Текст книги "Among thieves"

Автор книги: John Clarkson

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

57

It was nearly dark by the time the three mercenaries left and Manny came back into the bar.

Beck told Manny, “You could have come in the back way.”

“I wanted to wait until they left.”

“What did they do after I let them spot me?”

“Took pictures of you walking in, then walked around the area, and drifted off. I guess back to their car.”

“Sounds like they were pretty thorough.”

“I suppose.”

“We should eat soon.”

“All my prep is done. I’ll move everything up to the big kitchen. ’Bout a half hour.”

“Thanks.”

*   *   *

Demarco settled into a parking space on Coney Island Avenue, just past the elevated subway tracks, a few doors south of the restaurant where they had first sent word to Kolenka.

The nearest streetlight was almost a block away on the other side of Coney Island Avenue, so the black Mercury Marauder sat in a pool of darkness. Demarco cranked back the seat and positioned himself low and even with the doorpost. Nobody driving by would spot him, but he could easily see passing traffic.

*   *   *

Beck headed upstairs and called back Ricky Bolo.

“Ricky, sorry I had to cut you short.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get it.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m a fuckin’ iron man, dude. Don’t worry.”

“How’s Jonas?”

“He’s sleeping like a baby.”

“Good. Make sure you switch off and get some sleep for yourself.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll stay sharp, even if we need a little magic potion.”

“Don’t get too cranked.”

“I already am.”

“So what happened with Milstein’s bodyguard?”

“We trailed him out of One PP. He settled in a restaurant about five blocks away. Big boy is chowing down.”

“Okay, here’s the deal. Phineas sent me the bodyguard’s address. It’s over in Clinton. I’ll text it to you. My bet is our friend Walter heads home after he eats. So you two either hang with him, or just head over there now, and make sure he ends up at home.”

“Done.”

“Then swing back down to Tribeca and get somewhere you can see Crane’s building on Hubert.”

“Okay. You expect him to be on the move?”

“No. He’s holed up in his place. But I want you to look out for three guys who might show up at his building. They’re all about the same size. About six feet or a bit under. In shape. My guess is ex-military. Not your usual Tribeca hipsters or upscale types.”

“Who are they?”

“Bad news. Keep your distance. They’re driving a blue Ford Taurus rental. License plate BLU2711. Two are wearing dark coats, one of them has a backpack. The other is wearing a silver down jacket. He has a full beard. Just hang somewhere you can see Crane’s building and tell me if they show up. I have to know what those three are doing.”

“Got it.”

“Then see if you can grab a little sleep and come out here to my place by ten o’clock.”

“What happens at ten?”

“I need you to take someone someplace.”

“And after that?”

“We’ll see.”

*   *   *

By seven o’clock, six people sat around Beck’s large rectangular dining table on the second floor. There were two large bowls of salad, one at each end of the table. A large bowl of French fries and a large bowl of steamed broccoli. Two bottles of Spanish Rioja and two six-packs of toasted amber lager in bottles. Every person had a broiled sirloin strip steak on their plate.

Manny and Beck sat at either end of the table. Joey B occupied most of the middle on one side, Olivia next to him. Ciro and Alex on the other side.

It could have been a rather hip and eclectic dinner party, except for the various shotguns and Ciro’s assault rifle propped against the dining table.

Beck waited until all the bowls were passed and drinks poured, and until everyone was well into their meals. They ate like it would be their last meal for a while. Even Olivia filled her plate and went at the steak like she was going to finish every last bite.

Beck ate slowly and methodically, limiting himself to one glass of wine, thinking over all the angles.

Finally, he said, “Okay, listen up.”

All heads turned toward Beck.

“As soon as we finish, I want you all to find a place where you can catch a few hours’ sleep. There are four beds upstairs. Plus couches on this floor. If you can’t sleep, just lie down and zone out somewhere.

“Alex, you take one of the beds upstairs. You’ve been at it a long time. We’re going to need you to follow this thing right to the end, so try to grab as much sleep as you can until we wake you.

“Olivia, you slept last night, so you keep tabs on what Crane is doing with the money while Alex is resting.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll all help Manny clean up. Then rack out. We meet back at this table right at midnight. By then, hopefully, I’ll know what our next moves are. If you have any questions, save them until later.”

