Dmitry's Closet (18 page)

     "He won't say no. You ask him. This will be good communication between you two." Dmitry sneezed. "Shit." He grabbed the tissue and blew his own nose. He continued. "And you're going to fix this
American
meal?"

     "Yep. Renée will help me. I'll run to Wal-Mart and pick up anything that I don't' already have. But I' think that we're good."

     "You don't have to do this. It's holiday. You're supposed to be getting some rest. Plus, you are sick."

     "I want to," Royal said, quickly. She walked over to him and slid between his long legs. Wrapping her arms around him, she gave him a big hug. "You're always doing stuff for me. I want to do something for you for a change. Don't say no."

     He groaned a little. "Okay," he said, rubbing her back. He sneezed again and buried his head in her shoulder. "I feel like truck hit me."

∞♥∞

     For Dmitry, life was lived through the details. His home or as he affectionately referred to it, their home was a mansion full of perfect, intricate details. The very first time that Royal had been inside it was weeks after their first sexual encounter. Dmitry had persuaded her to spend the night and enjoy a nice dinner, cooked and served by him. The beauty of it stole Royal's heart, as it was supposed to. It was the most perfect date that she had ever been on with a five course meal, great music, expensive wine and passionate love making.

     That evening, Dmitry walked her through each room explaining his motivation for his interior choices and sharing the history or the various cultures behind each piece like she was at a museum on a private tour.

     The seven-bedroom, five and half bathroom monster of a house was designer's dream. He had chosen a French and Russian theme for the house, complimenting the many tall arched windows, iron chandeliers, limestone and marble floors, exotic tiles, beautiful woodwork and masterful furniture with equally brilliant hues of paint, iron work and paintings.

     The house in its entirety blew Royal's mind. It was a testament to his many travels all over the world, his love for Russian culture and his growing dynasty.

     The back yard was landscaped with beautiful shrubbery, a large infinity-edged pool and protected by rows and rows of well-pruned trees.

     The four-car garage was occupied by his favorite Mercedes-Benz McLaren, a black 7 series BMW, a white Mazerati GranTursimo that he hardly ever drove and Royal's truck. The entire property was surrounded by a brick and rod iron gate and two very non-vicious Doberman pinchers that Royal liked to pet whenever they would come to her.

     His masterpiece would not be complete without a maid, whom Royal opposed having but Dmitry contended was necessary. Royal made sure to never leave a mess and always help with the cleaning still to make a point that she was not a pre Madonna. In all, his fortress was a dream that now seemed more complete with his Memphis princess.

∞♥∞

     Anatoly was outside feeding the dogs, when Royal got dressed and headed out to look for him. She found him bent over in the kennel speaking in Russian to the canines. She was certain that he knew that she was behind him, so she waited patiently and quietly until he was finished. He set down the ten-pound bag of Purina and wiped his hands on his jeans and turned around to face her.

     "What's the matter, Royal?" he asked, grabbing his bottle of water off the ground. "You need me to take you somewhere?"

     "Uh... no. Actually, I came out here to see what you were doing this afternoon."

     Anatoly looked at her curiously. "Why?"

     "Well, I'm going to cook a homemade American meal for Dmitry, and Renée is coming over. And I thought that it would be nice if we all had dinner together."

     Anatoly scratched his stubby beard. "I don't know, I..."

     "Please," Royal said, grabbing his hand. "It would mean a lot to me."

     "Are you trying to hook me up with black girl in your shop?" he smiled.

     "No," Royal laughed. She was taken back by his ability to have a conversation about something normal. "Why? Do you like her?"

     "Net... no," Anatoly said, shaking his head. "I just want to make sure that this is not love connection."

     "No, this is not a love connection. It's just four people getting together for Thanksgiving dinner." Royal tried to close the deal. "So, can I count on you?" Her voice pitched higher. "What do you say? You might have some fun."

     Anatoly looked across the back yard as he made his decision. "I say. ..okay. How bad can you're cooking be, eh?"

     "Great!" Royal jumped a little, happy that he accepted her invitation. "Dinner will be at four, so don't run off."

