Good Intentions (Samogon 1) (13 page)

Every day at noon, Rochelle would venture across campus to the oval where students would sit, have lunch, and even throw Frisbees. On Wednesdays after dinner, she would do a little studying while sitting on the banks of Mirror Lake―the campus pond across the street from her dorm room. Afterward, she would head to her philosophy night class.

While Rochelle was at college, Chris labored away on the Donovan farm and distilling whiskey barrel by barrel.
Not a day went by that Chris didn’t think of Rochelle. He was lucky to speak to her twice a week by phone. If it wasn’t for their business with the Russians, he probably wouldn’t get to talk to her but once a semester. Odd as it was, bootlegging had actually brought them closer together.

Twice he got to spend time with Rochelle during her first semester.
The first occasion was in October for her sorority’s fall formal. She was just a pledge, but her exquisite look and a strong handsome escort had her standing out more than any of her sisters. She captured everyone’s attention. She and Chris spent the entire weekend together at the University Plaza Hotel. It was the best seventy-two hours of his life. The other occasion was when she came home for Thanksgiving. Soon enough, she would be home for Christmas.

During the week of finals, Rochelle split her time studying at the library, the dorm, and in the back office of the laundromat.
For a freshman running two businesses, a moonshine operation, and juggling two lovers, she managed to maintain a 3.99 grade point average. She was a bit exhausted but had kept the stress to a minimum. She had her mother’s love for education and her daddy’s work ethic, not to mention her own greed for money. Rochelle was enjoying every aspect of her current life. No matter how much she dreamed of tomorrow, she couldn’t see the coming
storm
forming in front of her.

That Friday she took her last two finals then finished packing for home.
At six o'clock that evening, Mikhail picked her up outside Paterson Hall and took her to dinner. During the meal the two lovers discussed the management of the laundromat and arcade.

“I presume you are having Paavo look after the store while you are on break.
If you are going to tie-down one of my guys for an entire month, I would like to know in advance. You never know if my brother or I will have to send him somewhere and that would leave you in a bind with no one minding the store.”

“I know that and I considered it.
But I am not staying away the entire month. I intend to drive back and forth, spend the week at home, then Friday and Saturday back here. But because Christmas is on a Friday, I’ll spend that entire week at home and drive back on New Year’s. My mom and Chris are not going to like my traveling back and forth, but with the businesses they’ll understand.”

“So, we will have our own Christmas later on when you return.
I will wait to give you this until then.” Mikhail reached down inside his coat pocket and started to pullout a gift-wrapped box.

“No, no, no,” said Rochelle excitedly.
“You can’t arouse my curiosity, then tell me I have to wait.” Rochelle was smiling so big that anyone in the restaurant watching could see she was aroused with more than just curiosity.

Mikhail took advantage of her heightened emotions and ran his hand up under the split in her skirt and gripped her inner thigh.
Rochelle licked her lips and took a deep breath.

She whispered in his ear, “Please, Mikhail, don’t tease me.
Let me have my gift, and I will let you do anything you want to me.” She took his ear lobe with her mouth, then slid her own hand directly over his crotch and gave a gentle squeeze.

But as Mikhail smiled and reached for her gift, his cell phone rang out.
“Hmm, one moment, love.” He answered his phone and began speaking in Russian.

She could see by the expression on his face that something was wrong as Mikhail started looking around the restaurant, eying everyone closely.
Rochelle was getting nervous.

“I’m coming now,” Mikhail said to the caller.
He was slow to hang up the cell phone as he pondered the disturbing news.

“Mikhail, what’s wrong?”

But he did not answer her. He kept eying everyone in the restaurant, including the staff. Rochelle started looking around, trying to figure out what Mikhail was looking for. Then, she saw him reach into the back of his waist and slowly pull a pistol to his lap. He discretely checked to make sure a round was chambered and that he had a full magazine.

Rochelle was scared now.
“Mikhail?”

He threw some cash on the table to pay the bill and tucked the pistol into the front of his pants.
“We gotta go, love,
now.
”

He stood
up and put his coat on. Not waiting for Rochelle, he moved methodically across the dining area to the front door. He eyed everyone. Rochelle was right on his heels, scared to reach for his hand and just as scared to walk without it.

Mikhail punched the accelerator on the Aston Martin and headed for the highway.

“Mikhail,
please
tell me what’s happening. You’re scaring me, Mikhail.”

He laid the pistol between his legs, scanning his mirrors to see if he was being followed.
He sped down the highway passing cars and changing lanes. The audio system was turned off and, except for the low hum of the engine, all was deathly quiet as Mikhail watched the highway and Rochelle watched him. He was as frightened as she was.

Mikhail took a deep breath and looked over at Rochelle.
“Do you remember when I met you and Chris at the ballpark, and I told you how our families war over control of the
samogon
?”

Rochelle nodded.
“I remember.”

“Well, love, that war has come to America.
Earlier today, one of the other families tried to hit my brother, Nikolay, in New York.”

“Oh, my God, Mikhail.
Is he okay? Someone isn’t trying to kill you, are they?”

“I don’t know.
Nikolay is shot-up pretty bad, but he is alive. A couple of his men are dead. I don’t know much else or even which family hit him.”

“Where are we heading?
Can you slow down a little?”

Mikhail didn’t slow down at all, keeping his speed at eighty.
“I’m heading to the airport. My brothers are both coming in. The family is gathering here to … how do you say … circle the wagons.”

The Aston Martin veered off the highway.
Mikhail navigated his way into Rickenbacker Airport, passing through security and then headed for a private hanger belonging to some corporation.

