what are you doing right now?"
"I'm following the guy. He's exiting in Gardena."
"Oh," Vlad says with a surprised lilt in his voice. "Well then, follow him, get my watch back, and kill him. Understood?"
My throat is stone dry. I shake more than ever and feel almost faint.
"I said, do you understand me?" I imagine Vlad's face puckered red.
"Ye…yes."
"Good, I want my watch by the time I'm eating lunch today."
He hangs up. I look at my own watch with multiple dials and whatnots. It's only 11:15am. I've got time. But I don't kill. I won't do it.
There's another call. It's Tatiana again. Why does Vlad's wife keep calling me? Is it because she wants to know what happened to Bagrat? I don't need to be in a love triangle between Tatiana, Bagrat, and Vlad.
Somebody is kind enough to let me into the exit lane. I see the truck making a left on 190th Street. There are a few cars ahead of me when the light turns yellow. I involuntarily yell, "Fiddlesticks!"
I'll be the first car to go when the light turns green. I can see the truck is at the end of an intersection. It's going to make a left turn.
"Come on, come on," I mumble.
Tatiana's call ends. I have three voicemails, but I don't know Conner's code.
When I get the green, he's already gone, but I make a left on Western and shoot up the street. I don't see him anywhere. Then at the next corner, I almost miss it. The truck is parked in a strip mall with signs in Chinese characters. I assume one is a liquor store and another, a pawnshop. I park next to the truck. Running into the liquor store, I look for the beachcomber. There are several Asian people, but none dressed like him.
The beachcomber jerks back from the counter when I open the pawnshop's door. His face grows pallid with fear. I want to say, "Don't be scared. I won't kill you. Honest."
The pawnshop owner doesn't bother looking up. He's holding the golden watch in his hands, looking at it through a monocle-type device with a sour expression.
"Eh, I give you two hundred for it. Very dirty. In bad condition."
I walk up, towering over both men. "I'll buy it for five hundred."
I don't know how much money Conner has, but it's bulging in my front pocket.
"Six hundred," the pawnshop man says. He knows the real value of the watch.
"A thousand."
The beachcomber looks between the two of us.
"You not welcome here," the pawnshop owner says looking at me. "Leave or I call police."
I try not to let him see that those words bother me. I pull out the roll of money and slam it on the jewelry glass counter. Both men's eyes widen.
"Two thousand for each of you."
I have the watch now, and I didn't kill anybody. Conner
should learn from me. Not that I could've killed somebody even if I really needed to. It's not in me. Unfortunately, that's what Conner is all about. The pawnshop owner wanted to go higher, looking at the roll of money, but when I mentioned that the watch was stolen, and I happened to open up my jacket (where my pistol hangs from a holster), he took his share happily. I called Vlad. He laughed, saying "the puny part of Conner" could actually do something useful for once.
I'm meeting Vlad in Santa Monica at the Ocean and Vine restaurant inside the Loews Hotel. This sounds great. I'd much rather be in a public place than in one of Vlad's downtown warehouses where awful things happen.
Taking the Lincoln exit off the 10 in Santa Monica, my mind considers what I can do with the rest of Conner's money. There is a battered women's shelter that is in desperate need of help.
My phone buzzes. Another call from Tatiana.
A chill runs down my spine. At the moment I look down towards the phone, an oversized Range Rover swerves in front of me and brakes. A BMW screeches from behind, tapping my bumper.
"What the…"
A man from the Rover and one from the BMW jump out running towards me. I think I recognize them. My door flies open, and I see the butt of a gun coming towards me. My vision explodes into vibrant reds and purples and then total black.
I wake up tied to a chair. What the fuck? I tug and jerk, but nothing gives. The cords are expertly tied. Fuck. What did that numbnuts get me into this time?
"He's awake," a voice says. It takes me a moment to recognize that it's Razmig, AP's top enforcer. I can tell I've been clocked hard on the forehead. My skull feels like it's been cracked open with a jackhammer.
