Chapter 19
WAR
S troviak parks on Kirkwood a few car lengths down from Beta House’s driveway. Settling back against the leather seat, he studies our surroundings. “What do you know about these assholes?”
“Know based on solid intel? Or things I suspect but haven’t confirmed yet?”
“Start with the solid. Go on from there.”
Before I get a chance to say anything, a dark sedan emerges from the back of the frat house. The driver’s window is down as he flicks a cigarette out onto the pavement before turning onto the street.
“Recognize him?” Stroviak asks.
“Yeah. That’s Oleg Kasinski. I didn’t know his name when he was chasing Madelyn Hearn down the alley, but I ran it down through some guys I know from the Russian Club in New York. He’s Bratva.”
“Who’s he work for?”
“Ilya Petrov.” I spend a couple of minutes breaking down which Russian prisons Petrov likes to get his guys from and why I make Kasinksi for a Chelyabinsk guy.
Stroviak answers me in Russian. Says my reasoning is sound, but Kasinski’s actually from a penal colony in Tambov.
Interesting that he knows this. After I said I got caught in the crossfire when men carrying Russian pistols chased a college girl down an alley, the Crue obviously looked into who was on campus.
By telling me about Tambov, Stroviak is letting me know they followed up on what I told them.
It tracks. The Crue understands knowledge is power.
Superior planning and skills is how they withstood attacks from operations with larger numbers.
With my eyes on the sedan until it rounds a corner, I say, “Maybe you should catch me up.” Licking my lips and remembering too late one side is covered with dried blood, I frown. “Saw them the night I got shot, but that bullet didn’t come from a Bratva pistol. It came from a Crue gun.”
“You think?”
“I know. Didn’t you know Ashling Patrick was the one who shot me?”
“Shot you?”
“She pulled the trigger. I caught the bullet.”
“A bad ricochet is what I heard.” He leans forward to watch the upper floors of the house. “Which I’m sure is true.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah?”
“Definitely. If Baby G had taken aim with intent, you would not have walked it off.”
“Is that why she’s here? The unlikely sniper no one would peg for one?”
“Are you one of those guys who thinks the moon landing was a hoax?”
“No. Was it?” I deadpan.
This causes a small twitch of his lips.
“Just sayin’ watch yourself before you start inventing conspiracy theories that would never be green-lit. ”
“Never… because?”
“Because, A , fieldwork is dangerous, and Trick would never put her at risk. And, B , she’s mission-critical on the home front. My home front. One veto is enough, but two out of three? Never even discussed.”
“The home front? You mean as your kids’ babysitter?”
“If I’m gone, and someone manages to get past the bodyguard outside the house, I’m still not worried.
Baby G will drop anyone with bad intentions long before they get to my kids.
” His thumb taps the steering wheel, and I glance at the Crue symbol tattooed at its base.
“Not everyone can keep their head when shit’s raining down.
That can’t really be taught. Someone’s either got it, or they don’t.
The Patricks do. So do the Stroviaks and the McCanns. It’s a big part of our edge.”
“C cares more about the Crue than anything. It’s his empire. Surprised he didn’t try to talk you guys into letting him put her in the field in a limited capacity.”
“You believe she belongs in the field?”
Cocking my head, I think this over. The girl is fucking aces under pressure when it’s self defense. But could she pull the trigger on orders? Just because someone told her to? That is unclear.
“Probably not. She’s pretty reckless at times. Picks fights she can’t win.”
“That right? When was that?” Stroviak’s tone is skeptical. Does he even fucking know her?
“Got into it with Sawyer’s brother. Ashling was focused on the guy’s phone and didn’t even clock the rage on his face. He had her off the fucking ground and was seconds from doing her real damage.”
“Remind me. Who ended up on the ground?”
“Yeah, him, but only because I put him there.”
“You think picking fights is her approach to conflict resolution when she’s not knee-deep in Crue enforcers? Also, how sure are you that she didn’t have an automatic strapped to her inner thigh?”
“She didn’t get her gun out in time to prevent the kidnapping last night, did she?”
“True enough.”
I’m talking in a free and easy tone, because I want to get him talking. Anvil Stroviak, like me, is known for keeping his guard up and his thoughts to himself. The only time he changes gears is when he’s training younger Crue guys.
“Not that my own judgment was at its best,” I add.
“No?”
“My gut told me to get out and bust some heads, so I did. But I didn’t clock the guy who came up on my six.
Still not sure how he got around us without my seeing him.
Or rather, I do know. I was already on the offensive and also distracted because they were trying to get to her.
My attention was divided between two fronts, and I don’t have eyes in the back of my head. ”
“Now you know, so it won’t happen again.”
“She’s been a distraction from the jump. Which I’ve known all along. Should probably slow my roll and take better stock before I wade in. But she’s a hundred-and-ten pounds of blue-eyed girl. So, standing still while someone puts hands on her? Not gonna happen.”
“Once you know what your weakness is, you’ve gotta figure a way to cover it.”
“If we’d been in the same car, and I’d known then what I do now about what she can do with a weapon, it would’ve ended differently.
She drives like it’s fucking Formula One.
Almost got away from them even when they were flanking her.
If I’d been in that car, I’d have called J during the chase, and I’d have put a gun in her hand the second they forced a stop.
Between the two of us, we’d either have gotten the upper hand, or we’d have held them off long enough for J and Killian to get there and even the odds.
” For a moment, I let myself smile. “Usually, she’s Sunshine Barbie.
But that is not all she is. There are moments when it’s Psycho Harley Quinn time…
Crouching in the dirt in her bra and panties, she dropped three of them like fucking sandbags.
