by Dylan Rust
Police sirens echoed in the distance. They’d be there soon.
The gangster fired three more shots at Jack and then closed the door to the kitchen, locking it. Jack ran up to the door and tried to kick it open. The thing was bolted shut. He slammed his fist against the door and screamed.
At that moment, seven NYPD cops stormed into the bar, guns drawn.
“Everybody get down, hands behind your back.”
Jack followed their instructions. He was numb. What the fuck had just happened? How did the cops respond so quickly to Nathans’ call?
The cops put handcuffs on the gangsters who were passed out and on Jack.
He’d started the day at a police station, he might as well end it at one, too.
9
The next morning, Agent Claire walked into the New Jersey police station where Jack had been brought in to. With the one call he’d been given, he called her.
His voice sounded distant, angry. But he wasn’t as elusive or combative as he’d been during their meeting in the 77th. There was a focus and directness that wasn’t there before. He said he wanted to help. He also said he needed to be bailed out of jail.
She checked in to the front desk and asked a pleasant looking cop where the cells were located. She said she was looking for Jack Spade. After brining up Jack’s name, the cop’s expression changed. Jack hadn’t been a good cellmate. They had to bring him downstairs to the cells in the basement. He’d beaten the shit out of two drug dealers that had attacked him.
He was taken to the special cell reserved for psychopaths, serial-killers and worse. The door of the cell was three feet thick. It was the closest thing to solitary confinement that a precinct was legally allowed to have.
The cop didn’t want to take Claire down to the basement. He was scared of Jack. Claire had to ask the captain, an old tough-as-nails guy with a handlebar moustache. He had a way of speaking that always made you feel like you were an idiot.
“He’s done here, miss,” Captain Lynn Johnson said. “This way.”
He hit the light switch to the basement and went down the steps. Claire followed. Jesus, she thought. They really weren’t pulling any punches with Jack.
“I’m familiar with the guy,” Johnson said. “He’s a fucking freak. You know who his uncle was?”
Claire nodded.
“Fucking Tony The Blade. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, let me tell you.”
They made it to the basement. It was quiet. The sound of the generator reverberated throughout the floor. The air was dry.
Johnson knocked on the cell door.
“Wakey, wakey, shit head,” he said. “It’s your fucking lucky day.”
He pulled open the thick door. It scraped along the ground. Johnson broke a sweat in the process.
Jack was sat on a bench. He was still. He looked like he was meditating.
Johnson walked up to him and took off his handcuffs.
“The lady here has bailed you out,” Johnson said. “Why? I don’t know. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned working as a cop in this city for the last forty years, it’s that you don’t question the feds. It’ll just give you a headache.”
Jack ignored him. “They took Elaine,” he said to Claire.
“What?” Claire asked.
Jack stood up, stretched. “Igor’s men have my sister.”
“How do you know?”
“The bar, last night, Jimmy’s in Newark. My sister works there. Four men came in, they were Russian mobsters.”
“How do you know?”
“I know?”
“Jack, tell me.”
“They were using Makarovs and Tokarev pistols and they had thick Russian accents.”
Claire nodded.
“Thanks for bailing me out,” Jack said. He walked past the captain and Claire.
“Wait a minute,” Claire said. “You’re coming with me.”
Jack turned around and looked at her and said, “I don’t need your help. I’ll get you Igor.”
“You’re not doing this alone,” Claire said. “You’re not. You’re coming with me. If you don’t, I’ll file a warrant for your arrest. You’ll be back here and on your way back to Rikers by the end of the week.”
“Is that a threat?” Jack said.
Claire felt her heart pound in her chest. She stared into Jack’s eyes. “Yes,” she said.
Jack smiled.
Claire relaxed. There was something in his eyes. Something that wasn’t there the day before. Something that said she could trust him.
Jack stared at Claire. He needed to find Elaine. Every second that passed made the situation more dire. He had no choice. He had to work with the feds.
10
The warehouse the FBI had set up as headquarters was close to Coney Island Yard, three blocks north west of The Dacha House. It was a large, nondescript building. The windows were either boarded up or so dirty that you couldn’t tell the difference. The 10,000 square feet inside were used in World War II to build munitions for the allied troops. After the war, the building had been stripped and emptied. It sat like that for over fifty years, being mostly used as a ghetto for homeless and drug abusers. In the nineties, during New Yorks economic boom, a Hollywood executive bought the building and rented it out to studios so they could film the latest episode of the most current police procedural in an authentic New York City warehouse. And that was what the executive thought the feds were doing there, filming a television show. But he didn’t know he was talking to the feds. He thought he was talking to just another television production company.
Coming in under the guise of a television production company was the only that the investigation was going to work. At least that way, when they rolled in the monitors and surveillance equipment, none of the yard workers thought anything of it. It was just status quo. The only problem with the ruse, was the camera equipment that they had rented didn’t come cheap.
Claire’s expense file was well over $100,000.
Aside from the camera and surveillance gear, the warehouse was empty.
It wasn’t a big operation. It didn’t require a lot of moving parts. It just required a hub close enough but far enough away from The Dacha House.
