“How about another out-of-body experience, big boy?”
CHAPTER 29 – SANDWICHES AND SVETLANA
After leaving Alice late in the morning I went directly from the ferry to my office. I was working on the assumption that no one would try to kill me in broad daylight in a busy part of town. I had second thoughts about that assumption when a black Mercedes sedan pulled alongside me in the parking lot near my building and the driver-side window rolled down. My hand was on my gun when I recognized the driver. The fact that he didn’t shoot me indicated that it was probably a social call.
“Hello, Maks,” I said. “You really should be buying American. You steal enough of our money. It must gall you to drive a German car.”
Actually, Maks Kalugin, the ageless killer who solved most of the Rahm family’s problems, looked like he belonged in a tank turret.
“I hate the fucking Krauts,” he said, “but you can’t beat their engineers. The Nazis almost made it to Moscow. Get in. Arman wants to see you.”
“It’s lunchtime,” I said, mainly to piss him off.
“Get the fuck in.”
I got in.
“So what have you been up to, Maks? Still regret saving my life?”
“Both times.”
Despite his fireplug body and thick stubby hands, Kalugin was an accomplished driver and weaved in and out of traffic with a bodyguard’s practiced finesse. But not everyone drove as well. He had to brake hard as someone cut us off on Targee Street. He cursed in Russian. I hoped the rest of the ride would be uneventful. The thought of Kalugin road rage was something I didn’t want to contemplate.
“I presume you didn’t try to shoot me the other day in Snug Harbor.”
He laughed, a rare occurrence.
“You are still alive.”
“Sorry, it was a dumb thing to say.”
He looked over at me.
“You should be shot, and often.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, so we spent the rest of the ride in silence.
The Rahm dacha on Todt Hill would have pleased the Czars. That didn’t surprise me. Scratch a Rahm and you’ll find a Romanov. The family changed its name and politics during Stalin’s times, for obvious reasons, and its members became dedicated, if convenient, Communists. The current patriarch, Marat Rahm, even rose in the ranks of the KGB and then Russia’s GRU after the breakup of the Soviet Union. But the new Russia was too chaotic for his taste and he emigrated to the United States and restored his family’s capitalist inclinations. First settling in Brighton Beach in Brooklyn, he consolidated loosely-associated Russian gangs into a disciplined organization. Unique among crime bosses, after relocating to Staten Island Marat recruited from other ethnic gangs, including the Mafia, usually after their leaders met untimely deaths.
I followed Kalugin to the rear of the huge house. Arman Rahm was swimming in an Olympic-size pool. A young and very attractive woman was sunning herself topless in a lounge chair. She was reading a book that she balanced on her rather massive breasts. As we passed her I said to Kalugin, “It must be large print. I don’t think I could read something that far away.”
That got my second Kalugin smile of the day, a new record for me.
Arman spotted us and climbed out of the pool. He walked over to a table on the other side of the pool from the topless reader and motioned me to sit while he toweled off. There was a large bowl of ice on the table in which a pitcher filled with limes and liquid sweated in the shade of the table’s umbrella. A dragonfly with mottled gold wings hovered above the pitcher. Kalugin gently swished it away.
“Why didn’t you just shoot it?”
“I like them,” he said seriously. “They eat their weight in mosquitoes every day.”
“We used to call them ‘darning needles’ when I was a kid.”
“In Russia we call them ‘eap uyttep,’ means ‘ear cutter’.”
When he’d dried off, Rahm sat. He was a tall, good-looking man with matinee-idol looks and degrees from Columbia and Wharton. In the past I’d teased him that he reminded me of a Czarist cavalry officer from a silent film, only to be told that his ‘Rhamanov’ ancestors had indeed served the Czar but shortened the family name to survive the Bolsheviks. Now, he was royalty of another kind, the heir apparent in a criminal dynasty following the assassination of his older brother. Arman and I were about the same age and had been, if not friends, friendly in our youth, frequently on the same pick-up basketball teams. That didn’t stop him from setting me up and almost getting me killed a few months earlier. But it had all worked out in the end and I didn’t hold a grudge.
“Would you like a Margarita, Alton?”
“Sure.”
He pointed to a bowl of salt. I shook my head.
“He’s hungry,” Kalugin said dismissively.
“Well, so am I,” Rahm said as he made us both drinks. He didn’t rim his glass with salt, either. “Maks, will you tell the kitchen to send out some sandwiches for us?” He yelled across the pool. “Svetlana, do you want some lunch?”
The woman placed the book flat on her chest and said, “Yoghurt.”
“Watching her figure,” Rahm explained as Kalugin walked away.
“There’s a lot to watch,” I said.
Rahm laughed as we clinked glasses. The Margarita was excellent.
“How is your father, Arman?”
“Very well, thank you. He’s in Europe, visiting Eleni.” He smiled. “She asks for you often.”
I wanted to change the subject. Rahm’s sister was a sore subject to me.
“And how is Porgie Carmichael working out?”
Porgie was an inept thug working for the Carlucci crime family whom I’d grown fond of, especially after he refused an assignment to kill me. One of the favors I had asked the Rahms after inadvertently solving their Carlucci problems for them was to find a job for Porgie in one of their legitimate operations.
