Now she was confused about what to say to him about his brother and her increasingly complicated life. Looking at her Rolex watch, she turned away from the window and went inside of the bathroom to get ready.
After a quick shower, she walked into the large walk-in closet and circled the racks looking for something simple to put on. Even though she had access to every label in Memphis, she still liked understated elegance. Hair in a simple ponytail, she pulled on a black Ralph Lauren turtleneck, jeans, slipped on a pair of black boots and grabbed her RL Rickey bag.
Her stomach growled as she headed down the main stairwell leading into the front foyer of the house.
Quickly, she headed to the kitchen to grab an apple and found Anatoly sitting quietly looking at CNN on the flat screen mounted on the wall and nursing a cup of coffee and a bowl of corn flakes.
“Hi,” she said, trying to smile.
Anatoly looked over at her but did not speak. Evidently, the good feeling of the Thanksgiving dinner the night before had worn off.
Royal walked up to the table and grabbed a green apple out of the bronze bowl. She rubbed it on her pants to make it shine and sighed.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, trying to start a con-versation.
Anatoly looked over at her from the television with a smirk on his face. Hunched over his food, he ran his spoon around the edge of the white porcelain bowl.
“Does it have to do with Ivan?” she continued, when he did not answer.
Anatoly still said nothing.
“Don’t you think yesterday was a lot more fun. We should communicate more…like normal people.” Her words fumbled out. She was treading in new territory by trying to talk to him. He was like a statute most days.
“Everything is fine,” he finally said, tired of her whin-ing.
“Now was that so hard?” Royal asked, recognizing progress, even in small increments. “I’m headed to the shop.” Turning on her heels, she headed out the back hall to the garage but she stopped at the doorway. “Have a great day, Anatoly,” she said, turning around to give it another try.
Anatoly didn’t take his eyes off the television. “I will.”
∞♥∞
Lt. Agosto and FBI Special Agent Danny Sorrello followed behind Dmitry in an unmarked, unwashed black Dodge Charger as he pulled into the Peabody Hotel valet parking area. Stepping out his conspicuous vehicle, Dmitry stretched and looked around, then proceeded inside to have a meeting with Omar Jackson, a well-known financial advisor.
Agosto turned off his car on the hill of the parking area and got out after Dmitry went inside of the doorway. Sorrello soon followed, putting away his half-eaten Porto-bello mushroom wrap. The two men had been following Dmitry since he pulled out of his driveway to various meetings all over Memphis with some of the most influential bankers in the city. This was the most activity that they had seen in nearly a year. Most of his meetings were out of the city and often out of their joint-task force’s reach, especiallywhen he chose to meet in London and Moscow.
“Something big is going down,” Sorrello said,closing the passenger door.
“I don’t get it. He never meets in broad day light and never this many meetings.”
“Reorganizing because of Ivan, I suppose,” Sorrello concluded, pulling his leather jacket to ensure that his guns were concealed.
“Let’s take a walk inside and visit our old friend,” Agosto suggested, hitting the alarm to the car.
Dmitry had just ordered a nice early evening meal of fresh hearts of palm, Great Hill blue cheese and black truffle casserole, when Agosto and Sorrello interrupted him.
They found him sitting at a small booth on the second level of Chez Phillipe restaurant nestled comfortably in the east wing of the hotel sipping on a glass of wine and reading the newspaper that he had neglected the entire day.
It had taken Agosto and Sorrello showing both badges and one gun to get into the restaurant in their jeans and t-shirts, since Chez Phillipe only allowed a minimum of business casual. Plus, it was only five o’clock and the restaurant had not officially opened to the public.
Dmitry ate alone, as he often preferred to do. The ambiance of the soft music, the strategic low lighting, beautiful rich fabrics and painting, regal French décor and marble columns throughout the fine dinning establishment fit Dmitry just right. Waitresses set down his drinks and picked up the extra placements quickly, but he never took his eyes offthe newspaper.
