Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

  “It could be a helpful way to see who’s with the group.”

  “That’s right.”

  “All we have to do now is go around and lift all of the Bratva guys’ shirts.”

  “I wish life could be that simple. When we get to Yuri’s place, call, Kaz and let him know about the brands. He’s supposed to go back to the house and interrogate the security guys in the cells.”

  “You mean torture the shit out of them to get answers?”

  “That too.” I went through more portraits of historical names. “Damn. This group has pledged a lot of big people. Karl Marx. Friedrich Engels. Fyodor Dostoevsky—”

  “I don’t know any of those people.”

  “Old and famous dead white men.”

  “Figures.”

  “Even Rasputin.” I checked the next page. “I know a little about him. He was considered a Russian mystic who influenced the Russian Tsar Nicholas II, his wife, and their son.”

  “He was part of the group of the Knights of Babylon too?”

  “Yep.” I shook my head as I skipped more pages. “There’s also mention of high members of the Russian Communist Party and the KGB.”

  “So, this country is not only run by the Bratva, but old white guys that like to sacrifice woman and drink their blood?”

  “According to this book, yep.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go to Jamaica, man. We’ve done our time in Russia. Let’s call it a rap. We can raise little Max junior on the beach. Give him some pictures of his dad and shit.”

  The limo parked in front of a low-rise building.

  “You just call Kaz and let him know about the brands on the stomach.” I shut the book and placed it back in the bag.

  Boris left the van ahead of us, rushed over to the limo, and opened the door.

  Max smirked. “Anything else, boss?”

  “Yes. Smoke your joint out here, so you can chill. I know you’ve been waiting.”

  Max saluted and pulled out his phone. “And what am I going to tell your lion, if he asks how do you know about the brands?”

  “Say that I will let him know later.”

  “Let’s hope that satisfies him.”

  “It better.” I left the limo.

  Boris got to my side. Four of my men surrounded and followed us forward. Kaz’s men stood at the entrance with their guns out.

  I let out a long breath. It was a lot of security, but I focused on the fact that Kaz let me out of the penthouse at all. After the kidnapping in Paris and then the dead gorilla, I was sure he experienced serious gangster post-traumatic stress disorder. Who knew when he would heal from it?

  While Max stayed behind, the rest of us entered the building.

  Boris led the way. “Yuri and his mother lived in a two room apartment.”

  I knew real estate lingo was different here and asked, “Is that like a one bedroom or a studio?”

  “There’s one bedroom and then another space for an undivided kitchen and living room. Yuri slept on the couch, until he started working for you. Then, he stayed in your building on the lion’s property.”

  Sadness hit me. “Do you think he liked working for me in that short time?”

  “Definitely. He always came to see his mother on Sunday and gave her money. She was happy for him.”

  Slowing down, Boris scanned the hallway. “Something is wrong?”

  “Why?”

  “The hallway is usually crowded with kids hanging around. It’s almost always packed.”

  He was right. The place was empty.

  We got to the end of the hall.

  The door was already ajar, open just a few inches.

  Come on. I don’t want any sadder surprises today. I’ve got enough on my plate.

  “I should go in first.” Boris pulled out his gun and stepped inside.

  “I’ll be right here.” I gritted my teeth, wanting to go in with him. But now I had another life inside me. From here on out, I would have to do things more carefully.

  Another of my men went in with him. Blue and Lemon appeared and got to my side. Kaz’s guys remained parked in front of the buildings entrance and at the end of the hallway.

  What is up?

  Leaning forward, I studied the door. It had a crescent-shaped bite out of the side right above the doorknob. I stepped closer and examined it. A locked must’ve been there.

  I looked on the ground and spotted the lock laying on the floor. Splinters of wood scattered the area near my feet.

  Fuck.

  I lowered and assessed the situation. It had been a decent lock, made of steel. But the steel had been stronger than the surrounding wood. Someone had used a wrecking bar to smash their way into the apartment. The door had been jerked hard, maybe twice, and the lock had held but the wood splintered. The door must’ve opened up after, and then the lock just fell.

  They broke into the apartment. . .recently. . .This won’t be good. Could this be Abram? Or the Knights of Babylon? What the fuck is going on?

  My heart raced.

  Boris returned.

  I rose from the ground.

  A sad expression covered his face. “Someone killed Yuri’s mother. No one else is in there.”

  “What the fuck?” I pushed past everyone and went inside. “What do you mean they killed his mother? No.”

  The smell hit me first. Thick, cloying. It was a scent I’d encountered too many times before.

  Blood and death. Goddamn it!

  Inside the small apartment, it was dim and fragrant. There were wide dark boards on the floors. Ragged rugs here and there. Everything was a mess. Books sprawled all over the place. Shattered plates and glasses.

  I turned to Blue and Lemon. “Do me a favor? Boris said kids were always playing in the hall. Check with the neighbors and find out if anyone has seen anything. If there are witnesses, tell them that I will protect them.”

  Without a word, Blue and Lemon rushed away.

  I returned my attention to the apartment.

