Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle (56 page)

The neighborhood itself was ugly—cramped, dirty, uniformly gray and without much variation in the shape, size or overall look of the buildings. But the people were unfailingly cheerful and Ned had a great time with them. He found the Uzbeks generally a warmer and friendlier people than the Russians, and he liked their food, especially the flavored rice dishes served with meat.

Although he was excited about the potential of seeing Nina again, Ned was more than a little sad about leaving. He had become something of a celebrity in Semyon's old neighborhood, and didn't want to go back to the anonymity and unfriendliness of his apartment building at home. Maybe, he thought to himself, with all his money coming in, he could move to a friendlier neighborhood or town even. Maybe something near a beach, or nearer to Brooklyn in case things worked out with Nina.

After the flight to Canada and the drive across the border, the men convened in Grigori's office. Grigori said something in Russian, and everybody except he, Vasilly and Ned left. After seeing the others leave, Ned started to get up, but stopped when Grigori told him to stay.

Grigori walked up to Ned much as he did when they first met, but this time he had a big smile on his face. Then Vasilly pulled up a chair and sat next to him, facing him.

That made Ned uneasy. Not only was Vasilly very close and facing him in what some might find an intrusive or even threatening manner, but Ned had developed a very visceral fear of Vasilly. It wasn't just that he had seen Vasilly do terrible things, it was that he had never seen him do anything else. Ned had gotten to the point at which he involuntarily associated the look of Vasilly's taut but impassive face as a threat to his very existence. Ned tried hard not to let his fear show and merely nodded in Vasilly's direction while pretending to listen hard to whatever Grigori was saying to him.

Grigori looked at him, smiled broadly and said something in Russian to Vasilly that Ned took to be an admonishment. Vasilly just smiled. “Macnair, I think you have a problem with Vasilly.”

Ned looked over at him. Vasilly nodded without a trace of emotion.

“It seems,” Grigori said in a grave-sounding voice, “that he lost a large sum of cash because of you.”

Vasilly nodded.

“Yeah, he bet me that you wouldn't last five minutes in Russia,” Grigori said. “But everybody there likes you, you did a wonderful job—and now he owes me money, so he blames you.” He laughed uproariously at his own joke. Even Vasilly let out a small snort of a chuckle. Once the shock wore off, Ned couldn't help but laugh too.

“You make me very, very happy,” Grigori said, putting his meaty hands on Ned's shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks. “Not only does import/export plan work, but I look like a genius for thinking of it.” He went back behind his desk and opened the top left drawer. He then pulled out a handful of hundred-dollar bills and started throwing them one by one at Ned, laughing the whole time. Ned instinctively picked them up and collected them in his lap. Ned lost count long before he finished.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No need to thank me,” Grigori said. “You earned it. You do good work. You are okay.”

“Thanks—I mean, it's great to be working with you,” then Ned paused. “Is there anything else I need to do, like get a tattoo or something?”

Grigori laughed and Vasilly snorted in disgust. “No, no, no, don't worry,” Grigori said. “You work for us, but you're not one of us—just like your little Uzbek friend.”

Ned was puzzled.

“But don't worry,” Grigori said. “It's still very good. You will get rich, you will have women, you will have our protection.”

“Sounds sweet,” said Ned.

“Go. The Uzbek will take you back to Delaware.”

“But doesn't he want to go home to his wife and family?”

“No, I have met his wife,” Grigori said. “He would be better off driving you home.”

Ned laughed and got up to leave. “Wait,” Grigori said. “You still owe Vasilly.”

“How much?”

Vasilly looked him in the eye and said. “You decide.”

Ned paused. “Well, I don't know how much your bet was for,” he said. He counted off fifteen bills and offered them to Vasilly. Vasilly accepted the offering and smiled. “Didn't I tell you this boy was smart, Vasilly?” said Grigori loudly. “He knows it is much better to have friends than money, but he is smart enough to know that life with some money is much better than life with none.” Vasilly grunted his assent. “Go now, Mr. Macnair,” Grigori added. “Go make me lots of money.”

Ned did as he was told. Back at Hawkridge, he resumed his post as the shipping/receiving manager. He did little work aside from ordering, receiving and rerouting coils from Eastern Europe. It was tedious work even when he did have something to do, and far more so when he had almost nothing to do. Katie and Juan—the people he was supposed to supervise—were very able and experienced at their jobs, and didn't need much from him. So Ned found himself filling his long days at the office talking to Nina or Semyon on the phone or looking up biker-related news on the Internet.

