Rogue Angel 51: The Pretender's Gambit

by Alex Archer

  “How did he manage to get second-degree murder charges twice?” Annja couldn’t believe it.

  “He had a good attorney,” Serov said. “One that I have used in the past.”

  “And one that I have used. Maruska Deyneka’s second boy, if I remember correctly.”

  Annja couldn’t believe the two old gangsters were chatting so casually. She shook her head.

  “I thought Oleg was her third boy,” Serov said.

  “Whatever.” Klykov rummaged inside his jacket and took out a business card. He offered it to Annja. “Here. For if you ever need him. And if you do, tell him I sent you. He is very good with murder charges.”

  Although she never planned on needing the lawyer’s services, Annja took the card and stuck it into her backpack to be polite. “What is Onoprienko doing these days?”

  “Obviously he’s still killing people. Look at poor Maurice.”

  “When he’s not killing people. Legitimate employment.”

  “You mean what is he doing as a job?” Klykov asked.

  “Yes.”

  Klykov looked thoughtful, tilting his head to one side. “He works as a bouncer at a club, right, Pitor? Someplace where the music is bad and it is too loud?”

  Serov disagreed. “Pavel’s working as a stocker at a discount liquor place these days. The club didn’t work out after he put a couple people in the hospital. They were cutting in line. Pavel told them not to. They didn’t listen. I heard they had to wait even longer at the emergency room.” He smiled at Annja as if he’d told a joke.

  Though the humor didn’t quite suit, Annja smiled in return.

  Klykov smirked. “Those people are lucky Onoprienko didn’t have a hammer.”

  “Pavel complained to the club owner, Karl Braz, and the police. Said he didn’t start the fight, he just finished it. Exactly what he thought he was supposed to do. He claimed he was doing his job and shouldn’t have been fired or arrested. You ask me, Braz got the worst of it. Pavel got arrested and released after Oleg Deyneka used video in front of the club to show that Pavel warned the people repeatedly. They didn’t listen, but they listened to the personal-claims shyster they retained.”

  “So Braz got sued.”

  “Of course. Cost him a fat bundle.”

  “Why would Braz hire Onoprienko in the first place?”

  “Says he got him cheap. Thought Onoprienko could just stand in the corner and scare people. Pavel can look very intimidating when he wishes to.”

  Annja looked at the image of the man on her tablet PC. Upon closer inspection, she spotted the deadness in his eyes.

  “Onoprienko complained to Braz?” Klykov asked as the cab driver took a right-hand turn and honked impatiently at the car ahead of him.

  “Yes. Pavel said he was treated unfairly, and he even tried to sue Braz himself. That didn’t go so well.”

  “How did Pavel get the job at the discount liquor?”

  “His mother. She begged the owner, who was the son of her best friend, to give Onoprienko the job. Onoprienko said he wasn’t to blame for the problem at the club, so his mother went to bat for him.” Serov chuckled. “This guy is a real chump. No matter what he does, it is always someone else’s fault.”

  “His mother got him the job?” Annja asked in disbelief.

  “Sure, sure. His mother, God bless her, loves her son very much even though he believes the rules of the world do not apply to him.”

  Annja tried to comprehend that. “She knows Onoprienko’s a killer?”

  “Sure, sure. She was always at his trials. She got thrown out of most of them. She’s a very demonstrative woman.”

  Serov nodded. “I think she is where Onoprienko gets all of his passion.” He paused. “The job at the club should have been a good fit for him. Pavel just doesn’t have much tolerance, you know. Especially not for authority.”

  “A guy like Pavel? The club owner should have known better. You can’t put him in a corner and expect him to stay there,” Klykov said.

  “Before we get all Dirty Dancing,” Annja said, “maybe we should talk about how to handle Onoprienko.”

  “Dirty dancing?” Klykov asked in confusion.

  “Sure,” Serov said. “You remember. The film with Patrick Swayze. We’ve seen it.”

