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“Go check if anything came of the canvassing,” Resnick said. “Give me a half hour, okay?”

“This is ridiculous. Let the old lady hire a cleaning service. And who’s Viktor Petrenko?”

Resnick ignored him and continued methodically restacking the food that had been dumped on the floor. Maguire watched for a moment then, cursing to himself, joined his partner.

*

“I can’t believe you had us do that,” Maguire complained.

Resnick gave his partner a hard stare. “You would leave that old lady alone with the store like that?”

“That’s not our job.” Maguire tried to meet his partner’s stare but had to look away. “Besides, I don’t like being lied to. She’s going to tell me straight-faced that her husband fell when it’s clear as day that someone slammed his head against that counter?”

“She had no choice.”

“Bullshit. And who the hell’s Viktor Petrenko?”

Resnick gave his partner a sad look before turning to talk to one of the cops who had been canvassing for witnesses. “Anything?” he asked. The cop shook his head. “No one saw a thing. At least that’s what they’re saying.”

“I’d like you to go to Lynn Memorial and take a statement from the husband when he wakes up. Okay?”

“Sure, but I’ll be wasting my time. He’s not going to tell us anything.”

“Yeah, I know, but we need to get his statement. Why don’t you wait until those repairmen are done with the window, then you can take the wife along with you.”

“Sure.”

Resnick clapped him on the shoulder before turning towards the Buick he was driving. He unlocked the car. Maguire got in the passenger side.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Maguire asked.

Resnick waited until he secured his seatbelt. Then, “Petrenko, among other things, runs an extortion ring in the North Shore, targeting Russian immigrants. He did this.”

“Why didn’t you push the wife some more? She looked like she was ready to start talking.”

Resnick shrugged.

“I mean, Jesus,” Maguire continued, “what’s wrong with these people? If she talks to us we can arrest the bastard.”

“Then he’d have her killed. Not just her, but her husband and any children they might have.”

“That’s bullshit. We could protect her.”

A shadow fell over Resnick’s eyes. “No we couldn’t,” he said. When Resnick got to Essex Street, he took a right, heading away from the station house.

“Where are we going?”

“I guess we have no choice but to introduce you to Petrenko. For all the good it’s going to do.” Resnick drove in silence after that, a darkness clouding his face. Maguire watched him for a minute then looked straight ahead, trying not to let his partner’s mood affect him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a thin smile crack his partner’s face.

“What?” Maguire asked.

“I was just thinking of something. When you meet Petrenko, make a comment that you think he’s Jewish.”

“Why? Is he Jewish?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Resnick’s smile stretched half an inch. “Humor me, okay?”

“Fine. I’ll humor you. What did you mean when you told that lady that people like Petrenko are not protected here?”

“Pretty much what I said.” Resnick’s thin smile disappeared. “Petrenko used to be KGB. In the Soviet Union, that sadistic son of a bitch could pretty much do as he pleased. The Russian community here know his reputation and are terrified of him.”

“How’d someone like that get into the United States?”

“By invitation. Petrenko showed up in Lynn fifteen years ago, right after my rookie year. He started off as a collector, beating the crap out of deadbeat gamblers. I tried putting the arm on him and was stopped cold. I looked into it and it turned out to be someone from the State Department. Petrenko made some sort of deal with them.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

“Is he still being protected?”

“Not by them, at least I don’t think so. But Petrenko’s smart and living a charmed life. So far I haven’t been able to get anything on hime to stick.”

“What’s the worst he’s done?”

“Probably a couple of dozen murders.”

“Shit! You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I were.” Resnick showed a pained expression as he pulled up next to an auto body shop. “Petrenko’s in there waiting for us.”

“How do you know that?”

“Unfortunately, I know how that son of a bitch thinks.” Resnick paused for a moment. “Be careful in there. We want to get to him, but don’t let him get to you. He’s got very good lawyers. You do anything he can sue you over, he will.”

The body shop, a dirt-stained one-story concrete structure, had both its front and side windows covered with cardboard. Inside the place was lit up by rows of fluorescent lights. The middle bay had two guys attaching a bumper to a Cadillac. Three other guys stood around smoking cigarettes. As the two detectives entered by a side door, all five of the men looked at them for a moment before turning back to what they were doing. Resnick ignored them, knocked on a closed office door, then opened it. Viktor Petrenko was alone in the office sitting behind a desk. He frowned at the interruption.

