Authors: Shelly Laurenston
“Anyone could have tacked Whitlan’s body to the front of Chumakov’s house. It doesn’t mean the man had been living there.”
“So the BPC is still protecting Chumakov? Even now?”
Ben-Zeev took a breath, released it. “No, we’re not. But there are bears, friends of Chumakov’s, who do
not
believe he had anything to do with Whitlan. That he was set up by honey badgers who just wanted his money. And they
are
willing to protect him. To hide him. So it may take some time for us to track him down, and until we do—you and your family are in danger. He won’t stop until he destroys all of you.”
“Yes. I’m sure that’s true.” She smiled at the She-bear. “Thanks for letting me know.”
She stepped around Ben-Zeev and walked back toward her office. That was when she saw Vic. The way he was scowling, she knew he was looking for her. Not surprising with her past history involving bears tracking her down at the Sports Center.
“I’m okay,” she announced right off the bat.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “There’s a small caravan of BPC bears outside the Sports Center.”
“Ben-Zeev came here to warn me that Chumakov went underground.”
“Because your family fucked with him?”
Livy laughed, took Vic’s hand. “I didn’t know they were going to, but I’m not exactly sorry.”
“I feel like I should put you into protective custody or something.”
“No more hiding.” She tugged his arm until he came down and she could easily kiss him on the cheek. Then she whispered, “Honestly, I wouldn’t worry much.”
“He’s a vindictive prick.”
She smiled, nuzzled his jaw. “Vic, you still don’t get it . . . I come from a
family
of vindictive pricks.”
Kiril wanted to run away. He wanted to get out of here. But something told him he should not be noticed. Not by these men.
There were lots of big men in Moscow. He was used to them. But there was something about these three men . . . Then they began talking. Talking about killing. First a girl and her boyfriend, then the girl’s mother, and uncles.
Kiril was horrified. He knew gangsters came to the
banya
for a good steam. Some
banyas
were just for them. But those criminals never talked business in front of outsiders. Never. Yet these men . . .
Did they know Kiril was in the room? Did they have any idea? Or did they just plan to kill him, too? He didn’t know, and he was too terrified to make a run for it. It was like dealing with a dangerous dog. Any sudden moves would have the vicious animal focusing on you. He didn’t want that. He just wanted to go home.
Eventually, the two younger men stood—holy God, the size of them. The sheer size of them!—and the older one stayed behind, pouring water over his head. He was no youngster, but his muscles, his body in general, was still very fit. He bore scars. Some looked like old knife marks, a few gunshots, but some seemed to be claw marks.
Kiril knew he should get up now, but this older man was scarier than the younger ones. So much scarier.
While he kept his head down, pouring water over it, the older man didn’t notice the wooden bench beside him. Like the one Kiril sat upon, it was hollow, the entire thing tacked to the wall. But a piece of wood at the bottom was moving and suddenly it opened.
Fascinated and horrified, Kiril watched a small woman work her way out. She was old. And Asian. Chinese maybe? A long scar on one side of her neck. Without a sound, she eased her way out of the tiny space she’d been in. How she’d fit in there, he didn’t know. Kiril was sure there was a vent behind that bench, but how did she get through it? She was not slim. Just a wide-shouldered old lady.
She got to her feet, and Kiril saw the walking stick she held. Using her other hand, she grasped the head of the stick and pulled out a thin, stainless steel dagger. She stepped up to the older man, and when he lifted his head, suddenly realizing someone was standing next to him, she proceeded to stab him in the throat.
It wasn’t wild stabbing, either. But very precise, deep jabs all across his neck.
Gasping for air and wrapping his hands around his throat to stop the bleeding, the man stood, stumbled, and fell to the ground. The old woman walked over to him, flipping him onto his back. Not an easy feat considering his size, but she seemed to have no trouble. She straddled his chest and then sat on it. She watched him for a bit.
“You never understood, did you?” she said in perfect Russian. “Kowalskis never forget . . . but Yangs
never
forgive.” She tossed white hair that had slipped out of her simple bun from her eyes. “If you’d like, though,” she taunted, “you can pretend this last bit is mercy. But,” she said as she raised her arm, “we’ll both know it really isn’t.”
