Russian Roulette hj-5

by Austin S. Camacho

  “I’m as American as you are,” Queenie said, cupping her hands around her cup. “I grew up right here in the District. It’s not my fault my mother gave me that Old Country name.”

  “And you ran as far from your culture as you could, didn’t you?” Hannibal looked at the cowboy boots and blouse, tight jeans and bottle-red hair, searching for the Eurasian features he knew they must hide. “But you couldn’t run far enough away to keep from marrying a Russian man, could you?”

  “Ben?” Queenie sipped her coffee. “Ben’s Polish. And thank you, by the way, for helping him. I heard what you said in the room just before I walked in. If you hadn’t been looking for him, he might be dead right now. Do you know what happened to him?”

  “Sure I do.” Hannibal leaned in, tired of being nice to this woman who seemed obsessed with deception. “Dani Gana caught him snooping one too many times and beat the crap out of him. His blood was all over Gana’s hands afterward. I saw it on Gana’s backdoor sill after he got home. He had to wrap his right hand, and after seeing Ben’s face I can see why. So whatever you wanted to trade Gana’s picture for, that’s what cost Ben that ass whipping. And I didn’t mean Ben anyway when I said a Russian man. I was talking about Boris Tolstaya.”

  Queenie blanched and her lower lip started to quiver. Hannibal just figured this to be her second line of defense.

  “Boris was Mother’s choice,” she said, her voice so low it was almost lost in the babble of other diners around her. Hannibal was suddenly aware of how crowded and how noisy the hospital cafeteria had become.

  “Why Boris?”

  “Why?” she asked. “He was an important man in the Russian community. He had lots of money and was very old school. And he was a constant gambler. You know, that was fun for a while.”

  The coffee was hot but weak and rough. Hannibal drank it to give his hands something to do. “So, Boris was Mother’s pick. He was a player, a gambler, rich, influential, and fun. Ben Cochran appears to be broke, and kind of weak. How does a fellow like Ben win you over from a man like Boris Tolstaya?”

  “With a straight flush,” Queenie said, pulling out a cigarette.

  “What?”

  “Boris bet me in a poker game.” Her face clouded up, but she regained control while searching herself for a match. “He always treated me like an object, and I took it, you know, because of everything else. But that night, that was too much even for me.”

  “You can’t smoke that in here,” Hannibal said, taking Queenie’s arm. “Let’s go outside for a few minutes.”

  She looked a bit unsteady so Hannibal took her arm and walked her out of the cafeteria. The cigarette between her fingers seemed to give her strength, even unlit. Hannibal didn’t think the past could shock her any more.

  “Would I be right if I said that Boris made his money from involvement with the mob?”

  “The mob?” Queenie asked. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that term. Boris was half-owner of a brokerage firm. He handled investments for a lot of prominent people. I know he didn’t ask a lot about the investors. I know that he skimmed money from their investments and never paid taxes on it. Does that make him a mobster?”

  “That depends,” Hannibal said, holding the door for her. “If he takes money from criminals and makes it legitimate for a fee then yes, I’d say it does. If he just swindles ignorant investors, he might just be a plain old crook.”

  They walked west, and Queenie squinted into the afternoon sun as she smoked her cigarette. Hannibal let her mind and emotions rest for a while. As a kick boxer, he understood fatigue and figured he’d give her three minutes between rounds. Reservoir Road took them into Glover Archibald Park, replacing the modest row houses with greenery. It was quieter, but Queenie didn’t seem to notice the change of scenery.

  “So, why are you trying to photograph Dani Gana? Or rather, why did you send poor Ben to do it?”

  “Ben and Dani are the only two men who ever beat Boris,” she said. “Ben beat him fair and square and won me. Dani took his money. I’m not sure which hurt him worse.”

  Hannibal thought he knew, but it wasn’t the answer she wanted. “How did Dani get his money? He wasn’t a player. He was a waiter.”

  “Boris had a huge ego,” Queenie said, chuckling. “Dani knew how to play on that ego. His real name is Gartee Roberts, you know. He knew how to spot a mark and rope him in. He got investors for Boris. Later, he started handling some of the funds. He seemed to be able to get money in and out of the country. Maybe that’s just ’cause he’s from someplace else.”