“Yes?” he asked, his eyes deader than a mannequin’s.

“I need you to answer some questions,” Resnick said.

“You, I know,” Petrenko said, staring deadpan at Resnick. Then looking at Maguire, “I don’t know you.”

Maguire stared back, trying to figure out where he had seen eyes like that before. Maybe inside the reptile house at the zoo. He matter-of-factly flashed his identification in Petrenko’s direction before slipping it back into his wallet.

Resnick said to Petrenko, “The owner of the Kiev Market, a seventy-two-year old man about half your size, was brutally beaten, his store trashed.”

“That is too bad.”

“What happened, Viktor? Were they short this month, or did Mr. Wiseman try standing up to you?”

“Are you accusing me of this?”

“Why would I do something like that?”

“I have no idea. But if you are, I will need to call my lawyers.”

“You don’t need to do anything. Not if you can tell me where you were at ten o’clock this morning.”

A thin smile pushed on to Petrenko’s lips. “I was here, of course.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?” Resnick asked without much enthusiasm.

“Of course.” Petrenko stood up, walked to the office door, opened it and yelled something out in Russian. One of the three men smoking cigarettes looked back at Petrenko, tossed his cigarette to the floor and trudged into the office. The man looked more Neanderthal than human with his thick brow and a mass of black hair that left almost none of his forehead visible. Slouching forward, he ignored the presence of the two detectives and focused his stare in the general direction of Petrenko.

“Ask him,” Petrenko demanded of Resnick.

“Go ahead, beat it,” Resnick told the semi-Neanderthal.

The man gave Petrenko a questioning look and then started stammering that Petrenko had been in his office all morning.

“I said beat it.”

The man waited until Petrenko gave him a nod before leaving the office.

“Do you think any of those men working here will say anything different?” Petrenko asked. “So unless you have someone who will say otherwise, I suggest you stop this harassment.”

An angry laugh exploded from Maguire.

“Did I say something amusing?” Petrenko asked him.

“You’re a goddamn coward, Viktor, beating an old man like that. Someone who could be your own father.”

“No, he could not be my father.”

“Why not?” Maguire winked in the direction of his partner. “You’re both Russian, right? You’re both Jewish, right?”

Petrenko flinched. Muscles bunched along his shoulders as he took a small step towards Maguire. “I am no
zhid
,” he forced out, his color paling to a milk white. Resnick held his breath, his hand moving to his service revolver. Petrenko stopped, almost as if waking from a dream. Unclenching his fist, he sat down behind his desk.

“No offense,” Petrenko said to Resnick, a thin smile back in place.

Resnick gave his partner a signal to leave the office. Then, to Petrenko, “You want to call me a
zhid
or anything else, go right ahead. I look at you as nothing more than a rabid animal that needs to be put down, and one of these days I’m hoping to get my chance.”

“Is that a threat, Detective?”

“No threat. Simply a statement of fact. I’m going to be spending a lot of time on State Street looking after these Russian store owners. I hope I get a chance to see you down there.”

Once they were back in their car, Maguire turned to Resnick. “What the hell was that about?”

“I took a long shot that we could bait Petrenko into assaulting you. Almost worked.”

“Thanks,” Maguire said, his face reddening. “I appreciate the thought.”

“You might have taken a punch, but in the long run it would have been worth it to put that psycho away, or better yet, have an excuse to put a bullet in his ear.”

“Nice of you to volunteer me for something like that.”

“I had no choice. He would’ve ignored any comment coming from me.”

Maguire sat stewing for a minute. Shaking his head, he asked, “Why did he go mental over me calling him Jewish?”

“In Russia, only gentiles are considered true Russians, Jews are considered something else. A lot of these so-called pure Russians like Petrenko are as anti-Semitic as they come.” Resnick paused, a darkness muddling his features. “To him, the money he extorts from these store owners is nothing, just loose change. He does it because he feels it’s his duty to exercise an iron fist over them.”

