“That‘s a shame. Is that your final word on the matter?”
“You bet your last fucking dollar it is.”
Bobby smiled and put his hands in his pants pockets as he turned to face Naldo.
“The guy thinks I‘m a comedian. But if he won‘t sell and won‘t give the place a way, what can we do?”
Naldo lunged forward at Markov and thrust a knife straight into his heart. A violent deep incision and Markov hit the floor. One minute he‘s talking business, the next blood is pouring out of his mouth and onto the carpet.
“We can kill you, motherfucker. That‘s what we can do.”
Naldo started cleaning up almost the minute he‘d rested Markov‘s head on the ground. Bobby watched him for five seconds and then looked at the other two fellas he‘d brought with.
“Make yourselves useful, eh?”
BOBBY LIKED THE layout of the Booty Bar with private dancing rooms close to the stage and the bar at the rear of the auditorium. Whoever they installed here to run the joint would have a great line of sight over the whole proceedings. And an office behind the bar so you‘d never be too far from the action.
When the last john left the building at six in the morning, Bobby locked the doors and explained to the hapless workers they had two options. Stay and work for him or fuck off with no hard feelings and today‘s wages. Everyone chose to stick around, which was no surprise as two them had seen Markov being dragged out the back and dumped in the trunk of Naldo‘s car. Word had got out about their erstwhile employer before Bobby had a chance to talk to them.
He gave everyone a bonus to keep them sweet and then sent everybody home so his crew could comb through the place to make sure there were no complications. They looked out for any unopened safes and ensured there weren‘t any others hiding in the shadows, too scared to confront the new owners.
No Markov minions but two ledgers and one safe. Bobby had low expectations about its contents as the box was small and found at the bottom of a cupboard. They dumped it all in his car and he drove off to apply his skills to crack it open. Naldo made yet another trip into the desert to offload Anton Markov, onetime owner of the Booty Bar.
MARY LOU MIGHT have harbored the belief that San Francisco was a chilled out town but no-one had explained this to its more recent arrivals. When the Italian mob’s control over organized crime wavered in the 1990s, other groups leapt on the opportunity to take over. Many of these people came over from the newly independent states of the former Soviet Union - and from Russia itself.
Their background in abject hardship under the yoke of Communist oppression set them up to be ruthless dictators in charge of their own gangs. This made the Markovs no different from hundreds of families who entered the country illegally to seek their fortunes, having created seed capital from the black market back home.
If Mary Lou had known the specific history of the Markov clan, she would have advised Bobby to tread carefully around Anton instead of whacking him during their first argument. As night follows day, the Markovs moved with tremendous speed after Anton‘s death.
Two nights later, smoke was seen coming out from under one of the private rooms of the Booty Bar. Within a quarter of an hour, flames licked the stage and only five minutes after that, the second floor collapsed on top of the auditorium. Everyone escaped unharmed but the unflinching revenge sent a clear message to Bobby. They sure had picked on the wrong person to chisel out of a bar.
Mary Lou took the news badly while Bobby thought having control of two out of the three venues was good work. She beleived the Markovs had taken a diabolical liberty by destroying her property. The fact it had been theirs forty-eight hours before was irrelevant to her. Everyone needed to see you don‘t mess with the Lagotti family - otherwise any upstart with a shotgun could come calling. Her reaction was simple.
“Find out who did this to me and kill them.”
“We took the fight to them by shooting one of theirs.”
“And we will finish this by putting more of them in the morgue.”
“I‘m not sure we should escalate this. Both sides could put each other‘s actions down as an unfortunate incident but a fair trade. If we retaliate now then they‘ll come back and hit us harder. It‘s inevitable because that is exactly how we would respond.”
“I don‘t give a shit how many bodies pile up, we must be seen to be stronger than them. Else we‘ll lose leverage everywhere.”
“Sure thing babe, but we are weak over in San Francisco. Our power base is in LA not along the coast. Do you think we should divert resources away from making good money for us just to show a bunch of Russkies we mean business?”
“Damn straight. We can‘t let them come over here and walk all over us. If they do that, within three years they‘ll have everything and you and I will be six feet under.”
Bobby sat pondering Mary Lou‘s words and mulled over his own concerns. She had more energy than he had. And his crew were most likely to wind up dead. He hated organizing funerals and dealing with crying, resentful widows. But taking it all into account, Mary Lou was right. Yesterday it was the Booty Bar and tomorrow it would be gaming, the rest of the girls and then the narcotics operations. They needed to destroy the parasite before it throttled its host.
THE MARKOV FAMILY occupied the Tenderloin district on McAllister and Larkin. Generations of impoverished inhabitants had lived and died on the same streets as these stocky Russian gangsters, who landed on the west coast and sustained themselves through a highly-effective protection racket which blossomed into prostitution in all its guises.
Their girls were streetwalkers in the main run by a bunch of punks and a network of pimps. The Booty Bar had been a rare attempt at refinement because the senior family members understood the importance of rising out of the criminal primordial ooze. They needed ways to make more money and controlling a legal venue gave them the opportunity to hire out skanks at a much higher rate. While a cathouse would have boosted revenues, the Booty Bar delivered greater respectability too. Besides you could legally comp a cop a short private dance but lending them a hooker for half an hour was a whole different ball game.