  “I can guess the next step,” Hannibal said. “Dani started skimming from the funds Boris was skimming, right?”

  Queenie stopped, and Hannibal missed the click of her boot heels on the path. “By the time Boris missed the funds, Roberts had somehow sucked a couple million dollars out of the accounts. You should have seen Boris’s face when he figured it out. God, he was furious.”

  “You were with both of them for a while, weren’t you?” Hannibal asked. Again Queenie went pale, which surprised Hannibal. She must have thought no one would guess.

  “I got used to being treated with respect.”

  “But you were also used to the money,” Hannibal said. She started walking again and he followed. “You knew the money was gone and you knew who had it. You figured if Ben could get a slice of it that that would be your ticket to freedom from Boris.”

  Queenie stepped away from the path out into a small patch of open grass. Dogs seemed to be everywhere, unleashed and maybe unwanted, yipping at each other but she ignored them. When she turned to Hannibal, her eyes were lowered in what she must have thought was a seductive expression.

  “It was pure luck that I found out that Roberts was back in town, now calling himself Dani Gana. I figured if we had a picture of him we could threaten to send it to Boris, who would surely kill him if he knew where he was. Then, we could force him to give us half of the money he stole from Boris.” Her eyes went down, then back up to Hannibal’s. “It is still a good plan. Ben is sneaky, but he’s not strong enough to confront Dani Gana. You are a stronger man. When Ben recovers, he can find Gana again for us. And maybe, for half a million dollars…” Her right hand lightly touched Hannibal’s sleeve.

  23

  Hannibal spent only a minute or so considering how half a million dollars might impact his relationship with Cindy. He could pick up the check wherever they went. He could fly her to the Bahamas for a couple of weeks. He could pay for half of her dream house.

  Then he raised his right hand and got a very gentle grip on Queenie’s right hand, moving it down and away from his arm.

  “And if Gana said no?” Hannibal asked, staring down into her eyes. “Would you then take the photo to Boris? Would you sentence Gana to death?”

  “He is a thief. And Boris Tolstaya is still my husband.”

  “Uh huh.” Her self-righteousness was as thin as the wisps of smoke rising from her cigarette, which was also almost burned out. “And feeding him Gana would put you back in his good graces, wouldn’t it? I get a feeling old Ben would be left in the dust if things went that way.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” Hannibal asked. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? You saw a two-way bet and you took it.”

  Queenie took a step back and looked at Hannibal as if for the first time. He could see her reevaluating, rejecting her original judgment of him, and deciding just what kind of sucker he really was. When she shook her head, he wondered how accurate her new evaluation was.

  “If you help us, I will never have to face that option,” she said. “And I will commit to staying with Ben. He’s the man who loves me, after all.”

  “That’s big of you,” Hannibal said, turning back toward the hospital.

  “Besides, there is the matter of the million dollars we could split.”

  “I don’t want your money,” Hannibal said, in part to convince himself, “but I sure want to get to Gana a
nd Viktoriya before your ex does. If he is mob connected, they’ll never make it out of the area on a plane or train or bus. Gana’s car is in the shop so he’d have to rent one to drive. The Russian mafia would have an eye on them too. So they’re probably still in town.”

  “He has no friends, no contacts,” Queenie said, trailing along. “They would go to her mother for help.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” They stopped when Hannibal realized they were back at the hospital entrance. “Her mother’s been killed. Probably by Boris’s boys getting close to the trail.”

  “Then there is no one left they can trust,” Queenie said, dropping her cigarette and grinding it into the sidewalk.

  “Maybe for him,” Hannibal said. “There might be one person left she can rely on, and I’d better find him fast.” He turned toward the parking lot.

  “Wait,” Queenie called. “What can I do?”

  “You need to get up to that hospital room,” Hannibal said over his shoulder. “There’s a man up there who needs you.”

  Hannibal imagined that on a Friday or Saturday night, with the acid jazz booming, the Russia House lounge would be a virtual clubhouse for Washington's Russian and Eastern European community. But on Sunday, just after the official opening at five pm, it was just a good place to sip vodka and soak up the atmosphere.

