To Hell in a Handbasket

by Beth Groundwater

  Claire couldn’t imagine Leon ever being unrecognizable. His commanding presence, gravelly voice, and boisterous laugh would always make him stand out in a crowd. She could almost feel the stares of people clambering off the shuttle bus right now. She took a deep breath. “Things have gotten worse since I called you. I was wondering if I could talk you into a slight change of plans.”

  Leon frowned. “What kind of change?”

  “I was hoping we could talk first over some coffee, then I could buy you a lesson. I’m even more worried about Judy’s association with the Continos now, and I’d like to find out what you know and get back to her right away.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “With her father at our rented townhouse.”

  “As long as she’s not with that family, she’ll be fine,” Leon replied. “I want a lesson from you, not some sorry-assed stranger. We made a deal, and I ain’t changing it. Where to next?”

  Claire knew from Leon’s stance that he wasn’t going to budge. She sighed. “To rent you some skis and boots.” She led them toward the rental shop. “Did you buy a discount lift ticket at a grocery store in Colorado Springs as I recommended?”

  Leon patted his jacket pocket. “Yep. Got a couple for the boys, too.”

  Claire stopped and stared at him. “They’re coming with us?”

  “Gotta have my protection.”

  “Do they know how to ski?”

  “Whitey here says he does.” Leon back-slapped his bodyguard in the chest. “But my driver don’t. I figured you could teach two as well as one.”

  While they talked, Leon’s driver had been eyeing the awkward skiers on the beginner slope, his shoulders stiff and his lips drawn in a thin frown.

  Claire assessed the situation. “Two is a lot harder to teach than one. And more dangerous, because I’ll have trouble watching out for you both. Let me make a recommendation.” She pointed at the beginner lift. “We’ll spend the whole day on that lift and the two short slopes on either side of it.”

  “What, no black diamonds?”

  A quick glance at Leon’s grin showed he was joking, thank goodness. “Your bodyguard can stay with us, and your driver can stand near the bottom of the lift. From there, he can see most of the slopes plus watch everyone getting on the lift. Unless he’s really aching to learn to ski?”

  Leon cocked his head at the driver. “What’cha think?”

  Relief flooded the man’s face. “Makes sense to me, boss.”

  “I doubt any of your rivals are here on the slopes today anyway,” Claire added.

  Leon threw back his head and guffawed. “Right you are, little lady. This ain’t exactly their home turf.”

  With that resolved, Claire led them into the ski rental shop and watched with growing amusement as the attendant fit Leon and his bodyguard into ski boots and beginner skis. Leon wobbled in the heavy, awkward boots and cracked jokes until he had the staff and other customers in stitches. By the time he paid the bill, the staff all knew his name and had coupons for the barbecue restaurant in which he invested the profits of his criminal enterprises.

  Outside the shop, Claire showed Leon how to carry his skis and they slowly made their way to the beginner chairlift. When she walked past the entrance, Leon said, “Whoa, ain’t we going up this here lift?”

  Claire shook her head. “You have to learn how to stop first before you go up the hill.” She walked a few yards up the gentle slope.

  Leon’s bodyguard and driver followed close behind, but the drug boss stopped and panted. Squinting up at them, he dug in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

  “Not a good idea, Leon,” Claire said. “You need all the oxygen you can get up here. I suggest you wait until lunchtime to have a cigarette.”

  Shaking his head, Leon let the pack fall back in his pocket. “Damn, you are a hard woman.” He trudged the rest of the way up the hill and dropped his skis on the snow.

  After he caught his breath, Claire showed him how to snap his boots into his skis and explained the snowplow stance. They practiced sliding downhill a few times, then bending knees in to turn the skis on their edge and plow to a stop. Leon’s bodyguard and the driver stood off to the side chatting—probably trading ribald observations on their boss’s slow progress.

  After half a dozen tries, she felt pretty confident Leon had gotten the concept. “Okay, let’s do it once more to make sure.”

  “Enough, woman. I need to rest.” Leon plopped down on his hip in the snow.