A bald man in his forties with a rough face, dressed in blue jeans and a leather waist coat stood in Mikhail’s path, bringing him to a stop.
He was armed with an HK MP5-K submachine gun. At first Rochelle was terrified, but seeing Mikhail was not concerned with the man, she tried to relax. Mikhail lowered the driver's window for the armed man to look inside and see that it was him. They spoke to one another in Russian, then the man stepped back and allowed Mikhail to pass into the hanger.

Inside, a dozen men stood about, all armed with MP5s.
They were all speaking Russian. Parked among them were a black Mercedes-Benz S55 limo, a pair of black Chevy Suburbans, and a silver Cadillac DTS-L sedan. One of the men came over to Mikhail’s car. Rochelle recognized him from Sylvio’s. Speaking in Russian, the man reached out to Mikhail to hug him through the window of the car. Rochelle could see from the man’s gestures and tone of voice that he was relieved to see Mikhail safe.

Just then, the guard from outside entered the hanger and yelled out to everyone.
All the men moved from the middle of the hanger and took up positions around the cars and on either side of the hanger’s entrance.

From the front of the Cadillac, Rochelle watched Ivan and Paavo Nureyev exit the sedan.
Ivan stood at the driver’s door, Paavo moved to the back passenger door and waited.

Rochelle could hear the high-pitched whine of a jet engine getting closer.
She looked to the front of the hanger and watched as an Avantair P180 jet rolled in. As the jet rolled to a stop, Paavo opened the passenger door of the Cadillac and Peter Rimsky stepped out.

“You stay here, love.
Climb over and drive my car back,” Mikhail instructed her.

“Back
where
?”

“Just follow us,” he said as he stepped out of the Aston Martin and headed over to his brother, Peter.

Rochelle fumbled with her skirt and with little trouble made it behind the steering wheel. She kept watching the jet as she adjusted the seat and mirrors.

The Avantair’s passenger door opened.
Stepping down from the jet was a man in his late thirties, who looked more like fifty. Rochelle could see that the man was living a hard and stressful life. He was dressed in black slacks and a bloodied blue dress-shirt. His right arm was in a sling. His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing surgical wrapping to his chest and shoulder.

Nikolay Rimsky had been shot twice
―once in the upper right chest just below the collarbone, and again in the upper right arm. He was helped down from the Avantair and assisted to the Mercedes. His jaw looked swollen and Rochelle could see the terrible amount of pain he was suffering. The three Rimsky brothers all climbed inside the limo along with a shorter man in a suit. The short man was quiet and appeared to be in his sixties. Nothing about him stood out. Rochelle hadn’t noticed him until he stepped into the limo.

She saw Ivan and Paavo get back in the Cadillac and then watched as everyone else climbed into the Chevy Suburbans.
It was time to leave. She fired-up the Aston Martin and figured she would be the last car in the convoy. One of the Suburbans led the convoy out of the hanger. The limo went next, followed by the other Suburban. Ivan pulled the Cadillac in line behind the second Suburban.

As Rochelle began to leave, the guard from outside jumped in the Aston Martin’s passenger side.
“Follow car,” he ordered.

“Okay,” said a scared and nervous Rochelle.

The man didn’t say another word. He pointed his MP5 at the floorboard and held it with one hand by the pistol grip as he continually checked the back window, mirrors and traffic as Rochelle drove behind the convoy. Rochelle was scared to death that the two of them were the first line of defense from a rear attack. She did not want to be in a gun fight. She was earnestly wishing to get away from all this and head for the safety of her Kentucky home.

The convoy headed for a safe house in New Albany, northeast of Columbus.
They stopped in front of a Georgian-styled house that had a rather large lot. On the front porch stood a man with a Belgian Malinois attack dog on a short chain. The porch light gave away the large bulge inside his coat―another MP5 submachine gun.

Two other men who looked Russian walked up and down the street’s sidewalk.
It was obvious to Rochelle that they weren’t neighbors but were part of the Rimsky clan patrolling the outer parameter of the house.

Everyone headed into the house except Rochelle.
She didn’t know what to do―she was a young black girl among a bunch of Russian mobsters who were on high alert and armed to the teeth.

Mikhail went to her and helped her out of the car.
“Come inside for a few minutes, then I will drive you back to the dorm.”

Inside, Mikhail escorted Rochelle to a sitting room and told her, “Wait here but don’t play.”
He gave her a quick wink to let her know he was just teasing her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes and then we will leave.”

Rochelle sat down on a hand-c
rafted bench in front of a black, handmade Feurich piano. Seven and a half feet in length, it was a work of art.

As she sat there, she was startled by something cold and wet on her ankle.
She looked down and there was the most beautiful German Shepherd. She didn’t try to pet it fearing it might attack her. She just let it sniff her leg. Another German Shepherd trotted past the room, and the one at her feet dashed off to join the other.

It was eleven in the evening when Mikhail came back to her.
“I’m sorry, love. I’ll take you back to the dorm now.”

“
Is everything okay, Mikhail?”

“Everything will be okay.
Let’s get you back to campus.”

As they got back into the Aston Martin, Mikhail waited to leave until Ivan and Paavo had pulled out in the Cadillac to follow Mikhail back to Columbus.

“New York is a mess. Apparently there are three more of my brother’s crew shot-up. The police are all over the place. My brother will rest here while he heals and to give everything time to blow over.”

“Who did this, Mikhail?
Why would they come after you?”

“Another family in the business, the Pistilli family.
Apparently the Pistilli boss’ son was killed trying to rob my father’s shipping containers. It was the boss’ youngest son. Needless to say, he is taking the loss rather personal.” He continued, “We’ll still have our Christmas, don’t worry. And we will keep our business relationship running smoothly. Have no fear. You are in no danger.”