“He was one of your better recommendations,” Arman said, pouring us another drink. “We own a marine supply business in Great Kills. He manages it for us. Knows boats like the back of his hand. He even bought one of his own and runs his own fishing charters.” There was an evil twinkle in Arman’s eyes. “Who knows, that may come in handy some day.”
I had a vision of men with their feet in cement.
“Arman, I want him to stay out of trouble.”
“I know, I know. I’m only teasing you.”
Kalugin walked up with another man who was carrying a tray. The man, who looked like he should be sitting on a Cossack pony, set out our lunch and then brought Svetlana her yoghurt. He went back into the house and Kalugin sat with us, but didn’t eat.
“You on the Svetlana diet, Maks?”
He ignored me. The sandwiches were terrific. I don’t think Russian mob bosses have to send back food too often.
“You’ve got something on Sharon Sullivan,” Arman said between bites. “What is it?”
Ah, the reason for my summons.
“So, you’re still sleeping with that blonde assistant D.A.”
“Among others. The point is, I have a vested interest in the status quo in St. George.”
“I bet you do. Every other crook on Staten Island hopes that Costello wins. He’s so incompetent it will be open season.”
“I like to know what’s going on. Costello would allow too much competition. Tell me what you have. I know about the argument at the Staaten.”
“Does Sullivan know?”
“I don’t think so. No one in his office would have the temerity to tell him, I imagine.”
I suspected, and hoped, that was also true of the people in the Staaten who witnessed the scene.
“So, what was it about?”
“Un, unh.”
He poured us both another Margarita.
“Alton, just because we have a history together and I let you walk out of this house once doesn’t mean we have to make a habit out of it.”
I laughed.
“
Oh, for Crissake, Arman, spare me the gulag threats. You know I won’t tell you anything I don’t want you to know. You won’t kill me because then you’ll never know. Torture? I think not. I’ve handled worse than you can probably dish out.”
“Chemicals?”
“Oh, come on.”
“Just asking.”
I took another sandwich.
“Look. I’m not even sure what I have. And you’re not the only one threatening me.”
“He said someone tried to shoot him the other day,” Kalugin interjected.
“Tell me about that,” Arman said.
I did, and also told him of my suspicions about the deaths of Denton and Elizabeth Olsen.
“But you won’t tell me how Sharon Sullivan is involved.”
“I didn’t say she was.” I hadn’t mentioned the fingerprints. “But she and the Olsens were close and I think she knows something she’s not telling her husband. That’s why we fought.” It felt really good lying to Rahm for a change. “I think we’re working the same side of the street, Arman. I don’t want anything happening to Sharon Sullivan or her husband, either.”
I thought it was time to throw him a bone.
“There may come a time when you can help me out on this. You’ll just have to trust me.”
Rahm looked at Kalugin.
“What do you think, Maks?”
Kalugin looked at me.
“What choice do we have? Except hope the sniper has better luck.”
CHAPTER 30 – HORNETS NEST
The next morning I stopped at the King’s Arms diner on Forest Avenue. A nice healthy breakfast of oatmeal with fruit and nuts can unclog the arteries of the brain and promote sharp thinking. Alice the waitress came over with her pad and a pot of coffee.
“What will you have, honey?”
“Eggs over with bacon. Home fries. Extra butter on the toast.”
I would have enjoyed my meal but for the woman who was sitting at the next table with a small child. The kid, who was no more fidgety than any other three-year-old, wasn’t the problem. In fact, she was absorbed with her crayons and grilled cheese sandwich. Her mother, on the other hand, was absorbed in a conversation on her cell phone, virtually ignoring the little girl.
“She’s just a slut,” the woman said. “And she has the balls to call me an unfit mother. I’m not the one sleeping with every swinging dick in town. I don’t know why my brother doesn’t kick her ass out. Fat piece of shit that she is.” She reached over and yanked her daughter’s arm. “Eat that sandwich, Miranda.”
All of this said in a loud voice. By the end of my meal I – and everyone else in the diner– knew that her brother had just gotten out of jail, her ‘piece of shit’ sister-in-law didn’t want her kids hanging out with Miranda and that it was too bad Oprah was no longer on TV.
“She gave away some terrific fuckin’ stuff. Yeah, Ellen is good, but she’s no Oprah in that department.”
At one point Miranda, who was a cutie-pie, dropped a piece of her grilled cheese on the floor. Her mother slapped her hand and the kid began to cry.
“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about,” the woman said, raising her hand.
Everyone in the place froze. If she hit the kid again, I would have to do something, although I doubted I’d get there before a gaggle of grandmotherly-looking ladies who were sitting nearer to her table. They were ready to pounce.
We were saved by Alice who quickly moved to the little girl and picked up the offending sandwich from the floor.
“Don’t cry, honey. Happens to anybody. How about a cookie?” She looked at the mother. “Can she have a cookie? On the house?”
The magic words.
“Yeah, sure. You want a cookie, Miranda?”
Miranda did, and stopped crying. I paid my check and left, secure in the knowledge that the grandmother brigade had the kid’s back, at least until she left the restaurant. Seeing the mother, I couldn’t help but wonder what the “piece of shit” sister-in-law was like.