∞♥∞

     The fall leaves swept across Cory's feet as he trotted down Union Avenue in a pair of blue Adidas breakaway pants and a University of Memphis pullover. Having the Thanksgiving holiday off, he celebrated by taking his coveted 4-mile run near his midtown apartment. There were dark, low-level clouds blanketing the skies and promise of a heavy afternoon rain. He only hoped that he could finish his errands before the storm began.

     Stopping at Smoothie Queen on corner of Union Avenue, he stretched out his legs and went inside to grab a protein shake. A tall, muscular Italian man in a
Best Daddy In the World
t-shirt and a Miami Dolphins baseball cap sat in the corner of the shop reading a
Flex
magazine. He and Cory made eye contact, and the man gave him a nod.

     The shop was empty with only a bald, bulging black man in a white apron behind the counter. Cory quickly ordered and made his way over to the table adjacent from the man.

     "You got a tail?" the man asked, turning the page of his magazine.

     "Nope," Cory said, looking out the window.

     "Alright. We've got 15 minutes. Give me an update."

     "Umm, let's see." Cory sighed. "Royal is still living in Dmitry's house. From what I can tell, nothing illegal is going on over at the boutique, but I can't be 100% sure because of the locked door that leads to the basement. From what I can tell, Dmitry won't let anyone do business there. The restaurant is where all the big deals pass through, but they clean it for bugs and check for wire taps daily. Dmitry's still first in charge, and Anatoly is still second, but Dmitry's brother Ivan is closing in. There's some real bad blood between the two of them."

     The man looked over at Cory and sighed. Closing his magazine, he leaned over across the table; his large muscular forearm was covered in tattoos and a dark tan.

     "Hamilton, you aren't telling me anything that I don't already know. Hell, I could get that Intel from my kids. We sent you in to give us the real insight. You gotta find a way to get deeper inside and get in that damned basement."

     "Lou, I'm fucking trying," Cory said frustrated. He scratched his head. "I don't want to jeopardize my cover."

     "I'm not asking you to do that," Lt. Agosto said, looking around. "Look, you're right. Ivan is definitely making moves. We've got credible sources that say that he moved in a shipment of girls to Memphis within the last week to start up a whore house here. Now, before this, Dmitry never dabbled in human trafficking. He's a guns and drugs type of guy. But if he's changing his inventory..."

     "I don't think so," Cory interrupted. "This sounds more like Ivan trying to carve out a new niche for himself."

     "Well, we need to divide and conquer. So, I need them to go at each other's throats. Maybe then, we can get one of them to give us something more. Fucking Kirill got popped, and he was our only lead."

     "I was close to a confession in the boutique, but they were talking pretty low. They said it was a suicide that happened in the basement, but they didn't' say where."

     "Close is no cigar." Agosto patted Cory on the back. "What about Royal? Does she suspect anything yet?"

     "No, she's totally clueless. I keep trying to get her to open her eyes, but she doesn't want to. She's in love with him."

     "There's no way that it could be a cover?"

     "No."

     "Look, you're doing a good job, but what I need you to do now is help me figure out how to get the ball rolling between these two. If the blood is as bad as you say it is, it won't take much. We need that to happen."

     "They're Vor. I don't think that they'll turn."

     "That's what they said about Kirill." Lt. Agosto's voice turned to a whisper. "Look, there's something else," he sighed. "We've got a leak."

     "What?" Cory rubbed his forehead. "No, no. Lou, I've got a family, I can't."

     "We'll find out who the bastard is," Agosto tried to calm him. "Someone told Dmitry about Kirill. I just have to figure out whom."

     "It could have been a leak with the feds."

     "I'm not taking any chances, which is why I wanted to meet you here."

     "I see you brought Patton." Cory lifted his brow at the black man standing behind the counter. "Where is the real cashier?"

     Lt. Agosto smiled. "This is Patton's wife's store. He
actually
runs it on the weekends. It's no cover. Can you imagine someone trying to hold up this place? They walk in and this motherfucker's got two Glocks under the counter and a bad case of the rages from coming off one of his steroid cycles."

