Chapter Seven
Agosto heard his phone ringing from across the office. Cutting his conversation off with one of his subordinates, he quickly jetted through his door and grabbed the phone from across the desk before it could go to voicemail.
“Lieutenant Agosto, Memphis Police Department,” he said, pulling the phone’s cord towards him to cut the static.
“Hi, this is...well, my name isn’t important, but I have important information regarding Anatoly Medlov for your ongoing investigation, if there is one.”
Agosto looked around his office through the glass doors to make sure that no one could hear him speaking. Reaching his leg out, he caught the end of the door with his foot and closed it. Lowering his voice, he moved over to his seat and grabbed a pen and paper.
“Go head,” he said, waiting for the woman to continue. Whoever was calling was doing so from a blocked number. Dammit.
“You may or may not already know this, but Anatoly Medlov is running a large amount of guns through your city. They are from a big deal that went down in Sochi, Russia during the Olympics earlier this year. And he’s filtering all the money through art.”
“What kind of drugs. What kind of guns? Who’s the art dealer?” Agosto asked, trying to place the woman’s accent. He wrote down on his pad. Female. Race unknown. Accent questionable. Possibly east coast.
“I’m not sure of what kind. But I think that quantity is important. He dropped off a shipment to a group of Jewish men in Istanbul a few months ago and since then he’s been selling them in bulk to the largest bidder.”
“Where is he housing the guns? Who’s been some of the largest bidders?”
“Not sure,” the woman huffed. “I don’t know much, but I can tell you this. They are in the city of Memphis.”
“Well, the city is pretty big. Do you have an idea of where he might be storing them?”
“No, but I’ll try to find out.”
“Any other information?”
“Not right now. He’s pretty tight-lipped, but I’m telling you, he’s the head of the Medlov family not Dmitry. And he’s right under your nose.”
Agosto looked up from his paper. His suspicions where correct. “How do you know all of this?”
“I can’t give you that either. I’m not trying to be killed anytime soon.”
“Well, why are you doing this?”
“The usual. The whole woman scorned bit,” the woman said in a condescending voice. “The bastard has it coming to him.”
“I hear ya,” Agosto said with a grin. “So, what’s your name? Maybe you can come and we can talk, or I can meet you. Some of the information you’re giving me is out of my jurisdiction. So, I’ll need to pass it on the FBI.”
“No deal. I just want him to know what it’s liked to be caged like an animal. I’ll get you what I can when I can, as long as it doesn’t come back to me.”
“Maybe you can answer one more question for me then.”
“Okay,” she said, holding her breath.
“Is Royal Stone still alive?”
The woman laughed and hung up the phone.
Agosto put the phone down on the receiver and sat back in his seat. Biting his lip, he quickly wrote down more notes on the pad under his pen, scribbling quickly, then pulled the piece of paper off the sheath and put it in his pocket.
A million questions crossed his mind, but in his time on the force, he had learned to still them in order to move from a clue to an actual bust.
There was a knock at his door that interrupted his swirling thoughts. Looking up, he saw Cory. He waved him in and kicked his feet up on his desk.
Cory, a friend and subordinate of Agosto’s and the former undercover for the first undercover Medlov investigation, came in and closed the door behind him. With a file in his hand from his current case, he pulled a seat out and sat down.
“Sup,” Cory said, picking up on Agosto’s far-off gaze. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Agosto gave a devilish
grin. “Not a ghost. I think I just finally got a lead on the
Medlov’s.”
“What kind of lead?”
Agosto hesitated.
“Oh, come on man. I damned near got killed trying to bring Dmitry Medlov in. How are you going to sit there and hold out on me?” His clever eyes beam in anticipation.
“You were always close but no cigar, Cory. Not worth shit.”
Cory scratched his freckled nose and squinted. “I got closer than anyone else...even you.”
“What the hell,” Agosto said, throwing his concern to the wind. “I just got a call from some woman. I want to say that she was black, who told me that Anatoly Medlov is in fact the new Czar and that he’s housing a shit load of guns here for distribution. Now, we knew that he was the boss, but what we didn’t know is that they were moving any product out of Memphis anymore. The word was that the product went with Dmitry, but this proves otherwise.”
Cory’s face was blank. Blinking his eyes, he finally swallowed and sat back in his seat. “You don’t say. Well, do you have any idea who the woman is?”
“Nope. She called from a blocked number, but she said that she’d call back with more as soon as she could.” Agosto reached down into his side drawer and pulled out the Medlov file. With a quick lick of his thumb, he flipped through the pages and pulled out a lead sheet. “I have to call Sorrello over at the Bureau and let him know.”