Resnick found an open parking spot in front of one of the divey bars that lined Washington Street and pulled into it. “Lunch time,” he said.

“I don’t think they serve food here.”

“We’ll see.”

Once inside Resnick ordered a double shot of bourbon and, after downing that, ordered another.

“I don’t feel comfortable drinking on the job,” Maguire said.

“Don’t then. This is just my version of a three-martini lunch. Something I need after dealing with Viktor Petrenko.”

Maguire rubbed a hand across his jaw as he watched his partner drink down his second shot and signal the bartender for a third. “Something that’s been bothering me. What’s the sense of trashing the store? How can Petrenko expect those people to be able to keep making their payments if their business is shut down?”

“They have no choice about making their payments, they’ll just have to find a way. And as far as smashing up the store, when the insurance check comes in it will go right into Petrenko’s pockets.”

The bartender refilled the shot glass. “That’s all you’re getting,” he told Resnick. Resnick nodded and took the bourbon in one gulp. Giving the car keys to Maguire, he held his hand out palm down and saw that for the first time since Petrenko had moved on his partner his hand had stopped shaking.

8

Holy shit. I’m going to be robbing that damn bank.

Even after all of his planning, the bank robbery had never seemed real to Dan. At some level, he must’ve been hoping that Joel would turn him down, that he would have an excuse to back out. Now that Joel was in, the robbery was no longer a vague concept. They were going to do it.
He was going to do it.
When the realization had first hit him it left him numb. Driving back from New Hampshire, he could barely pay attention to the road. It was as if he were on autopilot, moving without any thought or awareness. Kind of like he was stoned on some powerful shit. He remembered stopping off at home. His hair was wet so he probably took a shower, and he had a fuzzy recollection of talking with both his children, but that was all. On his way to Gordon’s he must’ve stopped off for a pizza and a six-pack of Guinness because as he pulled into the complex he noticed the items on the front seat next to him.

Gordon was waiting in the parking lot, his belly pushing out of a worn tie-dye T-shirt, his shorts barely containing his body. He met Dan at the car.

“Hey, Dan, I thought I’d catch a few rays while waiting. So what do you want to do, eat at one of the picnic tables or go inside?”

“Why don’t we go inside?”

Gordon took the six-pack, and as they walked, Dan tried to act casually. He tapped his friend on the stomach. “Putting on a little weight there, huh, buddy?”

Gordon showed a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I need to get new clothes. My back’s been kind of iffy, my knees also, so I can’t really run any more. Without the exercise I’m gaining weight like crazy. I’m becoming a regular fatso. Have you heard from anyone?”

“Not really, but we’ll talk inside.”

As they walked Gordon asked about Shrini and other mutual friends, but Dan couldn’t keep his train of thought long enough to answer. When they got to Gordon’s apartment, a panic overtook him. At first he couldn’t breathe, almost as if a fist were squeezing his heart. He knew he was sweating profusely. The room started to tilt sideways on him. Somehow he made his way to a chair and collapsed on it, praying that he’d stay conscious and not pass out. Time seemed to skip ahead as he watched Gordon talking a mile a minute, the animated motion of his mouth disconnected from the noise that was coming from him, his voice becoming nothing more than a buzz running through Dan’s head.

Almost as if a switch had been thrown, a calm came over him. With a clarity of thought, he accepted that the robbery was going to happen. More than that he had somehow become at peace with the idea. The buzzing in his head was replaced by a coolness. The world seemed to slow down on him. He asked Gordon if he could use the bathroom.

“Uh, sure, but what do you think?”

“I don’t know. Ask me again when I get back.”

“Jeez, haven’t you even heard what I’ve been saying?”

Dan signaled with a hand for him to wait then walked slowly to the bathroom, his legs too rubbery to move at a normal pace. Inside, he turned the cold water on full and splashed it on his face for a full minute before looking up at the mirror. His skin was pale and clammy, with no color whatsoever in his lips. He was pretty sure he had only suffered a panic attack and that it had nothing to do with his heart. Still, he couldn’t keep from showing a sick grin as he thought about Gordon being so wrapped up in his own world that he hadn’t even noticed what must’ve looked like a full-blown heart attack.

