Avenue of Thieves

by Sean Black

  “Yes.”

  “Any other family here?”

  “My wife has, but my mother and father are both dead and I was an only child. I have an ex-wife back in Russia but, as you can imagine, she’s hardly someone they would target.”

  “Not on good terms?” asked Ty.

  Dimitri shrugged. “She was there when I was building the business and we divorced shortly before I left to come to America, so she’s a little bitter that she never really enjoyed the fruits of my labor. I gave her a handsome settlement, enough money to keep her for the rest of her life, but that hasn’t stopped her attacking me,” He paused. “In the press. They’ve gone to her every time they need a quote that places me in a bad light.”

  “Okay, then I guess we can cross her off the list,” said Lock. “You’re currently married to Elizabeth, with a daughter, Anastasia, who’s ten years old.”

  Dimitri’s features darkened, and he turned back to the window.

  Lock glanced over at Ty. He’d also picked up on it.

  “We didn’t see them when we were taking a look around,” said Ty.

  Dimitri cleared his throat before turning back to face them. “My daughter has some health problems at the moment. My wife is visiting with her in hospital. I don’t want to say any more than that. It’s why I have to be here.”

  There had been nothing in any of the reports Lock had read about his daughter being ill or hospitalized. He hadn’t had time to go through all the logs of everyone’s movements yet, but it was strange that such a significant thing hadn’t been flagged.

  “Okay,” said Lock. “Is someone assigned to be with them?”

  “Of course, yes. Someone is with Anastasia around the clock, and my wife also has someone assigned to her when she goes out.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Sinai.”

  “We’ll take a look there too, if you don’t mind.”

  Dimitri seemed to hesitate. “Speak to McLennan. I’m sure he can organize it.”

  “And your wife?” said Lock. “Besides hospital visits, what’s her routine?”

  “The usual,” said Dimitri, almost dismissively. “Pilates. Lunch with her friends. She runs in Central Park most mornings but there’s always someone with her.”

  “Okay, if you don’t mind we’ll speak to her about perhaps varying her routine. It’s never a good idea to be too predictable with your movements when you have an ongoing threat.”

  “I understand.”

  “Ty, could you give us a moment?” Lock said to his partner.

  Ty didn’t question him. They had already discussed how they’d handle the next part of their briefing with Dimitri. It was going to be delicate, and even though Lock would share the details, he wanted Dimitri to know that he understood the need for discretion.

  Ty got up, walked to the door, and closed it softly behind him.

  “I’ve looked after a lot of people over the years. Often the high-net-worth individuals, and those who’ve been very successful in whatever field, can have quite complicated personal lives,” said Lock, launching into the standard speech he used when broaching the subject. “It’s not my job to judge these complications, but I have to be aware of them.”

  Dimitri seemed to relax. He even smiled again. It was one of the things Lock actually enjoyed when working with self-made businesspeople. They were smart, fast on the uptake. Rarely did you have to draw them a picture and that saved time.

  “I don’t drink. I don’t take drugs. Never really have. But I do like women,” said Dimitri.

  “Like I just said, none of my business, but it would be helpful to have a name or names of anyone you might currently be seeing socially, as well as where you meet them. Assuming, of course, that McLennan doesn’t already have that information.”

  “I always have someone with me but, no, I haven’t shared details. You know what staff can be like. One person confides in another and suddenly everyone knows.”

  “I get it. You won’t have that problem. I’ll share with Tyrone, but that’s where it stops.”

  “How good are you at remembering names without writing them down?” said Dimitri.

  9

  Ruta Sirka tilted her head, allowing her long blonde hair to cascade over her shoulders. She arched her back, pushing her breasts forward as the photographer moved around her.

  “Beautiful. Now give me more sex.”

  She narrowed her eyes, adjusting her head position fractionally so that the light caught the angular slice of her high cheekbones.

  “Yes. Yes, baby. Give me it all.”

  She tried hard not to laugh. Fashion photographers were ridiculous. Especially the men, and they were mostly men. They talked about sex this, sexy that, when the people who bought Vogue and other fashion magazines were women.

  Off to one side, her iPhone chirped. It had been a gift from Dimitri. The very latest one, given to her before they had even gone on sale in the stores.

  The photographer, an old Italian, who looked to Ruta like a cross between a walnut and a prune, lowered his camera, and glared at the iPhone. “Didn’t I tell everyone to switch off their phones?” he shouted, at the small army of make-up, hair and other assistants, who were cowering at the nearby tables.

  As well as giving ridiculous directions, this particular photographer was notorious for his bad temper. He would throw things, shout, scream, and even strike the people working for him. Ruta thought it made him an asshole. But in the upside-down world of high fashion everyone else saw it as confirmation of his genius.

  “It’s mine,” said Ruta, saving everyone else the rest of the harangue.

  He wouldn’t strike her. Almost everyone knew that she was dating Dimitri Semenov, and what would happen if she turned up to see him with a black eye, or even so much as hinted that someone had upset her.