  “Ah. The corner and no for Baby. Good movie.” Klykov nodded with a small smile and focused on Annja. “Never you mind about Onoprienko. Pitor and I will handle him. You just be prepared to ask him about the elephant. You’ll soon learn what Onoprienko did with it.”

  Annja didn’t feel too certain of that, but before she could ask any more questions, her phone rang. She checked the screen and saw that the caller was Doug Morrell, her producer. She considered blowing off the call, but he had come through with the swag delivery for Klykov and his cronies.

  She answered and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Doug.”

  “Look, I know you’re helping the police solve that murder and everything, but I tell you, we gotta come up with something for the show before long. Production wants to get something cooking. I want to get something cooking.” Doug was ambitious and always looking for the next big thing in television.

  “I’ve sent you three lists.” Annja drew a breath, willing to bet that Doug hadn’t even looked at the subjects she’d suggested. He seldom did until he was truly desperate, and he wasn’t there yet. She could tell by the tone in his voice.

  “Yeah, yeah, but we need something sexy. Not just that history junk.”

  Annja bristled at his casual disregard of her chosen field of study. If it hadn’t been for her successes, Chasing History’s Monsters might not have lasted a season. Of course, the whole monsters concept had been Doug’s idea.

  “Kristie is working on a volcano god story,” Doug said. “She got herself scheduled to become a sacrifice in Hawaii. Grass skirt, hula hoops, the whole enchilada. Of course, she’s not going to become a real sacrifice, but it sounds pretty intense. There’ll be lava, tiki gods, some kind of evil worshippers. I can’t wait to see it.”

  Kristie Chatham was the other star of Chasing History’s Monsters. She definitely was not an archaeologist or historian. She played on sensationalism and generally had wardrobe malfunctions in every episode. Her popularity among the teens and European market was a little higher than Annja’s own popularity, but the hardcore fan base of the show tuned in to see Annja. Generally she didn’t feel the competition, but occasionally she got irritated.

  “A sacrifice to a volcano god? Seriously? Doug, Christie just wants to go to Hawaii.”

  “Maybe so, but if she can pull off something worth filming—”

  Or some article of clothing, Annja couldn’t help thinking.

  “—then we’re locked and loaded. That’s all I’m asking for, Annja. Something that will satisfy the fans. That’s all any of us really want.”

  No, some of us would like to present a solid documentary. Annja sighed and tried to think of what to say. In a few days, Doug would be desperate and the tension would start to mount. Another call beeped in and the viewscreen showed Bart’s name. He wouldn’t call unless it was important because he thought she’d gone home and gone to bed.

  “I have to take this call, Doug. It’s the police. There could have been a break in the case.” That possibility deflated Annja somewhat. Solving murders was Bart’s job, but she felt like the elephant was much more than evidence in a homicide investigation. Once the police got their hands on the elephant, it would be impounded and she wouldn’t have access to it.

  “We need a show, Annja.” Doug sounded whiny and desperate, but it was put on, certainly not his best effort.

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And thanks again for the swag.” Annja broke the connection and answered Bart’s call.

  “A volcano god?” Twisted around in his seat, Serov nodded with bright interest. “Now that is something I would like to see. The other girl is not so good as you in my opinion, and she’s gorda. A little heavy. She nee
ds to go to the gym more.”

  Klykov snorted. “You’re one to talk about gyms, you who have never been inside one.”

  “I used to box.” Serov held up his hands and bobbed his head. The driver swayed away from the old gangster and looked concerned for a moment, then, when he realized the fists were just part of the conversation, he returned his attention to his driving and the real estate audio. “So why have we never gone to Hawaii?”

  “Too much water.” Klykov dismissed the question. “I don’t want to end up fighting sharks.”

  “Annja?” Bart said. “Are you there?”

  “Hi.” Annja turned away from Klykov and Serov. They got the hint and started shushing each other, sounding like leaky tires. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Bart hesitated. “We had to let those two guys who shot up the diner go free. Someone, we don’t know who yet, hired one of Manhattan’s top criminal lawyers to force us to cut them loose.”

