Chapter 20 Roman
ROMAN
Iglance at my watch. Two minutes to midnight and there’s no sign of Abate. I’ve been watching out for him from my office, standing by the glass as the business goes on the way it usually does. The girls dance, the customers throw money at them, the beat goes on and on.
“He’ll be here,” Ares says from his place on the couch. He looks relaxed as he sips his drink like it’s just another night.
“He’d better,” I say. “After the crap he pulled about doing this here tonight.”
Ares smirks but says nothing to that. We both know that sometimes our associates can be as fussy as divas backstage at the opera. “Your girl here tonight? I didn’t see her when I came in.”
“No,” I say. “Sasha’s got a cold, so I asked her to check in with her.” That’s not the only reason. It’s just the reason I’m giving Ares. If things go tits up with this deal and it all falls apart, I want Ember as far away from ground zero as possible.
Ares snickers. “How is the little delinquent, anyway?”
“Miserable in every sense,” I say with a sigh. “You know, she’s blaming me for her cold now. Says if she didn’t have to get up so early to scrub the floors in this ‘disgusting club’, her immune system wouldn’t be compromised.”
Ares laughs. “She’s too smart for her own good. You’ve got your hands full with that one.”
“Tell me about it.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to read the text message from Junie at the door. It only says one word. Incoming.
“Time to get on the clock. Let’s go give our guest a proper greeting.”
We leave my office. By the time we’re downstairs, we see Abate and his people walking through the door.
Abate’s a big guy. Pukhlyy, as my grandmother might’ve put it.
Even in the expensive suit he’s got on, he looks uncomfortably large.
Surprisingly, the suit fits him well, tailored with buttons that close over his round belly without bulging under the pressure of his stomach.
The shoulders are stitched to make it appear that they are much broader than I imagine they really are and the sleeves fit perfectly around his inner tube-sized arms.
He sees us almost immediately and nods with a smile under his well-trimmed mustache.
He’s always well-dressed and kept and at the same time, there’s an air of sloth that always seems to float around him.
As many times as I’ve seen him, I often wonder what he might look like if he wasn’t a mob boss or how slovenly he appears when he’s not all dressed up.
“Roman.” He says my name long and drawn out. Like it’s more than two syllables. He shakes my hand and pats me on the shoulder. “Nice place you got here. You know this place is the talk of the town right now. Word on the street is that this is the prime location for high-quality pussy.”
“We aim to please,” I say with a fake smile. “Come on. I’ve got a room set up in the back for us.”
My guys are milling around, watching from afar. I give a slight nod to at least three of them to follow us as we move through the crowd. His guys walk slowly, longing eyes lingering on the dancers on stage.
I lean into Abate. “Tell your boys not to worry. They’ll be plenty of time to get to know them after our business is concluded. None of it is going anywhere.”
He guffaws like a seal and answers, “I, for one, can’t wait.”
The bulk of the VIP section is for the customers with one big open area for the high rollers and big parties.
Past that is the private room. When I first got this place, I’d planned to turn this part into a brothel or some area where any of the girls could make a little extra money if they liked.
But since Ember, that idea has died on the vine. Doesn’t seem right anymore.
While I’m thinking about it, everything feels off tonight.
It has all night. I keep thinking that it’s because of Ember and how close we’ve gotten, but I’m not even sure about that anymore.
There’s something in the air all around me.
I feel it in the pulse of the music through the walls.
Some part of this isn’t fitting and I can’t seem to put my finger on it.
Several of my guys stay by the door while I, Abate, Ares, and his right hand guy head into the room.
The room itself is a copy of most of my VIP rooms, a couch that wraps around the mirrored walls and a table in the center for drinks.
There’s another door on the opposite side of the room that leads out to the alley.
I’ve got a car waiting out there for when we make the exchange.
“This is really something,” Abate says after I close the door behind me. He looks around, rubbing his big, bubble belly like he’s getting ready to eat. “I haven’t been in a strip club this nice since I took that trip overseas last year.”
“Right,” I say as pleasantly as I can. “How was Amsterdam?”