There were nods and words of assent around the table. Everybody finished up their food and set to cleaning up. Olivia rose and started clearing the table, but Beck touched her arm and motioned for her to sit down in the chair closest to him.

He spoke to her in a quiet voice the others could not hear. “Listen, about ten o’clock, two men are coming to take you out of here.”

Surprised, she asked, “Why?”

“Because there’s a good chance we’re going to be attacked tonight, and you can’t be here.”

Olivia blinked and stared at Beck when he told her that. “Who’s coming? Markov’s men?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Olivia hadn’t planned on being taken away from the computer, away from where she could track the flow of Markov’s money.

For a moment, her control slipped. “What am I supposed to do when I leave here? Where am I going? What’s going on?”

“Just keep working until about ten. See if you can get a bead on when Crane will be finishing. Once you leave, Alex will take over.”

“Okay, but about tomorrow?”

“We’ll take care of tomorrow when tomorrow comes. We’re going to take you to Nydia’s place in East Harlem for tonight so you can get some sleep and be ready for the last push.”

“Okay. My guess is Crane is going to have everything consolidated in one account by end of day tomorrow. Probably sooner. Have you figured out how to get it out of Markov’s account?”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. Let’s just take it one step at a time. First, we have to survive this night. That includes you.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“Wherever I have to.”

Olivia nodded. Clearly, Beck was keeping information from her. Was it because he no longer trusted her? Or because he just didn’t have the time to explain things?

It didn’t matter. It sounded like he was getting her out of harm’s way just for tonight. She could deal with that. If she was back tomorrow, she could make this work. She decided to push a little.

“I need to be back here before the market opens tomorrow, James.”

“I understand,” he answered.

He hadn’t quite agreed, but it was the best she was going to get. If she had to, she’d somehow convince Beck. She wasn’t going to lose now.

Just then, Demarco Jones appeared on the second floor, in his usual manner, suddenly, almost as if he’d been there all along.

Beck looked in his direction. Demarco gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head and sat down on one of the couches at the far end of the loft.

Beck told Olivia, “Better get back on the Crane watch, okay?”

“Sure.”

She headed off to the other end of the loft. Beck went over and joined Demarco.

“Those guys never showed?”

“No. At least not anywhere near where I was watching for them.”

“You check out Kolenka’s building? You cruise by before you came home?”

“Absolutely. And around. And behind. He’s in there. Saw two SUVs outside. Couple of big bodies in the lobby. Has to be more inside. He’s getting ready to make a move.”

“It’ll be tonight.”

“Yep,” said Demarco.

“Get something to eat. And get some sleep if you can.”

Demarco stood up and headed for the dining table. Manny had already put down a plate of food for him.

Beck left Demarco to his steak and headed downstairs. As he walked, he dialed Ricky Bolo’s number.

“Anything?”

“Yeah. We just got down here. I haven’t seen those guys, but the blue Taurus you described is parked over on West Street. So it looks like they are up there with your boyfriend Crane. Unless they know somebody else in this nabe.”

“Pearce ended up home?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. See you at ten o’clock.”

58

Beck shoved his phone in his pocket and continued through the front bar and down the stairs leading into the cellar. He went through the same routine he had before. Walking to the back, moving the shelves, carefully sliding back the plastered plywood cover, and walking through to the basement of the building next door.

As he passed through the opening in the wall, the smell of body odor was palpable. The darkness still impenetrable.

Even though it was cool in the basement, and it had only been about twenty-four hours, his prisoner had started to stink from worry and tension.

Beck stood at the doorway, motionless, waiting in the dark for any sound that his prisoner was awake and moving.

He’d picked up a Maglite they kept hanging on the wall near the entrance and turned it on, aiming it at the floor so he could follow the circle of illumination and still remain concealed by the darkness.

When he arrived at the cell, Beck stopped about five feet away from the iron bars. Slowly he aimed the beam of light into Ahmet Sukol’s small prison cell. He carefully moved the bright light toward the bunk where Sukol lay, and shined the beam on his face.

If Sukol had been sleeping, he wasn’t now. He immediately covered his eyes with the crook of his arm.

Beck waited. And waited.

Finally Sukol broke and said, “I need food. Or are you going to starve me?”

His voice sounded raspy, and he seemed to be slightly out of breath. Like he’d spent a few hours shouting for help. He spoke with a Slavic accent, but his English was good enough to make Beck think he had been in the U.S. for a long time.