The only towel in the bathroom appeared to have been rubbed with mud. Dan used his damp shirt to dry off his face. When he went back out to meet Gordon, three slices of pizza were gone and two empty Guinness bottles lay on the floor. Gordon finished off the slice he was working on and rubbed a hand across his face, leaving a streak of grease in its place.

“Jeez, Dan, I was telling you before about Elena. Remember a few months ago I flew her to Cancun? I got an email from her yesterday. She’s blowing me off for some guy in Oregon. I think she met him while we were in Cancun.”

“Gordon, I’m not in the mood to talk about this.”

“Well, excuse me, then.” Gordon leaned back in his chair, an indignant look pushing on to his face. “All I wanted was your opinion. After all, I just got dumped.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Go ahead, what did you want to ask me?”

“Well, what do you think I should do?”

“I’m confused. I thought you’ve been telling me for the last couple of months you don’t even like her.”

“That’s not the point. I was the one to spend the money flying her from Moscow to Cancun, why should some guy from Oregon benefit from that? Besides, I wouldn’t quite say that I don’t like her. Her English is very good.”

“You spent a week with her in the same room and didn’t even sleep together. Didn’t you tell me she slept on the sofa every night?”

“That was only because I snore. And after I woke up that first morning and found her on the sofa, what was I going to do?”

“What are you trying to tell me, Gordon? That you’d like to marry her?”

“Well, no, but I paid for that trip. I mean, come on, how would you feel? That guy in Oregon should at least pay me back.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well, you can see how I’d feel the way I do.” Gordon took a slice of the pizza, chewed it half-heartedly. “I’m thinking I should forget about Russian women. This month’s catalog has a very pretty twenty-eight-year-old from Saão Paulo. She’s a dental hygienist so she’s got to be somewhat educated. I could always arrange for us to meet in Rio, and then I could tell my parents we met while on vacation. The only problem is I’m not sure of her English.”

“Yeah, that could be a problem.”

“You’re being sarcastic now,” Gordon said, his hurt look reappearing. “But it is a problem. If her English isn’t good then people will be suspicious about how we met.”

Dan gave Gordon a hard look, trying to make up his mind. The guy was an oddball, no question about it, and he could understand Joel’s reluctance to have him involved. But on the other hand, there was no question he was bright and looked at things from a unique perspective and that could come in handy. And even though Gordon liked to talk, Dan couldn’t think of one thing of substance he had ever said. There were things locked away in that head that were never going to come out.

Dan said, “I’m robbing a bank. You want to join me?”

“Nah, I’d rather be a contestant on one of those other shows.”

“What?”

“You know, like
Big Brother
or
Amazing Race
. I tried watching
Bank Job
last night and it didn’t really do much for me.”

“Gordon, I’m talking about robbing a real bank.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m serious.”

“Jeez, Dan, I couldn’t do something like that. What would my parents think if I was caught?”

“Gordon, I’m not joking. Shrini’s in on it.”

“Really?”

“So’s Joel.”

“No kidding?” Gordon pushed his chair back and started tapping his chin with his thumb. His eyes focused on a spot on the ceiling. “The weasel, huh?”

“That’s right.”

Gordon lowered his gaze to Dan’s face. His features had changed, becoming grimmer, harder, and it took Dan by surprise. He had never seen Gordon like that.

“You’re not pulling some weird joke on me?” Gordon asked.

Dan shook his head.

“Shrini and the Weasel. Wow. Well, guess what? You can count me in.”

“Do you want to know the details?”

“No, you know me. I’m not a big picture guy. All I want to know is my piece. Let me just focus on that.”

Dan nodded, fully expecting that answer, just as he had fully expected Gordon to go along with the robbery. He couldn’t help thinking how the line from that old Dylan song,
There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
, fit Gordon perfectly.

“Instead of robbing a bank,” Gordon said slowly, his gaze moving away from Dan, “I’ve been thinking about something lately that would be easier and probably far more profitable. We could take one of Peyton’s kids.”

“Gordon, let’s pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, you know, kidnapping, ransom. We could probably squeeze several million from Peyton.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why not? If you’re going to propose robbing a bank, why not this instead? It would be a lot easier.”

