Dmitry's Closet (29 page)

     "Teenagers?"

     "Yep."

     "My brother has something else up his sleeve. He would never cooperate truly with the police anymore than I would."

     "Well, he's your brother. So, I hope you know him well enough to know what he's up to. You could just put this all on him and have him sent up to prison for a while."

     "No. We settle this among the Vory not among you."

     "Anyway you want it, chief. We just got word that you've arrived back in Memphis. Cops will be there soon with a no-knock. You better get your house in order."

     "Fine. I'll call my lawyer." Dmitry rolled his eyes in aggravation.

     "Everything's circumstantial right now. You won't even be held for even 24 hours. We don't have shit really. The houses are yours on paper, but there is no direct connect between you and the girls."

     "How could there be? I'm not the one whoring them out; Ivan is. Have they been taken from the house?"

     "The few that we could find. They'd been moved and not one of them is talking."

     "I'll find out where."

     "You don't have time. ETA is less than ten minutes."

     "Ten?"

     "Yeah, so you best be on your way. Make your calls quick."

     Dmitry hung up the phone and reached into his pocket for the waded up paper with the number on it. Quickly, he threw it into the fire.

     He had to make several calls before the police arrived. One to Anatoly to gather the council. One to Cory to watch over Royal. One to the head of his henchmen team. One to his lawyer. He wasn't sure that he had enough to time. He picked up the phone and sighed. He had to try.

Chapter 23

     When the police arrived to Dmitry's estate in their heavily equipped SUVs and unmarked squad cars with their blue lights flashing, the gate was open for them so that they wouldn't break it down. Regardless of the chaos that he caused, he despised unrest around him.

     The police quickly rushed in and pulled around the long drive, parking in front of the large mansion in an over exaggerated convoy.

     In anticipation, Dmitry had conveniently opened the front door of his home, turned on all of his exterior lights and was having a cigar out on the front porch with his men when they pulled up.

     To the officers' chagrin, the element of surprise had been ruined. Almost as if Dmitry had been tipped off. All of his guards had discarded their guns and stood outside in the front smoking cigarettes, eagerly waiting to be hauled downtown for a quick visit, according to their boss. They complied obediently, having been trained long ago how to deal with the shields.

     Dmitry had switched cell phones and dumped his computer files. Everyone had been notified including his attorney.

     He was ready for them.

     As they came up the porch steps with guns drawn, he raised his hands and looked confused.

     "What is this?" he asked as they turned him around against the front door and put the cuffs on him. His rights were read to him. Politely, he did not interrupt. There was no resistance. All the planning and gun power was for nothing.

     A man of very muscular build and bo-legs in all-black tactical gear and his face covered in a black mask walked up to Dmitry and noted his cocky smirk.

     "Happy New Year," the man said sarcastically.

     "Just get this over with," Dmitry said, looking down and eyeing the man. "You all don't have anything on me. I'll be home before morning."

     "Did you get the girl?" The masked man turned and asked another officer not far from him.

     "I didn't know she was on the list."

     The man smiled. "Oh, she's on the list."

     Dmitry was suddenly enraged. There was no need to arrest Royal. She didn't know anything. She was supposed to come down from her bath and find them all gone. He would then return later and inform her of the awful mix up.

     But that was the masked man's intention. He knew that Royal was unaware, but he wanted her to know. He wanted to talk to her, to get in her head, to turn her from her sanctimonious lover one truth at a time.

     The resistance started immediately. Dmitry jerked and pulled one officer down trying to get into the house to warn Royal, but the masked-man clashed against Dmitry's giant frame. Their bodies collided and made a loud thunder. Other officers quickly piled on top of him. He still pummeled through like a linebacker on a scrimmage line. The last tackle took him down at the threshold of his doorway.

     He hit the ground hard. The thud rocked the marble floor. With men on top of him and blood in his mouth, they struggled to get him up off the floor. He spit blood and shook off his dizziness. He was still fighting. The large group of men dragged him out to one of the squad cars, pushed him in and hit the roof of the car, signaling to drive him off.