  Jesus Christ! If it is not one thing then it’s another. Dead gorilla. . .now a dead body. How do I stop all of this?

  I scanned the place.

  Like Boris’s childhood home, there were tons of rugs hanging on the wall. At Yuri’s place, the rugs were in a striking red and blue pattern and leaning to the side as if someone had yanked them up to look under them.

  Weeks ago, I’d asked Boris why people hung rugs on the wall in Russia. He’d explained that during the winter everyone’s apartments were very cold due to the concrete walls. Using wool carpets for heat insulation became popular among the poor. And even though the walls were concrete, they were thin. A person could hear quarreling neighbors on one side and crying children on the other. The carpets served as soundproof material too.

  Many of the rugs in Yuri’s place were half dangling on the walls. The people had exerted a lot of energy to yanking them up and looking under them.

  I took a few more steps, making sure not to trip over all the stuff on the ground.

  What were they searching for?

  There was an antique table turned over on its side by the window. Two framed photographs lay on the floor.

  “This was recent. I talked his mother yesterday morning.” Boris put the table back. “I always check on her.”

  I picked both photographs up and looked at them. One showed a teenaged Yuri in an ice hockey uniform. Another was what I assumed to be of his mother, father, and Yuri. His mother had blonde hair and blue eyes. A black man stood next to him in green and purple African garb. Yuri stood in the middle of them and must’ve been ten years old.

  I set the framed pictures back on the table. “Did Yuri’s mother say anybody had come by?”

  “No. She said she was going to start helping my mother at the shelter. That she was so sad and needed something to do.”

  “This is more than a struggle between a woman and a robber.” I stepped over a toppled lounge chair. “They were looking for something.”

&nb
sp; Scowling, Boris scanned the place. “I should have gone to see her, when I came back.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. I kept you busy.”

  “I could’ve sent someone or—”

  “Don’t do that. It’s not your fault. What’s done is done.” I stopped in front of the turned over shelf. All of its contents spread across the floor—several cracked potted plants, a bible written in Russian, some figurines of dolls. “We’ll find out who did this and kill them. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Whoever murdered Yuri’s mother. . .I would like to deal with them personally.”

  “You got it, Boris.” I looked forward. “Where’s his mother at?”

  “In the kitchen. She was cooking breakfast, when they did it. Sometime yesterday. It must’ve been after our phone call.”

  I shook my head. “Yesterday morning?”

  “When did you make the phone call?”

  “Before we entered Kazimir’s office.”

  “People were around?”

  “Everyone except Max and you. All the top brothers. I wasn’t speaking loud, but I did tell her sorry about Yuri’s passing and that I would come by to talk to her.”

  “Someone heard you and didn’t want you to find something.”

  “I hope to God that is not the reason she’s dead.”

  There was no security system. No intruder alarm. No pads, no wires. No automatic call to the nearest police precinct. No way of telling if the murder had been long or not.

  I pulled out my phone and walked into the kitchen.

  The kitchen smelled faintly of cooked vegetables and stewed coffee. It was small, halfway between tidy and untidy. A well-used space. They hadn’t searched this room much. Whatever they were looking for, they assumed it would have been in the living room or probably the bedroom.

  Did they find it?

  I dialed Kaz.

  At the first ring, Kaz’s deep voice came on. “Mysh, are you okay?”

  “I am. I just need your cops. How do I get them?”

  “What do you need them for?”

  I stopped in front of Yuri’s dead mother. She had long gray hair and wore a blue and red flannel nightgown. She was on her side. Her arms and legs had sprawled in a way that made it look like she was running. One side of her head was caved in.

  They hit her with something.

  I could see blood and brains matted in her hair. More dried blood had pooled on the floor. It looked dark and sticky.

  A flipped over pot of porridge was next to her and mixed into the blood. All had dried. I guessed the blood on the floor was at least fifthteen hours old. But it was impossible to be precise.

  I squatted down and got a closer look.

  Kaz’s voice disrupted my thoughts. “Mysh?”

  “Someone killed Yuri’s mother. They were looking for something. I’m in his apartment.” I leaned over and looked at her head. “She was hit with something hard and heavy. Just a single blow, but a serious one.”

  I scanned the space, searching for the weapon.

  Boris walked around the kitchen as well as Kaz’s men.

  “Hold on, Kaz.”

  “Hold on—?”

  I moved the phone and stared at the woman’s caved in face.

  How did they kill her?

  The wound was dugout. Nearly an inch wide, maybe four inches long. It had come from the right side and above.

  From the phone, Kaz’s voice rose in the room. “Mysh?!”

  I looked at the dishtowel on the table.

  Someone wiped blood on it.

  I thought back to the door and how the person had burst through it with the bar.

  Motherfucker. That’s how they did it.

  I put the phone back to my ear. “They bust through the door with a thick metal bar, rushed in on his mother, and beat her head in with the bar.”

  Kaz hissed. “Are my men with you?”

  “Definitely. I have at least thirty people around me. I’m safe, baby. I just need your cops. I want them to get any fingerprints. I think this has something to do with me. Boris called Yuri’s mother from outside of your office yesterday. He said many of the people in the meeting were out there.”

