Avenue of Thieves Read online

  His gaze drifted back to the file.

  Just over thirty minutes later the door opened again. The woman came in with a plate of cold meat and sliced beetroot. She put it down in front of him.

  She picked up the file. “You didn’t open it,” she said.

  It wasn’t phrased as a question. They’d been watching him. He’d assumed they would be.

  “It’s not mine,” he said.

  “And the cars you’ve been taking? Were they yours?”

  He shrugged. “No, but they weren’t anyone else’s either. If I didn’t sell them then someone else would have. No one is obeying the rules. Why pretend that they are?”

  It was the most he had said at any one time since he had got here. While she unnerved him, he also felt he could be honest with her in a way that he couldn’t with her boss.

  “That’s true,” she said. “But if you’re caught stealing bread it’s not much of a defense that you just happened to steal it before anyone else could.”

  He didn’t respond to that. She was right. He was finished. If they wanted, they could send him to prison for the next twenty years. Unless he could bribe them.

  She picked up the file and opened it. A single of sheet of blank paper fluttered out and onto the table. “Your friend, the Bitch Killer, didn’t do so well. He opened it as soon as we left the room,” she said.

  This time Dimitri knew his expression had given him away. There was no way he’d kept his surprise from registering on his face.

  He kept his own counsel. She would be expecting him to ask a million questions, but he stayed silent.

  “We also know that you tried to kill him,” she added.

  “He was going to kill me.”

  “Again, not much of a defense, is it?”

  “So what happens now?” he asked.

  She paced to the back of the room, walking behind him. It was suitably unnerving. “Fifty per cent of what you make,” she said.

  “You’re full of surprises.”

  “Times are hard. Even among my comrades in this building. People have mouths to feed.”

  “And what do I get in return?”

  “You need a roof,” she said.

  “I have security.”

  “Bodyguards are not the same as a krysha. We can make sure that you are left alone. Not just by the vory but by everyone. One payment to us is a lot simpler than death by a thousand cuts.”

  “Do I have a choice?” asked Dimitri.

  She appeared at his side. She dug into a pocket, pulled out keys, and removed his cuffs. She motioned for him to stand.

  He took his time. His left leg had fallen asleep from sitting in the same position. He rubbed at his wrists, then reached down to massage the pins and needles from his calf.

  She walked to the door and held it open.

  “I’m free to go?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. I want to show you something.”

  He followed her out of the room and into the corridor. As they walked he asked her how she knew which room was which. She ignored the question.

  They got into an elevator. This one, he guessed, was for staff. It had buttons.

  They rode down to the basement. Dimitri did his best to look calm. If local folklore was to be believed, this was where the worst abuses by the KGB took place. Underground, where it was harder to hear you scream. Not that anyone would have done anything if they had.

  The elevator doors opened, and she walked him through a guarded entry port and into a corridor of cells. Most were empty, the doors left open to reveal bare concrete rooms with only a toilet, sink, and a bench to sleep on.

  He followed her to the end of the corridor where they stopped at a closed cell door. She produced a key and stood there for a moment.

  “You’ll still need a vory v zakone, at least for now, someone the other vory acknowledge. Think of it like a rubber stamp, a simple authorization.”

  Now that the terms of the deal had been outlined, Dimitri felt in a better position. Suddenly he had ground under his feet, something to use for purchase. He’d calculated that as it was a split of net profits he could likely bump up his end by inflating and, if need be, inventing expenses that he would keep.

  “You want to meet yours?” she asked him.

  She was enjoying this part. He could tell. She stood at the cell door like a magician about to reveal their latest trick.

  Dimitri really didn’t care. He’d wanted to avoid any partners, and now it looked like he was going to be lumped with not just one but two.

  He was reconciled to it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  She opened the cell door. In the far corner of the room sat a man. He was curled into a ball, his knees pulled up into his chest. His head was tilted down, his chin tucked in.

  “We picked this one up a few days ago.” She turned to Dimitri. “He’s still not in the best physical shape. Someone ran him over with a car, apparently. But he wouldn’t tell the police who it was.”

  As she spoke Dimitri slowly picked out the man’s outline and matched it in his mind with the picture he had of the Bitch Killer.

  “Hey,” she shouted at the prisoner.

  Slowly, the Bitch Killer looked up at them. The expression in his eyes was more frightening than anything Dimitri had ever seen. It was one of pure, unmitigated terror. He looked broken, a shell of a man. Someone whose will had been sucked out of him.

  Part of Dimitri wanted to know how this had been achieved. Part of him, the greater part, hoped he would never find out.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “His reward for this is being allowed to live.”

  The Bitch Killer’s eyes were wet. He muttered some kind of apology to Dimitri. He would do what needed to be done. He wouldn’t interfere in the business, other than to make sure that the other vory stayed clear.

  “We have an agreement?” the woman said to Dimitri.

  He nodded, his eyes still glued to the man huddled in the corner of the cell. “Yes, we have an agreement.”