Cory silently watched Agosto as he logged the conversation with the mystery woman. “Do you need me to go back under on this? I could.”
Agosto smiled and closed the file. “Nope, I’ve already got someone.”
“Who?”
“You know that I can’t tell you that.”
“But I could help.”
“No, man. Look, you got pulled off this thing over three years ago. Now, my new UC has gone through a lot of training on this and he will get the job done. Trust me. He’s a stand up guy.”
Cory smiled. “So it’s a dude.”
Agosto shook his head. “That’s about all I’ll tell you. Now, get the fuck out of here, and go do some cop work, will ya.”
Cory stood up. “Alright. Alright. I’m out of here. Just remember. I’m your man, whenever your UC fucks this up. And he will.”
“He won’t. Trust me,” Agosto said, sitting back in his seat.
As Cory closed the door, he felt his heart finally start to beat again. He wasn’t getting paid by Dmitry to be the last to know. Shit. He had to get out of the precinct now and get to his other cell phone to let the Medlov family know. Another UC. Another problem. At least, he could inform him that it was a guy. But there was no telling how long he had been under. Hopefully, whoever had been assigned hadn’t been there long.
Foregoing the elevator, he pushed the door to the stairs open and zipped down the four flights to the back entrance of the police precinct. Within in minutes, he was out at his truck. He cranked it up quickly and pulled onto the streets. By the time that he was at the first light, he was on the phone to Prague.
“Hello,” Dmitry answered his personal cell.
“You’ve got a UC back in the fray and a leak from inside.”
“Start with the UC. Who?”
“Don’t know.”
“Find out. That’s what I pay you for.”
“I’m on it.”
“How long have they been inside my organization?”
“I’m not sure that he’s inside, but I do know that he’s a guy. He’s been trained well, so you won’t recognize him as an outsider.”
“Find out how long
he’s been under and find out who it is. Now, what of the
leak?”
Cory could hear a child laughing in the background. He pulled over
to the side of the street, hands shaking and calmed his voice.
“It’s a woman. A black woman. She called and gave information about
the guns. She didn’t give enough to be completely useful but she’s
looking for more.”
“A black
woman?
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s only three, and one of them, I am certain is not your person,” Dmitry said, looking at his wife.
“Then it’s possibly Renee or someone else.”
“Very well.” Dmitry didn’t sound the least bit put off, which scared Cory more.
“I’ll inform my son, myself. But you’ve got to find out who the UC is, I can find the leak.”
“I’m on it.”
“You had better be,” Dmitry said as he hung up his cell.
Cory closed his phone and took a deep breath. He had been warned several times about late Intel from inside the department. Dmitry would only be so forgiving regardless of their past relationship. He had to find out who the UC was. The only thing he could think of was to start hanging out more at the restaurant and clothing store during his time off and when he was supposed to be working these other bullshit cases. Whatever it took, he’d do it.
***
When his father had originally assigned him to the kitchen when Anatoly first came to Memphis many years ago, he felt slighted. What did working in Mother Russia have to do with learning his duties as a Vor? He had never been a cook, never appreciated the fine art of cooking, never wed to learn. But over the years, he figured out that his father didn’t want him to work with him in the kitchen to teach him lessons of the Vor. He had him work there, because it gave them time to do something together as father and son away from their responsibilities to the men and to the organization.
Now with his father many thousands of miles away, when Anatoly really missed Dmitry, when he really needed to work things out in his head, or when he really wanted to get away, he found himself in the kitchen among his workers fixing the meals that he at first thought to be a punishment of some sort.
Today was like any other day for him. Work in his kitchen was going well. He had hand-made the Borscht and cabbage and was carefully preparing the salad and pelmeni. His other workers labored diligently beside him, making sure to move out of his way every time that he passed them.
He worked with his I-pod in his ears, listening to music and thinking about the other tasks before him that would take a great deal more effort than his meals.
Outside the kitchen, the staff put fresh flowers in all the vases and made sure the place was tidy for the lunch crowd.
Vasily sat in the corner, scanning the newspaper and watching the exits for anyone who might enter. As he turned the page of the New York Times, Destiny came in through the front door with a bundle of magazines in her hand.
They made eye contact and he stood. Walking over to her, it crossed his mind that with her hair in a ponytail pulled to the back of her head, she looked like a cop.
“Can I help you?” Vasily asked.