  Claire dug out one of the two water bottles stowed in her pockets and handed it to Leon. “Have a drink of water.” She looked down at Leon, who stared off over the parking lot, obviously discouraged and trying not to show it. He picked up a handful of snow and tossed it in the air.

  The man needs a pep talk. “You caught on really fast, Leon. A lot quicker than my kids did. You’re ready to head up the chairlift now. We can work on turns at the top.”

  He smiled up at her, showing his even, white teeth. “You don’t say? Faster than your kids?” He yelled at his bodyguard, “Hey, Claire said I’m a fast learner.”

  The bodyguard flashed him a thumbs-up.

  “Okay, Leon,” Claire said. “Here’s an opportunity for another lesson. How to stand up again when you’ve fallen down.”

  “Stand up? Don’t you just—” Leon struggled to push himself up off the snow, but couldn’t get his weight over his skis. “Damn, what’s the secret?”

  Claire laughed and picked up their poles. “These.” She showed Leon how to use the poles as a lever to push himself onto his feet.

  They made their way to the end of the lift line, leaving the driver behind to stand guard. Leon used the wait to repeatedly ask Claire to explain how to get on the lift. Once their turn came, he slid into place easily, angled back to grab the sidebar, and sat on the chair with a sigh.

  Claire smiled at him. “Perfect form.”

  “I sure didn’t want to mess up in front of the guys. They’d spread the word, you know. I’m getting the hang of this, ain’t I?”

  “Yes, you are. Now, we’ll use the ride up to talk about how to get off the lift. That’s where most beginners fall.” When Leon’s eyes went wide, Claire laughed and patted him on the knee. “Don’t worry. We’ll preserve your dignity.”

  After Leon made a successful dismount, Claire watched the bodyguard carve a few turns down the hill. He executed a hockey stop to stand and watch his boss’s progress and scan the hill for potential assassins among the snaking lines of children’s ski school classes. She didn’t have to worry about him. He wasn’t lying when he said he was proficient on skis. She returned her focus to Leon.

  They worked on turns and inched their way down the hill. After another lift ride, Claire skied downhill a ways, then stopped to watch Leon work his way slowly toward the bottom of the slope. Good control. Sweeping turns, just a tad unsteady. Better on the right side than the left. Not bad, Leon, not bad.

  He skidded to a stop in front of her, leaned on his poles to pant a couple of times, then straightened to look at her.

  She flashed him a thumbs-up. “You’re ready for stem christies.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  “With my kids we called it making french fries and ice cream cones. You put your feet together in a parallel stance—the french fries—between your snowplow turns, which are the ice cream cones. And you have to keep the tips of your skis together in the turns so you don’t spill any ice cream out of your cone.”

  Leon threw back his head and laughed. “Now food’s something I can relate to. When we gonna eat?”

  “Let’s do one more run so you can try stem christie turns before lunch.”

  On the next run, Leon struggled to concentrate on opening and closing the tails of his skis as he shifted between turning and skiing straight. Claire shouted encouragement and cues, but she worried he would bite off the tip of his tongue that he kept sticking out between his clenched teeth.

  When the
y finally reached the bottom, he announced, “I need a smoke, the john, and some chow, in that order.”

  Claire checked her watch and was surprised to see it was already twelve-thirty. Now she would finally get some information about Gregori Ivanov. She led Leon and the bodyguard back to his driver and waited while the three had a smoke.

  She led the group to the Bergenhof restaurant, pointed out restrooms, and searched for a table. Finding a private spot in the cavernous room was impossible. Chattering people lined rows of long wooden tables covered with cafeteria trays and wet ski gear. Maybe the noise would mask the conversation Claire needed to have with Leon.

  A group of skiers stood up a few tables away, and Claire rushed over to lay claim to their vacated chairs. When Leon and his henchmen appeared, she waved them over. They spread out gloves, hats, and jackets to reserve their seats, then got in the cafeteria line. Leon and his two sidekicks went for the buffalo burgers and fries. Claire chose a salad.

  In the checkout line, Leon dumped a saucer-sized chocolate chip cookie on his tray and shook his head at Claire’s tray. “Woman, you can’t tell me that’s all you’re gonna eat.”