Then she stabbed the man in both eyes and finished him off by slashing the blade across his throat.
She panted a bit while waiting for him to die. When he did, she stood, slid the blade back into the walking stick, and slowly made her way back across the room. She crouched down by that opening in the bench—and that was when she looked up at Kiril.
She held one very old finger to her lips. Then winked at him. She slipped back into that impossibly tiny space, somehow managed to put the wood panel back, and was gone.
Kiril still didn’t run. He still didn’t leave. He realized later that his not going had saved his life. Because when the two younger men came back in, screaming and wailing over what he now realized was their father’s body, they quickly dismissed him as the culprit because he appeared so terrified. Finally, one of them grabbed the other, more hysterical one, and they ran out of the room.
And, after throwing up, Kiril finally went outside and told the staff that they needed to contact the police. Now.
C
HAPTER
40
L
ivy checked the lighting while she waited for the bride and groom. Toni stood watching and drinking a can of Sprite. Leave it to Toni. The fanciest wedding either of them would ever be invited to, and Jean-Louis Parker breaks out the can of soda.
“Sooooo,” Toni sang, “I got an excited text today from Michael, telling me how wonderful your show is going to be. He is so excited about the last batch of prints you gave him.”
“Why is he talking to you about this and not me?”
“Because you frighten him.”
“I don’t know why.”
“He said something about the way you stare at him.”
“I stare at him like I stare at everyone.”
“Yes. And you frighten many with that stare. I promised him he would only have to deal with me from now on.”
Livy picked up her camera. “I have an agent.”
“Not as an agent. More like a go-between once deals are done. But your agent thinks it’s a good idea. He’s sure this upcoming show is going to catapult you to the next level, but he’s afraid your lack of social skills will destroy any goodwill your art creates.”
Livy thought on that a moment. “He’s probably right.”
“The ceremony was beautiful, wasn’t it?”
“Oh God,” Livy sighed. “Are you going to insist on marrying that hillbilly now?”
“Why? So Ricky Lee’s sister and Sissy Mae can argue with Kyle about how my wedding should look while Oriana tells me my ass is too fat for the dress I choose? I think the answer is no.”
“Good. Because we both know I’d spend all my time with Coop tormenting you.”
“I know.”
“Oh, by the way . . . I went to the ATM this morning to grab fifty bucks out of my account. Just in case I needed the extra cash for anything. And I found some additional money there.”
“How much additional?”
“Two-point-eight million dollars.”
Livy turned just in time to avoid the spray of Sprite that came at her.
“What?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why is there that much money in your account, Livy?”
“At first I thought it was Jake fucking around, but then I figured out it was from my mother.”
“Your mother gave you money?
Your
mother?”
“I’m guessing it’s from my father’s life insurance policies.”
“So? Your mother never gives you money. She expects you to steal it like everyone else in your family.”
“That She-bear from BPC told me that someone had cleaned out Chumakov’s bank accounts. Chances are that was my mother with the help of Jake. So it’s easy for her to hand over the cash she got from the insurance, plus it’s a really smart way for her to get Aunt Teddy off her back. I’m his only daughter, so the Kowalskis can’t really complain that they didn’t get a cut.”
“What are you going to do with all that money?”
Livy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stick it in my savings and hope that the banks don’t crash again.”
“You know . . . you’d think you’d show a little enthusiasm now that you have so much cash.”
“It’s nice to know it’s there, especially if I ever lose my health insurance. But with lots of money comes lots of problems.”
“Are you going to tell Vic?”
“Not right away. Maybe in a few months.”
“Why so long?”
Livy held up her new camera rig. “He paid a fortune for this to replace the old one that got damaged. So I’m not about to turn around now and tell him that I could have bought sixty of these if I’d felt the need and still had lots of money left over. The money’s there if we need it, but I’m not going to make him feel he has to keep up with me when I did nothing to actually earn it.”
“Insurance money is to help your family after you’ve gone.”
