by Walter Marks
“Listen, I know you’re upset,” Jericho said. “I am too. But we’ve got to figure this out…together.”
Maria’s expression turned bitter. “I’m ready to put myself in jeopardy, but I never realized I might be endangering the people I love. They’ve got to be protected.”
“Tell you what,” Jericho said. “I’ll put your house under surveillance. I’ve got two guys I trust who can do it, one for day, one for night.”
Maria nodded, still looking apprehensive.
“For now,” Jericho said, “go home and stay with your folks. Tell them not to worry.”
“What about Rosario? She’s in school now.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“She’s been through enough already.”
“That’s why you don’t want to alarm her further,” Jericho said. “Look, you can pick her up after school yourself. Meanwhile, I’ll station Detective Dobrowolski in front of your house today. Anything happens, he’ll call for backup immediately. I’ll call you when he’s in place.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Jericho,” Maria said firmly, “we’ve got to make this sting work tonight. We need to nail these guys before they go after my family!”
“We’ll get ’em.”
CHAPTER 67
When they met in the Headquarters parking lot that night, Jericho gave Maria a last-minute warning.
“If anything, anything at all makes you think Oleg’s made you, get the hell outta there immediately.”
“I will.”
“One tipoff will be if he doesn’t offer you a job fairly soon. That would mean he’s suspicious of you.”
Maria nodded.
“And remember,” Jericho said, “I’ll be right outside in my car. The restaurant has a big front window. Take one of the tables where I can see you. That way, if anything goes wrong…”
“Don’t worry,” Maria said. “I got this.”
The night was chilly and dark as Jericho and Maria drove their separate cars into the dimly lit mini mall parking lot. The hardware store, the dry cleaners, and the florist were closed. Only the pizza restaurant remained open.
Maria parked near the entrance, in one of the vertical, white-lined parking spaces. Jericho also parked in the lot but across from Mangia Benny, his car facing out so he could watch the restaurant.
Maria went inside. She was playing the part to the hilt, wearing a threadbare woolen coat, jeans, old Ugg boots, and a tight, pink polyester sweater emphasizing her breasts. Her makeup was garish, her hair was down and had the red Clairol rinse in it. Even Jericho had said he could hardly recognize her.
In the cold fluorescent lighting, she saw a teenage couple in a booth and a gray-haired man dining alone. She sat at an empty table in front of the window, knowing Jericho could see her.
“You alone, hon?” the waitress asked.
Maria said she was waiting for someone and ordered a coffee.
Jericho watched her, then checked his equipment. His Glock was in his shoulder holster, his gloves, handcuffs, and the magnetic car tracker were in the deep pockets of his bomber jacket. He turned on his GPS and his current location was indicated by a blinking dot on a map. He switched to tracking mode. The Stick-it Mini Tracker and Data Logger immediately sent a signal to his GPS screen showing the same location. It was All Systems Go.
Several minutes later, a black limousine pulled into a parking space in front of Mangia Benny’s entrance. Jericho quickly wrote down the license plate number. He could see the blacked-out windows in the rear section, matching Rosario’s description of the vehicle. There were two men in the front seat. This was bad news — there was a driver, which meant Oleg was probably the passenger. If so, the driver was likely to stay in the car, making it difficult for Jericho to sneak up and stick the transponder under the rear bumper. If he made any noise or the driver saw him through his side mirror, it was all over.
“Maria?”
She looked up and saw a large man grinning down at her.
“My friend Maria chickened out,” she said. “But she told me all about you. I’m Doris, Doris Colón.”
“Nice to meet you, Doris,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice.
“Same here.”
“I’m Oleg. But you can call me O.”
He took off his black overcoat, revealing a black cashmere turtleneck sweater stretched by the bulging musculature of his upper body. His face had exactly the brutish look Rosario had described.
“You’re a beautiful young lady,” he said, sitting down. “How is it your friend Maria decided not to come?”
“She said she didn’t think she had the looks for modeling.”
“Well, you certainly do.”
“To tell you the truth, Mr. O,” Maria said. “I’m totally broke. I was a housekeeper at a motel for a while but I got laid off.”
“I understand, Doris,” he said. “With the economy these days, so many people are struggling.”
Exactly same line he used on me before, Maria thought.
“Yeah, times are tough,” she said. She’d decided not to use a Spanish accent — it would only get in the way.
“Doris,” Oleg said, “could you do me a favor? I need to see your ID. It’s company policy.”
“Oh, sure. Here’s my driver’s license.”
She handed him her cousin’s ID. “I know I look a little different, but that was taken before I had my red hair.” She smiled.
Oleg looked at the picture, compared it to Maria, then handed it back to her.
“Thanks, Doris,” he said. “Would you like to order something? I see you have coffee.”
“I’m good.”
“How about a cannoli?” he said, signaling the waitress. “It’s not exactly health food, but hey, a treat now and then never hurt anybody.”
The waitress came over and Oleg ordered two cannoli.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” he said. “Where are you from?”
Maria used a story she’d heard from a young woman at one of her OLA meetings. She began a detailed account of her Mexican family’s ordeal, getting smuggled by heartless coyotes across the Rio Grande near Matamoros and into Brownsville, Texas.