Razmig, along with Melik's son and heir apparent, Manoug, and AP's suave fixer, Soghomon, gather around me. The first two wear tight t-shirts displaying their muscles, while Soghomon wears a custom-fitted suit. I'm in an abandoned office building. I don't know where, but I'm sure it has a "space for rent" sign outside of it like thousands of others around town. I'm fine with the venue, but what I don't like is the plastic sheet that is underneath me and stretches up the wall. It speaks of the very limited future that I have.
"So why did you kill your friend Bagrat, Conner?" Soghomon asks.
I look at the men. Two of them are related to him and the third might as well be.
"I didn't," I lie.
"That is such bullshit," Manoug says with anguish. "You guys were friends. He did business with you guys. Why did you fuck this up?"
"I didn't." I say it staring at Soghomon with so much determination he looks away.
Razmig kicks me in the shin. I shout and unleash a slew of profanities.
"We are going to make you suffer a painful death. I am going to pull out your fingernails and then—"
"I didn't kill Bagrat. He was my friend too." My voice cracks. I didn't expect that.
"Liar!" Mounag shouts.
"Explain this then, please," Soghomon says in a calm voice.
He shoves a cell phone picture in my face of Bagrat, beaten, bloody, and dead.
I remember. I took the photo.
I nod slowly, thoughtfully, and then look down.
"I was there when it happened."
The room goes quiet and still. They're waiting, practically holding their breaths. I make them ask.
"Tell us then," Soghomon says. "How did it happen?"
I clear my throat. I must sell this perfectly or I'm dead. Cut-to-pieces-like-Bagrat dead. "Vlad told me to pick up Bagrat. There were matters he wanted to discuss with him. I thought it would be, you know, like a new business or something you guys could import for us. But in retrospect, I should've known better. Vlad had been acting testier than usual. I didn't think much of it, you know. Vlad being Vlad."
I shrugged as best as a man can when tied to a chair.
"Continue," Soghomon says.
"So we're driving to the warehouse, and I'm talking to Bagrat. He's telling me how he's been banging this hot chick, but he doesn't say who it is."
"What does this have to do with Bagrat's murder?" Razmig says. "We know he got pussy all the time."
"He wouldn't stop talking about it," Manoug says with a wistful smile.
I swallow. "Did you know he was screwing Tatiana?"
The pale, shocked looks crossing their faces are priceless. Even if I die today, I can burn in hell laughing with satisfaction at this moment.
"Fuck me," Razmig whispers.
"I had no idea. But Vlad knew, somehow," I say.
Again silence fills the room. A candle light of hope flickers in my soul. I might make it out of this jam alive.
"So who killed him then?" Soghomon asks. "Tell us in detail."
Now I have to make a choice. A choice with repercussions.
"When we walked into Vlad's office, Yuri braced me against the wall while…" I take a deep breath. "While Pavel and Vlad whaled on him. I didn't know what was going on. They didn't prepare me because—"
"Because you might have told Bagrat?" Razmig finishes.
I look at him as tears fill my eyes. I give a faint nod. The sadness is partially sincere. I lost a friend. But I lost him for a bigger cause.
I'm not the only one with wet eyes. Razmig and Manoug have them too. The quietness lasts for several minutes.
"Did Vlad or Pavel kill him?" Soghomon asks, studying me like a hawk.
I shake my head. "I'm not sure. They were both pummeling him so hard with brass knuckles, beating him to a pulp—" I pause for effect —"it was over in a matter of seconds. Then they took him to the boynya."
Their thug faces turn green. They knew what boynya meant. It's Russian for slaughterhouse.
"Did you do the dismembering?" Razmig asks. Like me, he's AP's specialist in that area.
"No, I vomited. Twice. Pavel did it instead."
Flushing red, I look down. I'm truly embarrassed by the lie. To admit weakness, even if it is saving my life, is painful.
