Chapter 17
Stash
The grill and bistro restaurant was much larger than it appeared on the outside.
While framing it as a quaint Mom and Pop establishment, which it likely had been in the nineteen-sixties, it had grown significantly, providing lighter fare on one side, a full restaurant and bar on the other.
Since it was already late afternoon, even before I walked in, I could tell the place was crowded.
No one noticed me at first when I walked in, groups of people conversing, the several televisions flipped to sports on four different channels. Two depicted various football games, or in the United States soccer. Wrestling was on another and the closest screen presented a brutal MMA fight.
A smile crossed my face as I headed to the bar. I had to wonder whether they were aware a ringer had been placed in the Strike Zone.
While Sean controlled the fights, there were only a couple of days a month when the third fight was held. And not every month held a fight to the death. He was careful that way. Plus, he was learning to control his anger.
Or so he continued to try to convince me.
Perhaps I should have realized that even in a city as large as New York, word on evil men traveled fast. As I’d experienced when walking into Sean’s club the first time, the din of conversation dropped all the way off, the silence a precursor to heads being turned in my direction.
Historically, Armenians and Russians had gotten along, although given the state of Russia’s political climate today, the close ties had recently been strained.
In New York, I considered them just another mainstay of the city.
From what I’d been able to tell in the months I’d been in the Big Apple was that they mostly kept to themselves.
They also had an entirely different way of handling business than their ancestors.
Could they be considered a threat in the future? Yes, but who couldn’t? The lust for power and wealth was multi-generational and spared no one based on culture, religion, or political beliefs.
While there was no obvious sign of anyone deciding it was a good day to die, I ensured they knew by the look on my face that I wasn’t interested in taking any crap. And I wasn’t.
As I moved closer to the bar, a group of men backed away but others stayed. One of two bartenders walked closer, an older gentleman who eyed me with clear amusement.
He planted his hands on the bar, his gaze missing nothing, including where I’d placed my weapon. “Menk’ ch’enk’ uzum, vor dzer nmannery aystegh linen.”
We don’t want your kind here.
Interesting. This was my first personal experience with the Armenians and I could easily tell there was bad blood. Likely my cousin’s fault.
While the old guard continued to speak Armenian, the younger crowd refused to covet the old language. It was the same way with the Russians in Brighton Beach.
“I?nch’ tesak e da. Nrank’, ovk’er miayn mi bazhak shotlandakan viski yen uzum.”
What kind is that? The ones who want nothing more than a tall glass of scotch?
He wasn’t expecting I knew Armenian. At least he grinned.
“Slimy Russians,” he added but with more of a lilt in his voice. “But since you’re here and you have good taste in liquor, I’ll allow you to stay.”
“My accent gave me away.”
“No, Mr. Chertov. Your reputation did.”
While chuckling, I could sense not only was I being sized up, but there were at least three men who were checking the street.
“Don’t worry. I came alone.” While I made the statement to no one in particular, my deep voice traveled and the near silence allowed the entire room to overhear our conversation.
The bartender continued staring at me even though he’d unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a special bottle of scotch. The Macallan was over two decades old. I was taken aback. Enemies didn’t usually ply each other with ten thousand dollar a glass liquor under the best of circumstances.
“The question is why?” The bartender slid the glass across the bar then poured himself one. When the entire bar remained shut down, he grew annoyed. “Tstsek’ dzer alkoholy yev t’voghek’ mez hangist.”
Suck down your booze and leave us alone.
One thing was clear. He was a man of importance, his command followed instantly. Maybe that’s why he knew who I was. Men of power paid attention when a new dog was in town.
“Information.”
He laughed before taking a gulp. “Men of your stature don’t need to come to a sleazy bar for information.”
I lifted the tumbler, allowing the lighting in the bar to create prisms in the glass.
“And you and I both know this isn’t a sleazy bar.
This is a generational establishment, a location where decades of families have eaten good food, discussed important business, and kept control of their part of the city. All while nurturing future leaders.”
The corners of his mouth lifted and he rested his elbows on the table. “A Russian with class. Unusual.”