In the middle of the warehouse were six chairs, three desks and four white boards. On one of the desks was a series of monitors. They each showed a different live view of outside the club. The other two desks belonged to Tom and Claire.
Agent Luka Vasiliev was watching one of the monitors. He was playing with his moustache. There hadn’t been any action in awhile. His eyes were red, but he didn’t blink, he didn’t turn away. He just kept watching the monitor. He was a Ukrainian immigrant who came to the U.S. in the mid nineties. He’d promised his mother years ago that he’d bring the Grekovitch’s to justice. Igor’s father, Sergei, The Bear, had killed his father.
Beside him was Dobson Wright. He’d been in the FBI since the early 2000s and hadn’t been promoted once. People in the bureau said he was weird. Claire didn’t know what they were talking about, but when they’d moved into the warehouse and set up shop, he made it known to everyone else that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. When Claire heard that, she’d realized why he’d never been promoted.
Aside from Claire, Luka, and Dobson, were Tom and Matti. Agent Matti Clarkson was a rookie. Like Tom he was a child of privilege and opportunity. He had blonde hair and tiny wrists. Tom and Matti got along real well. They came from the same world.
The two of them were standing behind one of the whiteboards. Tom was showing Matti something he’d found on the internet. The two of them were laughing. They were doing anything but work.
Claire showed up at the warehouse the same way she always did, holding five coffees, a box of donuts and her briefcase. She placed the coffee and donuts on a table and her briefcase on the ground.
“Is he here?” she asked.
Tom looked at his watch. “He’s ten minutes late. He’s a no show,” he said. “I
told you this wouldn’t happen. Guy’s a loser. I can’t believe you bailed him out.”
“He’ll show up,” she said. “I know he will. You didn’t see him in that cell. He seemed different.”
She never would have admitted it, but she was feeling nervous. If Jack didn’t show, her career was over. But worse, the women would be gone.
Tom rolled his eyes and turned back to Matti.
Claire sat down and sipped her coffee. She needed to slow down. She closed her eyes. “Come on, Jack,” she said to herself quietly. “Come on.”
Almost as if on cue, Luke said, “Is that him?”
He pointed to one of the security monitors. It showed an outdoor view of the warehouse.
Claire jumped up and ran to the monitor. She spilt her coffee, staining her new shoes. She didn’t care. She was smiling. It was Jack. He was here, just as he’d said he’d be.
Jack slammed his car door shut and walked toward the entrance of the warehouse.
From the corner of her eye Claire saw Tom grimace.
“How’s an ex-con afford a car like that?” Tom said. “Fuck.”
Luka, Matti and Dobson all admired Jack’s car. Claire didn’t know anything about cars. All she knew was that Jack’s car was cool. It was like him.
She ran to greet Jack at the warehouse’s entrance.
She opened the door.
“You’re late,” she said. “I was about to call the NYPD and tell them that you breached the conditions of your bail.”
Jack wasn’t in the joking mood. He didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He just looked at her with his cold, clinical eyes.
It made Claire feel stupid. She should’ve known.
“Thanks for letting me grab my car,” he said. “I didn’t want it left in Newark.”
“I’m sorry about your sister,” she said. “But we will find her.”
“I will find her.”
He walked past Claire and made his way toward the center of the warehouse. He wanted to get down to business. He hated the fact that he had to help the feds.
When Tom saw Jack he brushed his jacket and pulled out a stick of gum.
“Well, count me surprised,” Tom said. “Here’s your fifty bucks, Claire.” He pulled out his wallet. “The deadbeat wants to help us after all.”
“We didn’t make a bet?” Claire said.
Jack walked toward Tom.
The federal agent took a few steps backward and tripped over some wires connected to one of the monitors. He fell on his ass and started choking on his gum. Jack picked him up and gave him the heimlich maneuver. The gum shot from Tom’s mouth and stuck to one of the monitors. Jack let go of Tom. The agent gathered his breath.
“Agent Dunce,” Jack said. “Are you going to pull your gun on me again?”
“Fuck you,” Tom said, coughing, gathering his breath.
“You’re welcome.”
Dobson, Luka and Matti were silent. They stared at Jack like he was a living, walking weapon.
Claire joined the rest of the group and stood beside one of the whiteboards.
“Enough fooling around, Agent Dunce,” Claire said. “I’d like to take this moment to introduce you to the team, Jack.”
Jack nodded to each team member.
“This is Agent Luka. He’s from the Ukraine and speaks fluent Russian. Like you, his family has connections to the mob.”
“Unlike you, he’s not an ex-con,” Tom chimed in.
Jack shook Luka’s hand and gave a Tom a look that said ’next time your choking, I won’t help.’
“Next, I’d like to introduce you to Agent Wright and Agent Clarkson. Their our technical support team.”
Jack nodded to the two men. “This is it?” he said. “It’s just the five of you?”
“This isn’t a popular investigation in the bureau,” Claire said.
“Why’s that?”
“Most other agents don’t believe we will find anything. They think this is all a waste of time.”