“How in the world could it possibly work? Peyton’s kids know us. They’d identify us once we let them go.”

“Well, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

“Gordon, come on.”

“You can’t tell me Peyton wouldn’t deserve it.” Gordon paused for a moment, choking back emotion. “He’s been dangling that restaurant in front of me for three years now – ever since I was laid off. That was all his idea, investing in an open-pit Texas-style barbecue for me to run. He came to me with it. And he’s been bringing it up for three years. Yesterday for the first time I tried asking him about it, and all of a sudden he doesn’t want to do business with a friend. Can you believe that, Dan? He’s sitting on eight million dollars and all of a sudden he doesn’t want to invest sixty thousand dollars to do business with a friend.”

“Let’s drop this, okay?”

“Sure, we can drop it, but I’ll tell you, I’d have no problem kidnapping one of his kids. Probably even enjoy taking care of that brat of his, Petulia.”

“I don’t want to hear this. We’re not hurting anyone, especially not a kid. For God’s sakes, we’ve known Peyton for years.”

“Sure, whatever, I was just throwing out an idea. What do you want me to do for this robbery?”

“Turn on your computer and I’ll show you.”

Gordon obliged. After the computer came on, Dan did a search on the Internet and brought up a color photo of a member of the Boston mafia named Raymond Lombardo. “I’m hoping all those years you’ve spent doing makeup for community theatre can finally be of some use. Can you make me look like him?” Dan asked.

“Depends. You need to be more specific.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have to look like him from a distance, from up close, or good enough to fool his mother? Stuff like that. How much do you need to look like him?”

“Enough so that he’s identified by video from a security camera.”

“How tall is he?”

“My height.”

Gordon squinted at the photo, appraising it. “He looks heavier than you.”

“Yeah, he is. About sixty pounds.”

“I think I can do it,” Gordon said, nodding to himself. “I’m going to have to add some padding, make you look heavier. What are you going to be wearing?”

“Work overalls.”

“Okay, no problem there. You’ll need a wig and facial hair. I should be able to build you a thicker jaw and nose. Maybe have you wear dark glasses to hide your eyes. Sure, I can do it.”

“I don’t need the dark glasses. I’ve already got cosmetic contact lenses to change my eye color. I’ll also be wearing a ski mask and taking it off so I can be captured by a security camera.”

“Well, that’s going to be a problem.”

“Why?”

“I can’t use putty. Otherwise, when you take the mask off it could bend your nose. That would give the police a good chuckle.” Gordon scratched his head as he thought. “I could use a rubber compound,” he said slowly. “That should work. When are we doing this?”

“Six days.”

“Not giving me much notice, are you? Well, if I can put together the makeup for Phantom of the Opera over a weekend, I can do this.”

“You really like this theatre stuff, huh?”

“I hate it. Absolutely can’t stand it.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve been doing this for years.”

Gordon gave a slight smile that could’ve been lifted directly from the Mona Lisa. “Since college, actually. That was when I started this simply to piss my father off, and you know, I don’t think I could’ve picked a better way. Joining the theatrical club was respectable enough that I had my mother bragging to all their friends about how I was involved in theatre, and my father just had to sit and listen and pretend he was fine with it. I keep doing this community theatre stuff so I can talk about it when I see them over Christmas.”

“You’ve been doing this all these years just to get at your old man?”

“As good a reason as any. You haven’t told me, do you want me just to do the makeup or am I going to be involved in the robbery? You know I did a tour in Vietnam.”

“I need you for the robbery. We’re going to meet at Joel’s house tomorrow to go over the details. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

“Will I have a gun?”

“Yeah.”

Gordon folded his arms, nodding. “Okay then.”

Yuri Tolkov pulled the Mercedes into the driveway of a small cape-style house on a dead-end street in Melrose. Petrenko sat in the passenger seat and an older soft-looking man sat in the back. Yuri checked the address against a piece of paper he had, then indicated to Petrenko that they had the right house. All three men left the car, Yuri and Petrenko leading the way to the front door. The older man carried a leather bag as he trailed behind, walking as if he had pebbles in his shoes.