In a blink. Don’t see that outside a movie very often. ”
“Fast?”
“You’ve never seen her shoot in succession?”
“Never seen her shoot period.”
“But you trust her to do it?”
“Trick said she got it.”
“Got what?”
“The thing he’s got.”
“What? Like that shit’s inborn? I don’t buy it. Someone taught him. And he taught her.”
“Nah. Some shit just is what it is. Same as your strength. You lift weights, sure. But even if you didn’t, you’d be stronger than ninety-five percent of the guys out there. Just born with the right kind of muscle to do the job.”
“I guess.” I say the words casually, but we’re on the edge of a conversation I’ve been thinking about for a long time.
“So…” Anvil inclines his head toward the house, shifting gears. “Got a theory on why Russian gangsters are meeting with these frat guys?”
“Before the abduction happened, I would’ve guessed the Russians are supplying Beta House with something like drugs.
Or girls. But with the timing of their being here right after Ash and I were under the house?
Maybe the Russians were hired to fix problems for the fraternity.
When Madelyn gets dirt that could get the house shut down, the frat boys get Bratva muscle to take the evidence back from her.
Also, if it was the frat guys last night, then we can assume they bought guns and gear, too, from the Russians, to outfit themselves for the kidnapping operation. ”
Anvil says nothing, so apparently he agrees with my assessment. We watch the house for activity. A Lexus with a lone driver takes the driveway to the back of the house. Anvil uses a burn phone to call the plate number to someone. Probably Trick, who has ways to run them.
Two hours after we saw the sedan go out, the Russians return driving a refrigerated truck that from the logo on the side, claims to be a farm’s meat-delivery service.
Anvil raises the burn phone and snaps a picture. “A meat wagon. Literally.”
“Smart.” I cock my head to get a better view of the rear plate. “Collect the bodies and shove them in a freezer or two. Maybe even fill freezers near the truck’s back door with steak and pork chops in case they get stopped.”
“A good way to stop decomposition, too, until they’re ready to dispose of the bodies permanently.”
“So, my fixer theory gets a little more weight.”
“Yeah. I’m convinced.”
I glance over to see if he’ll send a text about what we’ve seen, but these guys are too slick and too disciplined.
If there’s gonna be a discussion of dead bodies, especially ones that were created by the baby gangster, it will happen verbally.
Absolutely no text or paper trails for law enforcement to unearth.
I settle in, keeping my attention sharp, even though in the back of my mind, I’m still thinking about her.
Trick won’t leave her at their mom’s house, even though that’s where she lives when she’s not at school.
No, he’s gonna take her to his place in Coynston.
Which means by the time she lands, she’ll be two hours away from where I’m sitting.
Her being so far out of reach doesn’t sit well. I want her nearby.
Close enough to touch would be my preference.
When the dust settles, I’m gonna make that happen as soon as possible. Just need to be patient. Which I normally am. But not, apparently, when it comes to her.
Once night falls, Stroviak and I get a better idea of how many are left in the house by counting the upstairs lights.
We walk the house’s perimeter, capturing the plates of the cars in the small parking lot at the back of the property.
There are nine parked cars, but only three bedroom windows lit.
Presumably, some of the cars belong to dead guys.
At nine o’clock, Anvil calls home using his real phone.
“Yeah, still working, Raven. Not gonna make it home tonight.” He pauses. “Yeah, it’s higher protocol security tonight and tomorrow. One of the guys will be parked in the driveway just outside the gate.” After a beat, he says, “Irina up?”
Stroviak’s got two daughters with his wife, Rachel, who he calls Raven.
The five-year-old, Irina, always looks like a goth Russian princess.
Indigo lace dresses, velvet hair ribbons, and black-diamond jewelry.
Never seen that one in sweats. The other, Makayla, is younger, but taller and built for mayhem.
Barely talks, even though she speaks English and Russian just like her sister.
The younger girl is three-and-a-half but breaks out her fists like she’s ready for the MMA. Pure Stroviak.
A few moments pass and then a little girl’s voice is on the other end. Irina’s, I take it.
Stroviak calls her Little Paw in Russian. I’m guessing it’s a term of endearment, but I’ve never heard it. The volume’s too low for me to catch the actual words she says to him, but she’s speaking Russian. He says very little, except to ask a question or two.
From his side of the conversation, I take it she’s been talking about a book or a movie. Then, he tells her he won’t be home for a day or two, and there’s silence from the other end for several moments followed by a somber-sounding little voice.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “As soon as I can.” His expression never changes.
“Yeah, I love you, too. Put Mama on the phone.” After a moment, he exhales heavily.
“What’s the other one doing?” He taps his thumb on the steering wheel.
“Good. All right, I should go.” His gaze rises to the windows after one blinks off.
“Yeah, same. Night, Raven.” After he ends the conversation, he starts the truck.
“Let’s have a look at the action in the house you came up through, then we’ll get some food. ”
I nod, staring out the front windshield.
I’m hungry as hell, but my thoughts aren’t on what we’ll have for dinner.
I’m thinking about the conversation Stroviak just had with his family.
Tonight was a confirmation of the recent intel filtering in about him.
He seems tight with his wife and young daughters at the moment.
I’m not seeing what I expected to see. But I know well that what goes on behind closed doors is hard to discern.
I also know people can’t change who they are at their core.
I’ll stay in a holding pattern on my original plan, especially since by all accounts the wife is different than his usual type. Better maybe.
With a casual glance in Stroviak’s direction, I weigh my assessment of him. It’s not wholly negative, but I wouldn’t call it positive, either. Which is why I haven’t ruled out the ultimate resolution yet.
Odds are about even on my killing him before winter is over.