“I’m here to see Anatoly,” Destiny explained with a bright smile.
“I’ll see if he’s available. You can have a seat, if you’d like.” Vasily pointed at the table near the back of the restaurant.
“Oh, I can wait here for him,” she said, looking towards the kitchen.
“I insist,” Vasily said sternly. “If he’s available, I’ll let you know.” His voice was gruff and thick with his Russian accent. Glaring at her under menacing green eyes, he motioned once more towards the back of the room.
As she turned, a hostess was there to guide her to the back. “Follow me,” the woman said with a smile, looking back at Vasily with worried eyes.
Destiny followed quietly. This wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but she’d allow it. Based upon her short interaction with his bodyguard, she wasn’t sure that she had a choice. Sit or get out.
Several minutes later, Anatoly emerged from the kitchen in a dark pair of jeans and black t-shirt.
Curly blonde locks danced about his head and his boyish face was unshaven. With a half-smirk, he camto the table, pulled a seat out and sat down.
“Are you looking for a free meal?” he asked, running his hand over the tablecloth.
Destiny smiled. “No, I came to see you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I wanted to see if you liked my story.”
“It was pretty good. You’re a decent reporter.”
“Wow, is that a compliment?”
“The best one I can give,” he said, looking behind him. “Bring us over some borscht, bread and vodka, Amelia,” he ordered the woman standing only a few feet from them.
The woman bowed and turned to go and get their food.
“Oh, I can’t stay long,” Destiny said, setting the magazines down. “I just thought that you’d like a few copies for the restaurant.”
“You can stay long enough to have lunch with me. You did after all, interrupt me from cooking. It’s the least that you can do.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cigarettes.
“Are you going to smoke that in here?” she asked.
“Yes, I don’t plan on going out back.”
“But what about your customers?”
Anatoly flicked his lighter and lit his cigarette. With his blue eyes squinted, he blew a puff of smoke in the air and grinned. “Fuck’em.”
Destiny tried to repress her smile but could not. She let out a loud laugh and reached across to him. With her palm up, she raised her brow. “I’ll have one too then.”
He passed her a cigarette and watched her light it.
“I never guessed you smoked,” he said.
She lit the cigarette quickly and sat back in her seat. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Anatoly liked her playful manner. As the waitresses came and carefully placed their food in front of them, he took the bottle of vodka and poured them both a shot.
“Let’s get shit faced and find out a little more about each other, shall we?”
She grinned. “Okay, why not. If I get fired from work, I’m sure I’ll be able to find another job as a food writer in this city.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Anatoly said, passing her the shot. “Drink up.”
“Arent we supposed to toast to something?” she asked, holding up her shot glass.
“Go for it.”
She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. “To...to dinner tonight at my place.”
Anatoly lifted his shot glass and toasted her. “And to breakfast.”
As he downed his vodka, his cell phone rang. Holding up his finger, he nodded. “Give me minute,” he said, turning from her. When he saw it was his father, he quickly got up from the chair and stepped away.
“Da,” he said quietly.
“You have a leak and an undercover. The undercover will be taken care of, but the leak is a problem...your problem.”
Anatoly didn’t answer immediately. He turned and looked back at Destiny, who was sitting at the table talking to the waitresses about the dishes.
“Who?” he asked, moving toward the kitchen.
“My source says it’s a black woman. Either Victoria or Renee.”
“Not Renee,” Anatoly said quickly.
“Are you sure about that?” Dmitry snapped.
“No,” Anatoly answered gravely. “But she wouldn’t be my first guess.”
“Don’t guess, boy. It’s a black woman. So, you only have two choices.”
“Three now,” Anatoly corrected. He stared at Destiny.
“You’re fucking up, Anatoly. I don’t really mind when it’s just with your love life, but you can’t be so careless with the family. Find out who it is. Flush her out. Get rid of whoever this number three is and do it now. Then find out if it’s Renee or Victoria.”
“Then what?” Antoly asked irritated.
“You damned well know what.”
The phone went dead.
Anatoly looked at it and thought about throwing it across the room, but instead stuffed it back down in his jeans. Was there never a minute when he could just have a normal life? Now, his father wanted him to just get rid of everyone while he enjoyed his wife and kid, his retirement and worked the shit out of him? Wasn’t he the boss now? Didn’t that carry some weight?
Walking back over to his table, he quickly pulled the seat out and sat down.
He smiled. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, we were going to get shit faced. And then later tonight, I’m going to have dinner with you at your place.”
“That’s right,” she said smiling.