Chapter 47
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Red Baron Bar—Sitka, AK
Virgil took a deep gulp of the frosty beer Nikolai brought him. The cold liquid passing through his throat brought a sudden throbbing pain to his forehead and face. He squeezed his nose and squinted his eyes as he waited for the pulsing to subside.
He took another swig, smaller this time.
Nikolai’s hands and forearms were bright red.
“What’s up with your hands, Mr. B?” Virgil asked. “You look like you just cleaned up a crime scene.”
Nik leaned over the bar and spoke softly. “Beets. Making borscht.”
Virgil could smell the aroma of the rich soup wafting from the kitchen. “Any chance I could get me a bowl of that?”
Nik looked Virgil up and down. “You not wearing usual suit. Never see you in Levi’s before.”
“Bought me a boat,” Virgil replied. “Gonna take my girlfriend for a ride later.”
Nik didn’t move. “Guy just left…he looking for you. Said you were friend. I thinking he up to no good. I give you warning. I tell him not know you. Way he walk past…Seem he not knowing you either. Also, Levi’s bad for boat. Soak up water.”
Virgil felt his heart skip a beat.
He said he knew me?
He took a gulp of his beer and wiped his chin. “What did he want? What was his name?”
Nik ran one red hand over the top of his head and massaged the back of his neck, turning to look up toward the ceiling. “Not leave name, kid. Say he working at Chichagof mine. Ask about you.”
Virgil set his beer back on the bar and motioned Nik to come closer. “Did he say anything else?”
Nik cracked his knuckles and wiped Virgil’s table with a pink rag. “That all he say. I don’t like him from beginning. Serve him warm bottle of worst beer. You still want borscht?”
“If you don’t mind, yeah. It’s lunchtime.
Smells fantastic.” Virgil took another mouthful of beer, the sharp tartness lingering on his tongue.
He tried to visualize the man he’d just passed.
He was a little older than Virgil, shorter.
His hair needed a trim. He had a ruddy complexion and a determined look on his face.
Downright rude the way he ran into Virgil on the way in and didn’t apologize.
Looked right past him. Virgil couldn’t remember what the man was wearing.
This must be the third guy—the guy from the mine.
If the third guy was looking for Virgil, he must be wanting his cut of the cash. And he would likely guess that Virgil had killed Joe. It wouldn’t be safe for Virgil to return to Radioville island to look for Joe’s gold.
Joe probably just made up that story about hiding half the gold to try and save himself. Not worth getting killed or arrested for. Businessmen know to walk away while they’re ahead.
Nikolai brought a steaming bowl of the crimson stew to the table. It was Virgil’s favorite, and he had lunch here at the Red Baron at least three times a week when he was in Sitka and not out pretending to mine a dry hole.
That’s one thing he wouldn’t miss when he left this place—moving tons of dirt, mud, and rock around at a fake mine just to keep up appearances. “Thanks Nik. Your soup is the best. Is this the way you used to make it in Russia?”
Nik frowned and balled his fists. “I not Russian. Third-generation Alaskan. Born and raise here. We not proud of what great-great-grandfather doing. That is why we changing name—Baranov to Baron.”
Virgil almost laughed. “And yet here we sit—in the Red Baron, eating borscht.” He took another spoonful of the hearty soup, the warm earthy sweetness of the beets replacing the clean bitter bite of the beer.
Nikolai leaned across the bar toward Virgil and raised his voice. “He was murderer. He doing terrible things. We not honor him.”
Virgil put his spoon down, sat back, and crossed his arms.
Nikolai’s face had turned a deep red that matched his hands.
“Easy, there, Nik. We’re just chatting.” Virgil tried to calm him. “The way I see it, your ancestor was a businessman. It was a different time, and sometimes being a businessman calls for tough measures.”
“Murder not business! Eat soup.” Nik turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Virgil shouted after him. “Sorry Nik, no offense intended!”
The sound of pots and pans slamming echoed from the kitchen.
Virgil took another spoonful. The hot broth warmed his throat and chest. “I appreciate you having my back, and thanks for the soup!”
Nik grunted from somewhere in the back.
Virgil needed to do something. The gold hidden at Radioville, if it existed at all, wasn’t going anywhere. For now, he needed a new plan. If the miner kept asking around Sitka, somebody would give him up. It was just a matter of time.
Virgil had to move fast. A real businessman never let a rival get the upper hand.