∞♥∞

     Relaxed and in a tranquil daze, Royal soaked in the water with her hair up in a bun and the candles lit around her with the music blasting on her IPod.

     Her eyes were closed but every once in while, she would lift her hand out of the warm water and look at her engagement ring sparkling in the darkness.

     She had never loved diamonds as much as she loved them now. Maybe it was because she had a whole chest of them given as gifts from Dmitry on nearly every occasion. Diamond rings, diamond earrings, diamond watches, diamond necklaces, diamond hair pins. Diamonds. Diamonds. Diamonds.

     She hummed a soothing tune under her breath. Life is great, she thought to herself.

     At first Royal thought that it was all too good to be true, but it had turned out to be her big break. She had the dream job, the dream fiancé and the dream home. She opened her eyes and grinned at the thought. She had it all.

     She was just about to close her eyes again when she noticed a light shining from under the door. Why did Dmitry have a flashlight? She sat up in the tub as the door knob turned slowly.

     "Dmitry?" she called out, looking across the bathroom for her towel. Her heart skipped a beat. She could feel the constriction in her chest. Something was not right.

     The door flung open and four men barged in the bathroom with their guns pointed in full black tactical gear with their lights on their guns blinding her in a standard two-by-two cover formation. She screamed when she saw them, trying to both cover her body and prepare to be shot.

     Launching a bar of soap, she hit one man in the head. Her shrieking cry and vulnerable state made another man almost lower his gun. Almost. He quickly refocused the infrared beam on her wet bosom. She was like a deer in headlights. Tears ran down her face as she screamed for Dmitry, but he never came.

     "Someone call the cops!" she screamed, only covered by the bubbles in the water. Her lips quivered.

     "FBI, maim," one man said, walking towards the bench where her towel had been placed. He grabbed it and threw it over to her.

     Royal was confused. The FBI?

     "Well what the hell are you doing in my bathroom?" Royal asked, catching the towel. She was too afraid to stand up and wrap herself, but she was certain that the men would not turn around and give her a chance to cover up. "Dmitry!" she screamed again.

     "No need for the screaming, maim. We have a no knock warrant. We need you to get dressed and come with us immediately," the man ordered. His face was completely covered by a black mask only revealing his brown eyes.

     Royal looked over at him, breathing hard and shaking. She wiped the water and tears from her face.

     "Why? I haven't done anything?"

     "Get dressed now, maim." The man signaled for the men to leave the room. He walked slowly out. His footsteps squeaked against the puddles of water now on the floor. He stopped at the door and turned around.

     "Do you have something in this bathroom you can put on?"

     Royal shook her head quickly. "No, the maid has already cleaned everything up," she sobbed.

     "Where are your clothes? I can't allow you to start digging around in these drawers. There could be weapons."

     "Weapons? Who do you people think that we are?" She shook her head. He did not answer.

     "I set my nightclothes out," she said, pointing into the room. "There on the bed. My jeans and my sweater for tomorrow are on the chaise lounge chair." Her voice quivered.

     The man walked into the bedroom, grabbed her clothes and her black silk panties and bra and brought them back inside to her.

     She reached up and took the clothes, grateful for his compassion. Unable to control his virile instincts, he looked down at her wet naked body in the bathwater. So you're what all the fuss is about, he thought to himself.

     "Look, you've got two minutes to get dressed," he said in a low voice. "We'll be right outside. Don't take my kindness for a weakness, Royal."

     "I... I won't." She was shocked that he knew her name. With a nod, he turned on the lights and left her alone in the bathroom.

     After getting dressed, Royal was escorted in hand-cuffs by the police officers from her room, down the long staircase and out of her home. Angry and ashamed, she wiped the constant tears from her face and tried to hold her head up.

     "Where is Dmitry?" she asked before they put into a black unmarked squad car with tented windows much like the one they had carted Dmitry off in earlier.