     They all laughed. The man behind the counter gave them the finger as he sipped on a protein shake.

     "Screw y'all. This shit is natural," Patton said, flexing his 23 inch arms.

     "Okay, we really believe that," Agosto said, sarcastically. He turned his attention back to Cory. "You worry about getting me the information, and I'll worry about the leak. Hopefully, we're approaching the end of this soon." Lt. Agosto gave him a small leather satchel. "See if you can place these in the restaurant or the boutique again. Who knows? We might get lucky. Also there's a jump drive in there with the pictures of the girls from the whore house. Memorize their faces just in case they end up at the boutique for clothes or at the restaurant. Alright."

     "Alright," Cory said, taking the satchel. "You know, if you want to set them up against each other, you might start by approaching Dmitry about the whorehouse. I'm sure he doesn't know."

     "Okay. I'll take your advice on that."

     "How's my family?" Cory's face became solemn. He missed his wife and two kids.

     "I went by to see them a few days ago. They're doing great. I told Becca that you'd be home really soon. She can't wait. The boys are being themselves. You know, being kids."

     "Lou, these men are heavy hitters. If they ever found out about me, they'd go straight for my family."

     "They'd have to get through all of us first, man. It ain't gonna happen. Patton has a house full of girls. I've got a family at home too. Ivy's working on our third child, and I don't know what I'd do without them. Look at me; I went from Armani to Gap, because I can buy everybody's stuff at the same place. Trust me. I know how much they mean to you. But we watch out for our own. I've got a car on the house 24-hours a day and tail on kids and your wife when they leave. We know their every move."

     "Thanks." Cory finished his shake and slipped on his hood. "Till next week," he said, headed back out into the sprinkling rain.

∞♥∞

     Royal's Thanksgiving masterpiece was nearly ready. Renée helped her pull her ham out of the oven and put the garnishes on the plates. Carefully, she carried her dishes to the dining room, where she had taken extra care to make sure everything was as festive as possible.

     The men sat obediently in the entertainment room watching a football game and talking to one another. Dmitry could smell the food wafting through the house. There were interesting soul food smells, unlike the ones from his restaurant all around him. His stomach rumbled loudly, but Royal wouldn't let him eat a thing until dinner.

     "She's going all out for you," Anatoly said, not taking his eyes off the game.

     "Royal is good girl that way." Dmitry looked back behind his chair to make sure that no one was behind him. Then he turned to his son and leaned over. "She saw the newspaper this morning. Conners was in it."

     "Did she know that it was you?"

     "No. Why would she?" His voice was nearly a whisper. "She thinks that I'm some kind of saint or something."

     "I don't know. Maybe you should tell her. She would probably appreciate it—this proves chivalry is not dead, eh?" Anatoly smirked.

     "You don't know anything about women. If I told her, she would go insane."

     Anatoly ignored his father's concerns about Royal. "I know a thing or two about women."

     "Two things...hardly impressive." Dmitry sat back in his seat.

     "Do you think that she knows yet about the other thing?" Anatoly whispered.

     "No," Dmitry said, looking behind him again. "Enough talk about her. Let's talk about you. Did you give any thought to what I said to you?"

     Anatoly sighed. "I'm not meant for college, Papa. I have no desire for it. I enjoy what I do here."

     "You really enjoy it?"

     "Yes. Don't you?"

     Dmitry shrugged. "I've excelled in it, but if I could do it all over again, I would only have my shops."

     "You keep shops. I was born a Vor."

     Dmitry raised his brow at his son. "Such over exaggerated enthusiasm would be better used on your girlfriend not on your tired, retirement-bound father."

     "What is all this talk? Where are you going?" Anatoly sat up in his seat.

     "No where, but everyone has to have plan B,
dah?
I have told you this many times."

     Anatoly looked at him suspiciously.

     Royal walked to edge of the stairwell and smiled at the men. She was finished cooking her first Thanksgiving dinner for her first ever pseudo-family. She wore a large, proud grin and pink apron. Renée stood behind her, awaiting her announcement.

     "Gentlemen, dinner is served," Royal said, clapping her hands.