“So far, that’s the plan,” said Beck.

“What?”

“Just let you starve to death.”

“You are serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. The easiest thing is to just leave you here in the dark and let what happens, happen.”

“Why not just shoot me?”

“I’m not going to splatter blood all over the place. You can’t believe how hard it is to get all the traces of blood out of a porous surface like that concrete block wall, or the floor. Much easier if I just let you wither away in the dark and die. Then all I have to do is get rid of your body. Plus, by then there’ll be a lot less fat on you.”

Sukol cursed quietly in a Slavic language Beck didn’t understand, and didn’t take much notice of. Beck continued speaking as if talking to himself as much as to the prisoner.

“Not that getting rid of a grown man is all that easy.”

Beck swung the light away from Sukol’s face and aimed it at the large commercial meat grinder in the opposite corner.

“That thing helps. It can grind up a body in about fifteen minutes. I mean, first we have to cut you into pieces, which is a lot more difficult than most imagine. Takes about half an hour. That’s with two guys. We use hacksaws. We don’t use the circular saw on that rack. That thing throws shit everywhere. Blood and bone and flesh. Cleaning that up is impossible.

“We do it by hand. First the arms, they’re pretty easy. Just have to get through the shoulder joints. Then your head. Easy. Legs are a bitch. Big bones up near the hip sockets. Then we still have to cut them at the knee joints. Not easy.

“Then the fucking torso. That’s the hardest part. That’s when you’re tempted to use the electric saw. Got to cut it in sections. All those ribs and the spine, and all the fucking intestines and big organs. But once that’s done, the hard part is over. That damn grinder goes through everything fast: bones, meat, everything. Made in China.”

Beck paused. Waiting to see if the prisoner said anything, but Sukol remained silent, which was fine with Beck.

“We push the paste into heavy-duty twenty-five-pound plastic bags and feed it to a pack of dogs a crazy lady around here keeps. Big mongrels. Pit bulls. Shepherds. Rotties. All mixed up and inbred. Those dogs can eat a couple hundred pounds a week, easy. We burn the bags and you end up as big piles of dog shit.”

Beck paused. Letting the prisoner think about it.

“I suppose once you’re dead, you really don’t care how you end up. I wouldn’t. But some people don’t like the idea of the dogs.”

Beck paused again.

“I admit the dog thing is disgusting. And it takes time. We don’t give her everything at once. We want to make it look like we’ve accumulated restaurant scraps. So, we have to keep the bags in the walk-in refrigerator until she’s done. About three weeks.

“I sometimes wonder if that woman has figured it out. It’s not like we give her a steady supply.

“But like I said, she’s crazy. Nobody can figure out what she’s talking about half the time.”

Beck stopped talking for a while. Feeling the fatigue and stress of the last days coming over him. But he kept the Maglite shining on the meat grinder.

“Cleaning that grinder is no picnic. Doable, but has to be done right. Cold water first. Then laundry detergent. Then ammonia. Then bleach on the concrete surfaces. I think there’s some other stuff the guys use. Enzymes or something to break down the protein. Everything washes down the drain, then we pour a bunch of bleach in the drain to get rid of any blood traces or scraps.

“We don’t keep the hacksaws. They end up in the bay.”

Beck paused, letting the circle of light from the Maglite rest on the floor drain.

“Doing it all down here is safer than hauling you out and dumping you someplace. A lot more work, but way more safe. No chance anybody sees us loading your body into the trunk of a car or something. Most important, zero chance anybody finds a body.”

Beck remained in the dark, just a matter-of-fact voice reciting the truth with the Maglite again shining steadily on the industrial meat grinder.

Finally, Sukol said, “Like you say, who gives a shit once you’re dead.”

“I agree. But trust me, some guys really freak out at the idea of getting eaten by a bunch of filthy mongrels and mastiffs. I’m like you. It’s the dying that I’d worry about. Just withering away down here in the dark. You’ve only been here about a day.” Beck shook his head, thinking about it. “You ever starve for a long time? You start really going nuts.”

Sukol had to concentrate on not screaming at Beck to shut the fuck up.

Beck let silence fill the dark basement as the Maglite beam drifted back toward Sukol’s cell. And then he said, “You’re thinking about how you can persuade me to kill you some other way instead of letting you just lay in there and die. Something quicker. You’re also thinking, fuck him. Markov’s men will be here some time or other. They’ll find me.