  “I’m watching my figure.” She surveyed the calorie-laden items on his tray. “What happened to your diet?”

  He sighed and looked down at his large belly. “Still got my carrots and apples in the car, but I worked hard this morning. Prob’ly sweated off two pounds.” He stilled Claire’s hand as she pulled a ten out of her pocket. “This one’s on me.”

  Claire considered arguing, given that she had invited him up to pick his brain, but knew she would lose the argument. She pocketed the ten and led the men to their table.

  After Leon sent his bodyguard to buy three beers at the bar, they ate silently and purposefully for a few minutes. Claire hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  When the bodyguard returned with the beers, Leon took a few hefty swallows and swiped foam off his lips with the back of his hand. “Now, this part of skiing I like.”

  He dumped ketchup over his fries, popped a few in his mouth, then wiped his red-stained hands on a napkin. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and spread it on the table between himself and Claire. It was a printout of a digital photo of a group of men dressed in hunting gear and standing in the woods over an elk carcass.

  “This here’s a photo of a hunting party from the Russian mob taken a year and a half ago.” Leon pointed at the large man in the middle of the group. “That your man Ivanov?”

  Claire peered at the image. “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Damn. I was afraid of that.”

  “How’d you get this photo?”

  “Pulled in a favor.”

  Claire gave Leon a worried look. “I hope it wasn’t a big one.”

  He patted her hand. “Not your concern, lady. You got enough to worry ’bout with this man here.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “He’s nephew to the most powerful Roo-ski mobster in the good ol’ U.S. of A. His uncle led the Brighton Beach gang in New Jersey in the nineties ’til he got thrown in the slammer. Still runs it from there, I hear. Gregori was a vor in Odessa before he came to the U.S. ten years ago.”

  “What’s a vor?”

  “Sorta like an illegal judge in a people’s court. Decides whether people live or die. My contact told me Ivanov has tattoos on his kneecaps that mean he don’t bow to nobody.”

  Leon leaned forward and lowered his voice as he stared at Claire. “This guy ruled in the most bad-ass city in the baddest-ass country for mobsters. He’s gotta have balls of steel.”

  Claire sucked in a breath. Her hands had gone ice-cold. She rubbed them together, partly to warm them and partly out of nervous fear.

  “If I was you, I’d stay the hell away from him.” Leon took a swig of beer. “Shit, if I was me, I’d stay the hell away.”

  His bodyguard and driver nodded solemnly.

  Leon jabbed his finger at the thin man next to Ivanov. “But no matter how bad Ivanov is, this rat-face is worse.”

  Claire stared at the photo. The man’s beady eyes and salt-and-pepper hair looked familiar. With the hair bristling on the back of her neck, she remembered where she had seen the rat-faced . . . no, ferret-faced . . . man. At the Continos’ home. “Who is he?”

  “Viktor Petrov. Used to be Ivanov’s enforcer.”

  The word was chilling. “Enforcer?”

  “He broke people’s legs, kidnapped rivals for payoffs, whatever dirty work Ivanov wanted him to do. Even killing. And he never spent a day in prison for a major crime. He just shot anyone who was a witness that he didn’t trust to stay quiet.”

  Leon grimaced at the photo, as if he tasted bile and needed to spit it out. “Petrov’s a crack shot. That gun he’s holding ain’t no hunting rifle. It’s a sniper weapon with night scope and everything. My contact told me Petrov’s the one who shot that elk. Nailed it square between the eyes from half a mile away. That fucker is bad news.”

  “Oh, God.” Claire put her hand to her mouth. “He was at the Continos’ house, for the reception after Stephanie’s memorial service.”

  Leon looked puzzled. “You sure?”

  Claire studied the photo again. “I’m sure.” She wished she wasn’t.

  “He’s supposed to be retired and living in Chile. Wonder why he’s back?” Leon rubbed his chin and shot a worried look at Claire. “What was he doing? Who was he talking to?”

  “He was staring at Judy, then went over to talk to Ivanov. Both of them kept looking at her. I thought they might have been sizing her up as a potential mob wife.”

