by Reece Hirsch
“This guy . . . ” Yuri said to his companion, wagging a finger at Will. “You ever see someone and just want to beat the crap out of them?”
“All the time,” the heavyset man responded in a thick Russian accent.
Katya, wearing only her Giants T-shirt and underwear, stood at the kitchen counter looking scared. “Nikolai . . . Yuri . . . why don’t we just talk later after he’s gone,” Katya said, nodding at Will. “I’ll come and see you. I promise.”
Nikolai pondered for a moment, the gears seeming to turn slowly but with reasonable precision. “Postoi, Yura! On nam mozhet prigoditsia.”
“What do they want?” Will asked Katya.
Katya simply shook her head.
“Don’t talk to her,” said Nikolai in his labored English. “You talk to me. Who are you?”
“I met Katya at the Whiskey Bar last night. That’s all.”
Nikolai’s tone was calm, patient, and only mildly amused. “Just answer questions. What is your name?”
“Will.”
“Full name, please.”
“Will Connelly.” Although Will’s voice was steady, his hands were trembling, fear coursing through him like a low-voltage electrical current. For someone who had always resolved his conflicts through thoughtful discourse, the idea of real physical violence was strangely difficult to comprehend. The situation made him recall the moment when he had stood up to his wife-beating father when he was fifteen. He had faced down George late one night in the front yard of their house, wielding a driver from his bag of golf clubs. Will still vividly recalled that moment, the feel of his bare feet in the wet grass and the surging anger that almost caused him to swing the club. But instead, after some blustering and shouting, George had walked off down the dark suburban street, never to return. Anne had joked later that he should have used a nine iron.
“And what do you do, Will Connelly?”
“I’m an attorney.”
Nikolai extended a meaty hand and said, “Your card. Please.”
“Yeah,” Yuri added, “you guys always carry cards, don’t you?”
“I don’t think I have one with me.” Will was still hoping that he could avoid giving them too much information.
“Yura, posmotri u nego v pidzhake,” said Nikolai, pointing to Will’s suit.
“Use your English,” Yuri responded testily. “How else are you going to get any better?”
Yuri grabbed Will’s jacket and pants out of his arms and fished in the suit pocket. After a few seconds, he produced a business card, then threw the clothes back at Will.
Yuri handed the card to Nikolai, who studied it as if it were written in Phoenician cuneiform.
Will, in turn, studied Yuri and Nikolai. Although he could have sized up a lawyer he was negotiating with in ten seconds flat, Yuri and Nikolai weren’t nearly so easy to read. All he was able to conjure up was a long line of fictional gangsters from movies, television, and books. Were they members of a Russian organized-crime family or just garden-variety bullies?
“You do criminal work?” Nikolai asked, perhaps contemplating his own affairs.
“No. Corporate law. Mergers and acquisitions.”
“M&A, huh?” Yuri added, determined to be part of the conversation.
“Will works on big-time deals. He is way out of your league,” Katya goaded.
“Then that means he’s out of your league, too, doesn’t it?” Yuri countered, with a vindictive rise in his voice that made Will wonder again if they had ever been a couple. “You think Will here is going to take you away from all this? He’s just here to get laid. Isn’t that right, Will?”
“Shut the fuck up, Yuri.” Nikolai said it as if it were all one word and one of the few English phrases that seemed to roll trippingly off his tongue.
Nikolai and Yuri conferred in Russian, with Nikolai doing most of the talking. When they finished, Yuri walked up to Will. “You know, Will, I have never had much luck in the stock market. I was heavy into tech stocks. You being such a smart guy and all, I bet you got out of the market in time.”
Yuri’s glare seemed to demand a response. “No, I got burned, too,” Will offered. “Just about everyone did.”
“But if you are such a big fucking deal, like Katya says, then you probably know some things.”
“No, not really.”
“But even if you did know something, something profitable, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”
Will could not think of a safe answer to that question, so he remained silent.
