Russian Roulette

by Faricy, Mike

  “I think you better go, Dev.” She looked over the roof of my car. “Unless you want that meeting with Mr. Alekseeva now.”

  I turned and saw a large red vehicle entering the parking lot. The odds were pretty good it was the same Lexus LX11 that hit Da’nita Bell. The right front bumper was scraped and dented.

  Four very large, neckless heads were silhouetted through the tinted front windshield. I waited until they’d cleared the entrance, then quickly exited over the curb and across the park lawn, rolled into the street and accelerated. When she brushed her hair back it must have been some sort of a sign. They’d either tailed us all the way here or they’d been waiting all along, either way it was a set-up.

  I watched them in my rearview mirror. Everyone suddenly flew out of the car and ducked behind the LX11. One of them actually tripped and just lay there. What a bunch of idiots. Kerri must have fallen for my ‘may be watching’ line and those dumb heads thought I meant it. Now, who was the fool? I didn’t race but I didn’t hang around either. I drove away as fast as prudently possible.

  Chapter 39

  The next day I was still pondering Kerri’s confession that she was the one who shot me. Wondering at the same time how I get myself into these things? The phone interrupted.

  “How you feeling?” Aaron asked when I answered. No hello, no introduction, just the question.

  “Thanks for asking, I’m back to about ninety percent, but I’m able to be out and about.”

  “Ninety percent, I guess that’s a lot better than the half-assed way you usually conducted yourself before you got sick.”

  “You mean poisoned.”

  “You weren’t driving around on the River Boulevard yesterday afternoon, were you?” he asked, ignoring my poisoned comment.

  “Possibly. I was all over town, running errands after being confined to the bathroom for the last three days. Why? What’s up?” attempting to sound nonchalant.

  “Oh nothing much. Just wondering is all. You know a guy named, well actually we don’t know what his name is, that is his real name. The driver’s license said Andrew Quinn.”

  “No, I don’t think I know anyone by that name. What am I missing here?”

  “I’m not sure. Hard to figure why a guy named Andrew Quinn might have Russian naval tattoos. I suppose he could be a wanna-be Russian sailor or maybe he vacationed once on the Black Sea or something and fell in love with the place. Of course the more we’re digging into him the less we seem to know. No apparent next of kin. The address we have for him is a Holiday station, so that would seem to be bogus. No record of this guy anywhere, yet he has a Minnesota license.”

  “And Mr. Quinn would concern me how?”

  “I don’t know that it does. Just that someone took the back of his head off with a high-caliber rifle shot over on the River Boulevard yesterday. You may have seen the news reports in between cartoon shows. We have an eyewitness report of a couple of vehicles racing out of there, one a red SUV, the other a blue sports car. Ring any bells?”

  Yeah, alarm bells. I remembered the guy tumbling out of the car, thinking he’d fallen. Had he been shot? Who shot him? A shot to the head might be Kerri’s style but she didn’t seem likely.

  “Are you suggesting I had something to do with this?”

  “No, not really. I know you’re not that good a shot, for starters. But suddenly you never seem to be too far from the action when our Russian friends are involved.”

  “Maybe you should check with your pal special agent Kimball Peters, if he can break away from answering phones and whoever’s ass he’s kissing. I’m sure he’d have lots of answers.”

  “Yeah, right. Okay, just checking on you. Word to the wise, you might want to keep a close watch on your back.”

  “Appreciate the advice.”

  “Okay, catch you later, man. Be careful.”

  I may not be the brightest bulb on the tree but experience had taught me that if Aaron was concerned, panic on my part would not be out of line. I didn’t panic. But I wondered who had fired that shot, and I thought it might be wise to limit my exposure.

  Chapter 40

  I was just pulling out of the grocery-store parking lot when I phoned Heidi.

  “Hey, thought I’d check up on you for a change. Thanks for your help yesterday,” I said.

  “Well, gee, not a problem, glad I could help. You feeling any better?” Heidi asked.

