Sergey’s hand shot out and caught Val’s at the wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong. With a hard pull, he moved Val’s hand away. Blood coursed from the deep cut on Val’s small finger and he could see the white of the bone at the bottom. But his finger was still whole.
“Put your knife away,” Sergey instructed. He rose from his seat and wet one of Marina’s kitchen towels in the sink.
Val snapped the blade shut and slid it into his pocket. Sergey thrust the damp cloth toward him, and he pressed it against the cut on his finger.
Sergey sat down. “I’m sorry I doubted you, brother,” he said. “But this is a dirty business we are in. Loyalty is a rare commodity.”
Val lifted the dishtowel and inspected his cut. He was going to need some stitches.
“There is a saying in our country,” Sergey continued. “Maybe you know it. ‘An enemy will agree, but a friend will argue.’ Do you know this saying, Valeriy?”
Val nodded. He dribbled some vodka onto his wound. It stung, but he resisted wincing. “I know this saying,” he said. “I live it.”
“I can see that,” Sergey said. “Now, tell me why you came here tonight.”
Val pressed the towel back against the injury, then looked up at Sergey. “You need to stay home tonight,” he said, “so that you will not be connected to anything that happens.”
“Very well. I had certain plans, but…” He shrugged.
Val ignored the obvious reference to Sergey’s mistress and went on. “After our business tonight, I planned to sit down with certain people to discuss the future operations here in River City. If you want to be the one to do that, I will step aside.”
“What do you recommend?” Sergey asked.
“I recommend you stay as insulated as possible,” Val said. “Let me be your voice for now. Everyone who knows anything knows that I speak on your behalf, but no one who wants to prove that will be able to.”
“You mean the police?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t think they are a realistic threat,” Sergey said.
Not now, Val thought. But when we expand, they will be our greatest threat.
Sergey took another sip from his vodka glass. “I think that in matters such as this, people need to see that I am the one in charge. Their people, and ours, too.”
“I am certain you are correct,” Val said. Perhaps it would work better for him, too.
Sergey nodded. “I am.” He reached out and patted Val on the forearm. “You are a good lieutenant, Valeriy, but I am a better general. You must trust my vision.”
“I am yours,” Val said.
Sergey laughed, a short barking sound that filled the small kitchen. “We saw that tonight already, didn’t we?” He reached for his glass and drained it. Then he stared down into the empty bottom. “What about the bookkeeper?” he asked.
Val shifted and turned his left hand over, pressing it down to the tabletop to maintain pressure on the cut. With his free hand he picked up his glass and raised it to Sergey in a silent toast and swallowed its contents. Then he held it out toward Sergey.
After a moment the older man smiled and poured them both another. Val turned his glass in his fingers. “They also say in our homeland that the tongue always returns to the sore tooth,” he mused.
“This particular tooth is rotting,” Sergey replied. “And the dentist failed to pull it.”
Val felt the warmth from the vodka brewing in his stomach. He raised the glass and sipped. This felt like old times to him. They could have been sitting in a Kiev flat, huddled against the cold and sipping vodka. Those times were simpler, back when his ambition was simply to become Sergey’s right hand.
He pushed away the sentimentality. “Our man did his job. He is not to blame that the target was not present.”
“But where is the target?”
“I don’t know. But I will find out.”
Sergey stared down into his vodka with a concerned expression. “What do you think, Valera? Is he on the run? Or did he go to the enemy?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Val replied. “But I will ask you this. If someone took from you what we took from him, would you simply run away? Or would you seek out your revenge?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
Val nodded. “For me, as well. And I don’t think that Oleg is so different from either of us.”
“No,” Sergey said. “He was bold enough to steal money from me and to complain about how I ran matters.” He shook his head. “What a fool. You would think that a man who was stealing would remain as quiet as possible, so as not to attract attention to himself.”
“Not every man is capable of remaining silent,” Val said. “But don’t worry, Sergey. The horse may run quickly, but it cannot escape its own tail. I will find him.”
“Do whatever it takes,” Sergey instructed. “I am not a man to be trifled with, nor betrayed.”
Val only nodded.
Part II
Take time to deliberate;
but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in.
FIVE
Wednesday, July 16th
0507 hours
DeShawn “Dee” Brown sat on the couch, sipping slowly from the bottle of beer. The TV in front of him flickered with images of dancing women, gyrating to a beat that he couldn’t hear because of the mute button. He didn’t care. The sleeping forms that lay twisted and piled on the floor and furniture of his living room needed the quiet and not the pulsating beat of Sir Mix-a-Lot. And DeShawn was more interested in the sweet bitches shaking their asses.
He should be asleep himself, but he’d been up late working on a problem with his little cousin, Ladondra. Of course, no one called her that. To most everyone, she was Dondra, but to Deshawn, she would always be Little La La.
DeShawn shook his head. Poor girl was only fifteen and she went and got herself pregnant. He’d sat with her for hours, listening to her cry and rave about her situation until she finally told him who the swinging dick was. He had worried that she’d crossed the line and found some guy in a rival gang, but she’d stayed true blue. Still, DeShawn wasn’t happy to hear it was Ronnie. The boy was a low-level runner who might make it up to selling shit on the corner someday, if the motherfucker overachieved. There was no way he could take care of DeShawn’s little cousin, even if he wanted to. So that didn’t leave many options.
After he checked that Little La La was in bed, and kissed her on the forehead, he went looking for Ronnie to discuss those options. Unfortunately, the rabbit-ass motherfucker must’ve known DeShawn was on the lookout for him, because he was nowhere to be found for the longest time. DeShawn was just about to give up when he ran smack into the kid coming out of the Circle K convenience store.
He’d gotten right up into Ronnie’s grill, but quickly saw that something wasn’t clicking. DeShawn hadn’t thought to ask Little La La if she’d told the boy yet. The answer was clear from the surprise and confusion in Ronnie’s face.
“I din’t know you was declaring the girl off limits,” he’d stammered. He apologized, but he gave no hint he knew about the condition she was in. “I’d have never touched her if you’d said the word.”
DeShawn swore, shook his head, and brought the stupid punk back to the house. Now Ronnie lay sleeping on the overstuffed chair in the corner, curled up like some little kid.
DeShawn didn’t sleep. Instead he sipped a brew and watched some big-ass black girl shake her moneymaker while he mulled over what to do about Ronnie and Little La La.
He shook his head. What choice was there? Ronnie could try to hit some big score and have enough to take care of La La and the baby, but what were the odds of that? He couldn’t handle that kind of action. Besides, the stupid punk would probably blow all the money. Spend it all on rims and chains. Shit.