“Nikolai and I are entrepreneurs. We are always looking for business opportunities. We think maybe we see an opportunity in you, Will.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
“We’ll see.”
Yuri stepped behind the kitchen counter and examined some dirty dishes in the sink. “She is not much of a house-keeper, is she?” He picked up a dirty wineglass from the counter. He held it up to the light and examined the fingerprint smudges.
“Now I’m sure that if you really tried, you could think of something,” Yuri said. He wrapped his fingers around the base of the glass and let it dangle at his side.
“I really can’t help you,” Will said.
“I don’t think you’re trying hard enough.”
“I don’t know anything, and even if I did—”
“Take a moment,” Yuri said. “Think about it.”
“You really should think about it,” Nikolai added, with a note of what could almost pass for concern.
Will paused, making a show of giving it some thought, then tried again. “Attorney-client privilege prevents me—”
Yuri swung quickly, smashing the wineglass into Will’s temple. Will collapsed to the floor. Blood flowed warm into his eyes. He watched in stunned fascination as drops of his blood formed a small, dark puddle on the floor.
Yuri stood over him. “Fuck attorney-client privilege.”
Katya came out from behind the kitchen counter, but Nikolai stepped forward to block her advance. “Animals! Leave him alone!” Katya punched Nikolai in the bicep, producing the dull, unyielding thud of someone striking a stack of phone books. With little effort, Nikolai grabbed Katya by the shoulders and hurled her onto the bed.
Yuri motioned to Nikolai. “It’s your turn, big man.”
Nikolai removed his overcoat and laid it carefully over a chair. He resembled a retired football player going to seed, with his hard, protuberant belly and pectorals like balloons the day after a party.
Yuri pulled Will up off the floor, twisting his arms behind his back. Will struggled, but Yuri’s grip held firm. He seemed to have done this before.
Will blinked to clear his vision. With his hands pinned, he was unable to wipe the blood from his eyes or probe his throbbing temple. He shook his head like a dog to get the blood off his face.
“Cocksucker!” Yuri shouted. “You get blood on this shirt and I’ll really go to work on you.”
Nikolai slowly advanced toward Will, giving him time to contemplate what was coming. Will twisted in Yuri’s grip, attempting to free his hands.
Nikolai had dark rings under his armpits, and as he stood before Will he smelled of damp wool, sweat, and cologne.
“This is crazy,” Will said. “I really don’t . . .”
Nikolai put his finger to his lips. “Please,” he said, before slamming a fat fist into Will’s stomach. Katya shrieked.
Will slumped in Yuri’s grip, gasping for air with a thin, wet wheezing sound.
“Come on, Will, don’t be a pussy,” Yuri said as he straightened Will up. Nikolai approached again.
“Stop it! He told me something!” It was Katya, who was crouched on the bed on her hands and knees.
Nikolai turned to her. “What did you say?”
“He told me something about a deal he’s working on. Just stop hitting him.”
“Go on,” Nikolai said.
“Don’t . . . ” Will managed to gasp.
Ka
tya sat up on her knees on the bed. “Will, I’m sorry.” Then, to Nikolai: “He told me that he’s working on a big deal. A company called Jupiter. Jupiter Software. They’re going to be bought.”
Yuri released Will, and he slumped to the floor.
“Good,” Nikolai said, with a smile that revealed a set of square, gray teeth like cinder blocks.
Will slowly rose to his feet. Nikolai and Yuri now focused on Katya, who was sitting on the side of the bed, pulling her long T-shirt down over her knees.
“We will talk to Katya alone now,” said Yuri, addressing Will.
Katya’s eyes were on the floor. Will couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“So you can get the fuck out of here,” Yuri continued. “We know where to find you. We’ve got your card.” He snapped the card with his index finger for emphasis.
For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Will surprised himself. “I’m not leaving her alone with you two.”
Yuri slapped his forehead with his palm in sheer incomprehension. “The ingratitude of the fucker! Kaifu.”
“What?” Will said, reflexively.