  “Someone may have thought that things needed to be hidden and cleaned up.”

  “But what?” I let out a long breath. “What are we missing?”

  Kaz’s people entered and studied the place. All of them had their guns out. Some went into the back where the bedroom must’ve been located.

  Tension rode Kaz’s voice. “And do you plan to investigate this situation?”

  I stared at the poor dead woman on the floor. “Yes, but in a very safe way. This has something to do with me so—”

  “I want you back in the penthouse.”

  I put my back to everyone in the kitchen and lowered my voice. “Kaz, at the moment I am just walking and looking. I don’t have a gun. I’m not running or fighting anybody. I’m just looking.”

  Silence hit the other side.

  I cleared my throat. “Kaz, I want your cops to come by and grab prints, DNA, and anything else.”

  His tone darkened. “Max called to tell me about the brands on the Knights of Babylon stomachs.”

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip. “I happened to stumble on that information.”

  “From whom?”

  “Let’s not talk about this on the phone. Anyone can be listening.”

  “I want you safe.”

  “I have close to thirty people traveling with me today. I don’t think I can be any safer.”

  “I’m sending the cops and more men.”

  “Fine.” I was grateful he didn’t argue about me coming home.

  “What’s your plan after leaving this apartment?”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m just checking out Kapotnya.”

  “Bullshit. Where are you going after that?”

  “I’m looking over the district.”

  “You don’t go anywhere until my extra men arrive.”

  My body tensed. “Okay.”

  “And you’re back in the penthouse in an hour.”

  “An hour? I can’t promise that, Kaz.”

  “I can. My men will make sure of it.”

  “Kaz—”

  He hung up.

  Alrighty. He’s pissed. What did I expect?

  I took one last look at Yuri’s mother, left the kitchen, and went to the bedroom.

  Boris followed. “What did Kazimir say?”

  “He would send the cops and that I had to be back in the penthouse within an hour. He’s sending more men to watch me.”

  “So, we don’t go to Abram’s places today?”

  “We’re going. Kaz’s men will just have to find me. We’ll have to shut down the easiest of Abram’s shit projects first.”

  “That may be the drug houses.”

  My stomach twisted. “What about the brothels? I can’t let them go on for another day?”

  “That brothel is guarded worse than a bank. I want a hundred people with heavy weapons going in with me.”

  Kaz will lock me away, if I get involved in a huge shootout today.

  “Let’s finish looking this over and talk about it in the limo. Ride with us from now on.”

  Boris nodded.

  Entering the small bedroom, I walked carefully across the carpet. The killer had made a mess of this space too. Wrenching drawers out and throwing them on the floor. They’d lifted the bed and turned over the mattresses.

  I turned to Boris. “How long did you know Yuri?”

  “Since we were ten.”

  “Damn. I had no idea you both were friends for that long.”

  “Yeah. Our mothers were friends. So, it was bound to be. They were college classmates.” I shook his head. “I’m glad my mother didn’t come with us. The way this place looks would have broken her heart.”

  “They made a mess of everything. I just have no idea what they were looking for.” I scanned the space. “Do you think they fou
nd it?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Let’s see.”

  More rugs and wool tapestries decorated the wall in his mother’s bedroom. She had a small closet. The killer had yanked all of the garments and shoes out of the space and flung them all over. Undershirts, crisp and laundered littered the floor. Yuri’s clothing was piled in the corner. Jeans and pants ripped as if there were secret compartments sewed-in on the insides.

  I considered the mess. “It was small. Something that could be hidden in a pocket.”

  There were another small color photograph in a brass frame. The photograph was of Yuri’s mother next to what I assumed was his father. They had opened the frame and looked inside of it.

  Wait a minute. The other framed photographs were messed with.

  “Okay.” I set the frame down. “Whatever it is, I think it can be hidden behind a picture too. But I’m not sure. We’re talking about something small and thin.”

  “Maybe an article or letter.”

  “Or a photo too. A page from something. Whatever it is, the person wouldn’t want Kaz or me to see it. I’m sure this deals with the dead gorilla and decapitated monkey heads.”

  “Yuri found something that would point to somebody—”

  “And the person killed him because of it.”

  A tiny shelf had been toppled over on the other side of the bedroom. A collection of books were scattered around, all in Russian, all with pages torn out and ripped.

  I rummaged through one pile. There were twenty paperbacks and ten big hardcovers. I ran my finger along the paperbacks. Due to the Russian, I didn't recognize any of the titles or any of the authors. They all had cracked spines and yellow-edged pages. They all seemed to be religious texts. Inside them, I spotted holy crosses and black and white images of people with saint halos above their heads.

  “Yo, this is becoming a busy day.” Max entered. “What are we looking for?”

  “No idea.”

  Sarcasm coated his voice. “Oh goodie. My favorite thing to look for.”

  I lowered myself to the ground and looked under a chair. “It might be small and thin like a letter, page, news clipping, picture. But we really don’t know what it is.”