He would occasionally go out for lunch with Steve, the factory's floor manager, and from time to time, the Swede would join them. They had nothing but good things to say about Ned's work and were pleasantly surprised when he told them he'd like more responsibilities because he didn't have enough to do.

One day the package he received from Detroit hit his desk with a
clunk
. “Hmm, is he putting change in there now?” Ned asked absent-mindedly.

“How should I know?” answered the delivery kid in a surly way, then left.

Ned opened the envelope, poured out his cash and a pair of car keys. He looked at them. The stylized, embossed “L” on them indicated that they belonged to a Lexus. The simple key ring attached them to a small card. Written on it in black ink was an address: 84 Chaddwyck Blvd, New Castle. For the rest of the day, he wondered about the keys, worried about them, twirled them on his finger. He decided that after work was as good a time as any to deliver the keys.

It was an upscale neighborhood, full of large detached houses. The houses were new; in fact, Ned could tell the entire neighborhood was new because of the sparse-but-not-serene look that a lack of businesses and old-growth trees gave such places. Almost every house had an SUV or a minivan parked out front. A few had basketball nets or hockey goals in the driveways. Foot traffic was nonexistent, and the only movement he could see at all came from commuters coming home in more SUVs and minivans. He felt very conspicuous on the old Indian.

When he got to 84 Chaddwyck, he was shocked to see it was a vacant lot. He checked again. The card said 84, but in between 82 and 86, was nothing but grass and weeds, a vacant lot. At the curb was a black Lexus SUV with a white parking ticket under one of the windshield wipers.

Ned pulled up behind the Lexus on the Indian. He got off the bike and walked up to the car. He instinctively looked around before sticking the key in the door. It opened. Ned got in, put the key in the ignition, and started it up. As it hummed to life, he heard the stereo spring to life. It was playing that horrible Eurodisco that Semyon favored. Ned put it all together. He called Semyon, after turning the stereo off. “Hey, man, what's up with this Lexus?” he asked. “Whose is it?”

“Yours man, all yours,” Semyon laughed. “Grigori couldn't stand to see you riding around on that old piece of shit of yours, so he got you something.”

“And it's legal?”

“Totally.”

“In my name?”

“Yes, Mr. . . . uh . . . what is it again? Steakman?”

“Steadman, Eric Steadman,” Ned was a touch concerned that Semyon had not done the transfer correctly. “You got it right, didn't you?”

“Yeah, yeah, Steadman,” he said. “Ludmilla has all your information on file; she takes care of things like that for me . . . she's a saint, she is . . . but you gotta get your own insurance and plates, it's got dealer plates on now so you can drive it, but not for too long.”

“Well, thanks—and thank Grigori and Ludmilla too.” Ned paused. “I just thought of something. I rode out here on the Indian. How am I gonna get it home?”

“That's not important. Grigori wants you to get rid of it anyway,” Semyon said, with a long pause. “He says it makes you too obvious. He wants you to look like a young businessman, not a biker.”

Ned let out an exasperated sigh. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, that is so,” Semyon answered sharply. “Didn't you tell me you knew a guy who wanted to buy it?”

“Yeah, a guy who works in the warehouse at Hawkridge.”

“Then all is taken care of. You will wait there for ten minutes.”

Ned hung up and reveled in the smell of new leather. He didn't have to wait quite ten minutes. A new Ford pickup pulled in behind the Indian. Ned got out of the Lexus. Then he heard the unmistakable rumble of a Sportster. It pulled up in front of the Lexus. Ned recognized the Lawbreaker right away.

The Lawbreaker nodded to the young man who was driving the pickup. “Give him the key,” the biker said to Ned. “He'll take care of your piece of crap.”

“Where are you taking it?”

“It'll be dropped in the parking lot of a place called Hawkridge. Now, don't waste any more of my time.”

The biker and the driver of the pickup loaded the Indian on the bed. The Lawbreaker looked at Ned. “Open the glove box in the Lexus,” he ordered.

Ned did as he was told and saw an envelope. He got out of the car and was about to open it when the biker seized his arm and took it. He looked hard at Ned for a few seconds.

“Okay, Johnny, it's yours.”

Without another word, Johnny and the Lawbreaker headed off in different directions. Ned felt a chill in the evening air.