After a few minutes Oleg interrupted.
“Hold on,” he said. “I know this is rude but my cell’s vibrating and I’m expecting a text. Please forgive me.”
He took a device from his pocket and pushed a button. Maria knew instantly it was an electronic bug detector.
After a few moments, Oleg put the “cell phone” away. “I’m so sorry. Just a business thing.”
“No problem.”
“Please go on.”
Jericho rapped on the windshield of the limo. He showed his gold shield and signaled the driver to lower his window.
“East Hampton Police,” he said. “License and registration, sir.”
The driver looked fearful and reached over into the glove compartment. Jericho put his hand on his gun.
The driver’s license said he was Yevgeny Asimov of Bronx, New York. The vehicle was registered to Oleg Plashik, Bath Beach, Brooklyn.
“Sir,” Jericho said politely, “I noticed one of your taillights was out.”
The driver replied in a Russian accent. “No, no. Taillights good. I pretty sure.”
“If you don’t mind, please turn them on and I’ll check.”
“I do.”
Jericho walked to the rear of the car. Both taillights went on. He bent over and attached the magnetic tracker under the rear bumper. Then he returned to speak to the driver.
“Looks okay back there,” Jericho said. “Sometimes the wiring gets loose and disconnects the lights. Better have a mechanic check it.”
“I check tomorrow.”
“Have a nice evening, sir,” Jericho said before returning to his own car. He decided to drive out of the parking lot in case the limo driver was watching him. He made a U-turn on the street and turned off his headlights. He r
e-entered the lot from the far end and parked in the shadows. His view of the restaurant’s entrance was not as good, but he could still see Maria.
Maria had finished her story of illegal immigration and was bemoaning the difficulty of finding decent employment without a green card. She said she’d left home a year ago because her single mother had become a strung out junkie. She was now living with a girlfriend. But without a job, she was feeling hopeless about her future.
Oleg nodded sympathetically and went into his pitch.
“Doris, I may be able to help you,” he said. “I run an agency that places girls in lucrative jobs in the area. We specialize in modeling, both live and in print. Have you had any experience in that field?”
“I…no, but a lot of people say I’m photogenic.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “Here’s how my agency works. We give you a nice place to live, get you a wardrobe of fashionable clothes, and send you out on jobs. The good money is in modeling lingerie and swimwear, both runway and photographic. If you’re not comfortable with that, there’s still plenty of work. It’s completely up to you.”
“Can I ask you — what kind of money are we talking about here?”
“Girls can make, oh, maybe five hundred a day, depending on the job. With your looks you may even do better.”
“Wow! And…how much do you get?”
“Twenty percent. That’s pretty standard,” Oleg said. “Look, in this field there’s a lot of exploitation of young women. But that’s not my thing. I do make a good living, but that’s not my only motivation. I get a lot of satisfaction from helping people who need help. There’s such income inequality in our country — that couldn’t be more evident than out here in the Hamptons. This is my way of doing something about it.”
“You sure make it sound like a good deal.”
“It is. But I don’t want to pressure you.”
“Listen, O,” Maria said. “…I’m sorry, but I’d rather call you Oleg if you don’t mind. It’s Russian isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s kinda romantic,” she said in a subtly flirtatious tone.
“Glad you think so.”
“Oleg,” Maria said, “I’d like to take you up on your offer. It would sure solve a lot of my problems. I just need to go back and get my things, clothes, makeup…”
“I’ll take care of all that,” Oleg said. “Why don’t you come with me now?”
“I can’t leave my roommate without saying goodbye,” Maria explained. “She’s been a good friend to me. She’s out with her boyfriend tonight and won’t be back till morning. I need to see her before I leave.”
“I respect that.”
“Tell you what,” Maria said. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow night, same time. Then I can start my new life with you.”
“Promise you won’t change your mind?”
“I promise,” Maria said. “Well…I think I’ll get going.” She got up and put on her shabby wool coat.
“What’s the rush? You haven’t finished your cannoli.”
“It’s just…I need some time alone. This is a big change for me, and I…I…I’m sure you understand.”
Oleg nodded. “Can I give you a lift?”
“That’s okay. I have my roommate’s car,” she said. “See you tomorrow night. And thank you, Oleg.”
She walked to the door. As she opened it she suddenly felt an arm around her waist, and a metal object pressed into her lower back. She heard Oleg’s voice, harsh with menace.
“Don’t make a sound,” he growled. “This gun will blow a hole in your spine. Walk slowly to that limo, open the door, and get in.”
Maria looked furtively for Jericho’s car. It was not where it was supposed to be.
“Move it,” Oleg said.
She followed his instructions. Inside the car it was dark. She sat down and felt a sharp prick of pain in her thigh. Her mind whirled and quickly dissolved into blackness.
CHAPTER 68
Jericho saw Maria coming out of the restaurant, pushed from behind by Oleg. Jericho grabbed his weapon and was about to jump out of his car when he saw a glint of metal in Oleg’s hand. Fuck! A gun! Once she was inside the car, Oleg joined her and slammed the car door.
