Dmitry's Closet (13 page)

     "The northern territory has always been crap shoot. It's time to organize it and utilize the roadways to transport. It's cheaper, and if you lose one shipment, you've got hundreds more behind it and before it. Now, this won't be easy. State troopers are doubling in number up the I-40 highway, but its prime real estate. I've already purchased a few houses up and down the highway as far up as Knoxville. We'll use them as safe houses to push the product out to the east coast safely."

     "These men. Are they going to secure the way up to

     Knoxville?"

     "Yes," Dmitry said calmly. "That is their singular purpose."

     "When?" one of the men asked, looking at the file.

     "As soon they arrive, we'll begin sending them out in shifts," Dmitry said, walking to the door. "This group of ten that they are sending will be our newest muscle. They're all professionals with military, drug trafficking, munitions trafficking experience. They didn't come cheap, but New York has loaned them out to us for a while. So, go home and spend time with your families. We should not be concerned about all of this. We have capable men handling it all, and we can go home to our families and spend time with them in peace."

    
We
was a term that was never used by Dmitry. They looked up at him curiously.
We?
Who was
we?
Dmitry had no family. He had sworn when he became the boss of to uphold all codes of the Vory v Zakone ensuring purity at the highest level for the organization.

     He had never so much as even hinted at a lover being a significant other. He treated women like jewelry, discarding them on a whim. Now he spoke of family? Everyone automatically thought of the beautiful black girl that he had thrown the party for the night before. Could it be the Boss Medlov had softened over the years? Had his tyrannical reign over Memphis started to come to a slow end?

     They also thought of how kind he had been to their now dead friend. One bullet, no torture. Dmitry had to be in love. This was a man who would have walked into the meeting with a steak knife and cut out the man's entrails.

     However intrigued, no one dared say a word to Dmitry; to ask him about his personal life might mean that they would join their departed friend. Instead they nodded in agreement and saw him quietly out followed by his faithful henchman Anatoly. He left the room silently, almost remorseful for the loss. It was strange to see a reaction of any sort coming from a man who had never shown remorse for anything before.

     As the door closed, they looked at each other with raised eyebrows but still did not utter one word. Conversations would take place far from this place, far from the corpse lying before them bent over the table in a blood pool.

Chapter 9

     The calming change of autumn was welcomed in Memphis. The city needed a break from the heat. September was a transition month, mixed with days of smoldering sun and cool breezes.

     Royal had adjusted accordingly. Sale pieces were moving fast and being replaced by sweaters and scarves, darker colors and more layers. Also, the clientele for
Dmitry's Closet
was starting to really pick up. Royal had over 2,000 names on her VIP list for special showings of the new diamond collection, special trunk shows and private parties. She had women coming from all over the mid-south to shop and to be seen in the newest pret-a-porte clothing from the finest French, Russian, Italian, Chinese, English and American designers.

     She even had a new billboard on Poplar Avenue that was creating a wave of new inquiries about the shop and the owner. Several local magazines had requested interviews with Dmitry, but he had deferred all media to Royal and insisted that she be the official face of the boutique.

     "Royal's been so much different since that morning she was late for work," Renée said, hanging the new Diane von Furstenberg dresses that had arrived only hours before on the front display.

     "I know. I've been watching her," Cory said, looking out for Royal, who stepped out to grab lunch for the trio.

     "I wonder what's it's like to try to have a relationship with a man like Dmitry?"

     "Petrifying, I suppose," Cory answered absently.

     "I mean, he's beautiful, rich, powerful and sexy. What could be bad about that?"

     "Trying to figure out how he got to be so rich and powerful."

     "What do you think it really is?" Renée asked, setting down the dress. "I think its drugs."

     "I think it's a combination of all sorts of organized crime," Cory said, checking his hair in the mirror.

     "Do you think that she knows what he really does?"

     "No." Cory turned to her. "But we should tell her. Don't you think? I mean, we're supposed to be her friends for goodness sake." His southern accent came out more when he tried to be so flamboyantly gay.