Lt. Agosto skipped the theatrics of making a scene and quietly had a waitress bring both he and Sorrello a chair. Dmitry finally looked up as she set the chairs in front of his table. He placed the newspaper on the white table cloth and sighed.
“If I had known that you were coming, I would have ordered for you.” He motioned at the chairs and invited the men to sit. “Please bring these men a bottle of your best wine,” he said, sitting up a little from his slouched position.
“You know we’re on the job. We can’t do that,” Sorrello said, countering Dmitry’s offer.
“Speak for yourself. Bring me a glass of your best scotch. Keep the wine,” Agosto said, looking at Sorrello. He raised his eyebrow and smiled. “What?”
“Nicola, you still are drinking scotch?” Dmitry asked.
“Still doing a lot of the same shit,” Agosto smirked.
“You too know each other,” Sorrello asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Yeah, we used to know the same girl,” Dmitry chuckled.
“That was way back when you first came to Memphis,” Agosto reminisced. He looked over at Sorrello. “She was a Grizzlies dancer, very flexible.”
“Really?” Sorrello said, suggestively.
“Only, I can’t remember her name now.” Dmitry looked at Agosto.
“Me either. It was Karen or Keasha. I don-no…something.” Agosto shook his head.
“Miss, please bring him a scotch and water for the other gentleman,” Dmitry said to the petite woman still standing by the table waiting with pen and pad. The woman scribbled something and quickly excused herself.
Now alone, the three men convened animpromptu meeting at the dinner table. It was a strange sightto see. Each man was comparable in size and all three overshadowed the small table. They sat trying not to invade the other’s space with their overbearing bodies crammed into the little area.
“I can arrange for us to sit somewhere else,” Dmitry noted.
“Don’t worry about it. We won’t take up too much of your day.” Sorrello shifted in the chair.
“An innocent man would want to know what this is all about,” Agosto said, softly. He looked up at Dmitry under long dark lashes, his brown eyes focused in on his new opponent.
“My question was just about to be, tell what this is all about,” Dmitry smirked. He looked back at him with an ice cold stare.
Sorrello let Agosto take the lead considering that he had an established relationship. He watched as Agosto did his magic.
Agosto tapped his fingers on the table before he began contemplating how to convey to Dmitry that he knew more than he actually did. “You’re a very hard man to track. You’ve been all over this city today, burning gas like its water. Hell, I had to run three red lights to keep up with you. I’m surprised that you didn’t get a ticket.”
Dmitry smiled and took a sip of his wine. “You fol-lowed me here to tell me to slow down?”
“Come on, man.” Agosto laughed. “I came down here to talk to you man-to-man about some shit going on around town that’s got your name all over it.”
“Very suspect kinds of things,” Sorrello added, eating one of the rolls in the basket on the table. Dmitry mo-tioned at his own mouth, indicating to Sorrello that he had bread crumbs on his chin.
Dmitry looked at Agosto and laughed. “Evidently not suspect enough for you to make an arrest, or I’d be in custody already, old friends or not.” Dmitry passed Sorrello a napkin and raised his eyebrow.
Agosto laughed, revealing deep dimple
s in this well-tanned skin. “Hey. You know me. I keep going until I get my guy.”
“Who are you meeting here today?” Sorrello asked in-terupting.
“My financial advisor,” Dmitry said, completely relaxed. “My stocks are in the toilet,but my off shore investments are doing great. I would like to move around a little capital.”
“By off shore, you mean your millions in pharmaceuti-cals in Switzerland or medical research in Belgium?” Sorrello asked, revealing his inept knowledge of Dmitry’s private life and financial investments.
“Both actually,” Dmitry answered. “Sounds to me like I should have invited my lawyer, too. This could definitely be considered harassment, gentlemen. ”
“Well now, we didn’t come here to harass you.” Agosto took his drink from the waitress. “We came here to give you a heads up, if you’re not actually a criminal.”
“I am no criminal.” Dmitry confirmed. “Heads up about what?”