  “Good,” she said, pleasantly, closing the cell door and escorting him back toward the elevator.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said to him. “There’s not even a scratch on you.”

  “No, there’s not.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Breaking a man’s body is no great achievement. But breaking a man’s mind …”

  19

  “Several weeks ago an audacious assassination attempt left several of his security team dead in their vehicles and now tonight authorities are questioning Russian billionaire Dimitri Semenov about the death of a young Ukrainian model apparently thrown from the Presidential Suite of the Plaza hotel. Over to our reporter Price Phillips, who’s down at One Police Plaza. Price, what can you tell us?”

  Lock and Ty stood next to Elizabeth Semenov in the living room of the Upper East Side townhouse and watched as the TV news report continued. They had headed back here to brief Dimitri, only for events to overtake them. Lock had been in the middle of some shit storms in his time, both while serving and in the private sector, but this was moving faster than most.

  As soon as they seemed to get a handle on one assassination attempt or threat, another shoe seemed to drop.

  Back on screen the male reporter was doing an earnest piece to camera. “Authorities here are saying that while no arrest has been made a voicemail apparently found on the victim’s phone was from Dimitri Semenov, and allegedly it’s him arranging a rendezvous with her at the hotel room of what is now being treated as a murder scene. And homicide investigators are hinting that this appeared, at best, to be a bizarre sex game gone wrong.”

  Elizabeth paced in front of the huge screen. Lock felt for her. Not only was her daughter ill in hospital but now she was having to face public humiliation.

  Back on screen the reporter went on: “But the attorney for Mr. Semenov is fighting back tonight and saying that their client has a cast-iron alibi, and that this is part of a plot to destabi
lize Dimitri Semenov’s business interests, a plot they claim is being engineered back in Moscow. However, one thing they’re not denying is that that their client knew and had met with the victim previously. Only one thing is certain. This story is going to run for some time.”

  Humiliation complete, Elizabeth grabbed the remote, clicked off the TV, and threw the control across the room as hard as she could.

  The reporter had nailed one thing, thought Lock. Money, sex and scandal were ingredients that would absolutely guarantee Dimitri Semenov stayed in the public eye. Whether that was a good or a bad thing remained to be seen.

  Usually, the higher the profile the safer someone was. But so far whoever was out to ruin Dimitri’s life hadn’t seemed particularly concerned about attracting unwanted attention. In fact, quite the opposite. They seemed to be using the increasing chaos to ramp up the pressure on him.

  On the domestic front, at least, it appeared to be working. Elizabeth was incandescent with rage, so full of anger her hands were shaking.

  “I’m going to divorce the selfish bastard. That’s what I’m going to do. Take my half of the money before it’s all gone. His daughter is in hospital and he still can’t stop himself whoring around.”

  Ty nudged Lock. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

  “Let’s see what the security arrangements for tonight are first,” said Lock.

  A principal being questioned by the cops would be a drain on resources. Once he was released they’d need a PES (personal escort section) to bring him home. Three, four, maybe even more men would have to be assigned, leaving the rest of the detail short.

  There was also the matter of Anastasia Semenov. Seeing her had personalized this for both of them. Ty in particular had reacted badly, as he always did when he saw the young or vulnerable under threat. The Russian tailing them earlier had been lucky the cops had arrived when they had.

  It had also been telling that he hadn’t used the cops’ arrival to have them arrested, even though it was a fairly open and shut case of unlawful detention. It confirmed to Lock, if confirmation had been needed, that the Russians were knee deep in all of this. It looked like Dimitri’s belief that this was a shakedown by the Russian state wasn’t as far-fetched as it might have seemed.

  “Have you seen McLennan?” Lock asked his partner, as Elizabeth paced back and forth, continuing her expletive-laden rant.

  Ty shook his head. “He’ll probably be with Dimitri, right?”

  Lock nodded. That was how something like this usually went.

  “So what do you think?” Ty asked him, looking at the TV screen. “You think he did it? I mean, the guy’s under a lot of pressure. She says something. He loses it.”

  “No,” said Lock. “I’m not buying it.”

  “Me either, seems too much of an almighty coincidence, but we hardly know him.”

  “It’s not a question of knowing him or not, Tyrone. People are capable of doing all kinds of crazy things, including slamming that self-destruct button and blowing themselves up when it seems like the least rational thing to do in the world. But think about the mechanics of tossing someone out of that window.”

  “You kidding me?” said Ty. “I’ve had pit bulls that weighed more than some of those models do. Dimitri’s a big enough guy, and that’s if she was fighting him. He could have drugged her, tied her up. They said it was some kinky stuff.”

  “All true,” said Lock. “But you’re missing something.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Windows in skyscrapers don’t just open like a regular window in a regular two-story house. If they did, people would be hitting the sidewalk every week for one reason or another,” explained Lock. “They have limiters in place so you can only crack them. Even a super-thin model isn’t going to squeeze through that kind of a gap. And especially not if she’s fighting.”

  Ty nodded slowly. “So someone would have had to throw her through it?”