  “They didn’t pay for their own lawyer?”

  “No. They never even called anyone. Judging from the little background we’ve got on these guys, neither one of them had the money to hire the attorney they got. But that’s not the real problem. I take it you haven’t been near a television.”

  The television above the bar had on a Russian-language channel. “No.”

  “As soon as those guys left the precinct, they were shot dead, killed right on the street. Whoever did it was a pro, put a .22 round in each of their heads in the open and got away with it clean. We’re going over the videos of the security cams, but nobody’s seen anything.”

  “Why would anyone kill those two?” It didn’t make sense to Annja.

  “I think the hunt for your elephant is still on.” Bart didn’t sound happy. “Whoever hired those guys to look for it decided to clean up the mess they left behind.”

  “That means they knew whoever had them killed.”

  “Yeah, so we’re digging into their backgrounds, looking for anything that will lead us to anyone interested in stuff like that elephant.”

  “Antiquities.”

  “Yeah. Those. Just a second.” Bart was silent for a moment, but a voice spoke up in the background. “Look, I gotta go, Annja. I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay. I didn’t see these murders coming, and it made me worry about you.”

  “I’m fine, but now I’m worried about you. You’re still looking for the person behind this.”

  “I’m with the NYPD. I’m not going to be alone. I just didn’t want you out there doing anything stupid.”

  “Just a little shopping.”

  “Get it done and get home. Put your security on at your loft. Stay inside. That guy Nguyen? He’s in the wind, too. He escaped the cruiser that was transporting him to lockup, and a few minutes ago I got a report that a guy matching his description got into a fight with some Russian thugs only a few blocks from the Benyovszky murder scene.”

  “Where was this?”

  “A cybercafe.” Bart read off the address and Annja realized it was on the same street as Buba’s. Just across the street, in fact. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No.” Annja hated lying to Bart, didn’t do it as a general rule because she respected him too much and their friendship was one of the things she valued the most, but she wanted to keep him out of her investigation, at least for now.

  “Then why did you ask?” Bart was suspicious. He had good instincts.

  “Just curious, that’s all. If Nguyen is still in that area, maybe the elephant is, too.”

  “Exactly what Joe and I were thinking.” The voice sounded in the background again, more insistent this time. “I have to go. I just want you to make sure you take care of yourself.”

  “I always do.”

  Bart said goodbye and hung up.

  If the elephant led to Benyovszky’s murderer, Annja told herself she would hand the artifact over. Reluctantly. She told herself the only reason she wasn’t blowing the whistle on Onoprienko was because she wasn’t yet as convinced of the man’s guilt as Klykov and Serov were.

  The cab glided to a curb in front of a dumpy apartment building.

  “We’re here,” Klykov announced. He handed the driver a hundred dollar bill. “Stay here. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, but the meter’s gonna be ticking.”

  After Klykov opened the door and got out, Annja slid over and followed him. She grabbed her backpack and pulled it on.

  “I could carry that for you,” Serov offered.

  Annja shook her head. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you, but this backpack goes everywhere I do.”

  Serov shrugged, then followed Klykov into the building.

  Chapter 15

  “You’re sure Onoprienko lives here?” Annja trailed after Klykov, who was taking his time with the stairs.

  “Yeah. Fifth floor.” Klykov looked at Serov and frowned. “You didn’t say this was a walkup.”

  “You should have known. It would be easier to name the buildings with elevators in this neighborhood.” Serov walked to one side of Klykov, both of them in front of Annja.

  “You could have told me Onoprienko lived on the fifth floor.”

  “I did.”

  “Guys,” Annja said as they neared the third-floor landing. The anticipation of getting to Onoprienko, and to the elephant, was making her impatient, and the familiar bickering between the two old gangsters was getting on her nerves a little. It also reminded her of how Garin and Roux acted sometimes. She assumed it had to do with people who had spent so much of their lives together.

  They stopped and looked at her, breathing a little harder than they had been due to the strenuous climb.

  “I can go up and see Onoprienko on my own.”