“You’ve had dealings with my cousin.” I pulled the glass to my lips, inhaling the incredible scent.
I was not only gifted with another laugh but also a deepening of the lines surrounding his eyes. “Let’s just say your cousin isn’t on our Christmas card list.”
“Like I said, I’m here for information only.”
He acted as if studying the crowd before answering. “Who are you looking for and why?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say your son, Vardan. Am I right?”
While he wasn’t thrilled I’d seen through his bravado, he did respect that I’d figured out who he was and the importance of this centralized business location. More decisions had been made here than anywhere else. With a slight drop and shake of his head, he chuckled.
“What do you want with my son?”
“A conversation. Nothing more.” If I could find a definitive answer regarding last night’s attack, I could at least know how to handle it. And perhaps confirm that the beef wasn’t with the Bratva.
Or I could be playing with fire. Either way, I wasn’t interested in turning last night into some game. We’d had enough of that when Mikhail had fucked with us.
He eyed me curiously. Men had no clue what to make of me with my glasses and sleek suit. “I’ll see if my son wants to talk to you.”
“Fair enough.”
While he backed away, grabbing his phone, I paid attention to the fight on the television overhead. Both were damn good MMA fighters, although only one would win. It was clear to see he wasn’t in the fight for the money or the notoriety. He was eager to win at all costs.
While I had no idea how long it would take to get my answer, I enjoyed the time alone, the entertainment and the drink.
“My son will see you,” the old man said. “Keep your word, Russian. Many of your kind don’t and that will not be tolerated.”
I had a feeling if my cousin had caused an issue, I would have heard about it. Which meant the other New York Bratva had likely created problems. A small but powerful detail I’d keep in mind.
I slowly looked in the direction where he was pointing. Nodding, I slipped off the stool, heading toward the back corner. In every culture, there were men ready to die to protect their leader, whether formally appointed or not.
That’s what moving into the future had lost the Bratva. We were corporate men who didn’t truly appreciate the value of loyalty. No matter how often I spouted it off to others.
The man stood, offering his hand. At least my reputation hadn’t been but too sullied.
“Stash Chertov, chief financial officer of the Chertov Corporation.”
“Vardan Zargarian, incumbent to the Armenian Empire.”
He laughed and motioned for me to sit down. “You’ve heard of me.”
“And you’ve heard of me. I think we can conclude that part of our conversation other than to say whatever difficulties my cousin may have presented do not coincide with how our Pakhan feels.” I sat back in the seat, keenly aware he had an advantage with being able to see the front of the location.
“That’s good information to learn and it’s appreciated. We have enough on our plate.”
“Understood.” His men were paying close attention as mine would, had I come with any.
“Perhaps you didn’t know I’m aware of your extracurricular activities. Your reputation as the Born Killer is phenomenal. If you should ever engage thoughts of a career change, the MMA world would be delighted to see you enter the cage.”
I lifted my glass in appreciation. “It keeps my wolf satisfied.”
“Ah. Now, I understand. What brings you to my part of the world? Quite a distance from Manhattan.”
“First a question. How do you plan on ousting your predecessor? I understand he is firmly entrenched in the position.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on us.”
“As you have with the Bratva. That’s called good business.”
“And what would you call your alliance with the Irish?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows. “They have never been our… friends.”
The conversation remained friendly. Other than if he was responsible for last night, there was no beef between our two operations. “You’re an intelligent man, Vardan. It’s often necessary to engage with an entity that could be considered an enemy to keep the peace.”
“Then I applaud you. My predecessor’s downfall was being unable to bring such an alliance to the table.
Almost two decades of discussions provided nothing in the way of results.
While he still holds significant power and the loyalty of dozens of men and several businesses, Kazmik is aware his time is in the final stages.
If he should choose to delay his retirement, he will be… handled.”
“As a wolf would do within the Bratva.”
“By the man you call the devil.”
My turn to smile. “Kazimir is a formidable Pakhan.”
“As I hope to be within my position. Should I win the election that is. Is that the reason for your visit? Perhaps to congratulate me or to initiate an alliance of our own?”