  As soon as Hannibal walked in, the bartender pointed him to the far end of the bar. He slipped past the collection of patrons, most looking too grim to be having a good time, and slid onto the empty stool beside Yakov Sidorov.

  Yakov raised his bushy eyebrows, but his surprise soon faded. He nodded and turned back to his drink. Hannibal signaled the bartender, careful not to smile any more than any of the other somber drinkers.

  “Jewel of Russia,” he said, in a tone that said it was his usual brand. He faced forward while waiting for his drink. When it arrived, he sipped just a little of his vodka and nodded at the glass. Yakov slid a plate across the bar to the space just to the side of Hannibal’s glass. The platter held a pile of small dumplings. Hannibal nodded his thanks and picked one up. A bite told him they were stuffed with potatoes and onions and a meat that was not quite chicken. He looked at Yakov.

  “Smoked duck,” Yakov said. “These are the best pierogi in the Western Hemisphere.” Then Yakov got one for himself and dipped it in the cream in a nearby bowl. Hannibal tried it and found the sauce quite spicy. This beat the hell out of bar peanuts.

  “You’ve heard about Raisa,” he said when his mouth was empty. It was not a question. Yakov nodded.

  “A tragic loss,” Hannibal said, “and I don’t even know if her daughter has been notified. Where is Viktoriya?”

  “With Gartee Roberts,” Yakov said just before draining his glass.

  “Where have they gone?”

  Yakov shrugged his shoulders and picked up another pierogi.

  “I thought if her mother didn’t answer the phone she might call on you.”

  “I wish it were so,” Yakov said. He waited just long enough for the bartender to fill his glass before snatching it up and drinking down half the contents. “The girl is like a daughter to me. But she does not realize what she has gotten into by marrying this man.”

  “You were against the marriage?”

  Yakov nodded. “I tried several times to convince Raisa to forbid their union.”

  Hannibal emptied his glass. He hadn’t noticed the slight sweetness in the Russian vodka before. Things are so often different the second time you consider them. Yakov was not part of Gana’s support system as the old photographs implied. Other connections now became possibilities. What if Gana wasn’t paying for the girl at all? What if Viktoriya was insurance against revenge from someone close? Or taking care of her could be payback for something else. When he turned to Yakov, Hannibal spoke very softly.

  “You broke with Gartee Roberts because he is somehow connected to Nikita Petrova’s murder.”

  “He and Boris Tolstaya,” Yakov said. His dour face looked close to tears. “I am the reason they all met. I introduced Boris to Nikita. It seemed natural since they both had health issues from the war. But yes, now I am sure that he and Roberts had something to do with Nikita’s death.”

  When Hannibal turned to the bar, his glass was full again. He took another sip of vodka. “Raisa must have known. Why else would she accept payoff money from Roberts? Gana. Whatever.”

  “Roberts?” Yakov stopped, his glass held halfway to his mouth. “No, Raisa would never have accepted money from him.”

  “Sorry, Yakov, but your friend Nikita didn’t leave much behind when he died. How do you think Raisa has been taking care of herself?” The room noise was getting louder. To Hannibal it was more like white noise than usual because most of it was in a language he didn’t understand. Yakov Sidorov leaned close as if he feared someone might overhear them even in that noisy setting.

  “Raisa Petrova was blackmailing Boris Tolstaya.” He shook his head with grim finality. “She found out somehow, and she knew that Boris was the evil one. When he left town right after Nikita’s death he took Roberts with him, but I don’t think he wanted to go.”

  “Yes,” Hannibal said, turning his head to look very closely into Yakov’s reddened eyes. “He was evil, and you are the man who brought him in here and introduced him to Nikita in the first place.”

  Yakov finally downed his drink, but Hannibal suspected that his body and mind were already numb. Maybe that was his objective. He stared at his glass.

  “Boris Tolstaya was a powerful, dangerous man,” Yakov told his empty glass. “I invested with him and did very well. Then I gambled with him. I lost. A lot. This, you see, was his way to gain control of people. And this was the leverage he used to force me to bring him here, to introduce him and Renata to certain people who were influential in the local Russian community. People like Nikita Petrova.”