  “Feeling great, thanks to you. Look I’m thinking I’ve been sort of a pain in the ass lately and wondered if I could maybe make it up to you. Doing anything for dinner?”

  “Dinner? Tonight?”

  “Yeah, well that is unless you’ve already got something planned.”

  “No, nothing planned. It’s just so out of character for you to be so nice. You’re not thinking of sticking me with the tab or something, are you?” She was only half joking.

  “No. In fact, I tell you what, I’ll pick up some steaks and be at your place in ten minutes. I mean if that’s okay.”

  “Here, well, yeah, I suppose.”

  “It’s not Harold, is it?”

  “I told you never to mention that worthless jerk to me ever again.”

  “Okay. How about this. I’m going to stop and pick up some wine, get the steaks, give you time to get organized. We’ll just have a relaxing night, let me pamper you for a change.”

  “Give me thirty minutes. Gosh Dev, this is really nice of you,” she said sounding genuinely surprised.

  I already had the wine and steaks in the car, right next to my overnight bag with Da’nita’s laptop, and now I had thirty minutes to kill. I decided to swing by the Spot, pop in for just a minute.

  The stools at the bar were barely half full, then again it was just a little after five on a weeknight. Jimmy was tending bar.

  “Dev,” he called, then by way of greeting poured a Leinenkugel’s for me. He had it waiting by the time I’d given a couple of perfunctory hellos making my way down the bar.

  “Good to see you, been awhile,” Jimmy said.

  I nodded as I sipped.

  “Yeah, been a crazy week.”

  “Man you must have some sort of special power. Last time you were in here you ended up leaving with that gorgeous blond, remember?”

  “I’m trying not to, that didn’t exactly work out for me,” I said shaking my head.

  “Well, you must have done something right, she was in here asking for you last night, and then again this afternoon. Man, looks like she can’t get enough of you. No accounting for some people’s taste, right?” he laughed again.

  “She was in here? Looking for me?”

  “Yup.”

  “Anyone with her?” I asked, suddenly not that intent on finishing my beer.

  “You mean like those three weight-lifter guys and her husband?” He chuckled at his own joke for a moment, “Oh, God you should see your face. Naw, no one was with her.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  Jimmy looked at me for a long moment, serious.

  “You know how many homicides and domestic disputes I’d be responsible for if I gave any sort of information out? Come on Dev, I’m a professional. If you’re gonna get some action, all I ask is that you take pictures and share ‘em with me,” he laughed.

  I didn’t want to waste the beer, but I wasn’t going to hang there any longer than necessary so I quickly gulped down half of it.

  “What’s the deal, she some sort of nutcase or something? God, it figures, the good-looking ones are always crazy.”

  “She’s okay, I guess. Just a little more baggage than I need right now.”

  Jimmy nodded in agreement.

  “I hear ya, kids in the way, a jealous ex-husband lurking around, upside down mortgage, and nowadays you gotta buy them dinner before they’ll climb in bed. Who needs it? Remember that chick I used to date from Minneapolis? I thought, great, a kinky, sexually repressed Lutheran babe and she just…”

  I drained the remainder of my beer, tos
sed a five-dollar bill on the bar, didn’t want to wait for the end of the story or my change.

  “Jimmy, you working tonight?”

  “Yeah, you coming back to link up with that sweetie?”

  “No, I got something else I gotta deal with. Look if she comes in again, tell her I was here and I’ll be back tomorrow night. Tell her I’m usually here around nine.”

  “Not a problem, Dev. Hot one tonight?”

  “Hopefully. Sorry Jim, but I gotta run, see you.”

  “You’re a player, Dev, an honest-to-God player, man. Don’t forget to mention my name when you get back together with her,” he called as I ran out the side door.

  I took a roundabout way to Heidi’s. Drove past the scenic overlook where I spoke to Kerri yesterday and apparently some guy lost his head, literally. You wouldn’t know it to look at it now, although there were remnants of yellow-plastic crime-scene tape still tied around some trees that had roped the area off from curious onlookers.