“But I won’t kill you any other way, because there’s no percentage in touching you. Or getting close enough so that you can touch me. I won’t put a bullet in you because that causes lots of other problems.

“And as far as waiting for that bald motherfucker or anybody else, forget it. This place isn’t anywhere near where they think I am, so even if they find me, they won’t find you. Nobody knows about this place. Nobody will find you, or hear you. There’s nothing above you or around you that has anything to do with me.”

Beck waited again. Letting it sink in. Then finally said, “And face it. Who’s looking for you anyhow? Who really gives a shit about you?”

After a while, Sukol said, “Then why are you down here?”

With that question, Beck knew he had a chance. He just had to play it carefully.

He turned off the Maglite. Beck suddenly felt exhausted. He’d had very little sleep since this all started. The cold basement pressed in on him. The knife wound on his thigh ached. Every time he moved pain flashed in his upper back. There were tender bruises everywhere: his arms, hips, ribs. And the constant tension was making his lower back stiff.

There was a row of brick pillars holding up the floor above the cellar. One of them stood opposite the cell, about five feet away. Beck sidled over to it, eased himself down onto the cold concrete floor, and leaned back, arms around his knees. He felt the moist cold from the floor seeping through the seat of his black jeans. He tried to position himself so his lower back stretched out.

Beck repeated the question. “Why am I down here?” He waited a few moments. “Sometimes it’s good to go back into the hole.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never been in solitary confinement?”

Sukol didn’t answer.

“I did twenty-eight days once. Then another time, fourteen days. The fourteen days was worse than the twenty-eight. By then, I knew what I was looking at. The first time they turned the lights off and on, I thought I might not make it. But then your eyes get used to it. Yours are all fucked up now that I’ve brought some light in. You won’t be able to pick anything out for hours.

“And it’s almost worse when the lights come on. I was never sure they weren’t fucking with me. How long was it between dark and light? Eight hours? Six. Ten. A half hour. I was convinced they were using the lights to drive me nuts. But maybe I already was.”

Beck lapsed silent. Thinking back on it.

“So you come down here to remember how crazy you are?”

“You think that’s it?”

“No. I think you want to use me for something.”

“What can I possibly use you for?”

Sukol sat up suddenly, swinging his feet to the cold basement floor. “Listen to me,” he said. “I know things. I don’t give a fuck about Markov or Stepanovich. Stepanovich is a maniac. I hate that guy. I was just in it for the pay.”

And then Beck knew he had him.

“Uh, what the hell is your name, anyhow?”

“Ahmet.”

“Ahmet, why the fuck would I believe anything you say? You’re with the guys trying to kill me.”

Ahmet started talking. Fast. His Slavic accent became more pronounced the faster he spoke.

“Don’t believe me. Just listen to what I tell you. Then you keep me locked up here until you find out I told the truth. Once you know I tell you the truth, you let me go. Believe me, you will never see me again. I walk away. Nobody ever sees me again. For sure not that fucking piece of evil shit Stepanovich.”

Sukol waited but Beck said nothing. Beck wanted to let the man talk.

“Trust me. My best chance to walk away is if Stepanovich is dead. He’ll fucking shoot me the next time he sees me just because I’ve been with the enemy. I’ll tell you anything I can to help you kill that fucker. If you have any brains, you kill him the next time you see him. Just kill him. If he gets you, he’ll do shit to you you can’t imagine.”

Beck laid his head back against the brick pillar. He could feel dried mortar and paint flecks falling against the back of his neck. He waited a full minute before he spoke. It felt like ten minutes to Ahmet Sukol.

“Where can I find Markov?”

Sukol answered without a second’s hesitation, eager to prove his worth.

“You can’t. You never find him. Not possible. He never stays in one place for longer than one night. Maybe two. He has some apartments and businesses scattered around Far Rockaway, Brighton Beach, but he doesn’t use them much. He keeps clothes in these places. Things he needs. He stays in hotels. Usually Manhattan. He always moves around. Has a driver who fetches his clothes, picks him up, and brings him wherever he wants to go.”

“How does he work?”

“Cell phones and computer. Laptop. It’s all in his head. Or on his laptop.”

Ahmet waved his hands in front of him. “Or somewhere in the cloud. He doesn’t leave a paper trail. He sleeps at night, at daytime. Always with drugs he operates. Always moving. He’s not like any human you know.”