“Well, we have received reports that a whore-house full of Russian beauties is being operated in one of your many homes in Memphis, and its being run by your baby brother. What is his name?”
“Ivan?” Dmitry asked, intrigued. This was something new.
“That’s his name,” Agosto said, smilingat Sorrello. “Ivan.”
Dmitry’s calm was starting to show a tattering edge. He shifted in his seat a little. “I assure you that I don’t deal in whores,” he said,cutting his eyes at Agosto. His prominent strong jaw was clinched tightly together.
“That’s what I thought. I mean, you’ve been here for every bit of ten years or more. How many times have the police ever accused you, of all people, of anything? You’re a pillar of our community. A charitable, wealthy business man doesn’t dabble in human trafficking.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.
Agosto slid him a picture of Ivan standing outside of one of his rental properties escorting a group of women inside. He gave Dmitry a smug grin. “So, I keep asking myself, ‘what the fuck is this then?”
Dmitry’s eyes snapped to the photo. His breathing slowed down more, to a calm even tone. “Gentlemen, I am afraid that I cannot tell you,” Dmitry smiled.
“Mr. Medlov, have you ever heard of a group called the International Law Enforcement Academy in Budapest, Hungary?” Sorrello asked.
“I’ve heard of it a few times,” Dmitry sat back and his seat, still composed.
“Most people haven’t. It’s a working group that focuses on international crime syndicates like the Eurasian trash that we keep linking to you, and they discuss you pretty often along with a larger Eurasian working group that has been curious about your global operations.” Agosto injected.
“Like I said, I’ve heard of it. It’s no secret. You can Google it, you know.”
“You know, I worked my entire life because of my family’s money and my ethnic background as an Italian American to disprove all the rumors and assumptions that because I had a vowel on the end of my name, I had to be mafia.”
Agosto and Dmitry locked eyes.
“You didn’t like the stereotype, huh?”
“I despise it,” Agosto replied. “But you seem to em-brace it and meet all of the expectations of the label, man. You don’t care that people look at you like you’re some sort of animal.”
“When you’re older, you’ll realize that they look at you like that anyway. We are in Memphis, you and I. Sorrello, you too. Though I get the feeling that you are more of a blunt object thanAgosto.” Dmitry smirked and took a sip of his water. “It’s doesn’t matter if you have big millions or little millions,Agosto. You’re still foreign to this place, still different and everything you do, including race-mixing is wrong. You and I have a lot in common, don’t we?”
“No, I don’t think that we do.”
“All they’d have to do is prove that those women are there involuntarily.” Agosto confirmed.
“Well, they are not their involuntarily,” Dmitry said calmly.
“You had better hope that no one says otherwise,” Agosto spoke under his breath.
“Why are you giving me this heads up?” Dmitry slid the picture back to Agosto, having immediately recognized the property.
“Just want you to get your house in order – that’s all,” Agosto said, drinking the entire glass of scotch. He set the glass down gently on the table and stood up. “We know that you are a good guy and couldn’t possibly know what’s going on. We just came here to tell you what the rumors were and to make sure that you had no hand in this.” Both Agosto and Sorrello looked down at Dmitry.
“I assure you that I’ve had no hand in this. What do I owe you gentlemen for such a kind gesture?” Dmitry asked, hands crossed and eyes focused. His voice barely rose.
“Nothing at all. Consider it a gift,” Agosto said, putting his coat back on.
“I will remember this favor,” Dmitry said, trying to control the fire coming from under his collar.
The two men left as quickly as they had come, passing a black man in a nice business suit, whom they were sure was Omar Jackson, arriving for his meeting with Dmitry. After they entered back into the hotel lobby, Sorrello looked back to make sure that no one was following them.
“That is one magnificently cold-hearted bastard up close,” Sorrello said,checking his cigarette patch to make sure that it was still on his arm. Suddenly, he was craving a cigarette.
“It’s the eyes. They don’t even look like their supposed to be on a human.”