I eased my sudden feeling of depression by recalling that some great adults came out of terrible childhoods. But then I thought of Sharon Sullivan and how far she had traveled from her upbringing. I drove to my office with a sense of foreboding.
***
I was pretty sure something would happen if I just sat back and waited. I had thrown enough rocks at the hornets’ nest. I can’t say it was a fun time. I stopped jogging and avoided standing by windows. But that wasn’t the worst part. Konrad Olsen called and asked if my trip to Georgia had proven fruitful. I gave him some half-truths. After he hung up it occurred to me that I was getting very good at misleading people. If private investigating didn’t work out, I could always become a weatherman.
On the third day of waiting, something happened. I was sitting on my back deck drinking a beer tempting fate when my cell went off. It was late and dark enough to discourage the average sniper, so I wasn’t too worried. My yard has a lot of trees, besides.
“Mr. Rhode, this is Raymond Ricks, you know, the security guard. Remember me?”
“Yes, Ray, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I hate to bother you so late, but you said to call if something came up.”
I slapped at a mosquito. All in all, I prefer snipers to mosquitoes. I’ve been in combat zones where we lost more blood to the bugs than to the enemy.
“I remember you said you’d call the real cops first.”
“I know. But I figure that might not be such a good idea. Tell you the truth, I don’t know what to do, but maybe you will.”
“Spit it out, Ray.”
Something screeched from behind my garage at the rear of my property. It was a death sound. I suspected that Scar had made his own dinner plans.
“Well, I was doin’ my rounds when I spotted someone going into Mr. Denton’s house. It bein’ so late and all, I got suspicious.”
“So, why didn’t you call the cops?”
“Because I thought I recognized her. She’s been in the papers, and, of course, she comes to the club a lot.”
“She?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ you. It looked like Mrs. Sullivan, you know, the D.A.’s wife.”
I came out of my deck chair.
“Are you sure?”
“I am now. I went to a window and looked in. She was roamin’ around like she was searchin’ for something. I can’t just call the cops on her, can I? I mean, she’s the fuckin’ D.A.’s wife.”
“Didn’t the alarm go off?”
“No. She must have used a key and turned it off. What should I do?”
“Just sit tight. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
***
Ricks was leaning against his company car twirling his cap when I pulled up. There was another car in the drive. I walked up to the door and tried it. It was open. I turned to Ricks, who was right behind me.
“I’m going in,” I said. “I can take it from here. You can go about your rounds. And it might be better if you kept this to yourself, at least for now.”
“I’m supposed to report this kind of thing.”
“I appreciate the call. I don’t want to get you in trouble but this may be a delicate matter. If we handle it properly, you might wind up helping some powerful people, who won’t forget.”
“I still don’t feel right about just leavin’.”
“OK. Just wait out here. I’ll talk to you when I come out. I’ll know more then.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Rhode. I haven’t had this much excitement since the Army.”
***
Sharon Sullivan was sitting on a couch in the den. The Eames chair was still in front of the fireplace fulfilling its role as the elephant in the room. When she saw me a look of shock, then confusion, crossed her face.
“Oh, God, no! What are you doing here?”
“Never mind that,” I said. “Are you all right?”
“How did you find me? You’ll ruin everything. He’ll be here any mi
nute.”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Why did you come here, Sharon? What the hell is going on?”
“He called. Told me to meet him here.”
“Who called?”
“I don’t know. He just said he knew who I really was. Said he was the one who first told Denton about me. He said he wants money. A lot of it.”
“I’ll wait here with you, Sharon. I’ll fix it, don’t worry. When it’s over, you can decide what to tell Mike. He loves you.”
Her face sagged into a visage of hopelessness.
“You don’t understand. He said he has videos of what …. of the sex with Denton. He said the videos were here, in this house.”
Jesus Christ.
“He said he would send it to Mike unless I paid him $100,000.”
I had no idea how I was going to get her out of this.
“Listen. There is a security guard outside. I’ll send him away. If we haven’t already scared the blackmailer off, I still want you to let me handle him. It’s the only way.”
For a second I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. But then they widened as she looked behind me over my shoulder.
“Hey, Laura Lee. How’ya been? It’s been a long time, honey.”
I recognized the voice, of course, and I knew what I’d be facing as I turned around.
CHAPTER 31 – STAR TREK
Raymond Ricks stood there with a wolfish grin pointing his black Glock at my midsection. It still clashed with his brown uniform.
“Open your jacket slowly, Mr. Rhode.” He saw my gun in its holster on my right hip. “Using your left hand, take your piece out and put it on the table. No quick moves. You ain’t in Snug Harbor now. I can hit you blindfolded from here.” I did as he said. “Now, back up and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“This is even worse than finding out the butler did it,” I said.
He laughed as he picked up my Taurus revolver with his free hand and put it in his waistband.
“Don’t feel too bad. You got closer to the truth than anyone else would have. I think you would have figured it all out eventually. I could have kicked myself when I slipped up and told you I was from Vidalia.”
LAURA LEE (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 2) Page 17