  Leon laid his hand on Claire’s. “Damn, woman. If I’d known this, I wouldn’t have made you wait until now to get the dope on these two. You listen to me and listen good. Petrov don’t care nothing ’bout women and wives. He’s in the U.S. for one thing. To kill someone for Ivanov. I can only think of one reason for him to be staring at your daughter.”

  Claire felt as cold as granite. Her mouth had gone bone dry. “You think he’s planning to kill her?”

  Leon nodded, deep concern etched in his face.

  “But why?”

  Leon shrugged. “For some reason, they think she’s a threat. Maybe because she’s dating Contino’s son. Who knows? But you gotta get that young lady of yours outta here.”

  _____

  Claire listened to the phone at the rental house ring and ring. After seven rings with no answer, she hung up. Judy and Roger obviously aren’t home. Maybe they went out to lunch somewhere. Standing at the base of the beginner run, she pasted a smile on her face and waved at Leon as he took off on the chairlift with his bodyguard. He had felt confident enough to make a run without Claire while she tried to contact her family and warn them.

  She tried Judy’s cell phone, but it rolled over to voice mail. Again. And Roger had insisted Claire take his cell phone, so he was relying on Judy’s.

  Clutching the phone, Claire debated what to do next. She had promised a full day lesson to Leon, but she was sure he would understand if she cut it short. Should she go home and wait for Judy and Roger? No, that would drive her batty and leave them unwarned. Call around to local restaurants and try to find them? If there was one establishment Breckenridge had more of than T-shirt shops, it was restaurants. Maybe walking the town streets was best, so she could scan the stores as well as poke her head in restaurant doors.

  They have to be found and warned. Maybe she could convince Owen to mobilize a patrol car to find Roger and Judy and provide protection. She scrolled to his number in the cell phone’s address book and called it. When she asked for Owen Silverstone, the receptionist told her he had gone to Denver for the day. Probably took Anthony’s computer to Denver PD.

  Claire almost asked for the other detective in the sheriff’s office, but she realized the problem right away in describing the situation to him. Convincing a stranger that her daughter was in danger based on flimsy evidence from a drug boss didn’t seem likely. What if
they wanted to pick up Leon for questioning? No, she couldn’t do that to him. She left her cell phone and home phone numbers with the receptionist and asked her to have Detective Silverstone call as soon as he returned.

  Claire tried the townhouse again with no luck. Spotting Leon working his way slowly toward the bottom of the slope with his bodyguard, she pocketed the phone.

  After making a confident hockey-stop and flashing a triumphant grin at her, he grew serious. “You make your call all right?”

  She took a deep swallow to tamp down her fear. “They’re out.”

  Worry puckered his brow. “You need to go?”

  “I’m afraid I do. I think they’ve gone into town, and I have to find them. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be saying sorry. You make a fine ski instructor, woman. Want us to go with you to look for them?”

  “No, I’m sure I’ll find them soon,” Claire said with more bravado than she felt. She didn’t want to ruin the rest of Leon’s day. He went to a lot of trouble to get the information about Ivanov and Petrov to her.

  “You stay here and keep working on that stem christie,” she said. “If you don’t do it a few more times, you’ll forget the technique. Your bodyguard should be able to help you.”

  She scooted her skis up next to his to give him a sideways hug. “Thanks.”

  He squeezed her in return. “No, thank you. Today’s been the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” He pulled back and patted her shoulders. “You take care of yourself and your daughter, you hear?”

  “You know I will.”

  He shot her a thumbs-up and waved for his bodyguard to follow him to the lift.

  Claire stared down the mountain toward the streets of Breckenridge below. A cloud passed overhead, throwing a shadow across the slope. She shivered.

  She hoped to God that Judy was safe with Roger.

  Fourteen: Hot Water

  Exhausted and strung out with worry, Claire trudged up the steps of the townhouse late Saturday afternoon. She had hunted for Roger and Judy in town for over two hours and kept calling both phones, all with no luck. She was having a tough time chasing from her imagination dire scenarios that all resulted in Judy’s death.