Dmitry's Closet (22 page)

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     Bone chilling winds whipped through the riverside as Dmitry pulled up and parked his car in the front of the luxury loft apartments overlooking the Mississippi River on Front Street. He made his way up the long stairwell quickly with long forceful strides.

     Arriving at the front door, Dmitry was greeted by two armed men who moved hurriedly to let him in and most importantly move out of his way. He walked in and made them stay outside guarding the door. The loft was empty with loud music blaring from the Bose surround sound. He closed the door and locked it behind him.

     Walking softly across the hardwood floors, Dmitry slipped up the stairwell leading towards the music to a half-opened door. He pushed the door open with his index finger. The bedroom was dark, illuminated by large candles and a large king-sized bed under a wall-to-wall window where Ivan lay with three women. One small blonde had straddled his chest and was kissing his mouth. The other small brunette had her back to the blonde and was bent down sucking wildly on his penis. The third woman lay beside the three of them, visibly high and disoriented.

     Dmitry walked into the room and closed the door. Instantly, all four looked at him. He took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves to his shirt. He smiled at the women and with a nod, walked up to the bed.

     "Dmitry, what the fuck are you doing here?" Ivan asked, pushing the short women off of his body. "Here, you can have one if you like. I knew that Royal must not be too exciting," he laughed. "Good girls never are."

     "Speaking of Royal, I heard that you paid her a visit last night while she was a little
indisposed
as well. Figured, I'd return the favor," Dmitry smirked.

     Ivan gave a devilish grin and lifted his brow. Utter defiance in his rebellious manner.

     Dmitry acted quickly. With the force of all his might, he plunged his fist into Ivan's face, punching him with precision, busting open his mouth and the side of his eye.

     Afraid, the women ran quickly to the other side of the room, except for the drunken redhead whom Dmitry threw out of his way as he snatched Ivan up. She fell to the floor and rolled under the bed where she stayed.

     "Get your fucking hands off me," Ivan said, trying to push Dmitry. He punched back, but Dmitry penned him down, pulled out the butt of his gun and punched him again in his face. The sound of the gun made a blood wrenching sound. When Ivan finally submitted, stopped moving like a smart victim under a bear's attack, Dmitry stopped. Breathing hard he stepped away and wiped the blood from his face.

     His voice was steady and low. "If I ever catch you near her again, I'll kill you." Dmitry said, spitting.

     The room was deathly still, music blared from the sound system. Dmitry turned from Ivan's naked, bloody body. He calmed himself. He caged the beast before he could spring forth.

     The women screamed as he approached, afraid not only of the bleeding man but of the bloody giant in front of them breathing heavily with the gun in his hand. Their screeching voices irritated Dmitry.

     "Shut up you fucking dumb bitches," Dmitry screamed, pointing the gun at them. "Get up and get the fuck out of here." They ran quickly to the door, naked and afraid, down the hall out of his site.

     Dmitry turned and looked back at Ivan. "And you,
brother... "He
grinded his teeth. "Get dressed and bring your fucking ass downstairs so that I can talk to you about your little whorehouse experiment." His voice was now calm and virtually quiet.

     Bloody, Ivan smiled cunningly and stood up. His naked body mirrored that of his brother, with not as many tattoos but just as many muscles. He grabbed his sheets and wiped the blood out of his face. "So that's what you're angry about?" He spat on the ground.

     "The whorehouse? Hell, I'll cut you in. It's not making much yet, but it will." He slipped on a pair of jeans and walked in front of Dmitry, who guided him with the nickel-plated Glock down the stairs.

     "I knew you'd be trouble when I laid eyes on you."

     "Do you want drink?" Ivan asked, walking into the black kitchen.

     "No," Dmitry said, looking at Ivan's home. "You live like shit." He cringed at the urban-like interior with exposed brick, black on black furniture and black appliances.

     "You sound like fag. Everyone can't live like king in a big fucking palace," Ivan said, pouring a glass of vodka. "I think you knocked my tooth loose." He rubbed his index finger across his shaky front tooth.