  I pulled into the lot, stopped approximately where I had spoken with Kerri yesterday. I could still see the telltale indentations where I’d jumped the curb and driven across the grass to get out of there. Just looking around, there were easily a thousand different places where a shooter could have hidden. Someone who really knew what they were doing, make it a million hiding places.

  Whoever it was and wherever they had been, they must have been in position when I was talking to Kerri and had an easy shot at me. What did that mean? Why shoot someone in Braco’s LX11? They’d only just arrived. Just more questions I didn’t have answers for.

  Chapter 41

  Heidi answered the door barefoot, in cutoffs, a T-shirt, and no bra. No complaint on my part. I guessed she was just out of the shower. The pink hair was gone, replaced by a blond so white it was almost see-through. Based on the stains cupping across the front of her t-shit I guessed she was just reaching for the towel to dry off when I rang her doorbell.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked, raising her eyes up toward her hair.

  “They’re fantastic, I think you should toss out all your bras.”

  “Not my boobs you perv, my hair,” she said hitting me in the shoulder.

  “Hair, oh, it’s not pink anymore. Harold do that?”

  “It wasn’t pink, it was Atomic Magenta, and not my idea. That creep Harold, the big dope. Don’t even mention his name in this house.”

  “Hey, it looks great, what’s the new color?”

  “Albino snow blond, like it?”

  “Different. But in a good way,” I quickly added.

  She looked at me like she wasn’t sure.

  “Here,” I said lifting the grocery bag. “Let me get these steaks marinating and pour you a glass of wine. Not in that order.”

  I poured her a glass of wine, opened a beer for me, set the steaks to marinate in red wine with some rosemary, then started the grill. Once the coals went down I put the steaks on the grill, cooked them just the way she liked them. I had the makings for a salad, buttered carrots, and baked potatoes plus another bottle of wine for Heidi. It was maybe 10:30 before we finished dinner. I cleared the table and refilled her wine, not that she needed more.

  “God, I just can’t get over how nice you’ve been tonight. Nice to be with you when you’re not you’re usual asshole self,” she said, then followed that faint praise with a major slosh of wine.

  “Gee, thanks for the compliment,” I said opening another beer, my second of the night.

  “Not a problem, thanks for the dinner. You know, maybe I should bail you out more often.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t have to do that.”

  “Can I ask you something, Dev?” She was slurring her words at this point.

  “Yeah, sure,” I was loading her dishwasher, cleaning up the kitchen.

  “Do you really like my hair color?” she asked, then absently shook her hair.

  “Well, I like it a lot better than the pink that Har.. that you had before. You’re far too beautiful to have to stoop to that sort of thing to get anyone’s attention.”

  “Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Her head was weaving back and forth ever so slightly, eyes getting glassier by the minute. She reached for the wine bottle, filled her glass almost to the rim, slopped some across the kitchen counter.

  “Opps!” she said, smearing the wine across the granite countertop with the palm of her hand. I knew where this was going, I’d been here uncountable times before with her. I’m the master when it comes to giving women that one drink too many that pushes them out of the throes of nymphomania and into alcohol-induced sleep or nausea. Take your pick.

  We chatted for another fifteen or twenty minutes. Heidi suddenly lurched off her kitchen stool, took an unstable step or two, then steadied herself against the counter, grabbed her glass of wine, and said,

  “I’ll be right back, no peeking, mister,” waving the wine glass back and forth, sloshing red wine onto the floor.

  “I promise.”

  I straightened up the rest of the kitchen. Mopped up the wine on the floor. Got the coffeemaker ready for the following morning. I shut down her i-pod, carried the trash bag out, wheeled the trash bin to the curb, then grabbed my overnight bag from my car.

  I plugged in Da’nita’s laptop and turned it on, then went back to Heidi’s bedroom to check on her. She was asleep on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. Passed out might have been a more accurate description. Snoring. She’d taken her T-shirt off and pulled on a neon blue, see through nightie, although she still wore her cutoffs. She’d left the faucet running in the bathroom.