Jack knew what that meant. Claire was going on a hunch.
“You don’t have anything real on him, do you?” he said.
“Have a seat,” Claire said, motioning to one of the chairs in the room. “I’ll give you a rundown of what we have and what we need you to do.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Of course,” she said. “Since we don’t have a lot of time, let me give you the short version of events and what our plan is.”
Claire flipped the first whiteboard. A series of surveillance photos were posted to it. Red strings connected different photographs together.
“We want you to go to The Dacha House tonight. That doesn’t give us a lot of time to get you ready.”
“Why tonight?”
“Once a month, The Dacha House holds an open poker tournament. It’s the only way a nobody can get in without drawing too much attention to themselves. The Dacha House is an exclusive club. It’s usually invite only. If your name isn’t on the list, you can’t get in.”
“I see,” Jack said.
“From what we’ve heard, Igor is paranoid,” Claire continued. “We need his guard down. We need him to think that you came into the club honestly. From our understanding, it’s almost impossible to break into his inner circle. So we don’t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.”
“So you’re hoping that my uncle’s connection with his old man is what buys me a special visit with him?” Jack said.
“No,” Claire said. “You can’t just walk into the club and start talking about your uncle. That would be stupid.”
“I’m glad we agree on something,” Jack said. “But how do I convince him to let me join the gang?”
“We have it on good authority that Igor’s right hand man always plays at the head table.”
“So you want me to get to the head table and talk to him?”
“Are you good at poker?” Tom said.
Jack rubbed his brow. He looked at the whiteboard, then at Tom. “I’m good at reading people,” he said. “But I’ll be playing against every lying, cheating, scumbag in the city. I don’t like my odds.”
“All you have to do is get to the head table,” Claire said. “Strike up a conversation with his man and drop your uncles name and your connection. This is our only real option. Next month, when you play again, he should remember you. We’ll repeat until you get a meeting with Igor.”
“For fucks sake,” Jack said. “He has my sister. You expect me to wait a month?”
“I know,” Claire said. “I know. But we have to be patient. Going undercover will take time. Igor’s a recluse. We don’t even know where he lives.”
“I’m not a patient guy,” Jack said. “Is there any other option. I’d prefer to do this quickly. Get this over with.”
“We’ve been watching The Dacha House for months,” Claire said. “This is our only option. Anything else will risk everything.”
“So everything comes down to a damn game of poker?” Jack said. “Once a month.”
“Unfortunately,” Claire said. “And we have less than fourteen hours to get you ready for the first game or we will already be behind one month.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Before you go in there, you should know the layout of the club and who it is you will be dealing with.”
Jack nodded. There was no point in arguing. If this was the only path to Elaine, he’d have to accept it. Once he got inside the club, he could do things his way.
He studied the pictures on the whiteboard while Claire talked. He memorized each face and name. As a detective he’d made numerous boards like this. They were effective early in an investigation. They would help organize your thoughts and they gave yourself an aerial view of the landscape.
“As you know,” she said. “This is Igor.” She pointed to the young man’s picture. Blonde hair, scar on his chin and tattoos on his neck.
She moved on to the next. “This is Aleksander Putzky. He’s Igor’s rig
ht hand man, an ex-Olympian. He worked for Igor’s father. He does the ground work for Igor, has set up the organizational structure. He’s helped Igor build an efficient, loyal team.”
The next one was of a cadaver. “This is Dimitri Barkov. He has ties to Russia. His father worked for Igor’s father, Sergei. His dead body wouldn’t have aroused any suspicion, if not for the pink bear he was holding. Dead men wash up all the time on the Hudson shores. You know that. If not for that bear he was holding, we’d have nothing on Igor. This was our first big break in the investigation.”
“A pink bear?” Jack asked.
Claire pointed to another picture. It was of a women. She had blue eyes and pale skin. She didn’t look any older than seventeen. She was holding a pink bear.
“As I’ve told you, we believe Igor is smuggling sex workers into the city,” she said. “They’re young women, aged between fifteen to twenty-five. They’re all from the Ukraine, Russia, Estonia, the Czech Republic or any other Eastern European country that has a gluttony of young and unemployed women. The pink bear the dead man was holding was spotted in the hands of a missing women from Odessa. Interpol sent us this picture.”
“The dead man worked for Igor?” Jack asked.
“We believe so,” Claire said. “He immigrated to New York one year ago. We have footage of him walking in and out of The Dacha House.”
“Sounds like a loose connection.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
Jack looked around the room. He stared into the eyes of each agent. “If you want me to get close to Igor, you’ll have to trust me, do what I say.”
“No way,” Tom said. “Absolutely not. We tell you what to do, and you do it.”
“I’m not my uncle,” Jack said. “If Igor’s smart, he’ll sniff that out in a heartbeat. We need to have room. We need to be able to improvise.”
“Improvise?” Tom said. “No fucking way.”
“Then we’ve already lost,” Jack said.
Claire looked Tom and then at Jack. “You have the bureau’s authority to do what you have to do,” she said. “Just get close to Igor and help us bring those women in. That’s all that matters.”