  “No,” they said together.

  “Onoprienko is a dangerous man.” Klykov started up the next flight with a look of determination. “We’re already halfway there anyway.”

  “A girl like you,” Serov added, “he would kill you in an instant. That thing you did with Georgy? That was a fun thing to watch. But Onoprienko? He is no Georgy. He is a much different kind of man.”

  Annja continued, not having any choice because although she knew Onoprienko lived on the fifth floor, she didn’t know which apartment the man lived in.

  “You do realize there’s a chance Onoprienko’s not even there? I mean, if you’re right, he did kill Benyovszky last night.” Annja thought maybe if she suggested this was a waste of time she might talk them out of accompanying her any farther.

  “He’d better be there,” Klykov growled. “If I go all this way, and on my bum knee, and he isn’t there, I may shoot him myself the next time I lay eyes on him.”

  Annja thought Klykov was kidding. She hoped he was kidding.

  “Maybe we should have called first?” Serov suggested. “You know, to make certain Onoprienko is at home.”

  “Would you take a call after you’d just killed a man and knew the police might be looking for you?” Klykov asked.

  “I never have. I always wait a few days. Let things cool down.”

  “Exactly. So Onoprienko is up in that apartment because he has nowhere else to go.”

  Annja followed, always glancing up to make sure Onoprienko didn’t bump into them on his way out of the building. “Onoprienko doesn’t still live with his mom, does he?”

  Klykov and Serov reached the fifth-floor landing and stood there for a moment to catch their breath.

  “No,” Klykov said.

  “She wouldn’t let him,” Serov added.

  Klykov shrugged. “Onoprienko, he has a thing for the ladies. His mother, who should be a saint for all the trouble that son of hers has caused her, would never allow such a thing in her home. Getting to have girls come to his house is probably the only reason Onoprienko moved out of his mother’s place.”

  “What about a roommate?” Annja glanced down the hallway.

  “He lives on his own,” Klykov said.

&n
bsp; “No one would live with the likes of him.” Serov nodded at Klykov. “I am ready.”

  Together, the two men walked down the hallway and stopped in front of number six.

  Klykov removed his hat, then leaned in and pressed his ear to the door. After a minute, he pulled back. “All I hear is the television. A game show, I think.” He tried the doorknob slowly, then shook his head. “Locked.”

  “It won’t be for long.” Serov took a flat case out of his pocket and opened it, revealing an impressive assortment of lock picks. He knelt down and set to work on the door.

  “You’re sure this is the right apartment?” Annja glanced along the hallway, thinking that if a neighbor happened on them this would be hard to explain. Breaking into an innocent person’s home would be hard to explain, too.

  “Sure, sure.” Klykov nodded. “Don’t you worry, Annja. Me and Pitor got this. This is easy-shmeezy for us. You just stay back so you don’t get hurt.”

  “Right.” Annja leaned against the wall beside Klykov and thought about the mysterious assassin who had killed Calapez and Pousao, if those were really their names, in front of the police precinct. She hated thinking something might happen to Klykov and Serov, and if it did, it would be her fault.

  Serov got to his feet, put his lock picks away and hauled out a massive revolver that Annja had not even realized he had. It had a long barrel and looked like it was capable of bringing down a charging rhino. “Okay, we can do this now.”

  “You’ve got a gun?” Annja asked.

  Serov looked at the weapon. “Well, yeah. I’m not gonna go after Pavel Onoprienko with a hammer. Do you want a pistol? I have an extra.”

  Of course he did. Annja felt the situation was sliding out of control. “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Pitor likes those big guns,” Klykov said. “Like something those guys out in the Old West would carry. I go for something a little more sophisticated.” He pulled out a sleek Beretta, then took out another one. “Maybe you’ll find it more to your liking.”

  “No, but thanks.”

  Klykov shrugged. “I didn’t know if you had one in your backpack.”

  “No.”

  Klykov nodded at Serov, who reached for the doorknob, turned it, then pushed and followed the door inside.