“You must be high!” Yuri exclaimed. “Kaifu!”
Nikolai smiled dimly at Will’s foolishness, but decided to humor him. “Okay. Yuri, take him out in hall while I talk to Katya.” Nikolai grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen counter and threw it at Will. “For your head.”
“It’s okay,” Katya said to Will. “I’ll be fine.”
Yuri took Will by the arm and led him to the open door. “See? She is going to be fine. You, I am not so sure about.”
Nikolai pulled the door shut, leaving Will standing in his boxer shorts with Yuri in a dingy hallway dappled with shafts of morning sunlight. Will mopped the blood from his face with the towel and attempted to locate the cut on his temple with his fingers, the pain sharpening as he got closer. The bleeding had slowed. Three quarters of an inch to the right, though, and he might have lost an eye. He began to sort out the bundle of clothes in his arms and get dressed.
Will strained to hear what was being said inside the apartment, but all he could make out was the vague rumble of Nikolai’s voice.
A woman emerged from an apartment a few doors down, hair still damp, with a coffee mug in hand. As she locked her door, she looked up to observe Will holding a bloody towel and doing a one-legged dance as he pulled on his pants.
Yuri stared at the woman with an unblinking gaze that could be read as a threat.
The woman locked her door and walked briskly away, apparently deciding that she wanted no part of whatever was going on.
Yuri stared at Will as he got dressed, and he wondered if he was about to get punched again.
Finally, Yuri spoke. “Is that wool?”
“Yeah,” Will said, curious where the conversation was headed.
“Looks a little heavy for spring.”
“Not in San Francisco.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Brooks Brothers.”
“That’s what I thought. Not bad,” Yuri conceded. “But I like something a little more tailored. Hugo Boss.”
Yuri had nothing else to say to Will as they waited in the hallway. Yuri removed a small plastic bottle of hand sanitizer from his jacket and rubbed some in his hands, giving off the smell of alcohol. When Will had put on the clothes, he was left without shoes, socks, or a tie, which had all been kicked under the bed in Katya’s apartment before he hid in the bathroom.
After about ten minutes, the door to Katya’s apartment opened and Nikolai emerged. Katya stood behind him in the doorway, holding the rest of Will’s clothes. Her eyes were red, but she appeared unharmed. Her face seemed unsettled.
Nikolai said to Katya, “Give him his things.”
“I’m not leaving yet.” Will wanted to talk with Katya out of the presence of Yuri and Nikolai.
“It’s okay,” Katya said. “You should go. We can talk later.”
He studied her, then Yuri and Nikolai, and concluded from everyone’s demeanor that the incident was over. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Yuri rolled his eyes at Nikolai, seemingly exasperated by Will’s belief that he had a choice in the matter.
Katya closed the door, which was followed by the sound of two locks and a chain being hastily secured.
Will put on his shoes and socks and shoved the tie into his jacket pocket.
Nikolai patted Will on the shoulder. “I know you don’t think so right now, but you are going to like doing business with us. You will see. We are not bad guys. We will talk again soon.”
Yuri and Nikolai walked with Will down the worn stairs, emerging on Pacific Street, blinking in the bright morning light like three businessmen commencing their workday. Yuri pointed up the street. “We’re parked up this way,” he said matter-of-factly. “Which way are you headed?”
Without hesitation, Will pointed in the opposite direction. As he walked away, he had the growing realization that he had been had.
SEVEN
It was one of those crisp, perfect mornings that San Francisco produces so effortlessly in the spring. Will watched the drivers on their way to work, hands on the wheel and eyes fixed on the middle distance, gliding through the comforting autopilot of the daily routine, just as Will usually did on a Tuesday morning.
But this was not a typical Tuesday morning. It was eight thirty. Will was standing on the corner of Polk and Broadway waiting for a taxi to pass, rumpled and unshaven. As he dabbed at his forehead with a bloody dish towel, he had the inescapable sense that all of the terrible things that had happened to him in the past forty-eight hours were somehow connected.