Hence the vicious response. Anton may have been stubborn, but he was in charge of the only shred of legal activity operated by the Markovs. They could not let the affront to their reputation go unchallenged.
BOBBY AND HIS crew - Naldo and three trusted associates - began by cutting girls on the street. This was simple and sent out a clear statement: if you hit our revenues by burning down our building then we will scar your product. Only the sickest of the sick wants to fuck disfigured hookers.
The Markovs replied by attacking the other two bars under Lagotti control: the Red Stocking and the Dahlia. On this occasion, no matches were applied to the situation. Instead goons were despatched to threaten the staff - girls, bar tenders, the lot. The following day, everyone was too scared to enter the premises. Mary Lou sent guys and whores in from LA but they received the same clear message.
On the night of Christmas Eve, Mary Lou ordered her fellas to slash throats and less than a week later, the body count had reached double digits on both sides.
“This madness has to stop. This war of attrition is hurting all of us with no sign of letting up. We‘ve lost good people and for what? A stake in the ground and a chance to sell the sight of an ass a few miles further north.”
“Organize a conference. We can afford to allow ourselves a graceful defeat on the prostitution because the lottery cards are going gangbusters.”
19
MARY LOU REFUSED to come to the meet and insisted Bobby go instead. He knew this was a mistake but her mind was made up. A seedy hotel conference space with a view of a car lot - if you bothered to look outside. Naldo frisked the Markov attendees and one of their goons checked they weren‘t packing pieces. Everyone was clean.
The room had space for six chairs and a rectangular table which was exactly what was required. Bobby sat with Naldo to his right and Ernie
Santo, a third generation American who‘d worked alongside Naldo for years. Solid, reliable but occasionally prone to chatter. On the other side of the oak veneer was Nikolay Markov and two guys who were estranged from their clothes. It looked as though this was the first time either had worn a jacket. However, Bobby understood these individuals will have been the ones who torched the Booty Bar and murdered his people. They might seem like redneck hicks but he knew better than to underestimate them.
“You have encroached on our territory and performed horrific acts on our property.”
“Let‘s be honest with each other Nikolay, both sides have deployed knives and guns causing pain and misery. Nobody is innocent here.”
Bobby paused and stared at the three sitting opposite. There was no way Markov could take the moral high ground.
“The point is, we‘re sat here today to put an end to the bloodshed so we can all go back to work.”
“Agreed. But we must take into account you killed my nephew Anton.”
“There is no need to bring out a roster for the dead but I acknowledge the death of your family member and I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. He was a stubborn cocksucker, but he was my sister‘s stubborn cocksucker. I hope you understand.”
“I do. This is my proposal: we cease our efforts this year to stretch our wings in San Francisco‘s prostitution market. You stop attacking my people and we‘ll not muscle into any lap dancing clubs or hooker networks, whether owned by you or not.”
“I see.”
“By now, you should have done your homework and found out who we are and the reach we have in California and Nevada. We do not intend to stand still despite our... local difficulties here. You have shown yourselves to be formidable fighters and we respect that.”
“You are right to give up on pussy in this town. This time next year, I will be the only man selling ass on these streets and you won't get in my way. But you have forgotten about Anton.”
“Direct compensation will be difficult because I‘ve already just given up rights to prostitution and also because Anton had a simple choice and he picked foolishly. No disrespect to you or your sister.”
“The boy was not the sharpest tool in the box. What are you suggesting?”
“A business relationship with us. In order to keep the girls on the streets or pumping those poles while they lap dance, I imagine you ply them with narcotics. We would like to supply them to you. This will be at a lower price than you pay now and of a higher quality, not that it matters to you. The compensation is the amount of green you save. Tell your sister whatever you want but that‘s the most Anton‘s life is worth to us.”
The corners of Nikolay‘s mouth raised upward in the best imitation of a smile he could muster.
“Drugged up and fucked up - that‘s how we like them.”
“Are we agreed?”
“Sure, why not? If it doesn‘t work out, I will go to a different supplier and then find and kill you for betraying our agreement.”
Nikolay stared through Bobby who grit his teeth and inhaled deeply. Now was not the time to rise to this Russian‘s bait. They both knew the Lagottis were getting a beating. Only Nikolay wouldn‘t let Bobby off the hook.
“Oh, and one last thing. We will relinquish immediate control of the Dahlia to you but keep the Red Stocking. Naturally you will supply all the girls to the club for a fee and a month ago you didn‘t have the Dahlia in your operation so that is a gift from us to you.”
“Very well. At least I‘ll know where to find you. Our fee is sixty cents on the dollar - of the profit.”
“Let‘s not get greedy so close to the end of our discussions. You can have fifty per cent of all revenues from the girls but not a penny more. Anything else we wring out the johns is our affair.”