“How do you know this?”

“Everybody around him knows this. It’s not secret.”

“Why does Markov need someone like Stepanovich?”

“He uses Stepanovich for personal security. Markov is paranoid. He’s a drug freak. He lives in his own world. He thinks everybody is after him. Maybe it’s true.”

“How does he know a criminal like Stepanovich?”

“How do you think? He sold arms into Bosnia for years. He knew plenty of men like Stepanovich.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not so long.”

“How do you know him?”

“Who? Stepanovich?”

“Yeah.”

“Mostly his reputation. He has a core of men who served with him. I didn’t know him in the wars. Besides them, he recruits whoever he needs. Like me. There are a lot of us around. Russians, Turks, Serbians.”

“Are there any warrants out for Markov in the U.S.?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He seems safe in the U.S. I hear he runs a lot of arms for the U.S. military. Or the government. Your fucking government is arming half the world. They need guys like Markov.”

“Stepanovich isn’t going to protect Markov from a government.”

“You’d be surprised. Getting through Stepanovich isn’t easy. Gives Markov time to disappear. He’s the kind of guy that can walk out of a room, get on a plane, and be gone anywhere.

“But it’s not governments or police Markov worries about. It’s competitors. Business rivals. A maniac like Stepanovich discourages competition. Markov is always paying somebody for protection. Or bribing somebody.”

“Like Kolenka?”

“Yes. Kolenka is almost worse than Stepanovich. He will kill anybody. Very fast. He doesn’t care. Stepanovich will kill you, but he’ll torture you first and try to figure out ways to make pain. He lives on pain. Kolenka don’t waste time. With him you are dead before you know it.”

“How many men do you think Kolenka has?”

“I don’t know. The ones close to him have to be real Russian old-time thieves before he has anything to do with them.”

“What do you know about Kolenka?”

“Vory-v-Zakone. There’s a lot of bullshit built up about them, but Kolenka is real. You know about how it all started in the gulags.”

“Pretty much.”

“Well there aren’t many of the old ones left. But even without all the old stories, Ivan Kolenka is the real thing. He’s ruthless. He does crime up and down the East Coast. Lots of money from Ukraine. Some say even Chechen money. He has gambling money. Prostitution. He runs gasoline scams. Cigarettes. Extortion. He has construction companies. Restaurants. Crime and money. Crime and money. Anything. Robberies, insurance scams, murder, anything you can think of Kolenka will do it.”

“And Stepanovich? How many men does he control?”

“It goes up and down. He likes the ones out of his Serbian brigade. From the old times. But they come and go. Lot of them end up with immigration trouble. Maybe Stepanovich can call on six good ones. Maybe ten. Kolenka, maybe the same. Do they know how to find you?”

“Yes.”

Ahmet paused. “Then you had better run. They have many more men than you, I think.”

“Run where?”

Ahmet shrugged. “That’s for you to decide. Run far.”

“How will they come at us?”

“You think Kolenka will help Markov?”

“Yes.”

“Kolenka’s men will run the show. They don’t fuck around. They will surround you, burn your place down, shoot anybody who comes out. They will massacre you.

“If you don’t die and Stepanovich takes you, he will hurt you for days. Maybe weeks. Trust me. Better you take the bullet or burn to death. Better you run now. But maybe there’s no place they don’t find you.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“No. Not really. Are you going to fight them?”

“I’m not going to run.”

“Then do me one favor.”

“What?”

“Give somebody the key to this cell who can come let me out if you die.”

“Sure. One last question.”

“What?”

“Where can I find Kolenka?”

“I don’t know. I never have anything to do with him. I know he owns buildings in Little Russia. I don’t know where he sleeps.”

Beck slowly got to his feet.

“You want the lights down here on or off?”

Sukol answered quickly.

“On.”

Beck headed back toward the entrance to the basement.

“I’ll send some food down. Enough for a couple of days. One way or another, it should be all over by then.”

“And will you tell somebody about me?”

“Yes.”

As Beck approached the light switches, he heard Sukol yell out. “Whatever happens, make sure you kill Stepanovich.”

Beck answered by flipping on the overhead fluorescent lights as he ducked back into the tunnel between the two buildings. He checked his watch. Maybe he could get two hours of sleep. He needed ten.