Being framed for Ben’s murder. Taking over the Jupiter transaction from Ben. Picking up Katya in the club and her “guess” that he was working on the Jupiter deal. The inopportune appearance of Yuri and Nikolai and their interest in Jupiter. Following this reasoning to its logical conclusion, it seemed likely that Yuri, Nikolai, and Katya had played some part in Ben’s death.
He needed time to think, to shuffle these facts until he could discern more of the pattern. But there was no time for that. He had to be at his office in Embarcadero Center by nine, looking sharp, to negotiate the merger of Jupiter Software and Pearl Systems. After the meeting, he would have time to consider whether he should report Yuri, Nikolai, and the whole bizarre series of events to Detective Kovach, Don Rubinowski, and perhaps even the SEC.
Across the street was a drugstore. He rushed in and bought toothpaste, a toothbrush, shaving cream, a comb, bandages, and a disposable razor.
With his purchases in a paper bag, he flagged down a taxi. The cabbie was a sun-baked, bearded man who appeared to be made out of the same faded, dirty material as the taxi’s upholstery. Will asked to be taken to the Hyatt Regency, which was across the street from his office building. The cabbie glanced at his bleeding head but was undeterred; he had clearly seen worse.
Will pulled out his phone and dialed the cell number of David Lathrop, the CEO of Jupiter Software. They had spoken only once before, when Will had called to inform him that he would be taking over as lead counsel on the deal.
“David? Hi, this is Will Connelly.”
“I hope you’re a quick study, Will,” David said.
“I’ve done my homework. I’ve been through all of Ben’s files and notes. Any final thoughts before our meeting?”
“Not really. I was just about to walk over to your offices. I had a breakfast meeting with the bankers.” Will read David’s terseness as nerves.
“I have a little point of strategy I want to discuss with you.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You said that when you and Ben were over at their attorneys’ offices, they kept you waiting for nearly a half hour while they talked.”
“That’s right,” David said. “What a chickenshit little maneuver that was.”
“Well, I think we should let them sit for about that long in our conference room before
we make our entrance. I know it sounds petty, but you have to set a tone with these guys. Every time they push us, we have to push back. They want this deal to close as badly as you do.”
The cell phone signal wavered as faint street sounds cut in and out. If David decided that they should arrive at nine sharp, he knew there was no way he could be there in time. That would not make much of a first impression.
“I like it,” David said. Will could almost hear him grinning on the other end of the line. “I knew there was a reason why I pay your firm so much money.”
“When they arrive, I’ll have my secretary take them into the conference room and tell them we’re in a meeting. You can take your time getting over here. We can meet up at around nine twenty-five or nine thirty.”
“See you then.”
The taxi pulled into the driveway of the Hyatt. Will handed the driver some bills and hit the ground running.
He did not want to use the restroom in the firm’s offices to clean himself up. They would immediately assume that he had gone on some kind of postpartnership bender, which, admittedly, was not far from the truth.
Will entered the hotel’s soaring atrium lobby and ducked into the restroom, which was empty. He assessed his appearance in the mirror. The cut on his temple was actually fairly small and no longer bleeding. Nikolai’s punch hadn’t left any bruising, and as far as he could tell, none of his ribs were cracked. Will quickly brushed his teeth, shaved, combed his hair, straightened his tie, and dusted himself off.
He reviewed the results in the mirror. His suit was still a little wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was certain to get some questions about the bandage, but he was presentable. Now if he could only calm his nerves. His hand trembled slightly from residual adrenaline and he gripped the sink to make it stop. He checked his watch: nine twenty.
Leaving the Hyatt, he crossed Sacramento Street to Embarcadero Center. The four massive, white towers of Embarcadero Center lined up like dominoes. It seemed that nearly every law firm in San Francisco had an office somewhere within the complex. Will dashed up the steps and pushed through the revolving door into the stark lobby, which was composed of large blocks of white stone that made the place look like some kind of twenty-first-century version of a Mayan temple.