     "He's already been taken downtown to the federal detention center," the masked man answered.

     "Why?"

     "Well, we can talk about that once we get you there. For now, let's just get you out of the freezing cold."

∞♥∞

     Like something from a movie, the walls were gray; no windows were in the room and single halogen light hung from the ceiling. Dmitry found it typical and theatric.

     A tall, Italian man with a bald spot in the top of his head and five o'clock shadow walked into Dmitry's room finally after looking at him through the mirror for a while, looking through is his file and comparing notes to the pictures of the young girls. He closed the door softly, sat down and took a sip of his coffee.

     "Remember me from the restaurant?" he asked Dmitry.

     Dmitry looked up from the table and smiled. "Sorrello? The sloppy Italiano from the Peabody."

     "You remembered?"

     "I never forget," he sighing. "Why am I here?"

     "We have reason to believe that you have been trafficking underage illegal aliens into the United States for the purpose of soliciting sex for your profit. Here, we call that pimping. We have you connected to several drug dealers in the city, very recently preparing to go into agreement for the shipment of Meth to the Memphis area for distribution. Let's not forget the new chop shops in Binghampton you just purchased, and if that ain't enough, if it ain't illegal, it sure is a shame to have such a pretty girl next door locked in shackles because of your tricky ass," Sorrello said, taking a deep breath.

     "You don't have shit," Dmitry said, checking his Rolex. "Chop shops, whored-out kids and meth. What do I look like to you... an Italian? Now, where is my lawyer?"

     "You don't want to play ball, huh?"

     Dmitry sat up in his seat. "I am an upstanding, tax paying American citizen. I have not done any of the things that you have just suggested. You have the wrong man, cowboy."

     "So how do you explain how we got your name?"

     "Do not answer that," a short, gray-haired man said, busting through the door in his tuxedo and overcoat. He was Olich Slovinky, Dmitry's lawyer.

     Dmitry rolled his eyes. "I was just asking about you," he said, scooting back from the table. "You're late."

∞♥∞

     Agosto watched Royal through the glass very carefully. Something about her said that she was a victim. Although, he would not go with his gut yet, he was certain after his interrogation, she would confirm his suspicions.

     Sorrello was surely next door botching his investigation with his hard-hitting Hollywood tactics. Agosto found him irritating at most, but this was a joint-task force effort. He had to put his personal reservations aside for the betterment of the investigation.

     The real work would start in this room, maybe not through her mouth, but most definitely her eyes. Agosto knew women. He had been married for three years to a maniac of wife whom he could not help but impregnate for the hell of it. He would handle Royal Stone with kid gloves and get enough to put to Dmitry Medlov to jail where he belonged.

     Royal sat in the lonely, cold room with her head buried in her arms on the table sobbing softly. When she heard the door open, she sat up in hopes that Dmitry had come to collect her, but it was just a cop.

     With a nod, he closed the door and walked over to the seat across from her. He cleared his throat.

     "Want some coffee?" he asked, offering her a cup.

     "Thanks," Royal took the cup. She wiped the tears from her eyes.

     "Are you alright?" Agosto asked.

     "No. I was..." Royal began to cry again. "I was in the bath tub when
they
came. Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

     "It couldn't be helped. However, I gave you a towel," Agosto said apologetically. "It's more than I would give to most."

     Royal looked at him and put the cup down. "What's your name, officer?" she asked with fire in her eyes.

     "Nicola."

    
"Nicola,
would you ever want your girlfriend to be interrupted like I was?"

     "No. My
wife
would freak out." He shook his head. Mrs. Agosto was a firecracker. "She'd kill the messenger."

     "Exactly." She pulled her hair from her face and looked away from him.

     "But I would never put her in the situation that your Dmitry has put you in."

     Royal was silent.

     Agosto opened the files and began to place pictures of young women in front of her. She looked down at the pictures of the teenage girls in short dresses, lingerie and some with bruises and scrapes. He did not talk until the last picture was on the table, lined against the others to form a collage.