“I told that old bastard I didn’t need his goddamn money. And his exact words back were, ‘Then you will get nothing, you little bitch!’ ”
“You and your father had an . . . interesting relationship.”
“The word you’re looking for is
dysfunctional
. We had a dysfunctional relationship.”
“And you plan to keep it dysfunctional even after he’s dead?”
“That has been my plan all along.”
Vic smirked when he saw Novikov look at his watch . . . again.
It had never been part of Vic’s plan to attend the weddings of Novikov and MacRyrie to the lovely Blayne and Gwen. Livy would be working, and he would have only come as her escort. But then Blayne had begged—literally,
begged
—for him and Shen to be Bo’s groomsmen. Apparently half the hockey team was standing up for MacRyrie, but other than two foxes who received a stern lecture about what they could and couldn’t do at the wedding from Novikov, followed by a printed-out, multi-page description of those things; and super-hockey-fan Lou Crushek, there was no one else to be his groomsmen. So Vic and Shen had agreed. Especially when Livy again reminded Vic about Novikov saving her life.
The service went well, though. Blayne cried, Gwen didn’t. The bridesmaids were made up of derby girls, wild dogs, wolves, and felines. When the two couples were announced to be husbands and wives, the wild dogs howled . . . badly.
And there, during it all, had been Livy. Dressed in black slacks, black sweater, and comfortable but sleek-looking black boots, she’d moved around that ceremony barely noticed. He loved watching her work. Her focus was always so intense. But when she worked, she didn’t stand for anyone annoying her. Especially wedding planners. She’d already threatened Cella Malone’s mother to “back up off me, old woman.”
Novikov glanced at his watch one more time before jumping to his feet and storming over to the door of the dressing room the brides were using. He banged on it, nearly taking it off the hinges. “You are late!” he yelled through the door.
“I will not be forced into a schedule by you!” Blayne shot back.
“Not forced! You
agreed
to this schedule!
Agreed!
”
“If you don’t back away from that door, Bold Novikov, I’m going to mule-kick it!”
Shen leaned over and whispered, “You owe me fifty bucks. I told you he wouldn’t last ten minutes.”
“I’d feel bad for Blayne,” Vic whispered back, “if I didn’t know for a fact she knew
exactly
what she was getting into.”
“You have five more minutes!” Novikov bellowed. “And then I’m comin’ in!”
“And what?”
“And I’ll bring your father with me!”
“You
bastard
!”
It took another twenty minutes for the ladies to finish changing into their reception dresses. Gwen just looked bored by it all, never smiling unless she was looking at MacRyrie. It was clear she was doing this for his family and his family alone; the MacRyries were a respectable family of grizzlies.
But Blayne . . . Blayne was in her element. As far as she was concerned, this was a big party and she wanted
everyone
to have a good time. All those bears, felines, and canines together should lead to lots of fights and snarling, but Blayne had already managed to keep all the factions tolerant enough. The music and liquor would also help, of course. And Vic was sure that Blayne and Mitch Shaw would be able to get a good number of people out on the dance floor.
Vic was there to give Novikov a reprieve now and again from the crowds and all the loud music. They’d go outside the majestic reception hall that had been rented and stand around, talking about Russia and the great steakhouses Vic knew about. They ended up making plans to take a group trip there. A vacation. Something Novikov had started doing more because of Blayne.
If they actually went, Vic hoped they could also stop in Poland so Livy could spend some time with her Kowalski kin.
Vic didn’t know if any of that would be fun, but it would be worth a try.
Blayne suddenly skated through the dancing, partying crowd, pulling a reluctant Livy with her.
“I’m ordering you to take a break,” Blayne said as she shoved Livy into Vic’s lap. “You’ve been working for hours!”
“That’s what you paid me to do, Blayne. To work. At your wedding.”
“You’ve taken a ton of pictures. Just take a break.”
“Malone’s mother is gonna bitch about that.”
“I’ll deal with her. You just”—she wiggled a little—“relax with Vic.” She giggled and skated away, having removed her fifteen-hundred-dollar shoes and replaced them with sparkly white quad skates.