He entered a small, sloppily kept bedroom and immediately saw Slava and Zoya, his ex-wife’s cousins. The pair had grown up about thirty miles from Moscow. They had been in the army until the summer of ’98, then they emigrated to America. They’d been working for him for less than eight months, so he was just getting to know them.
‘You live in a garbage dump,’ he said. ‘I know you have plenty of money. What do you do with it?’
‘We have family at home,’ said Zoya. ‘Your relatives are there too.’
The Wolf tilted his head. ‘Awhh, so touching. I had no idea you had such a big heart of gold, Zoya.’ He motioned for the Bull to leave, and said, ‘Shut the door. I’ll be down when I’m finished in here. It might be a while.’
The Couple were tied up together on the floor. Both were in their underwear. Slava had on shorts patterned with little ducks. Zoya wore a black bra with a matching bikini thong.
The Wolf finally smiled. ‘What am I going to do with you two, huh?’
Then Slava began to laugh out loud, a nervous, high-pitched cackling. He had thought they were going to be killed, but this would just be a warning. He could see this in the Wolf’s eyes.
‘So what happened? Tell me quickly. You knew the rules of the game,’ he said.
‘Maybe it was getting too easy. We wanted a little more of a challenge. It’s our mistake, Pasha. We got sloppy.’
‘Never lie to me,’ the Wolf said. ‘I have my sources. They are everywhere!’
He sat on the arm of an easy chair that looked as if it had been in this hideously ugly bedroom for a hundred years. Dust puffed from the old chair as it took his weight.
‘You like him?’ he asked Zoya. ‘My ex-wife’s cousin?’
‘I love him,’ she said, and her brown eyes went soft. ‘Always. Since we were thirteen years old. Forever, I loved him.’
‘Slava, Slava,’ the Wolf said and walked over to the muscular man on the floor. He bent to give Slava a hug. ‘You are my ex-wife’s blood relative. And you betrayed me. You sold me out to my enemies, didn’t you? Sure you did. How much did you get? A lot, I hope.’
Then he twisted Slava’s head as if he were opening a big jar of pickles. Slava’s neck snapped, a sound that the Wolf had come to love over the years. His trademark in the Red Mafiya.
Zoya’s eyes widened to about twice their normal size. But she didn’t make a sound, and because of that the Wolf understood what tough customers she and Slava really were, how dangerous they had been to the safety of the organization. ‘I’m impressed, Zoya,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk some.’
He stared into those amazing eyes of hers. ‘Listen, I’m going to get the two of us some real vodka, Russian vodka. Then I want to hear your war stories,’ he said. ‘I want to hear what you’ve done with your life, Zoya. You have me curious now. Most of all, I want to play chess, Zoya. Nobody in America knows how to play chess. One game, then you go to heaven with your beloved Slava. But first vodka and chess, and, of course, I fuck you!’
Chapter Forty-Four
On account of secrets that Zoya had told him under significant duress, the Wolf had to make one more stop in New York. Unfortunate. This meant that he wouldn’t be able to catch his flight home out of Kennedy, and he would miss the professional hockey game that night. Regretful, but he knew this was the right thing to do. The betrayal by Slava and Zoya had jeopardized his life, and also made him look bad.
At a little past eleven, he entered a club called the Passage in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn. The passage looked like a dump from the street, but inside it was beautiful, very ornate, almost as nice as the best places in Moscow.
He saw people he knew from the old days: Gosha Chernov, Lev Denisov, Yura Fomin and his mistress. Then he spotted his darling Yulya. His ex-wife was tall and slender, with large breasts he’d bought for her in Palm Beach, Florida. Yulya was still beautiful in the right light, not so much changed since Moscow, where she had been a dancer since she was fifteen.
She was sitting at the bar with Mikhail Biryukov, the latest king of Brighton Beach. They were directly in front of a mural of St Petersburg, which was very cinematic, thought the Wolf, a typical Hollywood visual cliché.
Yulya saw him coming, and she tapped Biryukov. The local pakhan turned and looked, and the Wolf closed on him fast. He slammed a black king down on the table. ‘Checkmate,’ he roared, then laughed and hugged Yulya.
‘You’re not even happy to see me?’ he asked the couple. ‘I should be hurt.’
Biryukov grunted. ‘You are a mystery man. I thought you were in California.’
‘Wrong again,’ said the Wolf. ‘By the way, Slava and Zoya say hello. I just saw them out on Long Island. They couldn’t make the trip here tonight.’
Yulya shrugged – such a cool little bitch. ‘They mean nothing to me,’ she said. ‘Distant cousins.’
‘Or me either, Yulya. Only the police care about them now.’
Suddenly he grabbed Yulya by the throat and lifted her out of her bar seat with one arm. ‘You told them to fuck me over, didn’t you? You must have paid them a lot!’ he screamed in her face. ‘It was you. And him!’
With dazzling speed, the Wolf pulled an ice pick from his sleeve and stuck it into Biryukov’s left eye. The gangster was blinded, and dead in an instant.
‘No… Please.’ Yulya struggled to get out a few words. ‘You can’t do this. Not even you!’
Then the Wolf addressed everyone in the nightclub. ‘You are all witnesses, are you not? What? Nobody helps her? You’re afraid of me? Good – you should be. Yulya tried to get revenge on me. She was always stupid as a cow. Biryukov – he was just a dumb, greedy bastard. Ambitious! The godfather of Brighton Beach! What is that? He wanted to be me!’
The Wolf lifted Yulya even higher in the air. Her long legs kicked violently and one of her red mules went flying, scooting under a nearby table. Nobody picked up the shoe. Not a person in the club moved to help her. Or to see if Mikhail Biryukov was still alive. Word had already circulated that the madman in the front of the passage was the Wolf.
‘You are witnesses to what happens – if anyone ever crosses me. You are witnesses! So you’ve had a warning. Same as in Russia. Same as now in America.’
The Wolf took his left hand out of her hair and wrapped it around her throat. He twisted hard and Yulya’s neck broke. ‘You are witnesses!’ he screamed in Russian. ‘I killed my ex-wife. And this rat Biryukov. You saw me do it! So go to hell.’
And then the Wolf stomped out of the nightclub. No one did a thing to stop him.
And no one talked to the New York police when they came.
Same as in Russia.
Same as now in America.
Chapter Forty-Five
Benjamin Coffey was being held in a dark root cellar under the barn where he’d been brought – what was it now – three, maybe four days ago? Benjamin couldn’t remember exactly, couldn’t keep track of the days.
The Providence College student had nearly lost his mind, until he made an amazing discovery in the solitary confinement of the cellar. He found God, or maybe God found him.