  No amount of genius would save them. Dimitri was a gentle soul, a gentle lover too, if a little clumsy and rushed. But he had an edge to him that people feared. No one came from where he had without being capable of looking after themselves.

  “Okay, okay, take your damn call,” said the photographer.

  “It’s okay. They can leave a message,” said Ruta.

  The chirping stopped. It went to voicemail.

  The photographer was pacing up and down. He threw up his hands. “It’s ruined. The moment. The ambience. It’s ruined.”

  And models were supposed to be the divas, thought Ruta.

  “Take a break, everyone,” said the photographer, stalking out of the studio.

  Ruta reached down, took off her high heels and wiggled her toes. Someone brought her a chair and passed her the phone. Someone else brought her a bottle of Evian water. She checked the screen. The number showed as private. She tapped the screen and hit the icon to check her voicemail.

  “Hello, Ruta. It’s your Russian admirer.”

  It was Dimitri’s voice. She smiled. She would tell him later about the hissy fit his call had caused. She would find a way to tell it so that he found it funny. He needed laughter and fun with everything that was happening to him.

  “I’ll see you tonight at the usual place. But maybe we can try something different,” Dimitri’s message went on.

  She frowned as she listened to rest of the message with its detailed instructions about when she should arrive, what would be in the room for her, and what he wanted her to do.

  It didn’t seem like him. So far when they’d been intimate he’d been so vanilla, and this seemed kind of kinky. Not that she minded. It was just odd, that was all.

  She thought about trying to call him back, but he really didn’t like her doing that. If she called him while his wife was there it would be awkward. He had told her that she should only call if it was an emergency, and this was hardly that.

  She could speak with him about it tonight.

  10

  Lock walked down the steps to the sidewalk where Ty was waiting for him.

  “So?” said Ty.


  “Mistress and a couple of girlfriends,” said Lock, as they walked back down the block.

  “No, not that, the general situation.”

  “Honestly? If what he’s telling us is true, about the Russians wanting him to magically hand them his fortune, I think he’s screwed. Unless he can make it difficult enough for them that they’re prepared to cut some kind of a deal.”

  “What? Like give them half so they leave him alone?”

  “Something along those lines,” said Lock. “But I don’t see it.”

  “And if it’s not them?” asked Ty. “I mean, there’s nothing that says for sure it is, and they’re hardly going to come right out and admit it’s them.”

  They reached the barriers, thanked the cop who’d checked their IDs on the way in, then shouldered their way back through the knot of media and onto 76th Street and Madison Avenue.

  Outside the cordoned-off area, New York life went on as per usual. Ty didn’t like it, but Lock missed the energy of the place, even if the memories it held weren’t always the best. The streets held ghosts for him, but so did those of Los Angeles. Here, though, the gray concrete canyons made them seem somehow more vivid.

  Ty had a point. Everything pointed to Russian state involvement, especially the high-tech nature of the carjacking, but drawing conclusions without overwhelming evidence was a dangerous strategy.

  Ty stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and stuck out his arm to hail a cab. Two went whizzing past him.

  Lock moved past him. “Here, allow me to leverage my white privilege.” He laughed as the first cab he hailed cut across two lanes to pick him up.

  Ty shook his head, chuckling, as they got in.

  “Where to?” asked the cab driver.

  “101st and 5th.”

  “Sinai?” said Ty.

  “Yeah, I want to know why he was so cagey about the kid,” said Lock.

  “I feel you. That was kind of strange. What about the vehicles? You ask him who okayed them?”

  Lock nodded. “He did.”

  “And no one thought to mention that a Level Two vehicle might not be the best idea in the world?”

  “Doesn’t look like it, but the PA is going to send me through all the information. Apparently there was a shortlist, but the final call was his.”

  The cab driver let them out on the corner, and they walked up to the main entrance of Mount-Sinai. Using the pretext they needed to take a look at the security measures that were in place, Lock had cleared their visit while they were still in transit.

  He hadn’t said anything to Ty, but he’d decided that once they’d completed their review he’d submit a report with recommendations. They didn’t have the resources to take over this size of security detail, and he didn’t know where they’d even start when it came to tracking down those who were out to get Dimitri.

  As they made their way to the entrance, Ty side-eyed him. “Guy in the black leather jacket and jeans about a half-block behind us.”

  “Good looking out,” said Lock, checking him without being obvious. He was about six feet tall, late twenties, with a blond crewcut and Slavic features. “Where’d you pick him up?”

  “He was hanging out when we jumped the cab. Got into one and tailed us up here. Should we talk to him now or wait?”

  “Talk?”

  “You know what I mean,” said the six-foot-four Marine.

  Lock did. “Too many people. If he’s surveilling us we can grab him when we’re somewhere a little more private.”

  “Then I can talk to him?”

  “Exactly,” said Lock.

  Anastasia Semenov was in a private corner room on the top floor of the building. A bored-looking hospital security guard was posted at the end of the corridor that led to her room. One of McLennan’s men stood outside it. Dimitri’s PA had already called ahead to let him know that Lock and Ty would be visiting.

  “I’ll let Mrs. Semenov know you’re here,” he said, disappearing inside, and firmly closing the door on them.