  “Come on, Yakov,” Hannibal said, brushing Yakov’s shoulder with the back of his fingertips. “You knew Tolstaya was a snake, yet you introduced him to Nikita. I could understand steering strangers to him, but how could you do that to your good friend?

  The room was filling up, and a few strangers stared at Hannibal after his outburst. Yakov lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “After Nikita betrayed me, it was easy.”

  “Betrayed you?”

  “With Anastasiya.” It was almost a whisper, which Yakov chased back down his throat with more vodka.

  Hannibal returned his gaze to the bottles behind the bar to give Yakov some privacy, to let his grief and his guilt fight it out in peace. He had brought the Tolstayas into the picture, but he didn’t seem to have anything to do with Gartee Roberts. Tolstaya must have met the name-changing waiter in the club and seen something there he could use. Or maybe Roberts saw something he could use.

  It appeared that Anastasiya’s suspicions were just her projecting her own weakness onto her husband. The more likely truth was that he tried to look after Nikita’s surviving wife and daughter out of guilt because, one way or another, introducing Tolstaya to Nikita had led to Nikita’s death. And now he had failed to protect poor Raisa. Now he, like Hannibal, was worried that Viktoriya would be lost as well, but where was she?

  Beside him, Yakov Sidorov jumped as if he had received an electric shock. When he began fishing in his jacket pockets Hannibal realized he must have a cell phone set on vibrate. Yakov fished the phone out, glanced at the screen display, and then pressed it against his ear. He mumbled softly into it, but ended the conversation with, “Of course, child, as soon as possible.”

  Hannibal could only imagine one person he might call “child” and faced Yakov with an expectant stare. The older man didn’t hesitate.

  “It was Viktoriya. She needs help right away.”

  “Is she OK?”

  “For now, yes. But Dani Gana has been shot.”

  24

  Ten minutes later, Hannibal was merging onto Route 50 East. The good news was that once he crossed into Maryland he
knew that even the higher speed limit, sixty-five miles per hour, was just a suggestion and the high occupancy vehicle left lane was in effect 24/7. With Yakov sitting beside him, the Black Beauty was now an HOV. The bad news was that Viktoriya had called from a hundred and twenty-five miles away.

  “Why Rehoboth Beach, for God’s sake?” Hannibal asked.

  “When she was younger, her parents would take her there in the summer,” Yakov said, clutching the seat as Hannibal pressed the Volvo up past eighty-five. “They vacationed at Rehoboth because Ocean City is too crowded. Are you familiar with the little town?”

  “As it happens, I am,” Hannibal said. “Rehoboth beach is the biggest of Delaware's Atlantic resorts, part of a continuous line of seashore tourist areas, like Dewey Beach and Bethany Beach. They each kind of have their own personality. The Coffee Mill is in Rehoboth. That’s the little shop I order my custom ground coffee from. Without the summer beach traffic in my way, I can make it there in just about two hours.”

  “Fine. As long as we get there alive.”

  The wide, level road took them to MD 404, which turned into DE 404 as they crossed the state line. While the sun inched lower in the western sky, Yakov Sidorov talked about his youth in Mother Russia, his brief meeting with Nikita Petrova in Afghanistan, and his journey to the United States to make his fortune. His patients were almost all Eastern Europeans who paid in cash. He asked no questions except those related to their health and for their part they never argued about his rates or threatened to sue him for malpractice.

  The sun was just thinking about surrendering to the night as Hannibal cruised down the wide Main Street, lined with most of Rehoboth Beach’s two hundred shops, twenty or so hotels, and about as many bed and breakfasts. He circled the big gazebo at the beach end, still not finding a parking space. When they did find a meter without a car in front of it, they were three blocks from the ocean.

  Viktoriya had asked Yakov to meet her on the woo den boardwalk, a mile or so of eateries, games, hotels, and eclectic shops. Beyond the railings the umbrellas on the white powder sand beach were disappearing one by one, and lights winked on in front of shops as the night life was about to kick off.