He smiles knowingly. “It was everything, my friend. Absolutely everything. If you’ve never been, you should make it a point to go once a year. I plan to.”
I nod. “I’ve been a few times. When my brother and I were younger. Before the mantle of Pakhan was thrust upon me.”
“All the more reason to go back,” he says with a wink.
Ares and I sit on the couch with him sitting on the opposite side of the table.
His guy stands with his back to the wall like a security guard.
“The rules and laws are so much looser. It’s so far away from the stiff, backward puritan society that America has become.
You might get a little too used to if you stay too long. ”
I’ve got drinks already set up on the table. He leans over his large belly to get to one of the drinks.
“So,” he says after taking a sip, “let’s talk turkey. Your brother says you’ve got some quality assault rifles.”
“That we do,” I say. “And he tells me you need some quality assault rifles for a little problem on your side of town.”
“Little,” he scoffs. “I’ll tell you something, Orlov. That thing you took care of all those years ago with the Durovs? That’s the way to go. I would have done the same thing if I could have, believe me. Would have saved me the headaches I got now.”
“Never too late,” I say.
“Ah,” he waves me off. “Works differently for us Italians. We got protocols and shit. You gotta talk to a council of bosses and they all gotta find good reason for you to wipe every single one of them out. Getting something like that approved is more trouble than it’s worth.
” He pauses, glancing over at his right-hand man.
“So, I believe we’re talking about seven crates for ten bands each? ”
“Fifteen.”
He blinks, his smile faltering. “Fifteen?”
“I’m not really a fan of doing business out of this club.
See, it’s doing a little too well. Too much potential for witnesses and…
others. I don’t know if you noticed, but the club is packed tonight.
I’d say several dozen people could potentially place you here if something should jump off, so, call the extra five my hazard pay. ”
He narrows his eyes, then his smile returns.
“You Russians are shrewd sonsabitches. I’ll give you that much.
” He takes a moment to silently debate it, but I know he’s not going to object.
We’ve been working together for too long for that.
“All right,” he says finally. “You got a deal. Extra five will be included in a separate payment. Say, one week?”
“That’s fine.”
“Good. Let’s see the merch.”
We get up and file out of the room through the back door. The alley is almost entirely deserted except for the truck sitting just a few feet from the door. Ares steps forward and opens the hatch, revealing the stacks of wooden crates. He gets a crowbar from the side and opens one of them.
Abate steps over to the case and gazes at the guns under the moonlight. He nods approvingly. “Looks good. Real good. M-4s and M-6s are hard to come by around these parts.”
Ares takes one out and hands it to his right hand. “It’s got a gas piston system,” he says, “which cuts down on the need for frequent cleanings. As your guy can see, it’s lighter than your average AR, but it packs a punch.”
His guy points the gun into the darkness to check the sight, then nods to Abate. Abate says, “Good deal. Get the money.”
His guy puts the gun back in the crate and steps away, pulling his phone out of his pocket and stepping away. I hear him tell someone, “Bring the car around…”
“I gotta tell you,” Abate says. “It’s always nice doing business with professionals. Lately, I’ve been having problems with these new guys that just popped up on the South side. Youngsters that just sprung up with a booster racket…”
Headlights on the other end of the alley get our attention.
The car comes cruising toward us slowly, then stops a few feet away.
The car doors open and two of Abate’s men get out, one of them with a suitcase.
He stands before me and opens it, showing me the money.
Then he and Ares set it on the hood of the car for Ares to count it.
“You know, when your predecessor was still around,” Abate says, pulling a cigar out of his pocket. He sticks it in the side of his mouth, then pulls out a lighter. “He used to hate actually coming to these things.”
“I am aware,” I say casually, though the air suddenly feels thicker and heavy around my head. If we were in the woods, the birds would have stopped singing. It feels like danger all of a sudden.
“That’s right,” he says with a bigger smile. “You and your brother used to be the ones—”
His words are cut off by the sound of a rifle cock. Then somewhere in the darkness behind the car someone shouts, “Hands in the air!”
Shit. Everyone freezes for a half second. Ares slowly stands up straight, but I’m watching his hands. They’re going down to their sides.