  “Which is a hell of a lot tougher than it looks. She’d just have bounced off. That’s why they use sugar glass in movies. I mean, have you ever tried to throw someone through a window?”

  Ty smiled.

  “Yeah, maybe don’t answer that,” said Lock as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth pour herself a treble Scotch on the rocks and throw it back like it was lemonade.

  “No,” Lock continued. “Someone would have had to deal with the window first. Make sure it would open wide enough before they picked her up and tossed her out. They would have had to have the tools and the know-how.”

  “So pre-meditated?” said Ty.

  “Exactly. Dimitri Semenov may be an asshole, but he’s not dumb, and I doubt very much he’s capable of a stunt like this. Losing his temper? Sure, I could see that. It’s within the realms of possibility. But going in ahead of time, and jimmying a window while the champagne’s chilling, knowing he’s going to throw her out of it later? That’s one hell of a leap.”

  “Leap?” said Ty.

  Lock held up a hand. “No pun intended.”

  Over by the bar, Elizabeth was refreshing her drink, although this was more of a home-pour double than a treble. One more and she’d be completely trashed.

  Lock knew better than to tell her to take it easy, or even suggest it. He didn’t doubt she was under an immense amount of pressure, and the booze was self-medication. But alcohol was not a drug that helped people in tough times.

  “Elizabeth, could Tyrone and I speak with you for a moment?” said Lock.

  “Elizabeth” seemed overly familiar, but he didn’t know her maiden name and calling her Mrs. Semenov might not be the best idea right about now.

  She waved her glass in the air. “Sure. What is it?”

  He figured that as long as she was talking or otherwise occupied, she wouldn’t be throwing back Scotch like it was water.

  “Who do you have working security in the house at the moment?” said Lock.

  She reeled off two names from McLennan’s team.

  “And with your daughter?”

  “There’s always someone with her. Twenty-four seven. I make sure of it.”

  “Okay. Ty and I are going to swing by the hospital, just to make doubly sure everything there is watertight.”

  “You don’t think anyone would―”

  Lock cut her off. “No, I don’t, but right now I’m guessing peace of mind is going to be very valuable for you both. If you could let them know we’re stopping by that would be helpful. If your husband returns here this evening, let us know.”

  She tilted her glass back and took a sip, leaving a smear of lipstick on the rim. “You know something, I don’t even like Scotch.”

  “It’s a difficult time,” said Ty. “We understand that.”

  “Are either of you married?” Elizabeth asked.

  “In a long-term relationship, but no,” said Lock.

  “Confirmed bachelor,” said Ty.

  She eyed up Ty. “Maybe you could take over . . . What’s the proper term? Residential security.”

  This was where Lock knew you had to take a firm hand with clients. “We’re going to do everything in our power to keep you, your daughter and everyone else safe. Like I said, if you could let the hospital know we’re on the way that would be very helpful.”

  At the end of the block the media were out in even bigger numbers than they had been before. Dimitri Semenov was in for one hell of a welcome. Once he’d run the gauntlet of reporters and TV cameras, his home was hardly going to be an oasis of calm.

  Ty must have been thinking along the same lines as Lock because as they walked past the cordon, he said: “Dude’s going to need a bodyguard to save him from her.”

  “Roger that,” said Lock. “She may be more of an immediate threat than the Kremlin.”

  “Maybe he can go stay at a hotel.”

  Lock glanced at his partner. Ty smiled. “Joke most definitely intended.”

  One of the reasons they got on so well was that they shared the dark
humor that military people utilized to get them through the tough times.

  Ty slid into a doorway. “I’ll hang here while you hail that cab. But I’d like to make a stop on the way.”

  “Where?” said Lock.

  “5th Avenue and 49th Street.”

  Lock recognized the address immediately. “You’re a big softy, Tyrone.”

  Ty grinned back. “Yeah but keep that shit on the down low. Oh, and we’d better tell the cabbie to step on it. We have like ten minutes before they close.”

  20

  Carrying two large FAO Schwarz toy-store bags, Ty and Lock climbed out of the cab.

  “She’s probably sleeping,” said Lock.

  “Then it’ll be like Christmas morning when she wakes up.” Ty grinned.

  “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  Ty looked around. “No one following us this time. Have to admit, I’m kind of disappointed. I thought old Novak had more to him than to give up so easily.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  “I look forward to it,” said Ty.

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  They walked in through the entrance of Sinai.

  “So, speaking of our friendly neighborhood shadow, I had someone look into the tattoos for us,” said Lock.

  “Let me guess, they’re not usually associated with a Russian consular official?”

  “I was thinking that maybe at a stretch they were military. Some of those guys get moved over into espionage.”

  “Military guys don’t just get military ink. I saw dudes with all kinds of dumbass tats when I was in the Corp from before they enlisted,” said Ty.

  “Yeah, but these aren’t military, and they aren’t general stuff either. Remember when we were both in the Bay?” said Lock. He was referring to Pelican Bay Supermax Prison, where he and Ty had been placed undercover to guard an inmate.

  “Hardly likely to forget it.”