     "Good," Dmitry said, putting his gun back in his holster. He sat at the center island on a bar stool and looked at Ivan still bleeding badly.

     "How did you find out? I'm so curious."

     "It's my city. How did you expect me not to find out?" Dmitry asked.

     "I just wanted to prove to you that my plan could be lucrative first."

     "You just wanted to find something that you knew would make money fast without the Vory finding out."

     Ivan leaned over the island with the icepack to his head. "It had to be a cop who told you, eh? Come on. Tell me."

     "I am not without my resources." Dmitry sighed. "Get the girls out of that house tonight. Don't fucking kill them either. Give them few dollars and send them on their way. Burn the house down, just in case there is something incriminating there. Make sure it looks like accident, or I'll make you look like one."

     "I get the feeling that you don't like me."

     "Really? What gave you that impression?"

     "You think that Royal will leave you for me? She probably thinks that you're boring. All you ever do is mope around lamenting because of your pitiful conscious."

     Dmitry hit back. "I know of at least one person I'm not sorry for killing."

     "Is that all?" Ivan asked irritated. The very mention of
her
got under his skin.

     Dmitry knew he had put Ivan in his place. "No that is not all. I'll figure out what I'm going to do with you soon enough. For now, just make sure that you have the usual percentage into me at the next meeting, plus an additional thirty percent for my troubles."

     "That's nearly all of it," Ivan scoffed.

     "Good idea. Why don't I just take all of it," Dmitry said with his voice rising slightly.

     There was a long silence.

     "And as far as Royal." Dmitry shifted in his seat. "How was I supposed to know that she was in there?"

     "You went looking for her?"

     "I was checking out the place."

     "Stop before you start, Ivan. I know you. You were casing the place and looking for her."

     "You have me all wrong," Ivan said, spiting blood into the sink.

     "I doubt that very seriously," Dmitry said, looking over at him expressionless. "Less you forget that I was the only father that you've ever known. There are things that I still know about you... like when you're lying to me."

     "Well then, you were horrible father."

     Dmitry ignored him. "As far as Royal, you consider this your only warning. Any more pursuing her, and I don't even have to tell you what I'll do."

     "No, brother. You've made it very clear," Ivan scowled.

     "Good." Dmitry stood up and took a deep breath. "No one told you to come here. You just have to accept it for what it is." He grabbed a towel and wiped the blood from his white shirt and slipped back on his tweed jacket. "Don't get up. I'll see myself out."

     "Do that," Ivan said, rolling his eyes.

Chapter 16

     Instead of Royal's cold getting better, by the day, it was only getting worse. Dmitry had stayed up with her the night before while she coughed and ran a ferocious fever. He had given her everything that he could buy over-the-counter. The results had not been favorable. She only coughed more. Tired and extremely worried, he finally rang his private doctor to come over and take a look at her.

     After the doctor prescribed a few antibiotics, Royal was sent back to bed under Dmitry's ever watchful eye. Royal had, of course, contested his decision that she was to stay at home and rest. She had argued that the shop would be open in a couple of hours, and she should go and just hang out upstairs in case anyone needed her. Dmitry had given her a stern look, an even sterner voice and escorted her back upstairs to the bed, where he tucked her in and insisted that she not step foot outside of their home until she was better.

     At first, Royal started to fight him on it. But alas she could not. He stood before her, unshaven, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the day before and coughing a little from being exposed to influenza.

     Just let him take care of you, she said to herself as he pulled the duvet comforter over her legs. Without a word, he kissed her on her forehead and closed the door behind him, leaving her to watch Wendy Williams on the television and read fashion magazines. She smiled. It was nice to have him pamper her, but it was even nicer to watch her favorite daytime talk show host give the skinny on all the stars.

     Barefoot and exhausted, Dmitry made his way back downstairs to his study, where he found his son filing away some papers. Anatoly looked up as his father entered the room but continued with his task. Looking back just to make sure that Royal had not followed him, Dmitry closed the door behind him and sat down in one of the large leather chairs to relax his aching body. He rubbed his temples and sniffled a little.

     "Good Morning," Anatoly said, initiating the conversation.