     "How in the hell do you broach a subject like that?" Renée huffed. "This woman is still our boss and our friend. What are you trying to do... hurt her?"

    
"Save
her," Cory said, over emphasizing the "s" sound. "Royal's a great girl. It'd be a damned shame to watch her go up in the smoke of Dmitry's fire."

     "It'd be a shame to watch us walked out the front door of this place if we crossed the line with her too."

     "Royal would never fire us," Cory said sternly.

     "Get real. She'd make one comment to Dmitry, and we'd both be gone."

     "You think she'd talk to Dmitry about something that we've said to her?"

     "Of course. You white boys are so freaking territorial; as soon as she said something he'd give us the boot."

     Cory ignored her snide remark. "He does look territorial."

     "All of you do."

     "Please don't tell me you're one of those
black
women who think all
white
men look alike."

     "I know that they all don't look alike. You don't look at damn thing like Dmitry. He's sort of dreamy, while you're sort of. I don't know. Peculiar. You could be cute if you wanted to, but the jeans are so tight, I can't focus on your face."

     "Dreamy, huh? No, I don't get that from him. He seems, dark and sadistic to me. Maybe it's the creepy bodyguards, the obscene amounts of money he spends or the trace of Anatoly's gun in all of his jeans, but I would never want to get on Dmitry's bad side," Cory said, turning around in the mirror to examine his butt. "And my pants are not tight."

     "Shut up," Renée said quickly. "Here comes the prom queen."

     Royal walked inside of the boutique with lunch from the Arcade, the oldest restaurant in Memphis, in white oily bags full of fried treats. She entered beaming brightly as usual and wearing a gold silk Dolce and Gabbana sundress, a denim jacket, white D&G shades with Swarovski crystals and cultured pearl accents, a matching yellow leather and white purse and flip flops. All together, she was wearing about ten thousand dollars worth of clothing and accessories. The thought made her blush. Dmitry spoiled her beyond belief now, surprising her with diamonds, pearls, expensive and exotic gifts all the time.

     "Sorry it took so long," she said, taking off her shades.

     "It's okay. No one has come in since you left," Cory said, helping her with the bags.

     They all made their way to the back office to eat lunch and watch out for any clients who might pop up. Sitting around the credenza, they opened the oily bags and set the table for a hearty meal.

     "Did we get anymore calls for the VIP showing of the Cyrille Gassiline collection?" Royal asked, stuffing her face with a large juicy hamburger. She wiped the excess grease from her mouth with a wad of napkins.

     "No, but so far, we are at 150 people with a 175 max capacity," Cory answered, wolfing down a hand full of French fries. "Man, a beer would be great with this," he said belching.

     "It's barely noon, lush," Renée snapped at Cory. "I thought gay men were supposed to be refined."

     "Stereotypes coming from a black woman? Really?" Cory raised his eyebrow.

     "Enough you two," Royal interjected between the catty couple. "We only have 25 more people to place before we close the event. This is a good sign." The thought was comforting.

     It had been hell to bring the trunk show to Memphis. Royal had desperately wanted to bring the popular Russian designer Gassiline's designs to her shop for months, but she had been turned down due to tight scheduling. Then, after a call from Dmitry, things were worked out, and she was able to bring the hottest trends in Moscow to the Southern belles of Memphis for fall. When her VIP list of clients received the invitation, they went mad calling to reserve seating for them and their friends and family, who would be flying region-wide to get her shop on October 1st.

     Dmitry laughed the night last month when Royal got the call from Gassiline's American contact in the middle of the night. When the phone rang, they were in her bed watching reruns of
Criminal Minds.
She reached over and answered it, then screamed so loud when she hung up; he had to cover his ears. "Thank you!" she exclaimed as she kissed him over and over again on his full mouth. For a woman who was not at first even a decent dresser, Royal had blossomed into quite the connoisseur of fine clothing.

     Dmitry had been pleased to help her, pleased to see her pleased and pleased that in her excitement she would please him. He quickly seized the opportunity to strip her naked and turn his attention from the make believe FBI agents to his real Royal Flush.