  “Maybe we should have left this until she’s better,” said Ty, looking around. Hospitals set him on edge. It was something the two men had in common. Lock wasn’t much of a fan either. As he’d been known to comment, “I try to avoid those places. People die in them.”

  Moments and then minutes ticked by. Lock started to second-guess his intrusion. He reminded himself that sometimes being intrusive came with the territory.

  As soon as they had established the proper security protocols were in place and spoken with Mrs. Semenov they’d leave her and her daughter in peace.

  Apart from anything else, tweens and teens, especially girls, needed to be informed of the importance of taking care with what they posted on social media. Sites like Instagram could be the bane of a private security detail’s life. Kids happily shared all kinds of things, including where they were, or where they were headed, without a second thought. It was a criminal’s dream.

  The bodyguard reappeared. “She’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Ty had wandered off down the corridor and was studying something on the wall, a poster or a sign of some kind, Lock couldn’t quite see what.

  “Anastasia is resting.”

  Elizabeth Semenov closed the door behind her and stood there with her back to it.

  Lock introduced himself and explained that he was conducting a review of security for her husband. Ty wandered back along the corridor. “This is my partner, Ty Johnson.”

  Elizabeth Semenov didn’t say anything to that. Lock was beginning to think this was a bad idea. The woman looked completely washed out.

  “Your husband never mentioned what was wrong with your daughter,” said Lock, addressing the elephant in the room.

  “I bet he didn’t. I’m sure there’s a lot of things he didn’t tell you.” She moved so that her back was to the door.

  “I’m not going to go in there without your or Anastasia’s permission,” said Lock, “but if we’re to help keep you both safe then we have to make sure that everyone is taking the correct steps.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” said Elizabeth Semenov, reaching behind her, opening the door, and pushing it open so that they could see past her and into the private room.

  Anastasia Semenov lay on a hospital bed, surrounded by IV stands and monitoring equipment. Lines and tubes ran in and out of her. An oxygen mask sat snug over her mouth and nose. The little girl was ghostly pale, her eyes closed, hands down by her sides. The long blonde flowing hair that Lock and Ty had seen in the happy family portraits in the townhouse was completely absent. She had no hair left at all. She looked exactly like someone in the middle of chemotherapy for cancer, which was what Lock assumed this was. A child with cancer who was struggling to stay alive.

  “Cancer?” Lock asked Elizabeth Semenov.

  “Acute myelogenous leukemia. Thankfully we caught it early, but the chemo has been hard on her.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ty. “Can’t be easy. Especially not with everything else that’s going on.”

  “It hasn’t been, but she’s a fighter. She gets that from her father.”

  “How much longer are they saying she’ll be in here?” said Lock.

  “I was hoping to have her home soon, but maybe she’d be safer here for now.”

  11

  The two veterans walked out of the hospital entrance without saying a word to each other. They were both still coming to terms with what they’d seen.

  Ty’s expression was that of a gathering storm, his brown eyes somehow obsidian black, his jaw set. As they passed through the shoals on the sidewalk, people got out of his way, sensing the quiet menace that emanated from him.

  “So, how come Dimitri didn’t mention this little detail?” Lock said to his partner.

  “I don’t know, Ryan. I mean it’s not exactly something that would slip your mind, a kid in hospital like that.”

  “And we’ve both signed the NDA. It’s not like either of us would go running to the press.
”

  “Maybe he wanted the reaction,” said Ty. “I mean we were both thinking we’d bail on this at the first possible opportunity.”

  “And now we’re not …” said Lock.

  It made a kind of sense. Dimitri wanted them on board, and he would have gathered enough information on them to know that they were rarely motivated purely by money. The more Lock thought about it, the more it made sense.

  Ty nudged Lock’s elbow. “Check it out. Ten o’clock.”

  Lock glanced over to see the guy with the blond crewcut and black leather jacket who’d been following them before they went inside.

  “You want to grab me a pack of gum?” said Lock.

  It took Ty a second to catch on. “Oh, yeah, sure. That store right over there?” he said, pointing across the street.

  “That’s the one,” said Lock.

  Ty peeled off, quickening his pace, and dodging across the street. Lock kept walking.

  Crewcut seemed torn, uncertain as to whom he should follow, Ty or Lock. It was a good indicator that he was alone and not part of a team. Lock walked back to the other end of the block and waited at the crossing. Crewcut went with him.

  On the other side of the street, Ty disappeared inside the store.

  Lock crossed and headed back down the block, heading for the store. He’d lost direct sight of Crewcut. Glancing into a gleaming storefront, he glimpsed him about twenty feet behind him.

  He kept walking, picking up his pace a little. Another glance confirmed that Crewcut was still behind him, not matching Lock’s pace, but keeping up.

  Passing the storefront, Lock kept walking, blowing past the entrance.

  Ty stood to one side of the store entrance, partially obscured by a magazine stand. He watched as Lock walked past, neither of them acknowledging the other.

  A few seconds later Crewcut appeared. Ty ducked deeper into the store then walked briskly out and onto the sidewalk.