     "The sun is not even up yet, so why are you? Were you disturbed by Royal's cackling all night, too?"

     Anatoly smirked. "You know. This is first time I've ever seen you take care of anyone except yourself." He slid the last of the files in the drawer and closed it.

     Dmitry sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "There is something about her... I cannot explain."

     "Maybe it's because she isn't a money grubbing whore like the women before her."

     "That could be," Dmitry sat up. "She wanted to go to work today—in the state that she's in."

     Anatoly leaned on the corner of his father's desk. "You sound surprised. This is Royal that we're talking about."

     Dmitry nodded in agreement.

     "I did as you asked," Anatoly said sighing. The conversation quickly changed. Dmitry stopped smiling and sat up in his chair.

     "And?"

     "There is more than one of these whorehouses. Ivan has more like ten."

     "Ten?"

     "There is more. Word on the street is that he's trying to negotiate with the Mexicans on an upcoming drug shipment of meth coming up the pipeline, and he's been seen with the owner of the Black Tie strip club. I think that he's pressuring him to sell."

     The news definitely bothered Dmitry, but he dared not show it. "Do you know why we have done so well for the last ten years, Anatoly?"

     "No. News of our
unorthodox
tactics got around?"

     "More than that." There was a twitch in Dmitry's eye. "It's because we found niche, and we did not bother to spread ourselves thin by doing more than the things that we were good at. Each of the original men who came to Memphis from Moscow or New York had strong background in gun running. Some of them had been rebels for legitimate causes in the motherland and others simply criminal minds with a hunger to get rich.

     "Now, weapons trafficking is not just about selling to thugs and funding street wars. We have an array of high-end hunters who want untraced quantity, cops who want unmarked reliable guns, rednecks who stockpile for race wars, guns for hire who need professional grade munitions, ex-military who want the weapons they used in Iraq, aficionados who want them in the house for show and tell and heads of organized crime, who need them for protection." Dmitry smiled, as he watched his son soak up the information like a hungry sponge.

     "So you cut your market share by not expanding when you clearly had the man power, and this is a good thing?" Anatoly was perplexed. It didn't make much since to him. It never had. He had always wanted his father to expand the empire by selling more than just guns.

     "No. This is better than a good thing... it is smart thing. See, you have to know history of a place before you just come in and start to take it over. Do you know much about Memphis' organized crime families?"

     "Elvis, Bar-b-que, Three-Six Mafia rap group. What else is there to know?"

     "Much more, son."

     "Well, it's four o'clock in the morning. Why don't you explain it to me? I have nowhere to be for hours." He tapped his finger on his watch.

    
"Dah.
I tell you all so that you are smarter than the next generation of Vor, and you lead best."

     Dmitry motioned at the chair across from him. Anatoly took off his suit jacket and sat down in the comfortable chair to listen to his father. He sat up attentively awaiting the knowledge that only Dmitry could share.

     "We came from different market. There was much opportunity when the Soviet Union fell. Those who were in a position to leave did. We went so many places before we came here, but the long and short of the route was Moscow to New York. When we got here, this area already had drugs and whores by the bus loads. Black and whites were shipping cocaine in from Mexico via Texas, heroine from Afghanistan, cooking and shipping meth and crack cocaine here locally and from the southern borders, getting marijuana and prescription drugs from Canada and California and home growing their own whores. We could not add any value to these things. Plus, the relationships were there. People had their supply chains set in stone."

     "What about other things?"

     "Other things? Chop shops are more risk than return. Pornography doesn't do it for me. We wanted something we could centralize and maintain for this area. Small dollar schemes are for armatures. Plus, we have lucrative businesses all over US and other countries.

     "Running numbers and the whole betting machine belongs to the Italians, and they took big hit when the casinos came to Mississippi. So they responded by clinching their unions tighter, increasing their chop shops and construction businesses and cutting into the drug market, which by the way, when we arrived here was basically run by three major drug dealers. One Italian and two blacks had the entire city locked down. Eventually the drug dealers got popped one by one and their investment bankers retired to nice locales in more tropical regions. All of this was due to a war between the blacks and the Italians that nearly lasted five years."