“Cause he’s not human. So, what do you suppose he’s thinking?”
“Are you kidding? He wants to kill his brother. Put that tail on him now. He doesn’t even care that we’re following him. He’s going straight to Ivan after he finishes with Omar,” Agosto said, sure of himself.
“He didn’t flinch once.”
“Cause he knows that we don’t have shit,” Agosto said, hitting the alarm for his car. “It’s a shame. All of this work, for all of these years, and we still have nothing.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Me either. He’s one of the best.”
“If not the best…”
“Dmitry has run this whole operation without so much as one hiccup for years, but we may have hope now because of his black sheep brother Ivan. As soon as he showed up, shit went south. I just know that he’s going to teach him a lesson, though. He knows that we’ll barely have a case with these prostitutes, but now, if Ivan slips and gives us something on the gun trafficking,we’ll have a stone clad case against the entire organization.”
Sorrello spat on the ground. “Fucking Vory.”
Chapter 15
Black Friday had been a hit for Dmitry’s Closet. Royal, Renée and Cory nearly emptied their summer collection as well as their clearance fall items. The boutique had been crowded since it opened early that morning and had kept a constant flow of traffic the entire day. Now, as the night settled in, Cory escorted the last customer to her car while Royal counted down the drawer. Suddenly, the phone rang. Renée answered, listened to the caller and quickly brought the phone over to Royal.
“Who is it,” Royal asked, trying not to lose count of the large wad of money in her hand.
“Dmitry,” Renée answered, putting the phone to Roy-al’s ear.
“Hello,” Royal said, putting the money down.
“I’ll be late coming home,” Dmitry said,shifting gears in his car. “I’ve got couple of more things to handle.”
“Okay, baby.” Royal could sense trouble in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dmitry said quickly.
“Are you sure?”
“Dah,” Dmitry said, focused on the streets as drove quickly down the winding back path of Main Street to his brother’s house.
“Okay,” Royal sighed. “I’ll see you later then.”
“Is everything cool?” Renée asked, as Royal hung up the phone.
“Yeah. He’s just busy.” She looked up as Cory walked back in the front do
or. “Lock the door,” she ordered as she picked up the money again. “I have to hurry up with this. Anatoly will be here in a minute to pick it up.”
“Man, we made a killing,” Renée said, astonished at the huge wad of money.
“I know, girl. This is only one handful. I’ve got a ton of credit card receipts, checks…everything.”
“Anatoly isn’t here yet?” Cory asked, looking for Royal’s bodyguard.
“He just called and said that he was on his way.” Royal said, counting the money out. “Give me a minute. I just need to make sure that this is right.” She counted out the money quickly and bagged it with the receipt. “Damn, that is the most we’ve made since we opened.”
Just then Anatoly came in the back door in a black suit. Everyone watched on amazed. All anyone had ever seen Anatoly wearwere jeans and t-shirts. Never a suit. Now, he looked a lot like his father.
Cory looked at him suspiciously as Anatoly passed him. He made his way to the cash register with Royal and walked behind the counter.
“You look nice,” she said smiling. “What’s the occa-sion?” She held the bag of money in her hand.
“No occasion.” He reached for the bag.
“Bullshit.” Royal pulled the bag away. “What gives?”
Anatoly reached over without a smile and scowled at Royal. “Give me bag, woman.”
“Tell me what gives,” Royal smiled. “You look like a million bucks. I wish that Dmitry could see this. He’d be so proud.”
“Spasiba,” he said, growling. “Now, give me bag.”
“Oh, alright,” Royal said,finally giving in. He took the bag carefully out of her hand and smiled at little at her. “You really think it looks nice.”
“I think you look dreamy,” Royal said smiling. “Really.”
Remembering himself, Anatoly cleared his voice. “I have to go. Make sure that someone escorts you to car.”
“I will. I know the drill,” Royal said,waving as he walked off.
“He cleans up good,” Renée said,watching him walk away. “I never realized how buff he is.”
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