Jericho watched helplessly as the limo drove away. He couldn’t try and stop them, not with Maria trapped in the back seat with a gun-wielding thug.
But the flashing dot on his GPS map told him the magnetic transponder was doing its job. He decided to wait until the limo was out of sight.
It was headed east on Springs Fireplace Road. He gave them a two-minute head start, then left the lot and pursued them down the dark road.
As he drove he was racked with fear and guilt. How could I have put her in this situation? I came up with the plan, but I wasn’t the one in danger — Maria was. She agreed to do it, but she has no experience working undercover.
What’s going to happen to her? Did she blow her cover? If so, Oleg will kill her. Or did he kidnap her — to force her to work for him? In that case he’ll surely rape her, beat her, God knows what. How can I stop this? If I catch up with him too early, he’ll spot me and I’ll be powerless because he has Maria as a hostage. If I get there too late, I won’t be able to keep him from doing whatever he wants to Maria.
All I can do is keep going. I’ll figure this out. I’ve got to!
He watched the flashing dot on GPS screen. The limo turned north off Springs Fireplace onto Copeces Lane. Jericho sped up and by the time he turned on Copeces, the limo had driven the two miles to Three Mile Harbor Road and turned left onto it. Jericho followed, and when he got to Three Mile Harbor, the limo had turned left again and was headed up Fanyon Way. At the end of Fanyon the dot on the screen stopped. After about thirty seconds Jericho saw it move again, very slowly, like a snail creeping across the screen.
He knew the limo was now on the dirt road Rosario had described to Maria.
It took Jericho about five minutes till he reached Fanyon Way. On his left he saw the “Residencia” sign, and to the right, the “Crackenbush Poultry Farm.” There was no sound from the rooster. He followed Fanyon up the hill to a dead end. In his headlights he saw a steel gate blocking the entrance to the dirt road. There was a large sign on it reading “Private Property — No Trespassing.” Below was another sign with the ADT Home Security logo, and a warning: “Gate Electronically Alarmed — Do Not Enter.”
He didn’t dare crash his car through the gate. He’d have to park and circle it by walking through the woods. Then he’d follow the dirt road on foot till he reached wherever Maria was being taken.
On the GPS screen Jericho saw the flashing dot continue moving along the dirt road. Then it stopped.
Let’s see, he thought, it took the limo about ten minutes on that dirt road. Rosario said the road was very bumpy — that’s why the limo was going so slowly.
Figure it was doing maybe ten miles an hour, so I’d guess the path would be about, oh…two miles long. I could run that in about twelve minutes, but the surface will surely be too rough, especially in the dark. So…walking, it’ll take me maybe twenty minutes or more. Shit!
I better get going.
He thought about calling for backup. I better not. Most of our guys are inexperienced or knuckleheads or both. Who knows how long it’ll take them to get here? Oleg has God-know-how-many guards with automatic weapons. Our men could blunder in and get slaughtered. Maria could be raped and killed. This whole rescue operation could become a bloody disaster.
He cut his headlights and found himself in pitch-black darkness. He turned on his cabin light, opened the glove box, and grabbed his flashlight. The batteries were dead. Figures!
He took out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight app. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He turned off the overhead light and got out of the car. There was no wind. The world around him was cold, dark, and totally silent, almost like the void of outer space.
Jericho pulled on his woo
len gloves. He entered the woods and began making his way through the dense forest. It was slow going — he had to negotiate every step by the dim cell phone light, avoiding trees and fallen tree trunks, tripping on vines, struggling through dense bushes. As he emerged onto the dirt road, a thorny branch raked painfully across his cheek.
The footing on the dirt road was treacherous. There were deep gullies, jutting rocks, unpredictable holes and dirt mounds. After a few steps, his ankle suddenly twisted, and he barely avoided spraining it by shifting his weight to the other foot.
Be careful, he told himself. If I get hurt I won’t be able to help Maria. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get wherever I’m going. And I have no idea what I’ll do when I get there. He felt for his gun in his shoulder holster. It gave him some reassurance. But not much.
He gritted his teeth and soldiered on.
CHAPTER 69
Oleg carried Maria’s unconscious body up the outside stairway of the garage. He entered his apartment and dumped her face up on his bed. He removed her coat, working her arms through the sleeves and pulling the coat out from under her. Then he left her fully clothed on the bed.
Taking off his overcoat, Oleg walked over to a dresser. On top of it he placed his gun, bug detector, keys, iPhone, and an ampoule of the drug he’d used on Maria. Then he crossed to the bed, sat down, and watched the passed-out woman, his new plaything.
He admired her full lips, lustrous reddish hair, and the plump breasts that filled out her pink, polyester sweater. Oleg looked but didn’t touch. It was more fun that way.
Slowly Maria’s eyes fluttered and opened. She looked around, trying to focus and get her bearings.
“Ah, Doris,” Oleg said. “Welcome to my humble abode. I gave you an injection of propofol — yeah, the shit that killed Michael Jackson.”
He reached in his pants pocket and took out a syringe with the needle cover on it. He shook the milky-white liquid inside it. “Milk of Amnesia, they call it. If I gave you all of this, you’d be up in faggot heaven with Michael.”