  I was tempted to do something to her like draw a mustache on her face or autograph her butt. Cooler heads prevailed and I lifted her feet onto the bed, hopefully made her comfortable, covered her with an afghan, and turned out the light. Then went back into the kitchen, pulled a stool in front of the laptop, and punched in the password DB+DB to see if I could learn anything. After two hours I was just as stupid as when I started.

  Sometime well after midnight I grabbed a blanket from Heidi’s hall closet and ever the gentleman, settled in for the night on her couch.

  Heidi’s cursing coming from the kitchen woke me about 7:15 the following morning.

  “God, I hate these god damned things,” she growled. She was fully dressed, groomed, and shaking an aspirin bottle.

  “What is the problem?”

  “I just want to open this damn thing. Why do they have to make them so fucking difficult?”

  “Are you referring to the childproof cap?” I asked, taking the white plastic container from her hand.

  She stormed over to the sink and ran tap-water into a glass.

  “Oh please, spare me the superior attitude and just open the damn thing.”

  Heidi with a hangover was not a fun experience, for anyone.

  “Two or four?” I asked, shaking two into my hand.

  “God, the whole bottle. Oh, why did you do that to me? I’ve got an 8:45 conference call and then follow-up meetings all day. I’ll never be able to make it.”

  “Okay, first of all, I didn’t do anything to you. Believe me, nothing happened.”

  “Oh sorry,” she said looking beyond pitiful.

  “Second, I was out of line sitting on you and forcing you to drink the better part of two bottles of red wine.”

  “Okay, okay, that’s not helping just now.”

  “If it’s any consolation, you look beautiful.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. I’ve got the coffee ready to turn on. Can you wait two minutes and I’ll pour you a travel mug?”

  “No I need to run, I’ll grab some at work, and…”

  “Okay, but make sure you do, and grab a couple of pastries just to get something in your stomach, promise?”

  “Yeah, okay thanks, Dev. Sorry about the lack of, well you know, catch you later?”

  “Not a problem, Heidi. Now go on and get to that conference call,” I gave her a kiss o
n the forehead.

  “Yeah, sorry but I better run, let yourself out.”

  Chapter 42

  I was standing in the dark, in a two car garage across the street and kitty corner from the Spot bar. It was half past eight in the evening. I was looking out a grimy window to see if Kerri would show up, and if she did was she alone? Jimmy had talked with her the night before when she came looking for me, bought her a double vodka martini.

  “God, I could have watched her drink those things all night long, on the house. She is one great-looking woman, Dev. How’d she ever end up with you?” he asked, sounding like she’d somehow had to settle for second prize.

  Kerri didn’t show at nine, or nine thirty. About ten minutes to ten I saw her car creep past and park fifty feet farther down the street. As she parked, a dark-colored SUV flicked its lights at her from across the street. She walked into the Spot alone, exited a minute later, and had a short but animated conversation on her cell. When that was finished she stuffed the cell in her purse and went back inside.

  I figured Jimmy must have enticed her to wait with the offer of another free double martini while her friends across the street just cooled their heels.

  There’s a front and a side door to the Spot. The SUV was parked in such a way that it could watch both doors. The nice thing about being a regular at a place is that you learn the pattern of how things operate, or at least how they’re supposed to operate. There’s a back door, too. It’s used for the occasional picnic in the parking lot and to take out the trash after closing.

  I left the garage, walked in the opposite direction, then around the block, crossed the street a block farther down, and went up the alley to the back door. I peeked around the corner; the SUV was still parked across the street. I tried the door. It was locked so I phoned the bar.

  “The Spot and we’re open,” Jimmy’s voice.

  “Jimmy, Dev. Don’t say my name.”

  “Hey, Dev, that lady is here waiting for you.”

  “Are you fucking listening? I said don’t say my name.”

  “Oh, yeah sorry ‘bout that.”