They are about to ask more questions when my phone rings. It's on a table against the wall with my pistol, wallet, money roll, and…what the hell? Vlad's gold Rolex. How did that happen? That was supposed to be the evidence that would do Vlad in.
Fucking Fred.
Soghomon picks up the phone. "It is Vlad."
"Fucking dead man," Manoug says.
"I will put it on speaker. We will all listen," Soghomon says.
Shit. This could go sideways wrong. I'm so close to being a free man and pulling this thing off.
"Hello," I say, trying to sound normal and relaxed. Not a dude tied to a chair who could easily be discontinued in a second.
"Oh, Conner, it's you. You're finally back to normal," Vlad says with a laugh.
My captors' faces burn with rage. They probably think Vlad's teasing me about being broken up over Bagrat. Sweet.
"I'm doing better. What's up?"
"What's up? Did your whiny, sniveling self forget to tell you that you're supposed to meet me at Loews for lunch?"
I flush again. Dammit, Fred. I wish he would leave me a note sometimes to let me know the fucked-up shit he's done.
"Uh, I forgot."
"Hmm. That is apparent. I've been waiting for the past twenty minutes. Tell me, do you still have that watch that the now dead asshole Braggart stole from my house?"
Manoug almost blurts something, but Razmig covers his mouth. Soghomon picks up the watch and shows it to me. I nod.
"Yes. Got it right here."
"How far are you from Santa Monica?"
I look at my captors. I have no idea.
"Twenty-five minutes," Soghomon whispers in my ear.
I repeat it to Vlad.
"Good. My food just arrived. So, why don't you meet me on the beach in thirty minutes. Living in Hollywood, I never see enough of the ocean. Meet me by…what is that place where girls wear funny hats and serve impaled hot dogs?"
"Hot Dog on a Stick," a voice says in the background. It's Pavel.
"Yes, Hot Dog on a Stick. Meet
me there. We'll look at pretty ladies. Understood?"
"Yes."
The line goes dead. We look at Soghomon with eyebrows raised, asking in silent communion…
What happens next?
So I'm standing on the sidewalk by the first Hot Dog on a Stick in America. A line is queued up at the takeout window. I take a bite of a corndog. It's so damn good. Fred apparently hadn't bothered to eat, because I'm famished. He was probably too scared to keep anything down.
A woman with a karaoke machine belts out a Disney tune to a crowd of tourists. I'm not sure which movie it's from. Fred would know. Throngs of people in shorts and bathing suits pass by, giving me second looks. I'm trying to look as natural as a Russian mobster can in an Armani suit with Gucci shades eating a corndog. The sand from the beach is five feet away, and the ocean is thirty yards further. Adults and children frolic in cold, refreshing waves. I'd love to join them, but I can't. I'm about to make the biggest strategic move of my life. Going for a checkmate and win.
Calls were made, and important decisions approved. If things go according to plan, I'm golden. No, I'm platinum. I spot Vlad walking down the sidewalk with Pavel and Yuri behind him. They stand out worse than I do.
"I see you've already got the hot dog," Vlad says with a big smile.
"Starving. Couldn't help myself."
"I had a marvelous lunch. If only Fred had—"
I drop the corn-battered stick. That's the signal. All three men watch the stick hit the ground. I step to the right. Soghomon, in a Dodgers hat, T-shirt, and oversized mirrored sunglasses, steps out of line and fires two bullets into Vlad's temple. Razmig comes from behind and blasts three shots into Pavel's heart. I brace Yuri, keeping his arms at his side so that he can't reach for a weapon.
"Yuri, listen. We've got to run. You got that. Vlad's dead. You work for me now. Understand?"
Wide-eyed and frightened, he nods. We haul ass through the pandemonium to a stolen Lexus waiting for us in a nearby parking lot.
THUGLIT Issue Twenty-One Page 4