Bobby sat back in his chair and noticed Naldo place both hands on his lap. The man was ready to pounce because this was the moment when the deal all came together or fell apart into violence. Bobby had ceded ground until his final push and Nikolay might not fall for the ruse.
“This is acceptable.”
Nikolay leaned across the table to shake Bobby‘s hand and the two smiled. He knew better than to trust the Russki but he‘d stopped the bloodshed - for now. And they had a new customer for their brown sugar.
As they walked out onto the car lot, a gust of wind hit them all in the face like they‘d been slapped back into reality. Far in the distance someone was playing carols. The sound of sleigh bells permeated Bobby‘s consciousness and he remembered what time of year it was.
“Merry Christmas to you and yours.”
“Huh? Oh yes. Season‘s greetings.”
They stood facing each other for a second until another blast of wind cut through them. Bobby nodded, slapped his hands together in a failed attempt to improve blood flow to his fingers and walked away. Naldo waited a short while to watch the Markovs depart.
“We should have killed them while we had the chance.”
Bobby glared at Naldo‘s rare intrusion into family decision making.
“We‘ll make money out of them and no-one has to die over the vacation. Besides, we only promised to stay out of prostitution for a year. The man has dreams but at heart he‘s a street fighter and they get toppled by the next guy with a bigger baseball bat.”
SAM SPENT CHRISTMAS Day at Alice's, watching the sea beat against the beach although they went to a restaurant for a five course lunch. She enjoyed her time with Alice but the initial buzz had worn off. Separated by thousands of miles, the relationship needed a kick up its ass. Because they only saw each other one or two weekends a month, they both made sure there were no arguments or any reason to spoil the experience when they were together. That also meant all their different expectations and opinions remained unresolved.
Alice was besotted with her, but Sam could no longer tell herself she reciprocated. Of course, the sex was still good and the presents lavished on her were not to be sneezed at. All the same, she was bored but didn‘t have the energy to end it.
Christmas Day was a perfect example of what was wrong. Each individual moment was wonderful whether eating the most perfectly cooked turkey in the world, sitting watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean or clinging to the headboard of Alice‘s four poster bed. But they added up to nothing. They would never be a normal couple and when they talked about the future, they were kidding themselves.
So Sam sowed the seeds of her departure before she even arrived, blaming a work party for her need to return to the east coast. The sadness on Alice‘s face almost made her cry but Sam tried her damndest to ensure Alice had the best Christmas away from her Mama she‘d ever had. If not the best then filled with the most sex.
AS SOON AS the plane landed at Logan, Sam felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders. She scurried back to her apartment, cracked open a bottle of wine and got merrily drunk watching TV reruns until she gurgled asleep in the late evening.
The next day, she opened her address book and investigated the party scene in her home town. With only three days before New Year the last thing she needed was to spend the upcoming nights alone. Good news: she was in luck. Every night had something to offer until the clock struck midnight on Sunday, December 31.
Thursday evening was a washout. Sam found herself cornered by a rich doofus who was more interested in his opinions than hers but that didn‘t stop her taking him home. His punishment for the tedium inflicted on her was to hail a cab on the street at four in the morning when she decided he wasn‘t going to be any more use to her in bed.
Having secured two days vacation time, Sam went to the gym on Friday afternoon and dolled herself up. She wouldn‘t make the same mistake tonight. Kickass: that was her new motto.
The party venue was a penthouse overlooking State Street and, given the height of the apartment block, looked like it had a great view of the bay. Sam mingled, chatted with a few interesting people and was considering leaving to find action elsewhere when
she went to the makeshift bar for one last drink.
“Champagne?”
“Why the hell not?”
“I‘ve yet to come up with a good reason myself.”
“In that case, let‘s see what happens. What‘s the worst, right?”
Sam clinked glasses with the guy who was very self-assured but wasn‘t trying to take over the conversation.
“You local or breezing through town for the festive season?”
“Grew up in New Jersey but I‘ve been living here since I left college.”
“Study here?”
“Used to.”
“Bright girl. And smart enough to stay in this beautiful city.”
“And you?”
“I split my time between here and my other ventures on the east coast.”
“Entrepreneur?”
“Do my best. Business is never easy...”
“... but you‘re doing well to afford that suit.”
Sam reached out to feel the material of the jacket and the guy smiled and seemed to puff his chest as she did it. Having fingered the schmatta, Sam pressed down the lapel so it was flat again and gave herself the opportunity to lay her palm on his upper torso above his heart ever so slightly longer than was proper.
They continued to talk and she moved onto a cosmo or two, a habit she‘d acquired from Alice. The guy took Sam‘s glass and placed it on a nearby table. He put his hand on hers and led her to the dance floor where a DJ was cranking out the tunes. He had some good moves but focused on dancing with her rather than impressing her. The same couldn‘t be said for most of the others hovering near her like flies buzzing around a picnic hamper.
When the beats slowed down and half the people sloped off to drink a little more, he got intimate without getting fresh. For Sam that meant she was happy for him to kiss her neck and put his hand on her ass but he didn‘t try to rearrange her panties. What a gentleman.
The Lagotti Family Series Page 76