     "Someone's coming in." Renée wiped her mouth with the napkin.

     "Oh, I'll get it," Royal said, jumping up from her seat. "Really. You guys finish eating."

     A tall man, nearly the size of her Dmitry stood with his back turned to her looking at a rack of Chanel dresses as she approached him. Her footsteps tapped on the hardwood floors and echoed throughout the empty shop as she made her entrance, but the stranger did not turn around. Royal eyed his frame curiously, wandering if he was one of the NBA locals picking up a something special for a girlfriend or wife, which had become quite typical since she opened.

     "Can I help you?" Royal finally asked, her voice pleasant and soft.

     "Yes, I'm looking for Dmitry Medlov," the man said, turning around to face her. His voice was deep, baritone and strangely familiar.

     "He's not here. May I help you with... something?" Royal's eye twitched.

     "Ah. You must be Royal," he said, fixing his eyes on her.

     Royal stood stunned for a minute with a waded up napkin in her hand unable to say anything. She was struck by his features and his accent. All Russian. All familiar. He wore the same type Armani black tailor-made suit Dmitry wore. His face was perfectly chiseled; every line faultless, free of blemish and full of beauty like Michelangelo himself had carved it from marble stone. He was nearly as tall and definitely as muscular as Dmitry.

     However the contrast in the men was undeniable in their hair, their complexion and their polarized demeanors. Where Dmitry had heavenly golden locks, this man had inky black waves that were cut low and highlighted by his naturally arched black menacing eyebrows and high cheeks bones. His skin was milky white and completely free of a tan. He had a faint, stubby beard that etched his breathtaking features, giving him a rogue quality. But his eyes were what truly captured her. They were even more intense than Dmitry's. Liquid blue, bold and bright like a clear sky on a Sunday morning. He looked at her now with a threatening stare.

     "How do you know my name?" she asked, stepping away. As beautiful as he was, there was something about him that scared her speechless.

     "The magazine article," he said, raising the
Memphis Magazine
in his large right hand. He walked towards her slowly, his long strides closing the distance between them.

     "Right. What can I do for you?" she asked, walking quickly behind the counter to ensure her space.

     He chuckled. "If I told you, would you do it?" He licked his lips.

     Royal scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him. "No, I don't think that I would,
sir."

     "Pity," he said, smiling. "I'd heard about you, but I had no idea just how beautiful... "

     "Heard about me?" Royal interrupted.

     Even in the stranger's smile, there was something evil in his eyes. He propped his large hands on the marble-top of the counter showing Cyrillic writing tattooed on each of his fingers and his sprawling frame stretched out like wings as it shadowed her entire body. He looked her up and down before he spoke again, enjoying how she fidgeted in discomfort at the sight of him.

     "Yes, heard about you," he replied, biting his bottom lip. "I'm afraid that they didn't do you justice. Probably too fucking jealous." He laughed.

     "I'm afraid I still don't know why you're here or who
they
are," Royal scowled.

     "Well, I just recently got to this hell hole. Dmitry knows why I'm here. In his own way, because of his nasty little temper, I guess that he sent for me."

     Royal raised her brow at him.

     "Anyway, Royal, I just want you to tell him that I stopped by to see his new property. Trust me, he'll appreciate the irony." He smiled again and looked at her breasts. The lustful thoughts were evident in his furrowed, black brows. He looked back up into her eyes again and took a deep breath as he crooked his head a little. "I can see now why he broke his pitiful little monk code. You are absolutely devastating."

     Royal sneered at his advance. "His
what
code?"

     "Nothing." He looked around curiously.

     Royal followed his glance then eyed him. "Well, if he knows why you're here, then he'll know how to find you." She wanted him out of the shop right then.

     "Well, one thing is for sure. At least I know that he'll never be too far here. So, I now know where to find him." He winked at her. "Take for instance now. I bet he's only a few blocks away. I know Dmitry. He likes to keep his possessions very, very close to him. He's a greedy fuck that way. Hoarding everything."